Chapter 12 #3
Caleb pulled his Colt from the vest and handed it to Sheila.
He watched her put it on a smaller table close by.
Unbuttoning his vest, he took it off and laid it next to him.
She took it and put it beside the six-gun.
The shirt was a bloody mess, and he struggled to pull it over his head.
She was right beside him, helping him. The feel of her soft, cool fingers on his fevered skin were a welcome distraction from the pain.
He'd spent years patching himself up alone. Having someone fuss over him felt unfamiliar.
He glanced up and found Sheila staring at his naked chest. He had a half dozen battle scars of various sizes and varieties. Knife wounds. Bullet holes. Even a nasty looking thing from a hatchet. She was reading the personal history of his life on the frontier.
Suddenly, her eyes flicked to his face, and she blushed crimson, realizing she’d been caught.
“Help Marlowe lie back.” Doc poured out a liquid into a bowl.
She helped him stretch out. “The wound is worse than he’s letting on.”
“I know. I saw it. But since you’ve decided that you’re a doctor now, you can assist me. I’m certain he won’t mind.”
“I’m lying right here,” Caleb commented. “I ain’t passed out yet.”
“Ignore him,” Doc ordered. “Adjust that lamp. I want more light on him.”
Having gathered what he needed and laying it all out within reach, the doctor began cleaning and examining the wound. The liquid on the cloth stung like a swarm of wasps, but he steeled himself against the pain.
“How long was the knife blade?” Doc asked.
“Six inches, give or take.”
“It angled upward upon entry?”
“Some. He was aiming for my heart,” Caleb replied, forcing a grin. “But he couldn’t find one.”
“If the blade had entered an inch or two to the front, my friend, you might not be joking about it.”
“I told you it’s worse than he’s admitting.” She twisted a wet cloth in the bowl and put it within Doc’s reach.
“You’re lucky to be alive. Do you want something strong before I start stitching you up?”
“No. I got work to do tonight. None of that laudanum stuff.”
“How about a knock on the head,” she suggested. “I’ve still got that skillet handy.”
Both men looked at Sheila. Her blue eyes rounded, and for the first time a smile touched the corner of her lips.
That smile was worth getting stabbed for.
The thought was so ridiculous Caleb immediately tried to forget it.
“You’d hit a man when he’s down, Miss Burnett?”
“Only a stubborn one.”
“If you two are finished chatting each other up…” Doc shook his head with amusement and picked up his needle. “On second thought, keep it up, Sheila. You do fine work distracting him. Do what you have to do. Soon as I’m done, we can bring that chess board in here.”
Caleb grimaced as his friend wiped blood away. “I knew it was two against one.”
“Roll onto your side.” The doctor poured some of the liquid from the bowl directly into the wound. Caleb held his breath and gritted his teeth, thinking he was about to explode clear out of his own hide.
“Don’t tell us that actually hurt, Marlowe,” Sheila said innocently.
Caleb glanced at her and let out his breath. “I’m about ready for that skillet to the head, Doc.”
The feel of the needle piercing his flesh hurt like hell. But he refused to give in to it or complain. Mostly because Sheila was standing there watching him. A man had his pride.
He tried to focus on what he needed to do. He thought about his father. If Elijah Starr were truly alive—and Caleb was beginning to believe it—then the two of them had unfinished business.
Doc straightened his back when he was done and admired his handiwork. “Sheila, go up and get one of my clean shirts. Might be a little tight on you, Marlowe, but it’ll have to do.”
“I’ll return it to you soon as I can.”
Sheila went out and came back with the shirt while her father was finishing up bandaging Caleb.
“You don’t need to come to Elkhorn. I can come and see you. You should rest this wound.”
“I am a fast healer.”
She muttered something under her breath that Caleb couldn’t hear clearly, but he was certain it had to be a jab at him.
“I’m going to have them bring that villain in here from the kitchen.” Doc told them as he started for the door. He paused and turned around. “I don’t want you in here, Sheila. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“All right,” she replied, helping Caleb dress.
Doc was correct. The shirt was tight, but it would have to do since he was heading over to talk to Judge Patterson right after leaving here. The buttons were a struggle, but she came closer to help.
“As my father said, you need to take it easy for a few days, Marlowe. No fooling.”
The sound of heavy boots in the hallway saved Caleb from having to answer. Zeke came into the surgery.
“The judge will see you tonight, Marlowe.”
Caleb nodded and stood up.
Sheila helped him into his vest and handed him the pistol. “If you’re not going to take it slow tonight, at least see if you can avoid getting shot or stabbed again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Her hand lingered against his for the briefest moment.
Then she stepped back, and somehow the room felt colder than before.