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  “Which means someone opened the gate and speared that poor animal without anyone seeing anything. Seems far-fetched to me. Who was closest to that end of the corral?”

  She’d find the person who had been standing near that gate and see if he had anything more to say outside the prying eyes of the other cowboys.

  Theo rubbed the back of his neck. “James Johnson was the last fellow I noticed near the gate.”

  Tomasina took an involuntary step backward. James. He was right smack-dab in the middle of trouble yet again. She spun around lest someone see the tears welling in her eyes. Was Will correct? Did she have an enemy? Had the man she considered a brother done this deliberately? They’d argued, but this action was malicious even for James. It was high time the two of them had a showdown. They’d gone through too much together. He’d been avoiding her for far too long.

  Truth be told, she’d been avoiding him, as well. He was a reminder of her pa. A painful reminder of all she’d lost. Tears threatened once more, and she clenched her jaw. Pa was gone, and blubbering about it wasn’t going to bring him back. There was work to be done.

  “Theo,” she said, turning back. “I’ll pay you fair market price for the bull. Throw a picnic for the rest of the boys. Tell ’em it’s from the Stone outfit.” She might as well spread some good will. Who knew what the future held. “The rest of you fan out and help with the cleanup. We’ve got injured folks.”

  Another drover she recognized as a fellow named Dutch grumbled. “They’ve got their own folks who’ll see to the injured. It ain’t our responsibility.”

  “It was our cattle that caused the ruckus.” Dutch wasn’t known for going out of his way, but he was a good man at heart. “If someone had been keeping watch, this never woulda happened. I think we owe these townsfolk some decency.”

  Theo chucked the man on the shoulder. “Come on, Dutch.”

  “If you say so, boss.”

  Tomasina clenched her teeth. Dutch wasn’t opposed to taking orders, as long as those orders didn’t come from a woman.

  “That’s right Christian of you, Dutch,” she grumbled. “I bet your momma would be real proud.”

  “Aw, don’t get sore at me. I could use your help. You’re the best tracker we got. Can you come around tonight? The fellows on the last drive lost a few of their cattle along the creek bed.”

  “I’ll help.”

  She’d always be the lowest ranking drover. The men had never been much for taking orders from her even when her pa was alive. They didn’t treat her as a woman so much as an adolescent. They admired her skill and joked with her around the campfire, but she was never an equal. The distance had grown more pronounced following her pa’s death. The cycle had begun anew, and once more she had to prove herself. Another reason she had to ride better, shoot better and take the jobs the other men didn’t want.

  Shoving those worries aside, she rounded up the remaining men and gathered bandages and supplies before setting off to assist with the injured. Most of the wounds were minor cuts and scrapes from getting pushed and shoved by the fleeing crowd, and most of those folks had dispersed already. If the doc was around, she didn’t see him.

  She passed by the two cowboys tending the injured horse.

  “It’s not bad,” the taller one said. “Just a scratch.”

  Relieved, she marched on. Will knelt in front of a red-faced man clutching his ankle. She squared her shoulders and approached him. He didn’t look up. She cleared her throat and held out a roll of bandages.

  When he continued to ignore her, she planted her hands on her hips. “You gonna be mad at me or you gonna let me help?”

  Without lifting his head, he waved her nearer. “Hand me those bandages.”

  Tomasina blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and knelt beside him. His acknowledgment wasn’t exactly a declaration of forgiveness, but at least it was a start.

  After a quick examination they concluded the man’s ankle wasn’t broken, only badly sprained. During her ministrations, the man alternately cursed and gritted his teeth. She sat back and unfurled a length of bandage. Will supported the man’s leg while she tightly wound the bandages around the man’s ankle.

  Will kept the man’s attention diverted with a steady stream of questions. Nonsense mostly. He even had the man laughing at one point. Their banter shut her out, and a strange little ache settled in her chest. No matter where she traveled, she was always the outsider. Even surrounded by dozens of cowboys she was alone. She was alone because she was different. As she completed her task, Will helped secure the wrapped end.

  She served as the unofficial doc in the outfit for minor injuries; another duty that had somehow fallen on her. Until now she hadn’t realized how telling it was that the boys had assigned her that duty. They let a woman do the nursing.

  “You’re a good medic, Mr. Canfield,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’ve done some doctoring before.”

  A shuttered look came over his face. “In the war.”

  A flush crept up her neck. Her own brush with the war had been brief but memorable. Mostly she and her pa had worked and stuck close to Texas. Her father had been too old to fight. Though he couldn’t serve, he’d done his bit to support the war effort.

  An army traveled on its belly, and there was no better supply for the southern states than Texas longhorns. Her pa had gone to work for an outfit that raised and sold cattle to the army at a fair price. While driving a small herd east, they’d come across the remnants of a previous skirmish. Men lay dying on the blood-soaked field. The heat of the day had been excruciating, and the bloating bodies had heaped on the misery. The stench was nauseating. They’d done what they could, but it wasn’t enough. She’d never seen such a ghastly sight, and she prayed she never saw the like again.

  The soldiers who survived that day had gone on to fight other battles. How did someone witness bloodshed over and over again without stitching the horror into their very souls? Did those stitches ever unravel?

  Will wiped his palms on his trousers and stood. Hobbling, he kept his weight off his bad leg. Two men who’d been hovering nearby flanked the injured man Will had been assisting. They draped his arms over their shoulders, and the trio limped toward town.

  She glanced around, noting the field had cleared. The cowboys had gathered most of the litter left behind and were attending the steer left in the corral.

  “I think that’s everyone,” Tomasina said.

  “I hope so.” Will shrugged into his jacket once more. “We got off lucky.”

  The damage might have been worse, much worse.

  She’d barely breathed a sigh of relief before another man approached, a child in his arms. “We need a doctor, Will.”

  Her throat tightened. The man held a boy of no more than nine or ten years old. A child. The bandage wrapping the boy’s head oozed red.

  Recognition flickered across Will’s face. “I’ve sent for the doc, Mr. O’Neill. Bring him over here.”

  She caught sight of the doctor making his way toward them at a brisk clip, his leather bag clutched in his hand. She’d seen him checking the chalkboard outside his office on her walks through town. In his late fifties, the man was rail thin and small framed, and his kind gray eyes were bracketed by laugh lines. Waving her arms, she frantically motioned him over.

  Together with Will, the man rested the boy’s still form on the ground. Shucking his coat once more, Will balled the material into a pillow, and Doc Fletcher knelt beside him.

  The doc pulled out his stethoscope. “Are you the boy’s father?”

  “Yes. The name is O’Neill. This here is Owen.”

  “Did you see what happened, Mr. O’Neill?”

  “We were all here for the show. Owen and I were standing on the north side of the corral
when the commotion started. People started running. Someone knocked me aside and Owen fell. I think—” The man fisted one hand over his mouth. “I think he was kicked in the head.”

  Looking grim, the doc nodded.

  Will placed a hand on the father’s shoulder and led him a short distance away. Tomasina hesitated another long moment before turning away. There was nothing more she could do here. She pressed her hand against the pang of longing in her chest. They’d shut her out. She was the outsider.

  Feeling as though her cowboy boots were made of lead, she melted into the background. Will already blamed her. There was no use sticking around for more accusations. None of this had been her fault, and there was only one way to prove it.

  Outsider or not, she vowed to find whoever had incited that bull and make him pay.

  Turning away, she didn’t see when Will reached for her then let his hand drop against his side.

  Chapter Five

  The following day Will had barely sat down, loosened his tie and closed his eyes before he was summoned once more. Between the cattle drives, the baby, the rodeo and the subsequent injuries and investigation, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. His questions had yielded no answers about the incident at the rodeo. Neither had he located Tomasina for an apology. A task that required his immediate attention.

  His behavior had been inexcusable.

  After wearily rising, he winced with each step as he made his way to the sheriff’s office and discovered Noah waiting for him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” Will said.

  Tall and broadly built, Noah was dressed in his working clothes, his lengthy blond hair visible beneath his hat, his scars shaded by his brim. Since Noah rarely came to town, his business must be important. Will put his confession about the letter on hold. Though he wasn’t normally given to maudlin sentimentality, he owed his friend. As his commanding officer, he owed Noah the life he should have had before the war had ravaged more than just his body. The battles might be over, but loyalty among soldiers never faltered. There was a woman worthy of Noah; a woman who’d see past the scars. Was it so unlikely that the bride they’d sent for might be that woman?

  Noah motioned Will inside. “You won’t believe what I discovered on my way to the feed and grain this morning.”

  Whatever Noah had discovered must be exceedingly unusual for him to linger in town. Will followed his friend through the building, and they paused in front of the jail cell.

  A feverish man writhed on the single cot, a dirty bandage wrapped around his head. His clothing was damp with sweat, his face ashen. Doc Fletcher had taken a seat beside the prone man, a deep crease between his eyes.

  Will started. “Is that Zeb Murdoch?”

  “I reckon so.”

  A few weeks back Zeb Murdoch had been winged in the ear by one of the Cowboy Creek deputies after he and his gang had robbed the church. The gang had subsequently made their way to Morgan’s Creek, where they’d stolen horses and robbed a saloon. One of the witnesses had identified Zeb Murdoch and noted his injury.

  The wound had obviously gone septic. The skin visible beneath Zeb’s scraggly beard was pale and waxy. Dark blood matted his greasy blond hair, while his painfully thin frame bordered on gaunt.

  The doc leaned over the outlaw and gingerly lifted the edge of the bandage, grimacing at the oozing wound. “He’ll live, but he’ll wake up with one less ear.”

  Though Will had seen plenty of lacerations in his lifetime, the angry infection had him wincing. He asked Noah once more. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was propped up behind the laundry on Fourth Street. Wolf sniffed him out.”

  Noah’s dog was part wolf and, though intimidating, the animal was an excellent tracker and fiercely loyal.

  “How long was he there?” Will asked.

  “Since yesterday, I’m guessing. He didn’t have his horse, and there were two canteens of water set out. Like someone left him there.” Noah doffed his hat and threaded his fingers through blond hair that nearly touched his collar. “I heard from the deputy that you had some trouble at the stockyards, as well. Anyone hurt?”

  “Someone riled up a bull and set it loose. No serious injuries. Cuts and bruises from when the crowd panicked and ran. A sprained ankle. Owen O’Neill fell down and took a boot to the head, but he was only grazed. Last I saw him, he was having pie at the Cowboy Café.” Will paced in front of the jail cell. “I don’t believe in coincidences. The Murdoch Gang left Zeb behind the laundry about the same time that bull cut loose in the ring.”

  “The timing works out,” Noah agreed, replacing his hat and running his thumb and forefinger over the brim. “He didn’t get here by himself. Not in his condition.”

  The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. “Which means the Murdoch Gang created a diversion and dumped him.”

  Remorse socked Will in the chest. He’d accused Tomasina of having an enemy, and she was innocent. He already owed her one apology. Now he owed her a couple of them.

  “Why go to all that trouble?” Noah mused. “Why didn’t they shoot him or leave him for dead?”

  “Who knows? Family loyalty. Honor among thieves. Seems like Xavier wants his brother healed.”

  “But why travel forty miles south with a sick man? Why not leave him in Morgan’s Creek?”

  “The sawbones in Morgan’s Creek died last fall. If they were riding south anyway, and Zeb took a turn for the worse, Cowboy Creek is the logical choice.”

  “Good point.” Noah braced his forearm on the bars and studied the outlaw. “Zeb gets shot during the holdup at the church. The gang robs Morgan’s Creek, but Zeb’s wound turns septic.”

  “There’s no doctor in Morgan’s Creek,” Will said. “Xavier can’t kill his own brother. Can’t leave him for dead, either.”

  “Instead they create a diversion and dump him in Cowboy Creek. They’ve been here before. They know the town. They know we have a doctor.”

  Will crossed his arms. “What now? If Xavier risked his life saving his brother, he won’t let us hang him.”

  “Which means he’s sticking close.”

  “Bad news for Cowboy Creek. If the gang is in the area, they’re bound to be a nuisance.”

  “Not necessarily.” Noah pushed off from the bars. “They’d be fools to stir up trouble. Not with Zeb in our jail cell. I’m guessing they’ll lay low for a while, let things cool off and wait for Zeb to heal. That’s when we worry.”

  “We’d best double our guards anyway. The Murdoch Gang will need supplies. And they can’t exactly waltz into Longhorn’s and buy grain for their horses.” Zeb groaned and Will studied the sick man. “Let’s hold them off as long as we can. If anyone asks, Zeb is near dying. That’s not far from the truth.”

  “What if we spread the rumor he’s already dead?”

  “Too risky. We can’t chance pushing the Murdochs to retaliate.”

  “Too bad,” Noah said. “One less Murdoch is one less problem. You’re right about Xavier, though. He went to a lot of trouble to save his brother. He’s not going to let him hang.”

  Will slanted a glance at the outlaw. “Which means they’ll be back to bust him out.”

  “We better be ready when that happens.”

  “Don’t worry.” Will spoke with grim determination. “We’ll be ready.”

  By the time he’d finished at the jail, Tomasina was nowhere to be found. According to Theo, one of the drovers, she was tracking strays along a creek bed. There’d be no apology today. He’d seek out Tomasina tomorrow. And that meant he’d be carrying another burden for a spell.

  The day stretched out ahead of him, bleak and lonely.

  Lonely.

  He was accustomed to solitude. An only child, he’d grown up without the constant patter of siblings. In t
he army, his rank had kept him isolated. He valued his privacy. He should be relieved the preacher’s daughter had taken Ava for the afternoon. He could catch up on his work. Yet the thought of spending the day alone left him oddly empty. The feeling itched like wet wool beneath his collar.

  Any chance at peace was a long time coming for him.

  * * *

  Tomasina’s first step was to find James Johnson. A fellow named Butch directed her toward the saloon. Inside, she spotted James’s distinctive fringed vest. He’d had the back beaded in the shape of Texas, and leather fringe dangled from the hem. She thought the vest atrocious, but James had bragged about the ladies admiring his style. She snorted softly. When it came to a handsome face, sometimes ladies didn’t have the sense of a peahen.

  Unheeding of the curious stares, she stomped across the saloon, planted a hand on James’s shoulder and spun him around.

  His scowl lasted an instant before he masked his temper with a cool grin. “I thought you didn’t like saloons.”

  “I don’t. But you and I need to talk.”

  He turned his back on her and lifted his drink. “I got nothing to say to you.”

  Tomasina planted her boot on the brass foot rail and leaned close. “Pa is dead and you’ve got nothing to say? I thought he meant something to you.”

  James’s hand stilled midair, then his drink hit the bar with a thud, splashing his whiskey. “What happened?”

  “He went to sleep and never woke up. Smitty thought it was probably his heart.” Her throat tightened. “You didn’t know, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  The chill in his voice sparked her anger once more. “He never got over you leaving. You know that, don’t you? We took you in when you had no one.”

  Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face. That was James, all right. Always stoic. Why did men figure that showing their feelings made them weak? There was nothing wrong with sorrow. Except with James, there was always something to prove.

  James appeared to gather himself. “Your pa was a good man, but he was too old for the trail.” Taking a long draw from his whiskey, he fixed his gaze on the mirror behind the bar. “He shoulda quit years ago. He only stayed on as point man ’cause of you.”