Don't Close Your Eyes

Chapter 21 – Rose, the Girls, and B.B. Cole

He opened his eyes slowly and had to blink twice before they focused. All he could see were white walls and cabinets with bottles in them. Where was he? He was tired of waking up and not knowing. He looked again at the walls. Now he recognized this place. He'd seen it before, from different angles. This was the doctor's office. Why was he here?

He tried to move and his belly hurt. And his shoulders were sore. And his face burned and throbbed like someone had set him on fire. AND the back of his head hurt. Was there any part of him that didn't hurt? No more need to wonder why he was here.

He shifted his slightly fuzzy gaze downward. His brother was asleep in a chair. With his mouth open and snoring. Not a pretty sight. And Bret said he snored! He tried to say something but nothing came out. He tried again. "Bret." It was barely a whisper. "Bret." Only slightly louder, but enough to do the job. Bret closed his mouth and jumped, both at the same time.

"Huh? Bart?" It was a reasonable assumption, given that Bart was lying right in front of him. "Are you awake?"

"No," was about all he could manage right now.

"Hey, Bart, you're back."

"Yeah." On top of everything else his throat was raw. "Water?"

"Yep. I'll get some." Bret stood up and walked across the room. When he came back he had a glass half full of water in his hands. He got his arm under Bart's head and raised it enough to drink, then held the glass to his lips. Bart drank gratefully, thirstily, almost all of it. It was easier to speak when he finished.

"At Doc's?"

"Yep, we're at Dr. Samuels'. Been waitin' a while for you to wake up. How's the head?"

A small moan. "Hurts."

"I imagine it does. And your belly?"

The answer was the same. "Hurts."

"Doctor put ten stitches in. Sorry, he had to. You were busted open and bleeding again."

"Kicked me. Monroe?" Bart had trouble keeping his eyes open but he needed an answer from Bret.

"Dead." There was no joy in the statement; Bret had killed Donnie in self-defense. He would have killed him anyway, if he'd gotten there too late to save his brother. It didn't surprise him to realize that he was capable of cold-blooded murder.

Bart smiled and closed his eyes. "Good." Now the rest of the world was safe from the madman.

"Bart?"

"Hmmmmm?"

"I'm sorry I took so long to find you."

It required a minute for Bart to put all the words together in the right order. "Next time we go to dinner . . . . . . we walk."

XXXXXXXX

When he next opened his eyes he knew where he was. And he knew that was Doctor Samuels poking and prodding him. "Mr. Maverick, how are you this morning? Feeling any better at all?"

That was an easy question to answer. "Nope."

"How's your head?"

What kind of an answer did the doctor expect? "Still hurts."

"Yes, well, I imagine it does. Your brother just left to get something to eat. He was here with you all night. I'm sure he'll be back shortly. Sara Hanford's been in this morning, too. Said she was bringing down a pot of coffee when she came back. Course that's not on your menu, yet. How's the pain elsewhere this morning? If it's too bad I've got some laudanum I can give you for it."

He'd had enough of that stuff in Montana. "None of that."

"Alright, your choice, Mr. Maverick. I'd like you to stay here today, then we can see about getting you moved elsewhere. Your hotel room, I'd imagine." The front door opened and Dr. Samuels could see that it was Sara carrying a coffee pot. "Sara, just put it on the burner in my office. I'll be right there. Oh, by the way, Mr. Maverick's awake."

"Doc – all this time. Bart, please."

"Alright, Mr. – Bart."

Dr. Samuels left and was replaced by a much prettier face. Sara's. "Hello, sunshine," she greeted him.

"Sara." It took him just a minute to tell her, "Sorry, no hat to tip."

"Oh," she looked at him, surprised. "Jokes already. Are you feeling better?"

Why did everyone keep asking that when the answer should be obvious? "No."

Her look was pensive. "I happen to have a spare bedroom that can be rented for a reasonable fee, you know."

"Sure?"

She laughed and for the first time he realized what a pretty, lilting laugh she had. "Yes, I'm sure. You can't stay at the hotel by yourself. And I certainly wouldn't trust Bret to take care of you. At least not for a while. He'd go off to play poker and forget to feed you for two or three days." She thought about her statement for a minute and then added, "Not that it would make a whole lot of difference to you."

"Beg to differ with you. That long would." He tried to smile at her and that's when he discovered just how sore his face was. 'Let's see,' he thought back to yesterday. 'First a pistol, then a slap. Then another slap. Yep, it would be sore.'

"Ask Bret how well I treat my prisoners. I come highly recommended."

"Sure you do. Deal."

She was pleased to hear him give in without any arguing. "Good. I'll get the room ready."

"One thing," Bart stopped her. "Books. Need books. And a Bible."

That was one thing that had never crossed her mind. "A Bible?" she asked.

"A Bible."

A Bible. The man totally surprised her. Who would have thought?

"And a California Prayer Book."

"What?"

"A deck of cards."

Back to the real world.

XXXXXXXX

He'd just closed his eyes again when that familiar voice was heard. "You awake?"

Of course not. Why ask the question? "Bret?"

"Yep. Just wondered how you felt."

"Like a horse stepped on me. Back from breakfast already?"

"Breakfast? Son, it's supper time. You slept all day."

"Oh." Long pause while he digested that information. "You don't have to sit here, you know."

"I wanted to talk to you." That worried him. What did Bret have on his mind now?

"I want to know how your head is."

"Still hurts."

"I don't mean the outside of your head. I know that hurts. I mean the inside of your head."

"What?"

"When I found you in the barn you were completely incoherent. Like you were in Montana. Do we have to deal with that again? Are you really you?"

"Lotta questions." Bart seemed disturbed by them; not at Bret.

"I know that's a lot of questions. But I need a lot of answers."

Bart was silent for a moment. He remembered pieces of the dream – or the hallucination, whichever was correct – he remembered Rose and their girls, and Bret's hound dog – and Bartley Beauregard Cole. All his family. But that was all. Nothing else. If his conscious mind had slipped off into the world that came alive in Montana, it was back here with him now. He looked right at his brother and did everything he could to let him know who he was.

"Yes sir, I'm really me. Bartley Jamison Maverick. Now, can I go back to sleep?"