Dark Reflection

Chapter 35

"Threshold"

by Lilyjack

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Kitty helped Matt Dillon unbutton his dark shirt and peel the torn, sticky-wet sleeve from his injured arm. She frowned at the overwhelming iron tang of blood. "That, too," she instructed, indicating the long-sleeved one-piece union suit beneath. Matt unfastened placket buttons, and she helped him shrug it from his shoulders. "This is gonna have to come off, too, Matt. The arm is soaked in blood. Go ahead and take off your pants." She turned around with her back to him and crossed her arms, waiting patiently. Kitty listened to the sounds of rustling cloth while he stripped his trousers off his legs, the muted groans as he struggled to remove the soft underwear and then replace his pants with an injured arm.

"Okay," he said when he was finished. He held the union suit wadded in his hands.

"Throw it over there. It'll have to be washed."

She sucked a sympathetic breath through her teeth as she approached him and examined his injury. Kitty directed, "Sit in this chair and hold your arm over the washbasin so I can rinse it off. There's sure a lot of blood." She could hear the muffled tread of feet upstairs as Chester and probably Charlie Fitz, as well, gathered the supplies she had requested. Matt complied quietly, and she slowly poured fresh water from the pitcher over his wound, eliciting a small hiss of discomfort from Matt.

"I'm sorry," she responded.

"Don't worry. Not your fault. I should…be used to it by now."

Kitty's eyes roamed over his bare torso, and even in the dim lamplight, she noted previously healed battle scars in addition to the more recent fading bruises. She realized exactly what his last comment had meant. It looked like there were old bullet wounds in his left shoulder, his left side, what looked like maybe a stab wound… There were so many, she wondered what this man did for a living—Indian fighter? Outlaw? Gunman? Lawman? She realized that even though they'd inhabited the same room for several weeks now, she knew practically nothing about him. Granted, she'd been pretty sick for most of that time, but still…

Accompanying her thoughts were the sounds of water trickling into tainted pink whorls in the porcelain basin. She squeezed the saturated washcloth repeatedly over his bloody arm. Matt himself sat wordlessly. She found herself comparing this young man's relatively smooth skin to the unwholesome, snaky appearance of Silas Blackthorne. She gave a sudden violent, involuntary shudder at the memory.

"You okay?" Matt broke his silence.

"Yes," she replied. "I was just…thinkin'. Remembering…"

"Sometimes remembering is hard."

"Yeah…" She marveled again at how insightful and understanding this fellow was. Where had he come from? Why was he here? She inhaled deeply, noting how he didn't smell like stale tobacco smoke, cheap whiskey or smelly cows. Or incense. His scent was nice-masculine with hints of horses and leather, soap and honest sweat.

She startled from her ruminations when Chester popped back through the door. He announced, "Here's some clean bandages Charlie give me. He rustled us up some alcohol, too, but says please don't use too awful much cause it's a bottle of Mr. Botkin's good stuff. I got some hot water at the top of the steps I'll fetch down in a jiffy."

"Thank you, Chester," she called to his retreating form. She wrung out the cloth and pressed it gently against Matt's wound to stop it from bleeding further and she noticed the tiny cuts on her hand had stopped bleeding. They waited as Chester bumped down the stairs.

"Here ya' go, Miss Kitty. Clean, hot water in a big dishpan."

Kitty wondered how on earth the man had managed to limp down the steps and not spill a drop. Chester was miraculously adept at managing with a stiff leg.

Pointing at the porcelain basin filled with crimson-tinged water, Chester queried, "You want me to go dump this one here for ya'?"

"No, that's okay, Chester," Matt hastily replied. "I'll do it later. Uh…don't you need to take the horses…back to Moss Grimmick's now? Didn't you leave 'em…at the warehouse?"

"Yessir, Mr. Dillon, I'll tend t' that right away. It won't take me no time a'tall."

"Oh, take your…time, Chester," Matt called after him. He wore a hint of a smile when he spoke.

Kitty admonished to his retreating form, "Be careful, Chester! And don't forget your clever disguise!"

"I won't!" came the echoing response as he headed down the hallway.

She began gently washing Matt's raw bullet wound with the fresh, hot water, saying "I know this hurts and I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Kitty. Thank you…for helping me."

She questioned, "Have you hurt yourself again? Sounds like you're havin' more trouble breathin'. I imagine taking on Silas Blackthorne's men wasn't too good for those ribs of yours."

"I'll be okay, Kitty."

"That's what you always say." She dried his arm carefully with a soft towel. "You know, you took an awful big risk today, doing what you did."

"Everything's a risk, Kitty."

Brandishing the bottle of bourbon, she warned, "This is gonna sting. I won't use too awful much," she smiled, remembering Chester's instructions. Kitty continued, "Well, you're obviously down here with me 'cause Silas Blackthorne wants a piece a' your hide, too. I'd think you'd wanna stay as quiet as possible."

Matt wore a guileless expression. He explained simply, "I couldn't just walk away. Someone was in trouble. There was nothing else I could do." He sucked in a breath when the alcohol hit its mark.

"Sorry…" she said for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. Kitty silently marveled that this man had such a code of honor ingrained deeply within him that he leapt into danger to help another person with no thought for his own safety. Dabbing dry the angry area around his wound, she finally spoke, "I appreciate what you did for Mary."

"I expect you'd have done the same, Kitty."

"Me?"

"Yep," he said with assurance. "You're a kind woman, Kitty. And you've gotta lotta gumption, too."

Kitty raised a brow as she placed clean dressing on his gunshot wound. She wasn't used to men talking about her like this. She observed, "I don't think this needs stitches. We'll see if the bleeding stops soon." Privately, she was wondering why Matt Dillon was always so nice to her.

And was it her imagination or did Dillon tend to call her "honey" in times of crisis? Course, she'd always been a little "out if it" on those occasions, so maybe her memory was faulty. She wondered if that's what he called all the girls. But he didn't call her "honey" either in a way that made her skin crawl, like when other men did it. They always expected something out of her, but this man, strangely, did not. In Kitty's estimation, and she was generally a good judge of character, Matt Dillon seemed to be simply very kind-hearted, a gentleman. What a refreshing revelation. She felt, oddly and unusually, quite safe with him.

Kitty tore the end of the gauze in two and wrapped them in opposite directions so she could tie it off.

Matt ventured, "Penny for your thoughts…"

That brought to mind something that had been bothering Kitty. She questioned, "How did you know about Mary?"

"Huh?"

She looked down at him curiously. "I mean, when I asked you where the break-in had been, you said it was at my dressmaker's, at Mary's place. I've never mentioned Mary to you."

"Oh, I…" He thoughtfully scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I, uh, believe I heard…it from Chester."

"Oh." She couldn't resist touching one of his soft curls, smoothing it down a bit, as she considered his answer.

Then he stood, towering over her, and from this vantage, she couldn't help but take in the man's broad, muscular shoulders, his strong arms, huge hands and trim waist. She distractedly contemplated the narrow line of dark hair leading down the center of Dillon's flat belly to disappear beneath the waistband of his trousers.

"I'm back!" called Chester happily.

Kitty inhaled sharply. "Chester!"

"See?" Chester grinned. "That didn't take me long a'tall. What can I do t' help out?"

Kitty searched about and came up with, "Uh…will you take that bloody set of underwear to be laundered?"

"I sure will, Miss Kitty."

Matt sighed wearily. "After you do that, Chester, I think it's time we headed to bed. It's pretty late."

Chester's face fell. "But don'tcha wanna…"

Kitty cut him off apologetically, "I'm real tired, Chester. And it's been a long, eventful day for you two as well."

"Oh, alright then…" Chester looked glum. "Well, I'll say goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Chester," Matt and Kitty called and simultaneously turned to look at one another. Kitty found herself wanting to place her hand on Matt's smooth, wide chest.

"Thank you, Kitty," he murmured.

"You're welcome, Matt," she replied.

They each retired to their own side of the room and Kitty quickly settled into bed. She rolled onto her side, watching Matt's shadow slanting across the curtain as he situated his huge frame on the narrow cot. She sighed, feeling a strange stirring inside.

tbc

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