"You can't just let him die!"
Ruth had her breath back and she wasn't taking no for an answer. She had watched Adam Cartwright for the last few years, growing from a gangly teenager to an intelligent, hard working, decent young man and she was not about to sit by in a hard chair in a chilly saloon while he bled out his life on a cold wooden floor.
A nod at the man behind her prevented any interference from him, but the amiable, self styled leader of the motley gang stepped in her path, effectively halting her before she could take a single step. Either he had written her off as no threat or he intended to stop her by force.
She set her jaw. Let him try.
Instead of blocking her, he holstered his gun, took her shoulders gently in massive hands and eased her back into the chair. She couldn't resist the irritated thought that this bouncing in and out of the chair was getting downright silly. And an innocent boy could well die while they continued their bizarre dance for position.
"Ma'am, why don't you just sit here by the fire," he suggested as if they were merely engaged in a cordial conversation, "and I'll check on your friend. Okay?"
He actually had the temerity to pat her on the shoulder before he turned away and directed his attention back to Shelby and Jack. "Now, let's get comfortable, friends, and I'll see what I can do about all this. Ma'am…" he swept a hand toward Shelby… "why don't you sit here next to this nice lady…"
An argument would accomplish nothing, might even result in more bloodshed, and if cooperation really was going to get something done for Adam, anger would not only be useless, it would be criminal. She blew out a frustrated breath of air and took a seat, positioning herself between Ruth and the cluster of gunmen still hovering by the fire; if that fella touched her friend again, he could count on pulling back a bloody stump. She reached out a hand and placed her fingers over Ruth's, squeezing lightly.
Jack's turn came next. Their robber-turned-host didn't bother with false courtesy toward Wolf, simply jerked a nod toward a chair at a separate table and Jack wordlessly took a seat where he was directed. After a moment's consideration, he said, "You picked a bad time to try to rob the local establishments, my friend." He shrugged elaborately. "No business. The till is dry."
"Well, now," the other man said, strolling across the room toward where Adam lay, "that's too bad. It'd be a shame for someone to die and there to be no money, now wouldn't it." He bent, retrieved the fallen rifle and laid it across his shoulder, puffed out air, and stood over the motionless body, considering.
When there was no reaction to his nearness, he nudged Adam's shoulder with the toe of a booted foot. The body rocked slightly with the pressure, but there was no sound, no response. Satisfied, he dropped to one knee and grasped one shoulder, turning the young man over onto his back. Behind him, Ruth audibly caught her breath. He didn't waste a look back at her, simply stared down at the wounded man.
Adam's rain-soaked coat had fallen open. His shirt was sodden red with blood, a gory crimson stain seeping almost to the knee on his right side. His face, where not shrouded in the shadow of the table, was ashen and nearly colorless with shock, his features slack in unconsciousness.
The man shook his head. "Don't look good. He even old enough to be in a place like this?" he asked with a slight twist of smile.
"So he says," Shelby responded dryly.
"Adam is a good boy," Ruth protested instinctively. "He does not frequent bars." Suddenly flushing, she glanced guiltily at Shelby and tightened her hold on the other woman's hand. "I am sorry, Shelby, I did not mean to…"
"No offense taken, Ruth," Shelby reassured her, "besides you're right, he is a good boy. An' he sure as blue blazes don't belong there on the floor." With a final pat to Ruth's hand, she rose and was halfway across the room before any of the other bandits could react to her. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprising considering the set of her face, no one tried to stop her.
There was no way to avoid the blood if she was going to get a good look in the poor lighting, so Shelby knelt down, trying to ignore the feel of it soaking into her pants legs. She cupped his face with one hand… his cheek was cold to the touch… and used the fingers of her other hand to seek a pulse at his throat. It was there, faint, thready, but there. She speared a glance sideways at the man who was still on one knee beside her, dark brown eyes never wavering from hers. He would have been a handsome man under other circumstances. She had expected to find cruelty and harshness in those eyes, but all she could read there was faint amusement, an almost intimate sharing of unspoken information, and the news wasn't hopeful.
She ignored him. "Ruth, would you go on upstairs and bring down some blankets? Heaviest ones you can find. We need to get him warmed up here."
"How badly is he hurt?" Ruth asked, already moving toward the stairs, again without interference. Jack Wolf still hadn't said a word. Neither of those things was encouraging to Shelby.
"I ain't sure yet," she answered with an even voice. "I can't see good here. We need to move him close to the fire. I ain't sure if he was hit once or both times." She waited for the first sound of Ruth's foot on the creaking steps, then looked at the man next to her. "Well, you gonna help me get him over there or you just gonna roost there and watch me do all the work?"
He laughed then, an oddly pleasant sound. "Ain't much sense goin' to all the trouble, is there? You know ain't nobody going outta here. It might be easier on the kid if he just drifts off right here, don't have to hurt no more."
She nodded shortly. "I'll take that to mean, you're gonna sit and watch then."
She started to grab Adam under his arms, but another laugh brought her attention back around to him.
"Git out the way, then, pretty lady, and I'll move him on over so you ladies can play doctor."
xxxXXXxxx
Ruth finished spreading a palette of blankets close to the fire, far enough to be safe from errant sparks, but near enough to provide maximum warmth to a body chilled from shock, by the time the huge outlaw dragged Adam's unresponsive body across the room. With surprising gentleness, he laid the young man on the makeshift bed.
Already settled on the floor, Ruth was methodically tearing her white petticoats into long strips for bandaging.
Shelby, hands fisted on her hips, demanded, "You just gonna stand there in the way, mister? Or you gonna move and let us see to him?"
The half smile reappeared. "Why don't you call me Booker? And I can call you…?"
"Now, why's that?" she countered. "Because none of us are going to get out of here? You reckon it's safe to make introductions? We're all friends now? Shove it up your—"
"Shelby!" Ruth glanced up from her careful shredding of her petticoats.
Shelby shot a sour glare at her. "I'm sure our good friend, Booker, has heard worse, Ruth. And thanks to him, Adam isn't hearing anything right now so we're in no danger of corruptin' him."
Almost as if to call her on that observation, Adam groaned, arched slightly and fought to open his eyes. The attempt at movement brought a fresh rush of blood across his shirt front and both Booker and Shelby moved to hold him still. Booker was a fraction of a second faster. Again with that odd gentleness, he held Adam down long enough for unconsciousness to end his struggle.
When the meager fight quickly ended, he looked at Shelby and the smile was gone, only a steady brown gaze that caught her eyes and held, the playfulness gone. "Shelby," he said softly, his voice not carrying further than its intended listener, "why don't you let the boy just rest. It'll be a lot easier on him. A whole lot."
"He's not gonna die," she said, and there was no leeway for argument in her tone.
"Everybody dies."
"He is… not… going to die. Not today."
"He doesn't have to."
Jack Wolf's even tones cut through the stalemate and both Shelby and Booker darted quick looks in his direction. Shelby, for one, realized that she had nearly forgotten that he was still there in the darkness of the saloon.
Booker was the first to react. "And how's that, friend?"
"Well," Jack leaned back in the chair, deceptively calm, "robbery's a bad deal this week. Business has been terrible, what with the weather…"
"You makin' a point, friend?"
"Ransom," Jack said with a curt nod. "Ransom's a much more lucrative venture this week."
Booker squatted back on his heels, clearly listening, but watching Shelby as she started trying to untangle Adam from his coat. "And who do you suggest we ransom? You worth anything to anyone?"
Jack laughed, a short, humorless bark. "Me? No. I'm not worth anything to anyone. But I am a great negotiator."
"I'm listenin.'"
Shelby managed to peel the rain-soaked coat off Adam's shivering body and shoved it aside. The site of damage was obvious now, with his shirt shredded on the right side along his lower rib cage. She went to work on the buttons of his shirt, her hands already sticky and slick with his blood.
"Ruth there…" Jack continued casually, as if there was no life or death drama taking place a few feet away from him, "her husband owns the only store in town. He's not only well off, he's well respected. No one's going to let his wife be killed if they can stop it."
"Well, now," Booker said, "isn't that lovely. Nice to be popular, isn't it, Missus Ruth?"
Jack ignored the interruption. "And Adam's pa has a ranch just outside town. He'll be very grateful to the man who keeps his son alive. Very grateful."
"You son of a…" Shelby gritted out between clenched teeth, her venom aimed at Jack. "You give up on hawkin' watered down whiskey? You in the business of sellin' folks now?"
Booker cocked his head at her. "And how about you, pretty Shelby? Who would pay to have you back?"
She laughed. "I'm what's known as expendable, Booker. Now you boys shut up. Ruth and me, we're busy." She carefully peeled the ruined shirt back, ripped away the ragged undershirt and found the seeping wound. The flesh had been scored like hot butter by a knife; at least two ribs were broken, jagged edges protruding through bruised and discolored skin.
Ruth looked up at Shelby, her eyes red-rimmed and sad. Shelby didn't like the implication of that look. Nor did she like the shallow, painful rasp of Adam's breathing.
