Chapter 6 – Third Times the Charm

"Shh, just lie still, honey." Those were the first words Bart heard clearly, and they were his wife's.

"Do . . . Doralice," came out in a faint whisper of a voice. He had to make sure she was alright, that the shotgun blast from the marshal's gun hadn't caught her, too. Besides, there could be another one coming.

"I'm right here," she responded. "You're gonna be fine."

"Cole?" Another whisper.

"He's dead. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Dead? How?"

"Never mind. Just go back to sleep."

And that's just what he did.

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Sometime later he woke again, this time to find himself upstairs in his own bed. He opened his eyes slowly; the first thing he saw was all white, and he assumed that to be bandages. As he raised his eyes his brother's face came into view, wearing a smile.

"Good to see you back, Brother Bart," Bret offered.

"Did . . . did I go somewhere?"

"Almost, but not quite." Bret laughed softly. "Not quite."

"Doralice?"

"She's here, and she's fine. She's downstairs with the children."

"What . . . happened?"

"You've been shot." Bret was trying not to give his brother any more information than he had to.

Bart wasn't going to give up asking questions until he got the answers he was looking for. "Who shot . . . me?"

"If you must know, it was the marshal."

"Cole?"

"He's the only marshal around."

"Where's . . . he?"

"I would imagine he's lying on Simon Petry's exam table about now."

"Hurt?"

Bret took a deep breath before he answered. He knew more questions were going to follow his answer. "Dead."

"Dead?"

"Dead."

"How? Who?"

"12-gauge shotgun blast to the chest. Who . . . appears to be your wife."

"Doralice? No."

"It has to be Doralice. She was the only one that could have shot him."

Bart tried to shake his head. "No."

"Bart . . . "

"No."

Doralice entered the bedroom and saw the headshaking. "He's awake."

Bret nodded. "And stubborn as ever. He says you didn't shoot Cole."

"Honey, it had to be me. You couldn't hold a gun, your whole left shoulder and wrist were full of shot."

Still the head shook 'no.'

Doralice placed her hand on Bret's shoulder. "Come on, let's let him have some rest. Maybe when he wakes up again he'll be more coherent."

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"Third times the charm?" Came the question in his wife's voice.

"Huh? What?"

"You've been pretty confused the last two times you've woken up."

"Confused about . . . what?"

"About who killed Travis Cole," boomed his brother's voice.

"Shh, not so loud, Bret. You rattle the walls."

"Sorry. Is this better?"

"Yes." Doralice waited for the questions from Bart, but none materialized. "Honey, are you alright?"

"Yes. No. Where was I hit?"

"Well, you got a shoulder full of shot, and your wrist is pretty bad, too."

"Is that all?"

"Ain't that enough?" Bret replied.

"What about Cole?"

"He got a whole load of it in the middle of the chest."

"Who?"

"It must have been me," Doralice replied quietly.

"No."

"Bart . . . we've been through this before."

"Doralice, you couldn't have."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Bart was quiet as he struggled to remember. Several minutes went by before he finally looked up with regret in his eyes. "No."

"Bart . . . " Bret started.

Doralice reached out and stopped him. "Wait a minute, Bret. Don't push him. You know he's had memory problems before."

"He was injured, Doralice, and one-handed. I don't think he could . . . "

"I don't think he could, either."

All three of the Mavericks were silent. The first one to speak was Bret. "Let's leave it alone for now. Maybe he'll remember exactly what happened later."

Bart murmured quietly, "I hope so."