We were in Tom (now Sammy) Miller's General Store checking items off Maggie's list when I had one of those moments. Maggie had turned around and said, "Can you think of anything else, Mr. Maverick?" and the whole world flashed in front of my eyes and I staggered, suddenly dizzy. She reached out and grabbed for my arm, and it was only because of her quick thinking that I didn't fall.
"Are you alright?" she asked, real concern in her voice.
How could I tell her that there was nothing physically wrong with me, that the only problem I had was one of a long ago memory that reared its head and jolted me to my core? Of Caroline Crawford, the first time we'd gone into the store in Dry Springs, New Mexico and she called me Mr. Maverick? I, in turn, had called her Mrs. Maverick, and it sounded perfectly normal. Finally my head cleared enough that I could nod. "Yeah, sorry, I'm fine."
"That's all, Mr. Wilson," Maggie told the clerk, and against her protests I paid for the supplies. Then I picked up the box and carried them out, Maggie grabbing hold of my arm. Whether it was to steady herself or me, I'm not sure. It worked, and by the time we got back to her little house I really was fine. I put everything down on the kitchen table and she looked at me kind of sideways. "Are you sure you're alright?"
I even managed a small laugh. "Really, I'm fine. Somethin' . . . . . . somethin' from the past, that's all. Nothin' to worry about."
"Something physical?"
"Nope."
"Something you don't want to talk about?" I'll give her this, she was gentle but persistent.
"Yeah, somethin' that belongs right where it is, in the past." It had taken a long time for me to get around the memory of Caroline and what happened in New Mexico, and that's exactly where I wanted it to stay.
She didn't push any further, and I helped her put the supplies away. I probably should have gotten out of there and gone to track down my brother, to see if I could put this puzzle I'd inherited together, but I had no desire to leave. It was a pleasant day and I was enjoying the peace and quiet, and Maggie. I needed a day off at least as much as she did. We were having a good time, laughing and talking about nothing more important than which eggs were better, white or brown, and I had no desire for it to end. Sometimes you just gotta sit still for five minutes, you know?
I discovered Maggie was a pretty decent whist player, and we played most of the afternoon. She played poker, too, but wasn't quite as good at that. I insisted on taking her to dinner. Which required some personal maintenance on my part. "I'll be back for you in half an hour, I promise," I told her, and she laughed and shook her head.
"No, I'm coming with you. I'll wait for you in the sitting room at the hotel."
I gave that a moment's thought and decided she had a point. The way my life went, as soon as I was out of her sight somebody would need me for something and we'd never get to dinner. So we got her all bundled up in her coat and then left for the hotel. It was already dark out and the wind had kicked back up; I tried to shield her from its cold and bite.
I still don't know who the bullet was meant for, although I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt Maggie. It wasn't until later that I found out who shot at us. I pushed her into the doorway and protected her as best I could as I pulled my gun and tried to see in the direction the shot had come from. Nothing and no one was visible in the darkness. The hotel was two doors ahead and I told Maggie, "Run when I get to three. One, two, three . . . . . " and she ran as I turned and fired to provide enough cover for her, then I turned and ran myself. I was almost at the hotel door when I heard the second gunshot and felt the sting in my back. It hurt like hell, but then they always do.
I fell inside the hotel door and crashed to the floor, hearing a loud 'crack' as my head caught the edge of a table in the hotel lobby. I've no idea what happened after that. Some time later I opened my eyes slowly and with difficulty to find everything swimming in front of me, and a burning pain in my back and all through the left side of my body. It wasn't like the rifle shot in Mexico that almost killed me, but it was agonizing enough on its own. My forehead was throbbing as my vision steadily cleared and Maggie's blue eyes came into focus. She caressed the side of my face with her hand while she murmured. "That's it, Bart, just come back to me now."
"Didn't know I'd left," I mumbled and she laughed softly.
"Doc's here now," she told me, and her face was replaced by the not-quite-as beautiful Doctor Demmers. He wiped my face with something, the spot near my right eye where I'd hit the table, and the mere touch of his fingers made my vision blur all over again. It stung for just a minute and gradually the pain diminished. I wish I could say the same for my back.
"I gotta get ya moved, son," he told me, and only then did I realize I was in an exam room. Before I could ask him how I'd gotten here, I felt hands roll me over on my stomach and heard my shirt being ripped open.
"Guess that just went the way a my coat, huh?" a familiar voice asked, and I knew how I'd gotten from the hotel to Doc's office. 'Wait a minute,' one of the voices in my head told me. 'How'd he do that with one arm?"
Before I could actually ask the question Doc was poking around in my back and when he hit the spot where the bullet had caught me I just about went through the ceiling. "Hmmmmpf," Doc muttered, and I didn't like the sound of that. It meant the bullet was still in there and he was gonna have to dig for it. "Whiskey?" was the next thing that came out of Doc's mouth, and I heard Bret answer him quietly.
"No."
"Get Maggie outta here," I muttered through clenched teeth, and I heard a door open and close, with footsteps in between. "Now you can dig for it, Doc," I told him, knowing full good and well that Mavericks tend to pass out when there's too much blood - or pain. I fulfilled my responsibility as a true Maverick progeny and woke up just as he was finishing the last stitch.
"Just think," I heard my brother tell me, "now you've got matching scars."
"No comfort," I mumbled. Bret walked into my line of sight and bent down to get closer. I noticed he no longer had his arm in a sling.
"Who was it, Bart?" he asked me, an edge to his voice.
"Don't know, Pappy," I told him honestly. "Take Maggie to dinner, would ya?"
"You sure?" he asked me. "I hate to leave ya alone."
"Goin' to sleep," I told him. I felt his hand on my shoulder and then he took me at my word and his footsteps went to the door. My back hurt, my head ached. It had been such a good day, ruined by a bullet. As I drifted off into the land of the asleep or unconscious I had only one thought – I was sure glad Maggie was safe.