~~Chapter 3

I held out my hand and let him haul me to my feet. I swayed a little and he turned to support me with his arm around my waist. He was stronger than he looked. We staggered up the porch stairs and into the house. The boy half-carried me to a chair. He searched a shelf and selected a jar filled with brown powder. He tapped a big spoonful into a tea pot and poured in hot water from a kettle over the fire. He rushed back to help me out of my coat.

"Your fingers are not frozen but very near," he said, massaging my hands. "I see you also have a bullet wound in your leg." He pressed a wrist to my forehead. He poured from the teapot into a cup. "Drink this."

I tried to scoot closer to the fire but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

"I know you feel cold but your fever is very bad. I need to keep you cool a little while longer."

"You're a little young to be doctoring," I said, shivering.

"Hippocrates was practicing medicine at nine."

"So, a couple of years older than you, then."

"You are free to bed down in the stall with the other ass on this farm."

I hid my grin in my cup and choked down a sip of the bitter tea. I looked around the room. There was a kitchen at one end and two other doors. Through one I could see one narrow bed with a battered poppet propped against the pillows. A throw rug on the stone floor was faded but clean. There was a large pair of boots lined neatly by the front door but there was only one place set at the table.

"Are you here by yourself?" I asked.

"The tea will quiet your cough," he said, gently urging me with two fingers on my wrist, to lift the cup to my mouth. He gazed thoughtfully out of the window. "I thought the shot that you fired was my brother," he said. "He is to return from Fort Hardy today."

"Fort Hardy?" I asked. I peered blearily into my cup.

"Less a fort and more a trading post with a couple of fat Calvary men to guard it," he said. "It is thirty miles northeast from here. We pick up our mail and some supplies there. My brother is late and there is a storm coming."

My brain sluggishly turned over this information. "Where are your folks?" I asked.

He swung the kettle back over the fire and stood with his back to me. "My parents are dead," he said, after a moment.

"I'm sorry."

He turned and peered into my face. I blinked once, slowly.

"I believe you've had enough of this tea," he said, prying my cold fingers from the cup. "I had to guess the dose because you are the largest man I have ever seen." He handed me another cup. "This is only warm water but drink it down, too. You are dry as paper."

"Your brother - .What is - ," I began. I swallowed thickly.

"I must get your horse and our animals into the barn. Can you manage getting undressed on your own? I need to look at that bullet wound in your leg." He refilled the kettle from a bucket of water and poked up the fire. He buttoned his coat and headed for the door.

"Wait," I rasped. I struggled to get up.

"We can talk later, Marshal. I'll be back shortly. Stay away from the fire," he said, going out and closing the door firmly behind him.

I slumped back into the chair. I could feel myself sinking into a well of exhaustion. All I wanted to do was lay down by the fire and sleep.

I got as far as toeing off my boots.

xxxxxx

"Marshal? Mr. Dillon?"

I felt cool fingers pat lightly against my cheeks.

"Wake up, Marshal."

I blinked awake. "Doc?" I croaked.

"It is James."

Everything - my headache, my sore throat, my burning lungs –seemed blurred around the edges. I was clammy with sweat. I sat up and leaned forward with my head down, propping my forearms on my thighs.

James pressed his cheek to the space between my shoulders.

"Wha – what're doing?" I asked.

"Listening to your lungs rattle like pebbles in a tin can," he said.

"I just need a couple hours of sleep," I mumbled.

"You need much more than that. You are going to get worse before you get better."

He tugged at my vest, trying to work it off my shoulders.

"Why are you pulling on me," I asked, querulously.

"Your horse smells better than you do."

I ran my fingers through my hair and held my hand against the back of my neck, suppressing a frisson of irritation. All of this fussing was not necessary. A good, hard sleep was usually all I needed to set me on the mend.

"Sleep," I rasped.

"You will have a bath first. And you will have more water and then some broth."

"You're bossy."

"I could knock you out and strip you myself."

I waved a hand. "Settle down, cowboy," I said. I rose slowly and the room tilted. I reached out and gripped James on his shoulders to steady myself. I could feel his collar bones under my thumbs, hard and thin as a wooden hanger. His fingers worked at the buttons on my shirt.

"I can do it," I said.

"Let me," said James.

"You don't even know me."

"Really, Marshal. You must learn to allow others to do for you."

Maybe he did know me.

I stood with my hands on his shoulders and gazed at his face as he undressed me. He had thick, upswept brows and a high, clear forehead. His mouth was soft and his jaw was strong and delicate at the same time. His eyes were large and set far apart – and they were the exact shade of Lucien Lémieux's. In fact, he was the spitting image of Lucien except his skin was smooth and dark as a plum.

This skinny kid was the reason Lucien Lemieux refused to pass for white.

xxxXXXxxx