CHAPTER THIRTY

Hank was disturbed by a thump some time later. It was early in the morning and with the bottle of whiskey empty his mind was fuzzy, making him unsure whether he had imagined the noise or not. He sat up slowly and put his hand on his gun which lay on the bed beside him. There was silence and after a while he forgot about it, his mind occupied once again by the thought of Myra being pregnant. A little while later he leapt to his feet at the sound of a door crashing back against a wall and then footsteps in the corridor. He threw his own door open and charged out.

"Outta my way!"

Much to Hank's surprise, he was knocked back against the wall by Horace who was carrying Myra in his arms. With her head rolling back and her arms dangling, it was clear she was unconscious.

"Where ya goin' with her?" Hank protested, starting to follow.

Horace ignored him, charging out through the bar as fast as his long legs would carry him. Somehow he got the door open without dropping Myra and then disappeared in the direction of the clinic. Since the door had been locked, Hank guessed he must have sneaked in through Myra's window. Hank felt a prickle of annoyance, coupled with anxiety at the state of Myra, wondering what could have happened to her, but he didn't continue following them. His head was thumping and he guessed Michaela would fix her up. He went to find some coffee, then thought better of it and snatched up a fresh bottle of whiskey. Just a few shots to make himself feel better and then he'd go over to the clinic and find out what was going on.

It was almost noon by the time Hank made it across the street. Horace had just emerged from the clinic, looking haggard from lack of sleep, his left eye swollen shut and purple from where Hank had hit him the day before. He halted nervously as Hank approached.

"When am I gettin' my girl back?" demanded Hank.

"Maybe never," Horace said grimly and turned to walk away.

"Whaddya mean by that?"

"She ain't pregnant."

Hank's spirits lifted for a brief moment, but then came crashing down again when Horace continued.

"She's got a tumor. Dr Mike's gonna operate on her." He turned away from Hank again and began to head up the street.

Filled with horror, Hank marched after him. It was all well and good having Michaela put a few stitches in him, but he wasn't having her start carving Myra up. It wasn't that long since she cut into Loren when he had a hernia and he'd almost bled to death. Half the town had stood outside the clinic to wait for the result while Horace, watching through the window, had reported that the operation looked like the slaughter of a pig. No way in hell was he letting that happen to Myra. Doc Eli's medicine would fix her if she could be bothered to take it. He barked at Horace now and said as much.

"She's havin' the operation and that's that," Horace said firmly.

"Listen up, lover boy, Myra belongs to me. I got a contract says so and I say she takes the medicine," snarled Hank.

"Yeah?" Horace stuck his chin in the air. He was sure asking for another punch.

"Yeah. What're ya gonna do about it?"

"Nothin'. Except this." Horace swung his fist so fast and so hard that it crashed into Hank's jaw and made him stagger before he even saw it coming. Astonished and furious with himself for being hit, he shook his head and then hurtled at Horace, throwing the pair of them to the ground. Pulling himself to his knees, he began to hit the other man in the face, splitting his lip, making his nose bleed, blacking the other eye. It didn't seem to matter how hard he hit or how much damage he did, Horace was determined and repeatedly gasped that Myra was having the operation. Now he scrambled to his feet, but Hank sprang up and delivered another weighty punch, knocking Horace against the wall before he could properly gain his balance.

"Horace!" Myra's anguished voice came from the clinic balcony above them.

"Myra!" Horace looked up and Hank followed his gaze.

She was standing there in a prim white nightdress, her face almost the same colour. He turned his attention back to Horace and hit him once again, realising that he wasn't even angry with the telegraph operator any more, but was simply lashing out in shock and fear of what might happen to Myra. People died from tumors all the time and those that didn't had parts of themselves amputated. He was beginning to realise that no amount of free medicine was going to help the situation.

"There ain't no other cure," Horace confirmed, spluttering blood.

Hank took a step back as Michaela and Doc Eli both rushed into the fray to save Horace from any further beating, Doc Eli telling Hank that Myra did need to have the surgery. It was the only way of saving her case was different and the medicine wasn't going to work. Hank glanced from one to the other, Horace now clutching at Michaela in an effort to stay on his feet as he swayed, punch drunk. He turned his attention from them and looked back up at Myra again. There was nothing he could do; she could die, with or without surgery and he didn't want to have to cope with another loss.

"You want her, you can have her. Only a damned fool falls in love with a whore," he said bitterly, still looking at Myra.

He doubted anyone realised he wasn't talking about Horace, but himself and he hadn't just done it once, but twice. First Clarice and now Myra. He loved Myra. He'd known it for years and simply denied it to himself, thinking he would save himself heartache and that the contract would keep her with him. He turned away now and walked off, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over, not even caring if anyone noticed. He passed Melinda on the way back to the saloon, apparently out looking for him. She ran to his side now and grasped his arm.

"Hank, what's wrong?"

"Get the hell off me!" he hissed, pushing her away hard enough to make her stumble. He hurried into the saloon and returned to his room to compose himself before he went back to the bar, deciding he had wasted enough time drinking himself stupid. Getting drunk wasn't going to change anything and it didn't help much in blotting things out either. He would just have to get on with it the best he could and hope that Michaela knew what she was doing.

The operation took place the next day. Dotty returned from Loren's store and commented that Dr Mike and Doc Eli were performing the surgery together. That didn't exactly fill Hank with confidence either; the visiting doctor was a drunk. He stayed behind the bar stewing for as long as he could manage and then strode outside, lighting up a cigar and trying to appear as if he didn't have a care in the world as he sauntered over to the clinic where Horace and Sully were sitting outside. He had to know what was going on; find out if Myra would survive.

"What d'you want?" Sully asked as he approached. His tame wolf which lay at his feet showed its teeth briefly.

"Just passin' by." Hank halted and leaned against the wall, looking at Horace. "She owes me, Horace. Got a year left on her contract yet," he said. He doubted it was anywhere near that long now, but Horace wouldn't know. Horace immediately got to his feet, both eyes swollen almost shut and his lip puffed up to match.

""I'm gonna buy out her contract," he said determinedly.

"You ain't got the money."

Horace immediately took a step forward, a glutton for punishment it seemed.

"Horace, sit down, shut up!" exclaimed Sully. After a brief moment he sat down meekly, apparently glad of Sully's interference.

"Both of ya," added Sully, glaring at Hank now.

Hank sighed heavily and walked over to the bench, lowering himself onto it between the other two. In a way he was relieved. He didn't have the energy or the inclination for another fight. The only thing that mattered was whether Myra would be alright.

Time crawled by and Horace looked at his pocket watch what seemed like every five minutes, reporting the time to the others until they had been waiting for over two hours. Eventually the door of the clinic opened to reveal Michaela, looking tired but not unhappy, to tell them that Myra was going to be fine. Horace darted inside immediately. Shrugging, Hank went back to the saloon. He knew full well Michaela would never let him in there and she had Sully and his wolf backing her up so there wasn't a great deal of point arguing. He could wait. He'd have Myra back again when she was well and hold the contract over her. He wasn't going to let her go without a fight; Horace could protest as much as he liked.

Myra remained at the clinic for several days after the operation and Horace went over there every lunchtime and as soon as he finished work. Hank ignored it as best he could and simply waited for her to come back. At last early on Saturday before the saloon opened, she did just that. Hank was sitting on the porch, his feet up on the railing smoking his first cigar of the day when he saw Horace go to the clinic. Michaela let him in, but then moments later the door opened again and out he came, Myra holding on tight to his arm, her free hand resting over her stomach. She was wearing a borrowed dress that was several sizes too big for her and her face had no colour in it at all. It occurred to Hank that she looked a lot like she had the very first time he'd seen her - pale, thin and unhealthy and wearing clothes that didn't fit.

Slowly they headed across the street to the saloon and Hank tossed the remains of the cigar to the ground, got up and waited for them to reach him. Myra gripped Horace's arm harder as she climbed onto the porch in front of him, grimacing a little in pain.

"I'll take it from here," Hank said gruffly, taking hold of Myra's free arm. "You ain't welcome in here, Horace."

Horace's mouth immediately opened to respond with something that would probably earn him another punch, not that there appeared to be a place on his face which wasn't bruised already. However, Myra interrupted before he could speak.

"It's alright, Horace, I'll be fine," she said, letting go of him. Hank smirked at the other man above her head and then turned to lead her into the saloon.

"How are ya?" he asked. "Ya look awful pale."

"Dr Mike said it'll take a while to heal completely," she said. "Outside the cut is almost healed, but inside it'll be a few weeks. I ain't gonna be able to work, at least not..."

"Don't matter," Hank interrupted. "More important that ya get better. When ya feel up to it, ya can just serve behind the bar."

Myra nodded, then stopped walking for a moment, gasping in pain and clutching her stomach again.

"What is it? Ya want me to carry ya or somethin'?" asked Hank in alarm.

"No, I'll be alright in a minute." She gripped his arm tighter with her other hand. "I'll be fine once I lie down. This is the first time I walked anywhere since the operation." She stayed still for a long moment and then let Hank lead her slowly to her room. She lowered herself carefully onto the bed and lay back against the pillows with a sigh.

"Ya want me to get ya anythin'?" Hank offered anxiously.

"No, I just need to rest."

He hovered for another minute, not knowing what to do with himself. It pained him to see her suffering and he wasn't sure whether this was even normal. Still, she was alive and he hadn't even been sure she'd survive the surgery.

"Just yell if ya need somethin'," he told her. "One of the girls can come to ya if it ain't nothin' I can do."

"Thank you, Hank." Myra closed her eyes now and he backed out of the door and returned to the bar, leaning on the counter with both hands, head hanging as he thought about her. He'd come so close to losing her, but now she was back he was going to make damned sure he didn't lose her for any other reason. He had no idea how she could possibly find Horace appealing, but he was determined not to give her any reason to want to continue with their 'chats' or whatever it was they'd been doing. He still wasn't sure on that. The first time when he interrupted them in her room, they hadn't been doing a thing. Then when she thought she was pregnant, Horace had said it was his fault, but no one had looked more astounded by this revelation that Myra. Hank had been so mad at the time that he hadn't considered it, but why would she look so shocked, unless she hadn't been with Horace at all and he'd lied to support her? Perhaps after all, Myra really had been telling the truth.