The Wedding Kiss Read online

  Elam took over for her. “Sassafras and whiskey?”

  She nodded and grinned up at him then went to work preparing utensils, homemade ointment, and boiled towels for bandaging.

  The marshal continued to sit at the far end of the long great room, taking it all in. Keara had apparently given him a glass of sassafras tea, and he sipped at it while keeping a close eye on his prisoner.

  Elam caught sight of his children playing out in the orchard, and he knew without asking that Keara had sent them from the house. Bless her for her wisdom.

  Ordinarily, Elam would have already invited their visitors to have dinner with them and spend the night. Though it wasn’t too late in the afternoon for the men to ride to Seligman, Missouri, someone with a gunshot wound would need rest. Even the marshal looked weary. Elam, however, couldn’t possibly offer them lodging. He needed them to get on down the road in a hurry.

  “Not much of an imbiber?” Elam handed Timothy a cup of water fresh from the spring.

  Timothy shook his head, thanked Elam, and gulped the water as if to get the taste of the alcohol off his tongue.

  Elam reassessed his judgment of the young man’s age. He was younger than Delmar, possibly younger than Raylene Harper, who had seen him in Eureka Springs on Monday. He had the calluses and muscles of a hardworking farmer, and he didn’t look old enough to have been to three states on a killing spree. Elam couldn’t help wondering about the fight Brute had mentioned. Maybe Raylene would have more information about him.

  “Where are your parents?” Elam asked the kid softly.

  “Probably home, wondering where I am by now.” Timothy glanced toward the marshal then back at Elam. “Everyone in Clifty knows Thomas and Miriam Skerit, and half the town’s probably already out looking for me. If I don’t come back through here, would you get word to them?” Fear shook the boy’s voice.

  “I will. We’ve got to get you treated.” Elam mixed more whiskey with tea and honey and handed it to the boy. “Drink a little more to help with the pain.”

  The sofa squeaked, and Elam turned to see the marshal straightening, stretching, gazing out the window toward the orchard to the left of the house.

  “Those your kids?”

  “They are.” Elam tensed as the man studied Britte, Rolfe, and Cash, and now he wished he’d left them with David and Penelope for the rest of the week—or until Susanna had healed and was able to travel.

  The marshal turned and caught Elam’s gaze. “Got any other family here?”

  “Water’s boiling, Elam,” Keara said as she took the empty cup from Timothy’s hand. “Would you help me?”

  “I’d be glad to help,” Frey said.

  “Thank you, Marshal,” Keara said, as if he’d just offered to do her a great favor. She dipped the hemostats into the boiling water. “You have experience working with gunshot wounds?”

  “I’ve seen a few.”

  “Elam and I have worked together on a few injuries in the past. He can practically read my mind.”

  “Get a lot of patients out this way?” Frey asked.

  “Yep, we do.” Elam cleared the dining room table. “Just not a lot of humans. Most of our patients are horses.”

  “I’m not a horse,” Timothy’s words slurred.

  “Don’t worry,” Elam said as he helped the kid from his chair. “We know better. We don’t usually numb our horses with our best whiskey.” He helped Timothy lie down on the sturdy dining room table, where just a couple of nights ago the ladies had argued over the best way to remove blood from Keara’s wedding dress. “I know it’s a hard bed, but it’s got the best light.”

  “I’ve slept on the ground a lot of times.” The young man’s eyes had grown blurry, a good sign he’d have a hangover later.

  Elam turned around to find that Frey had stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, as if he were sitting in the front row before a stage.

  “I’ll just be here if you need me,” Frey said.

  “We don’t usually perform in front of an audience, Marshal.” Elam couldn’t quite keep the sharpness from his voice. “Unless it’s a couple of stock horses.”

  “Actually, we may need the help.” Keara smiled up at the marshal. Not once had she even glanced in the direction of the stairs, though Elam knew she must be terrified for Susanna. Of the two of them, Elam was well aware she was better at acting.

  “Sweetheart, do you need more towels?” Elam asked her.

  If his words of endearment startled her, she didn’t show it. “Thank you, honey, I may need them. I have no idea what to expect when I go digging…” She stopped herself and glanced at the patient, whose eyes had closed and who had a dribble of drool trickling down the edge of his mouth.

  “I’d be glad to help fetch and carry,” Frey said.

  Elam eyed the man. Did he think a grown man would have trouble carrying a simple bundle of towels all by himself? Or did he want a guided tour of their house?

  “I appreciate the offer, but since you’ve had all that experience removing bullets,” Elam said, “then we’ll need you to assist down here.”

  Frey nodded at the hemostats. “Glad you’re so prepared, Mrs. Jensen. Where’d you get those tools?”

  “Why, Marshal, these can be ordered from any mercantile in town. We have to be prepared for anything, this far out.”

  Elam listened to his wife’s calm voice as he rushed up the stairs, and he offered up a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks for her presence in this house. In his life. And then he begged God to keep her hands and voice steady in the moments ahead.

  Fourteen

  Keara stared at the oozing wound in the center of Timothy’s left thigh and kept her expression calm as she listened for Elam’s returning footsteps. Why was he taking so long? She needed him down here to distract the marshal, keep him from hovering so close. Frey was going to realize any second that she barely knew how to hold this awkward, scissor-like contraption the right way, though it looked well-used.

  “Marshal, would you mind scrubbing your hands over at the basin? I’m going to need help keeping him still.”

  He nodded and did as he was asked without argument. US Marshal Frey was a big man, almost as big as Elam, probably a little older, in his midthirties, skin leathered and heavily freckled. He obviously spent a lot of time in the sun. Keara had been startled by the bright red of his hair when he took his hat off upon entering the house.

  How many US marshals had hair this long, this color? Susanna believed this was the man who had shot her. Keara couldn’t help wondering what he was up to and what Timothy Skerit had to do with it, but of course, she couldn’t ask questions and give the marshal an opportunity to start asking more questions of his own. He’d asked enough already.

  Keara doused a towel with whiskey and cleaned Timothy’s wound as deeply as she could, controlling her own reaction when he groaned with pain. She saw no sign of lead anywhere near the surface. When Frey handed her more towels and stepped across the table from her, she willed her hands not to tremble. She’d removed bullets before. Susanna had been her first human.

  She’d pulled plenty of teeth, however, and they were harder to pull than a bullet that wasn’t rooted into the bone.

  Blood didn’t bother Keara. She was never the squeamish sort. But causing pain? That bothered her a lot. She reminded herself that if she didn’t get the lead from Timothy’s leg, he would be in much more pain later.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had any strangers through here lately,” Frey asked.

  Keara stopped trickling whiskey on Timothy’s skin and looked up at the marshal. “We had a whole farm full of friends and strangers and family here on Monday night after Elam and I got married. Are you married, Marshal?”

  He frowned, shook his head.

  “That’s a shame. Every woman in the world would be happier with a strong man to come home to her at night.” She nipped at her tongue, sure that Jael and Pen would laugh until their sides ached if they heard her using “
feminine wiles” in this manner. “I guess you wouldn’t get home much though. I think I read US marshals travel a lot.”

  “They do.”

  “Well, let me warn you,” she said, hoping the smile she pasted on her face wasn’t crooked, “if you ever decide to marry, just go to the justice of the peace and get it done without any fancy wedding or hullabaloo. A chivaree may be fun for everyone else, but it’s not the kind of party a bride and groom want on their wedding night.”

  “Was there a brawl out on the front porch that night? I noticed what looked like well-scrubbed blood stains on the steps.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Only brawl that night was between human flesh and those steps,” Keara said. “Bloodied my own mother’s wedding dress—the one I wore for the wedding? I was sure glad to have the ladies here then, much as I complain about the chivaree. They got the stain out with nary a blemish. It would’ve broken my heart if I’d ruined that dress. Someday I hope Britte will wear it for her wedding.”

  Keara hadn’t talked this fast since the day she hiked to this place to convince Elam to marry her. She felt breathless, and when she heard Elam’s footsteps coming down the stairwell, she went weak. But she couldn’t let down her guard.

  She reached forward and touched Timothy on the cheek. He swallowed and muttered incoherently. Good. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Where do you live, Marshal?” Keara asked.

  “Philadelphia.”

  “My goodness, you are a long way from home.”

  “We go where we’re told.”

  Elam set the towels down on the corner of the table and stepped around to put his arm over Keara’s shoulders, like any happy newly-wed husband.

  She looked up at him and felt the deep tremors in her belly begin to still as she allowed the assurance in his dark brown eyes, and the touch of his arm, to flow through her.

  “You know, Mrs. Jensen,” the marshal said, “for someone without a medical degree, you’re handling this situation well.”

  “I haven’t gotten the bullet out yet,” she reminded him.

  And so she began. With Elam holding Timothy’s legs down and Frey holding the strong shoulders, Keara prayed as she cleared away blood and plunged and explored, glad for the sunlight shining through the kitchen window. She couldn’t very well ask to retrieve Kellen’s battery light that she used the night she removed Susanna’s bullet.

  Timothy muttered in his semi-consciousness. “You got the wrong guy.” His eyes opened and he looked up into Frey’s face. “Why are you doing this? Why’d you take me from home?”

  “This is for your own good, son.”

  “Arresting me?”

  Frey looked up at Elam. “More whiskey?”

  “He’s already going to have a nasty hangover from what he’s had.”

  “He barely drank half a glass.”

  “It doesn’t appear he ever tasted the stuff before today. Can’t have him getting sick.” Elam’s words had become clipped once more, and Keara could feel his temper rising again. She cast him a warning glance. A strong sense of justice had always run through him. Elam obviously believed Timothy was being blamed for crimes he didn’t commit.

  “I can send a jar of tea and whiskey with you, Marshal,” Keara said. “And more tea to brew if need be. But if he starts to bleed, you can’t give him much of the tea, because it’ll make the blood flow more freely. You can use the whiskey to clean the wound.”

  Frey nodded. “Thank you.”

  “If you were going to shoot a man in the chase,” Elam said under his breath, “the least you could have done was get him to a regular doctor.”

  “I did not shoot this man,” Frey snapped. “There was no chase. Maybe you should stop jumping to conclusions and get the facts before you start laying the blame at my feet.”

  “Then who shot him?”

  Frey took a deep breath, let it out, and slanted a glance at his prisoner. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “My li’l brother,” Timothy muttered. “Not hish…not his fault. We were huntin’ rabbits. He tripped…gun went off.”

  “I hope his little brother didn’t see you slap the handcuffs on him and haul him—”

  “Where in Missouri are you taking him?” Keara asked, shooting a hard look at Elam.

  Frey sighed. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

  Keara forced a fresh smile. “You don’t know much about women, do you, Marshal Frey? We can be a curious bunch.” She gave Elam a quick frown. “Not polite to argue with the law, honey.” And certainly not smart.

  Timothy’s eyes closed about the same time Keara saw the black lump of lead in his flesh. She glanced up at Elam, said a silent prayer for help, and reached for the hemostats.

  Perspiration dripped down her neck as she paused and took a deep breath. “Marshal, why don’t you give us a little rundown, distract our patient while I work?” she suggested quietly.

  Frey nodded, and so while he himself was distracted, explaining his reasons for not stopping in Eureka Springs—the gang of out-laws Timothy ran with were heard to be in town…Timothy’s little brother believed the marshal was taking Timothy to have his gunshot wound treated…the little brother had been assured he hadn’t killed his older brother—Keara managed to reach into the wound with the hemostats and pull out the bullet with no more than a grunt from her patient.

  She held the red-coated slug into the light. It looked like a .22 bullet, not the same size as the one she’d taken from Susanna’s shoulder. It seemed young Timothy and the marshal told the truth about that. It made her feel better.

  She placed the slug on a bloody towel and looked up at Elam.

  He nodded. “That’s my wife.” The anger had left his voice, and in its place she heard admiration that warmed her all the way to her bloodstained fingertips.

  “Marshal Frey, the bullet wasn’t as deep as I’d expected,” Keara said. “It just took a little turn after it hit flesh. You might not want to ride farther than Seligman tonight. They have a very nice inn there.”

  The marshal studied the wound and the bullet. “I think that’s a good idea. Don’t worry, I have to get him to Cassville to stand trial in two days, but there’ll be doctors there.”

  Relieved that the marshal hadn’t asked to lodge at their house, Keara set about treating the wound and packing it with whiskey-soaked gauze.

  “His pants are ruined,” Elam said, pointing to the bloodstained material that had been clipped away by Keara’s scissors. “I believe I have a pair that will fit him.”

  At Frey’s nod, Elam went back up the stairs.

  Timothy began to snore, his mouth open, the smell of whiskey strong on his breath.

  Frey chuckled. “He’ll be out for a while if we don’t do something. Got any coffee? He’ll need to be alert enough to ride.”

  “I’ll brew a pot as soon as I’m finished here.”

  “I know how to brew coffee, Mrs. Jensen.” The marshal’s voice was surprisingly quiet, almost gentle. “Tell me where things are and I’ll do that.”

  She blinked at him. She didn’t much like the man pawing through her kitchen cabinets, so she told him exactly where the coffeepot was. She watched as he worked to make sure he didn’t do any snooping. After emptying Susanna’s saddlebags of the few supplies she’d brought with her, Keara had placed them in the back pantry. Too close to the kitchen for comfort right now.

  “I have ham and dried fruit out in the springhouse,” she told the marshal as she wrapped Timothy’s wound with a fresh cloth and tightened it just enough so the leg wouldn’t start bleeding again. “If you’d like a meal before you go—”

  “I’ll take some along for the both of us. It’ll break the monotony of biscuits and hardtack. Thank you.”

  Elam came back down the stairs with a pair of work pants that looked too long for Timothy, but they could be rolled up. As Keara busied herself preparing food and jars of whiskey and tea, Elam and Frey changed the patient’s clothes.
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  “Looks like you’ve got your hands full, Marshal,” Elam said. “I think I’ll saddle up and ride with you a ways, make sure Timothy’s going to travel well.”

  Frey looked surprised. He held Elam’s gaze for a moment. “You intend to see me safely out of your territory?”

  “I aim to see you safely around fallen trees on the trail, past sinkholes that could break a horse’s leg if you’re not careful.”

  Frey hesitated a moment more before he nodded. “Well then, you’d be welcome to ride with us.”

  After Elam stepped out to see to the horses, Frey helped Keara pack the foodstuffs in a saddlebag, cooling the coffee with cold spring water and bracing his prisoner up to sip it.

  “You really think he’s killed people in three states?” Keara asked.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think, ma’am.”

  “But you said—”

  “The day you and your husband got married, did any of your visitors ride a black horse to your party?”

  Keara halted halfway through wrapping a loaf of freshly baked bread. “Now who’s the curious one?”

  “That’d be me.” He smiled. The marshal had a charming smile, probably had a good way with the ladies. “Black horse? Did you see a woman riding a big black horse on Monday?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose there were a few, though it was dark by the time the party began. The transportation companies in Eureka Springs like to use white horses and mules, so the black ones aren’t in high demand. A lot of reds, roans, draft horses…” She finished wrapping the bread.

  Frey picked up the handcuffs he’d removed from Timothy’s arms and recuffed the boy’s hands in front. “When I bring up the subject of Elam Jensen anywhere in these parts, all I hear about is the big wedding on Monday, about how you are good at doctoring people. Folks say neither of you would ever harbor a criminal.”

  Keara dropped the wrapped loaf on the counter. “A criminal!”

  Frey helped Timothy swallow a little more coffee, patted him lightly on the face a couple of times in an attempt to rouse him, then looked back at Keara. “As you reminded your husband, I’m the law, Mrs. Jensen. Most times, folks know it’s best to cooperate with a US marshal.”