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  “Good news, Mr. Cook,” her father said, “Mr. Brown here has a long wooden board we can use as a stretcher for the trip. If we tie your head and feet to the board, it should limit the movement and save you a great deal of pain.”

  “Pa, just lifting him to give him a drink a moment ago caused him a great deal of pain. Are you sure moving him is wise?” Emma whispered in her father’s ear. She didn’t want to question his decision in front of the other men.

  He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, my dear. It will be fine.”

  Emma watched helplessly as the wooden plank was brought in. It was balanced across a stool and held in place by her father as Deputy Jennings hooked his arm under Mr. Cook’s and Mr. Brown took his feet.

  On the count of three, they hoisted Mr. Cook onto the plank, eliciting another small groan from the man. Then her father began wrapping bandages around Mr. Cook’s head and the top of the board and then around his feet and the bottom of the board.

  When the wrapping was finished, the two men lifted the stretcher and Emma and her father followed them out of the clinic. Her father took a moment to lock the door before asking, “Emma, why don’t you and I ride in the back of the wagon with Mr. Cook to help keep him from being jostled.”

  “Yes, Pa,” Emma said before climbing into the back of the wagon. Mr. Cook’s eyes were still closed, and wrinkled lines marred his forehead letting her know he was still in pain.

  Her father climbed up across from her and between the two of them, they managed to keep the stretcher relatively still on the short ride to their house.

  “Emma, go and make up my bed for Mr. Cook here,” her father instructed as the wagon came to a stop in front of the house. “And see if you can keep the children occupied with something until we get him comfortable.”

  Emma nodded and climbed down from the wagon, careful not to disturb Mr. Cook and cause him any more pain. As she reached the porch steps, the door swung open and Jennie ran out.

  “You’re home early. Does that mean we get to play?” Jennie danced from one foot to the other in excitement.

  “Maybe in a bit. I need to get father’s bed made for a guest who will be staying with us,” Emma said, patting her sister on the head before stepping by her.

  “Who’s our guest?” Jennie asked pulling on Emma’s skirt as she followed her into the house.

  “His name is Mr. Cook. He is a bounty hunter who was shot and needs us to look after him for a few days.”

  “He was shot?” Benjamin asked with interest, looking up from the kitchen table where he was studying.

  “Yes, but you are not going to bother him,” Emma admonished. “He is going to need his rest.”

  “Aw, shucks,” Benjamin grumbled under his breath, but he dropped his eyes back to his paper.

  Emma pushed open the door to her father’s room. He was rarely home except to sleep, so there was very little out of place. She quickly smoothed the sheets and plumped the pillow before turning back to the door where she ran right into Jennie, who had been watching her every move.

  “Is he handsome?” the young girl asked.

  “What?” Emma asked as she stepped around the girl again.

  “The guest. Is he handsome?” Jennie pressed again.

  “I suppose,” Emma said. She had noticed his chiseled features and his intriguing green eyes, but she had been more concerned with caring for him than noticing if he were handsome.

  “Would you marry him?” Jennie asked in a sing-song voice stopping Emma in her tracks.

  She whirled on the girl, her blond hair flying out behind her. “There will be no talk of marriage. He is a guest in our house to get better, not to get fixed up with someone.” Emma felt a little guilt over her words when Jennie’s face dropped. “I’m sorry, Jennie. Why don’t you see if Benjamin needs any help with his studying?”

  The little girl pouted her lip but did as she was asked. With a sigh, Emma resumed her task of returning to the wagon waiting outside. “Okay, Pa, your bed is ready.”

  The men moved into action. Her father climbed down from the back and Deputy Jennings and Mr. Brown hopped down from the front. They inched the stretcher out until they were able to each take an end. With her father holding the middle to keep it as still as possible, the men walked with a steady gait into the house and to her father’s room.

  Emma noticed that Mr. Cook’s eyes remained closed though she wasn’t sure if it was by choice or if he had simply passed out again. The men placed the stretcher on the side of the bed and then as before lifted Mr. Cook by the armpits and the feet to place him on the bed. As no groan accompanied this move, Emma assumed he had lost consciousness. She grabbed a nearby blanket and pulled it over him before following the men out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

  “Thank you both,” her father said to the other two men as they exited the front door. “Benjamin,” he said turning to her brother, “Go find Samuel and hitch up my wagon please.”

  “Where are you going, Pa?” Jennie asked in a timid voice.

  “To Opdyke West for a few days,” her father answered. “Emma will be in charge. Where’s Carrie?”

  “Here, Pa,” Carrie said emerging from the bedroom the girls shared.

  “Carrie, can you take over cooking dinner for the next few days? Emma may have her hands full with our guest.”

  “Of course, Pa.”

  “Good, now Emma, listen carefully. You’ll need to monitor his heart rate often to make sure he isn’t going into shock. Change the dressing once a day, but otherwise keep it covered to keep germs out. His neck will be sore, but he should be able to sit propped up, and he’ll probably need soup or broth for a day or two but then get him on soft food. As soon as he’s able, get him walking around.”

  Emma nodded, trying to memorize his instructions before asking, “What if he goes into shock, Pa?”

  “Keep him comfortable, cover him with a blanket, and send Samuel to get me.”

  Emma nodded as the door opened and Samuel and Benjamin stepped inside. “The wagon’s ready, Pa,” Samuel said.

  “Good, help out your sisters while I’m gone and keep an eye on the stranger. The shotgun is by the front door,” her father said. He hugged each of them before exiting.

  Emma exhaled and sent up a silent prayer that everything would be okay while her father was gone.

  Chapter 5

  Though the throbbing in his neck had lessened, the pain in William’s stomach had now replaced it. He was hungry. His hand reached for the silver bell, but it wasn’t there. A few further pats of the area near his hand yielded no result either. Where was the woman? In fact, where was he?

  William’s neck was still stiff, but he could tell from what he could see that the room was different, homier. The previous events flooded back into his mind. They had moved him from the clinic to the doctor’s house. How long had he been out?

  The door opened, and the blond woman entered carrying a tray with a bowl and a cup on it. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said upon seeing him. “I brought you some soup my sister Carrie made and some water. Do you feel up to eating?”

  His stomach felt up to much more than just soup, but he wasn’t sure how his neck would feel when he tried to sit up. “I’m starving,” he said.

  The woman smiled - what was her name again- and set the tray on a nearby table. As she reached behind him to move the pillow up, the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar filled his senses. Trying to ignore the tempting smell, William pushed against the bed and struggled to sit up. With a great deal of pain and a minor amount of groaning on his part, he managed to sit upright.

  “Are you in too much pain?” the woman asked, her face scrunched in sympathy.

  “It’s fine,” William said through clenched teeth. Stewart! That was her name, Mrs. Stewart.

  “My father recommended just soup for a few days to make sure your wound is mostly healed before you do a lot of chewing, but I promise it’s good soup.”

  “Thank
you, Mrs. Stewart,” he said, taking the soup bowl from her.

  A soft pink flooded her cheeks. “I think, since you’ll be staying with us for the next few days, that you can call me Emma.”

  William brought the bowl to his lips and managed a large gulp before lowering it and stating, “Then you can call me Bill.”

  Emma’s nose scrunched, and her face contorted with a look of displeasure. “Bill? Is that your full name?”

  “No, it’s William,” he said. “You don’t like Bill?”

  “It sounds like an outlaw’s name. If it’s all the same, I will call you by your God-given name of William.”

  William stared at the woman. He should be offended, but he detected no ill will in her statement, and he rather liked the way William rolled off her tongue. “That’s fine,” he said and brought the bowl to his lips to hide his smile.

  Though it still hurt to swallow, it was manageable pain and William quickly finished the bowl of soup and the water. “Would it be possible to get some more?” he asked as the roaring in his stomach was barely abated.

  Emma’s eyebrows inched up her forehead. “I see you’ve gotten your appetite back. Yes, I’ll get you some more but first I need to change your dressing.”

  “Fine,” he said with a nod. He didn’t tell her that the thought of her gentle touch sent his heart beating faster.

  As Emma leaned over him, he could see tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes and he was drawn to them like he hadn’t been since Catherine. Catherine - the image of her bleeding out in the street filled his mind. Even though he’d been a deputy sheriff, he hadn’t been able to protect her. He pushed thoughts of Catherine and Emma out of his mind; he didn’t need that pain again and she needed a man who could protect her.

  Emma pulled back the dressing, and a grimace crossed her face. She tried to recover and quickly averted her eyes, but William had seen the shock in her eyes.

  “Is it bad?” William asked.

  “No,” Emma said biting her lip. She was not a good liar, but he found the gesture endearing nonetheless. “I just haven’t treated a lot of gunshot wounds.”

  Based on her reaction, he wondered if she had treated any gunshot wounds. “Have you always helped your father out?” William asked, trying to keep his mind off Emma’s perfect pink lips as she cleaned the wound.

  “No, I don’t mind helping people, but I really just wanted to be a mother and raise a family.”

  She touched a sensitive area of the wound and William sucked in his breath. Her eyes grew wide.

  “I’m sorry. Does it hurt too badly?”

  “It’s better today than it was yesterday,” he said as the pain subsided.

  As Emma turned to grab another bandage, William fought the urge to ask her why she didn’t have a family. He was not a great judge of age but guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. Most women were married by twenty-one in the West.

  Though curious, he knew he hadn’t known her long enough to ask such a personal question. Thankfully, she finished her story, satisfying his curiosity.

  “I was married but my husband was killed shortly after we married. After Joseph’s death, I moved back in with my father and began helping him in the clinic.”

  “Do you,” William paused, but his intrigue got the best of him and though he wasn’t sure why he cared, he held his breath as he finished the question, “hope to marry again?”

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was too forward of me to ask.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s just that my sister asked the same thing yesterday. It’s like everyone is trying to marry me off all of a sudden.” She began applying the new dressing as she spoke. “I hope one day to marry again if God sees fit to send me the right man. I’m in no hurry though. I learned a long time ago to wait for His timing.”

  William bit the inside of his lip to keep his comments to himself. He had once invested as much stock in God as Emma seemed to, but the loss of Catherine had shaken his faith and he was no longer sure God existed. Worse yet, William wasn’t sure he cared whether God existed or not.

  “Okay, all done. I’ll go and get you more soup now.”

  As Emma left the room, William leaned farther back into the pillow and closed his eyes. He had been hiding the pain from her, but the throbbing sensation was starting to pulse into his head.

  “Were you really shot?”

  He opened his eyes to see a young boy with dirty blond hair and an even younger girl with dark brown hair staring at him. These must be the younger siblings. “Yes, I was, but your sister just changed the dressing, so I can’t show you.”

  “Did it hurt?” the little girl asked, her blue eyes wide and round.

  William chuckled. “I can’t recommend it. It’s definitely painful.”

  “Are you really a bounty hunter?” the boy asked.

  “Yes, I am, but again I can’t recommend it. It is how I got shot after all.”

  “Benjamin, Jennie, get out of here and leave our guest alone,” Emma scolded, re-entering the room with another serving of soup.

  “It’s okay,” William said. “They were just being curious.”

  “Yes, well, they are supposed to be doing their chores, which is what they are going to do now.” Under her admonishing stare, the two younger children ducked their heads and scurried out of the room. “I’m sorry. They’re not used to having visitors in the house.”

  “How many of you are there?” William asked. He thought she had mentioned the number once, but the previous day was still cloudy from the pain he had been in.

  “Five,” Emma answered, passing him the bowl. “I’m the oldest and Jennie is the youngest at six. I’m sure you’ll meet Carrie and Samuel, the older two, soon enough.”

  William downed the second bowl of soup and then handed it back to Emma. “Did your father say how long I would need to stay here?”

  Emma smiled at him. “Are you tired of our hospitality already?”

  “No, it’s not that,” William said quickly, “but I still need to bring Monroe in to collect my bounty.”

  “Do you enjoy it?” Emma’s voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. “Being a bounty hunter?”

  “It pays well,” William said.

  “But isn’t it lonely?” Emma continued. “Don’t you want more out of life than that?”

  “No. With more comes pain, and I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

  Emma bit her lip as if she wanted to say more, but his tone of voice had cut her questions short. He was glad. He didn’t feel like talking about the pain. Burying it and ignoring it was much easier, and though Emma had also lost a spouse, he doubted she had held her husband as she watched the life slip out of his eyes as he had with Catherine.

  “I’ll be back later with supper,” Emma said, heading for the door. “You should get your rest.”

  “Wait, do you know where my horse is?” William asked. “I had her tied up at the saloon when I went after Monroe, and I have items in my saddle bag I’d like back.”

  “I’m not sure,” Emma replied, “but I’ll send Samuel to look. If he finds your horse, he can bring her back to our barn and board her until you’re feeling better.”

  “Thank you.” A part of William wanted to call her back, so he could explain about his pain, but he kept his mouth shut. It was better this way. He didn’t need to be distracted by Emma’s pretty face, and she didn’t need the likes of him in her life.

  Chapter 6

  As Emma closed her father’s door and meandered into the kitchen to wash the bowl, she wondered what pain William held in his past. At only twenty-five, she had seen enough people suffer through tragedy to recognize the signs. Her own father had displayed similar signs when their mother died, throwing himself into his work and forgetting his family for a time.

  Was that what had happened to William? It would make sense. He appeared to be in his early thirties and most men were marr
ied by that time. He certainly was handsome enough to have had a wife.

  Emma shook her head at that thought. She had no business noticing his handsome features. William Cook was not going to remain in her life. He would be gone as soon as he was healed. He had made that evident just a moment ago. And she could never be a bounty hunter’s wife. She had worried too much when Joseph was with the Rangers and then had been forced to deal with his early death.

  No, while she knew safety was not guaranteed in the West, she needed someone stable. Someone who would want to ranch or farm or do something less dangerous. Someone like... Carl. Emma sighed as she sat at the kitchen table. Only she had no affection for Carl, and after having a marriage to Joseph based on affection, she wasn’t sure she could settle for anything less in the future.

  The family Bible sitting at the edge of the table caught her eye and Emma pulled it closer to her. Without knowing what specifically she was looking for, she flipped open the large book landing in the book of John.

  An underlined verse jumped out at her. Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. - John 14:27. Yes, that’s what she needed to do. She needed to give her troubles over to God. He had always been there for her, even when she lost Joseph and felt alone. In fact, it had been then she had felt closest to God, almost as if she could feel His loving arms around her and His fatherly voice telling her it would be okay.

  “What cha doing?”

  Jennie’s voice broke through Emma’s thoughts, and she opened her eyes and smiled at her sister. “I was just talking to God.”

  “For the man?” Jennie asked.

  “William?” Emma asked, confused. “No, more for myself really.”

  “William, is it?” Carrie asked, entering from the girls’ bedroom. That girl had a knack for hearing her name in conversations or entering the room whenever she thought she might learn something juicy.

  Emma shook her head in protest even as she felt heat climb up her neck. “It’s not like that. He’s just going to be here a few days, and it felt silly to keep calling him Mr. Cook.”