She closed her eyes again and took a moment to thank God that her son was still alive. It seemed a miracle that he had not been hurt in all the flying bullets, but then he had had his daddy protecting him. The whole event whirled in her mind. She could still hear the roaring guns, see the blood, hear people cry out, women scream. She could see that beautiful black stallion Jake had been so proud of, lying kicking and dying in the middle of the corral, could see Jake rolling and dodging, trying to keep his body over Lloyd’s.
“Hang him right here, that’s what we should do!” she heard someone shout.
Hang him! These were people who hours earlier had called themselves friends! Didn’t they care about the kind of man Jake had become? Were they so quick to judge?
Jake! He had been shot! How many times? Was he even still alive? She vaguely remembered his own cries of pain, had been too sedated to get up and go to him. My God! Had he died without her at his side? She had to find Jake! She sat up, gasping at the awful pain in her lower right side. It was an area that could not be favored. Every movement, every breath, brought the stinging agony.
She realized she wore only her drawers and a camisole. Her dress and slips had been removed so the doctor could stitch her side, and her entire middle was wrapped with gauze. Grunting with pain, she rose and pulled a blanket around her, but before she could leave the little room where she had been resting, she heard the door to the outer office close. In the next moment the doctor came into the room.
“What are you doing up?” Dr. Henderson rushed to her side.
“I have to see Jake. Is he all right?”
“He’ll be fine. He’s down the hall,” the man told Miranda. “You really shouldn’t be walking around, Mrs. Logan. After what happened, it’s a miracle you didn’t lose that baby you’re carrying.”
“Harkner. It’s Mrs. Harkner. Everyone knows that now, Doctor, so you might as well call me that. Please, I have to see my husband. Do you have some kind of robe I can put on?”
The man sighed in resignation. “You’re both pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” He brought over a cotton smock for her to wear. “I took three bullets out of him, and it’s a good thing you were out so you couldn’t hear his yelling. He refused anything for the pain, said he deserved to feel it. He wanted to feel it. I think he wants desperately to see you and the boy and make sure you’re all right, but he thinks you won’t want to see him. He kept talking about how his son is afraid of him now, and he couldn’t bear to see him look at him like that again.”
“I know all the things he’s thinking, Doctor, heard some of his shouting when you were working on him. I should have gone to him right then—”
“I wouldn’t have let you, even if you could have gotten off that bed. I shouldn’t let you up even yet. You’re liable to pass right out on me, and if you fall, you’ll ruin my artwork.”
She gave him a weak smile, but her eyes filled with tears. “I’m glad you decided to come here last month. Our little town needed a doctor.”
They talked softly so as not to wake up the baby. “Well, as far as calling this ‘your’ little town, I’m afraid a lot of the citizens out there don’t like that idea anymore.”
“I heard.” She wiped at her eyes. “They were once our friends.”
The doctor sighed. “Well, these people aren’t used to seeing what they saw today. It’s true Jake had to defend himself, but all they know is that he shot down seven men, and in the process five more people died who were perfectly innocent, and two were wounded, but not badly. Joe Grant’s wife is so worked up, I had to send some laudanum out for her neighbors to give her to calm her down.”
Miranda put a hand to her stomach. “Joe and Jake were close friends. I know this is hurting Jake as badly as if he had taken a bullet in the heart.” She sniffed. “Who else was killed?”
“Well, Brad Shaker, that young farmer out south of town, the one who was engaged to Tilly Boone. Herbert Hughes, a man from San Diego. We found papers on him to see who he was and we’ve wired San Diego to tell his relatives. Then Joe Grant, of course, and Bob Liberty, the owner of the hardware store; Larry Bates, another neighbor of yours. Luke Bradshaw and Billy Kuntz each took a bullet, but they were only flesh wounds.”
The names rang in her ears—all men they knew except for the one from San Diego. “Does Jake know all the names?”
“He knows. He must have asked me a dozen times, wanted to know if I was sure that was all. He’s pretty devastated, but I don’t think those people outside care.”