Linda Broday - Give Me A Texan

To Aggie’s surprise, the doctor asked her if she wanted to stay while he examined her husband. Part of her wanted to run as far away from the smell of blood as she could get, but another part knew she belonged here. She was bound to this man she’d known less than two days. Bound by honor as well as the law.

As the doctor worked, stitching up the long gash in Hank’s hairline, Aggie gently held his head in her lap. The wonder that she could care for a man so quickly danced in her mind with the grief that would come if she lost him.

In the few hours they’d been together she’d taken him into her heart, and there he would remain whether she loved or mourned him for a lifetime. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the moment she’d known he could be someone to depend on and trust. Though she liked his laughter and the way he gently teased her, it had been something far more basic that drew her even during their conversation outside the dugout. Hank listened. He really listened to her. Could something so simple form a bond that would weather them through hard times?

She looked down at his lean body. Strong and tan from hard work. It occurred to her that she’d never seen so much of a male body before and she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t-somehow this man belonged to her-was a part of her.

“Keep his head as still as you can, Mrs. Harris,” the doctor ordered. “I don’t want him thrashing about when I set this leg.”

Aggie placed her hands on Hank’s cheeks and noticed her tears were falling across his face, but it didn’t matter; nothing mattered but Hank. She could not, would not, lose him.

When the doc and Blue set the leg, pulling the bone back in place, Hank groaned in pain. Aggie pressed her face close to his and whispered over and over, “You’re going to be all right, dear. You’re going to be fine.”

Aggie watched, feeling the pain with him as they sewed up the cuts and strapped his leg to a board that ran from his knee to his foot. She washed his face and chest, keeping him cool as the doctor checked his head wound again and again.

Finally, a little after dawn, the doc packed up his things, saying all that was left to do was to wait and see. Hank seemed to be resting comfortably, which was the best medicine.

An hour later, Aggie heard Blue talking to the sheriff. The lawman insisted on speaking to her, but she wouldn’t leave Hank’s side to go into the main room. Her new nightgown was spotted with blood and she didn’t remember when she’d removed her robe or where. Hank’s Colts hung on the headboard, within easy reach if she needed them.

Finally, Blue opened the door and asked if it would be all right if the sheriff came in for a minute.

Aggie pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders and nodded. The sheriff walked in, took one look at her, and didn’t waste time with small talk.

“Did you see the man who did this?”

“One man.” Aggie tried to focus on something besides Hank’s breathing. “I only saw his shadow. He wasn’t tall but he seemed thick, barrel-chested, or it may have been his coat that made him look so. His horse was dark, black or brown and bigger than most. I don’t remember any markings. I heard him swear as he rode from the barn, but he was only in my sites for a moment.”

The sheriff looked up from his notes. “You fired at him?”

“I hit him,” she said.

“How do you know? He didn’t stop. How can you be sure, Mrs. Harris? Maybe you only thought you hit him?”

Suddenly too tired to keep her eyes open, she curled beside Hank. “I hit him,” she mumbled, “because I always hit what I aim at.”

“And where did you aim?”

“Left shoulder,” she answered as she rested her head on Hank’s arm. “Look for a man wounded in the left shoulder and you’ll find the man who attacked my husband.”

She fell asleep without seeing the look the sheriff and Blue gave each other.

Hank came to one painful inch at a time. His leg felt like he’d left it in a campfire. His head throbbed.

He turned slowly. Something soft bushed his chin.

Opening one eye he recognized Aggie’s hair. She was curled up in a ball, sleeping beside him. The thin blanket barely covered her.

“She’s been asleep like that for a few hours.” Blue’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Stayed up with you all night. Refused to leave your side even when the sheriff wanted to see her this morning.”

Hank forced through the pain and moved his head enough so that he could watch his friend cross the room. “She okay?”

Blue chuckled. “Sure. Says she shot the guy who clubbed you.” The older man added, “Said it as calm as if she weren’t doing nothin’ more than shooting rats in the barn. Just from what I’ve seen today I’d say she might be a tiny thing, but there ain’t nothin’ frail about her.”

Hank closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened in the blackness of the night. Someone had been outside of the barn. He remembered stepping to the door. Then he’d seen Aggie on the porch, her white gown billowing around her, waving danger her direction. His last thought had been that he had to get to her.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and felt the bandage across half his forehead. He must have been hit, but he couldn’t remember the blow. The only thing in his mind had been panic that Aggie was in danger.

“What’s the damage?” he asked as if he were talking about a machine and not his body.

Blue shrugged. “Not as bad as it could have been. Four stitches in your head. Left leg broke about three inches below your knee. Doc said it should heal clean.”

Hank mumbled as Blue offered him water. “Any idea who or why?”

Blue shook his head. “Didn’t know you had an enemy in this world, boss, but one thing is for sure, whoever attacked you meant to hurt you. The second blow broke your leg, not the first. A man planning to rob you wouldn’t have done that. No need. You were already out cold.”

Hank tried to reason as he cobbled together all that had happened. Maybe the traveler was afraid he’d shoot him for being on his land. Or maybe he was an outlaw running from the law and wanted to make sure no one followed. Why else would the stranger break his leg?

“Get some rest.” Blue pulled a heavy quilt over Hank. “It looks like it’s going to rain the rest of the day. Lizzy and I are going home to get some sleep. We’ll be back long before nightfall to check on you and bring some soup. My guess is that little wife of yours won’t leave your side to cook any more than she would for other reasons.”

Hank touched the gun belt on his bedpost. “We’ll be fine.” He forced his voice to sound stronger than he felt. “Let the mutt in before you leave. He’ll warn us if anyone tries to get into the house.”

Blue nodded. “I’ll find you a stick to use for a cane. The doc says you can climb out of that bed as soon as you feel up to it, but don’t put any weight on that leg for at least a week.”

Hank nodded, hating the idea that he’d lose days of work. The cane might get him around the house, but he wouldn’t be able to go outside until the mud dried out, and even then he couldn’t ride. Being laid up was going to cost him dearly.

“I’ll keep an eye on things until you’re getting around better.” Blue’s face seemed to have added a few new wrinkles in the past hours. “Lizzy or I will check on you two a few times a day just to see if we can help, and I’ll go in for any supplies you need.” He glanced at Aggie. “Hell of a first day for the little missus.”

“Much obliged.” Hank hated needing help, but he knew he’d offer the same to Blue if need be.

Blue disappeared out the door.

Hank stayed awake long enough to hear them leave. They let the dog in and Ulysses hurried to the side of the bed where Aggie slept. The old dog laid his head on the edge of her blanket and waited for her to pat him.

“Lay down, Ulysses,” Hank whispered as he drifted off. “She’ll pet you when she wakes.”

An hour later, Hank moved slightly and pain brought him back from a dream. He rolled his head and faced sleepy blue-green eyes watching him from a few inches away.

He didn’t move. Their heads rested on the same pillow.

“Do you need anything?” she whispered.

“Sleep,” he answered. “How about you?”

“I’m cold,” she admitted as she crawled off the bed.

Her crimson-spotted nightgown was stiff in spots with Hank’s dried blood, and so wrinkled it looked more like a rag.

He lifted the side of the heavy quilts covering him. “Climb in,” he offered. “We can go back to sleep. With this rain it seems like twilight outside.”

She shook her head as she tried to straighten her gown. “I can’t sleep in my clothes and I have no other gown. Maybe if I get dressed and wash this it will dry in a few hours.”

Pointing toward the door, he ordered, “Grab one of my flannel work shirts from the mudroom. It’ll be warmer and probably as long on you as that gown.”

She hesitated, but the night without sleep must have won out. She disappeared.

Hank relaxed as he listened to her bare feet run across the main room floor. He should have told her to grab socks as well.

A few minutes later, she stepped back into the room, buttoning the last button of his favorite shirt.

The flannel clung to her body and stopped at her knees. Though the shirt covered almost all of her, the sight of it on her warmed Hank more than the cotton warmed her.

Without a word, he lifted the corner of the quilt and she slipped in beside him, careful not to touch him.

When she shivered, he raised his arm and pulled her close. Her feet brushed his uninjured leg with the shock of an icicle sliding across his skin, but he forced himself not to flinch.

Her hand pushed against his bare chest. “I’m too close. I’ll hurt your leg.”