“You think so, Marshal?” Dawson squinted up at Kase with unmasked hatred in his eyes. “You killed my brother. Ain’t none of us gonna forget it.”
“I don’t imagine any of you will have much time on your hands from here on out.”
Before Dawson could answer, even before Kase could react, the front connecting door flew open. A wild-eyed gunman paused long enough to take aim. Kase swerved, ready to fire, but Dawson lunged to his feet with a roar and barreled into him. He grabbed Kase in a fierce bear hug, intending to use him as a shield. The outlaw’s shot hit Kase low in the back, but propelled by pain and rage, Kase swerved and spun Dawson into the line of fire. The man’s second shot entered through the back and pierced Bart Dawson’s heart.
A third shot echoed through the car as one of the former hostages in the rear, using the gun Kase had kicked out of Dawson’s hand, opened fire on the final intruder. The outlaw fell forward over Kase and Dawson.
Finally, as the echoing sound of gunshots pulsed into silence, everything went still.
When the sound of gunfire ceased, Rosa stared in horror at the crumpled body of the conductor, which lay beside her on the platform. She felt as if every bone in her body had been jarred out of place when she hit the ground, but as she dragged herself to her feet and gauged the distance she’d fallen when Kase had thrown her out of the car, she decided nothing was broken. The shooting spree inside the car seemed to have ended. Cautiously she stepped forward intending to board, willing to face Dawson again if need be, to learn what had become of Kase.
“Wait here.” A hand on her sleeve held her back. She recognized Zach Elliot’s voice.
“But Kase—”
“Stay put.”
The man’s sharp tone brooked no argument, so she waited silently until he was aboard. Then Rosa used the metal stairs.
Oblivious to the many men who streamed in both doors, Rosa sought Kase. At first she was unable to locate him in the confusion. The last of the former hostages was filing out the rear door, carefully stepping around a fallen man Rosa recognized as Charlie Dawson. An older man dressed in a heavy fleece-lined jacket with a badge pinned to the lapel stood over the fallen outlaw. It wasn’t until she stepped farther into the car that she saw Zach Elliot kneeling over Kase, who was stretched out in the aisle.
Her heart in her throat, she stepped forward cautiously. She reached out to steady herself with a hand on Zach’s shoulder. He turned at her touch, his face grim.
“Kase’s been hit. Took a bullet in the back.”
“Dio.
” As she whispered the word, she had a fleeting vision of Giovanni’s crudely marked grave as it must be now— covered with snow. Her mind rebelled even as it formed the thought. Not Kase. Please, God, not Kase.
“Give me your scarf.” Zach reached out for her shawl. For a moment she stood frozen with fear. He touched her skirt. “Ma’am?”
She removed her hat, jerked the shawl off, and handed it to him. He balled the wool and gently slid it beneath Kase, then rose to his feet.
“Stay with him. I’m gonna see what’s keeping help.”
Rosa stared down at the blood-smeared streak on the floor, shoved aside her fear, and reached out to brace herself on the armrest of a seat as she lowered herself to the floor. Mimicking Zach’s movements, she touched the wadded shawl to be sure it was secure beneath Kase. It was already wet to the touch.
The noise around them receded as the men dragged the Dawsons out of the car. Even in the dimness of the flickering lamplight, she could see that the usual deep color had drained from Kase’s face. His eyes were closed tight against the pain, his breathing shallow. She reached out and smoothed a hand over his brow. He felt so clammy, so cold to the touch, that she jerked her hand away. Quickly Rosa slipped off her coat and covered him to the chin. She leaned over and brushed a feather-light kiss against his lips.
“I’m not dead yet,” he whispered. “You can do better than that.”
“Kase?”
“What?”
“You are all right?” She felt stupid the moment she said the words, but she needed to have his reassurance.
His voice was so weak she had to lean close to hear him. “I’ve been better.”
“Zach is bringing help.”
“I’m not going anyplace.”
Kneeling on the hard floor, squeezed in beside him in the aisle of the railroad car, Rosa crushed his fingers between her own. It was all she could do, and somehow she hoped that if she clung hard enough, she could keep him from slipping away from her.
Seconds passed like hours. Finally she heard a commotion behind her. Quentin Rawlins’s booming voice filled the car as he shouted directions to the men with him.
“Some of you go around and come in the opposite door. We’ll lift him out and carry him to Flossie’s.”
Suddenly the car was full of grim-faced men intent on getting Kase to more comfortable quarters.
“Here, Rosa,” Quentin said as he held his hand out to her. “Let us take him now.”
She nearly refused, but Quentin stood his ground, his hand extended, until she took it and let him pull her to her feet. Kase gave her other hand a squeeze before she let him go.
“Take care, Signor Quentin,” she whispered.
“I will.”
Somehow she stumbled out of the railroad car on her own. Dazed, Rosa stepped out into the night, unaware of the activity around her, oblivious to the cold.
She heard Chicago Sue call her name just before Flossie Gibbs hurried forward and threw her arm about Rosa’s shoulders. “My God, girl, I thought they’d never get you out of there.”
Dazed, Rosa blinked and said, “Kase has been hurt.”
Chicago sobbed and Flossie shushed her before she said to Rose, “I know, honey, but he’s in good hands. Let’s get in out of the cold. They’re takin’ him home.”
“But—”
“Come on. Let’s get you in and warm so you can take care of Kase when he gets there.”
Flossie held Rosa close and Chicago led the way as they wove through the confusion on the platform. Men were everywhere, some laying out the bodies of the dead outlaws while others stood by with guns leveled on the four prisoners who were still alive. All of them were shouting, their voices carrying on the night air. Rosa let Floss lead her toward the hospitality parlor. The three women fought against the wind that whistled down Main Street.
After Rosa visited the outhouse, Floss ushered her through the parlor and up the stairs. Chicago Sue lit the lamps in Kase’s room, her audible, heart-wrenching sobs doing little to secure the tenuous grip Rosa held on her shattered nerves. They were in the room just long enough for Rosa to turn back the spread on Kase’s bed and take a sip of the hot coffee Flossie pressed into her hands. She tasted it, then paused to listen to the sound of Quentin’s voice as it echoed in the stairwell. All three women crowded into the hallway to wait.
Quentin and Zach carried Kase on a narrow plank, trying hard not to upset it and send him tumbling back down the stairs. When Quentin insisted they could tip the makeshift stretcher slightly and wedge it through the doorway into the upstairs hallway, Zach refused to try. Finally, the bearers negotiated the opening and then moved along to Kase’s room.
Rosa silently watched them shift Kase gingerly from the doorway to the bed. Carefully she lifted her coat off him and found Kase nude to the waist, a bandage wrapped tightly about his midsection. A spot of blood had already penetrated the bandage. Zach stripped off his boots and then covered him with a blanket, ignoring Quentin’s argument as to how to go about doing so.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Passed out. Probably best, after the way we thumped him down the street.” Zach paused long enough to glower at Quentin.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Quentin countered.
“Barely.” Zach grumbled.
“Basta.
Stop.” Rosa put a halt to their bickering and pushed the men out of the way. “A doctor?” She glanced over her shoulder as she reached out to touch Kase.
“There’s one on the way. Olson sent for him before it got dark, just in case. I didn’t think Kase’d be the one needing him, though.” Quentin looked thoughtful. “I’ll go wait outside.”
With a lingering look at the young man lying face down on the bed, Zach Elliot turned away. He paused before the door and with a shattered expression that said more than words ever could, he told Rosa, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Grazie,
Signor Zach.”
As the door closed softly behind him, Rosa turned her attention to Kase.
“Rose?”
The barely whispered word startled her so that she jumped. Quickly, she knelt beside the bed and took his hand.
“Sì.
I am here.”
He opened his eyes and found her watching him intently. Her frightened expression troubled Kase more than his own pain. He hadn’t seen her so defeated since the day he told her that her husband had died.
“I’m going to be all right, Rose.” His hand slid across the sheets as he reached for her.
Tears welled up in her topaz eyes and began to spill over her lashes.
“Really,” he whispered. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted even as tears continued to course down her cheeks.
“Do something for me,” he whispered. “Lie down beside me.”
“But—”
“Please?”
Brushing at her tears, Rosa glanced once at the closed door and then stood and walked around the bed. With the utmost care, she gingerly climbed onto the bed and eased herself down beside him. Kase did not move, nor did he speak, but the sight of his slow, lazy smile tore at her heartstrings. Her tears began to flow again.
She lay beside him for what seemed an eternity, listening for the sound of footsteps that would herald the doctor’s arrival. As Kase remained silent, barely breathing, she sensed that he was hoarding his strength, fighting to remain conscious, yet unwilling to move or speak lest he weaken himself further. She kept her eye on the makeshift bandage tied about his waist. There was no sign of blood other than the dollar-sized spot that had shown through it when the men carried him in. Unwilling to think beyond this moment in time, she called to mind the night before. It seemed a lifetime ago that they were lying side by side in Quentin’s guest room, chatting easily about their future together.
It was so quiet in the room—so peaceful compared to the riotous last few minutes and the wearing hours she’d been held hostage on the train—that Rosa found it impossible to keep her eyes open. Just for a moment, she thought, just for a second, I will close my eyes. Clutching Kase’s hand in her own, she closed her eyes against the light.
The kitchen in the hospitality parlor was overwarm, the stove in the corner pulsating visibly with heat. Adding wood to the fire was the only outlet for nervous tension, and so Rosa watched in silence as Quentin and Zach alternately fed the oven from the wood box beside the stove.
She stared at the sandwich on the plate before her, certain that even one bite would choke her. Ignoring the food, she glanced at Quentin, Zach, and Flossie who were all seated at the long, oil-cloth-covered table in the center of the room. Until a few minutes earlier, Floss had tried to keep the conversation flowing among them, but she had finally given up the effort. The men stared down into their coffee cups, their attention tuned to any sound that might alert them to the doctor’s footsteps on the stairs.
The man had been closeted with Kase for well over an hour. Rosa had been reluctant to leave his side, but the doctor had insisted on it. Between Floss and Zach Elliot’s urging, she was finally convinced it would be best to wait in the kitchen.
The sounds in the house were routine, and because they were, Rosa found them maddening. Doors slammed, the girls whispered. While Kase was lying wounded at the mercy of the man attending him, business went on as usual in the upstairs rooms, and she found herself upset by it. Floss had tried to make light of the situation, for indeed, her business was booming.
“Things like this gets ‘em all riled up,” she said, trying to explain. “Give a man a good fight, a little bloodlettin’, and there’s nothin’ more that he wants afterward than a good woman. Or a good cigar,” she added with a laugh.
Rosa’s dark expression had quickly squelched the other woman’s laughter.
She jumped when Zach stretched out in his chair and his foot hit the table leg nearest her.
“Sorry,” he growled before he turned to Quentin. “How many of them Dawsons are left after tonight?”
“Charlie and Bart are dead. Ike was wounded. The three men with ‘em have a few scratches; one took it in the arm. They surrendered easily enough once the shooting started. Olson rounded them up and took them all back to Cheyenne.”
Before he could add more, the doctor appeared in the doorway and everyone at the table looked up expectantly. There was a momentary pause before Floss shook herself into action. She stood and motioned the doctor toward the chair closest to Rosa’s. As Floss hurried to pour the man a cup of coffee, he settled into the chair and set his medical bag beside him on the floor.
Rosa studied the man who was about to tell her whether Kase would live or die. She fought to remember his name and as she stared hard at the faded blue eyes behind the round wire-framed spectacles, it came to her—Dr. Richard Earhart. He was wearing a crumpled wool suit of a nondescript brown that looked as if he might have slept in it. His hands and nails were clean, his shirt a bright white, even if it was not ironed. If she had been in a better mood, his wild mane of frizzy brown hair would have made her smile. He appeared to be in his late forties, but his mild manner and self-assurance made him seem older somehow.
He took a sip of coffee before he straightened and looked around the table again. Zach slouched lower, as if he were trying to avoid the man’s pronouncement. Quentin was suddenly alert and attentive; he leaned forward with both arms on the table. Flossie stood by the stove; sweat beaded her upper lip and brow.
Rosa could do little but stare and press her clenched hands together below the table.
“I won’t hide the truth from any of you,” Dr. Earhart began, “but I want you to remember that things could be worse.”