Dangerous Heart

Mid-October 1850

Gunfire in the middle of the night was never good.

The blast startled Ginger Freeman from the first sound sleep she'd had in a week. She bolted upright in the tent she shared with her friend and fellow traveler, Toni Rodden, and fumbled around in the dark for her moccasins.

“Was that thunder?” Toni asked from the other side of the tent, her voice thick with sleep and worry. She made a shadowy figure as she sat up and reached for her shoes.

“No. Gunfire. I'm going to check on it.”

“You don't suppose it's Indians?” Toni's voice shook the words into the air.

Ginger understood her friend's fear. Only a short time ago, Toni had been the object of a young war chief's obsession. But the army had taken care of that—soon after Toni's rescue, a group of soldiers bore down upon the renegades' camp, rescuing white captives and rounding up as many of the braves as they could. “If it is a pack of Indians, it's
not who you're thinking. But you'd best stay put, just the same.”

More gunfire shattered the night, and the sound of yelling echoed through the camp. “Outlaws! Take cover!”

“Did you hear that?” Toni asked, standing and heading toward the tent flap. “I—I better go with you.”

The offer brought a smile to Ginger's lips. “I think we can handle it. Sam would have my hide if I let you go out there, and you know it. And I don't think it's outlaws, anyhow. Most likely Kip Caldwell and some of the other boys playing a joke with gunpowder and a flint.” Ginger frowned, hard-pressed to believe her own words, but she tried to sound light-hearted for Toni's sake. “Besides, what kind of crazy outlaws would attack a wagon train the size of this one?”

“The kind with a lot of men and guns?” Toni's voice still shook, but Ginger had no time to mollycoddle her friend. She figured her help was most needed out there with the rest of the guns. More than the rest, truth be told. If there was one thing Ginger knew a little something about, it was outlaws—a fact she couldn't mention to Toni or anyone else. But from her experience, this attack just didn't make any kind of sense. Unless the bandits thought there was an awful lot of treasure to be had among this battered, weary band of travelers, or the men firing into the camp were missing a few brains. Ginger was betting on the latter.

“I'll be back as soon as I can.” She checked to make sure her pistol was loaded, then stuffed it into her holster and grabbed her rifle for good measure. She tossed a quick look
in Toni's direction. “Hunker down and stay out of sight. Hopefully this'll all be over soon.”

“Be careful!” Toni whispered after her. Ginger stopped and turned back. She snatched her pistol from her holster. “Here, take this.”

Toni gave a vehement shake of her head. “You'll need it. Besides, I don't like those things.”

Ginger shoved the weapon toward her. Now was not the time to take no for an answer. “Take it. I have my rifle. How am I supposed to concentrate, thinking about you unprotected in here, all by yourself?”

Toni's expression softened, and she took the pistol. “Thank you, Ginger.”

Ginger ducked her head, swallowing hard. Emotional women always made her uncomfortable. Maybe because she hadn't really spent much time in the company of women since she was a little girl. Before her ma left. She'd been raised around rough men, who laughed at tears and didn't cotton to hugs and coddling. “I'd best be going.”

Pulling back the tent flap, she escaped outside, taking care to keep her head down and her senses alert. She gripped her rifle firmly, ready to aim and fire if necessary. And she figured it would be necessary real soon.

She tried to take stock of the situation. Outside the circle of wagons, the dark and dust and sagebrush were thick enough to hide a few outlaws, bent on mischief. But she still couldn't imagine anyone crazy enough to go up against a wagon train the size of this one. Especially if her suspicions
were correct—no more than fifteen men would be riding with the outlaws.

She strained her eyes against the dimness around her. Dawn was beginning to break over the snow-capped mountains to the east, but it was still too dark to make out more than shadows beyond the camp's fires.

Ginger crept forward, bending at the waist as she tried to assess the situation. Her body remained tense, every inch of her alert to the danger lurking in the shadowy darkness, as she searched for the most logical spot to hunker down and make the biggest impact. From the direction of the gunfire, she knew they weren't surrounded, and the attack seemed to be aimed toward the middle of the wagon train.

Heading toward the closest wagon, she kept her mind focused on getting to her hiding spot—which was the only explanation for what happened next.

Strong fingers gripped her buckskin-clad arm and spun her around. Grant Kelley stood over her, concern drawing his eyebrows together. “Ginger, you should get back inside that tent before you get hurt.”

His chest rose and fell, and heavy breath released from his lips as puffy clouds in the cold air. His expression bore down on her, warning her not to argue.

But Ginger wasn't one to take a warning from the likes of Grant Kelley or anyone else, for that matter. “My gun's as good as yours, so mind your own business.”

The words left her sharply and probably came out too loud for the situation, but her pride had taken a hit by the way she'd let him sneak up on her like that. Besides, she
could do without Grant touching her for any reason. She didn't like the way he made her insides go soft.

“You're too bullheaded for your own good.” Grant pulled her to the ground with him as a bullet whizzed past her ear. Ducking behind the wagon wheel, he took aim in the direction the bullet had come and fired off two shots, then turned back to her. “Remember last time you joined a man's fight? You got an arrow through your leg.”

Humiliation burned her cheeks at the unnecessary reminder that he had been the one to pull that arrow out and patch her up while she laid on the ground in a dead faint. She yanked her arm from his grip and white-knuckled her rifle. She took aim, sending a couple of rounds into the same area of darkness. “Well, I don't plan on getting shot.”

“See that you don't.” He fired again. And again. “I don't have time to keep patching you up!”

“No one asked you to!” Not to be outdone, Ginger raised her rifle toward the woods and squeezed the trigger again. In a beat, she heard leaves and twigs crackling. “Fall back!” came a voice of authority. Web? “Ames got hisself hit in the shoulder.”

Ginger's stomach churned. She knew that voice. And she knew Ames. Her suspicion was correct. That was no random outlaw band. That was Web and the rest of the gang. And they had finally made good on their threat to come after her if she didn't return within three months.

She'd been gone four.

The outlaws continued firing while they retreated, but Ginger couldn't bring herself to shoot into the woods again.
Web might be a sorry excuse for a pa, but he was the only one she had. She couldn't take any chances on shooting him.

She fired again, purposely aiming high.

A grunt pushed through Grant's throat, and he sent her a fierce frown. “What are you doing?”

Glaring back, Ginger lifted her chin. “What do you mean? I'm doing the same thing you're doing. I'm shooting at outlaws.”

“Not exactly.” He set his rifle on the ground and unholstered his revolver. He fired off five rounds. “I'm aiming at the outlaws. You're shooting over their heads.”

Caught
. There was nothing to do but…well, lie a little bit. “They're running away. Where I come from, we don't shoot a man in the back.”

“I do when they're outlaws,” Grant said firmly, snatching the rifle from her hands. He shoved his pistol into his holster and jerked his head toward his rifle. “If you're not going to fire your own gun, at least load for me.” He continued to fire, first her rifle and then his, while Ginger loaded and reloaded as fast as she could.

Within minutes the gunfire stopped, but Ginger's mind continue to spin. She doubted they'd be back. They must have figured out they were fighting a losing battle. Web was short of courage. He rarely entered a fight he didn't know he could win. That's why this was so odd.

Scowling, Grant shook his head. “You might as well have stayed in the tent with Toni, for all the help you were. What got into you?”

“I told you…”

“I know—you don't shoot folks in the back.” He looked at her askance. “That didn't seem to bother you during the Indian attacks.”

“That was different. Those varmints were after Toni.”

“I'm not arguing with you.” He reached down and offered her a hand up. Ginger glared and ignored it as she shoved up to her feet.

“Stubborn woman,” Grant muttered, dropping his hand back to his side.

Ginger chose not to respond as slowly, cautiously, the members of the wagon train took courage from the silence and ventured out.

Grant bent and retrieved her rifle from the ground. “Here,” he said.

All Ginger could muster was a grudging nod and a lukewarm, “Thanks.”

“Listen, I'm sorry if I got a little rough back there.” His lips slipped upwards into an apologetic smile. “But someone has to look out for you.”

Ginger blinked and stared. If he'd yelled at her, called her names, even smacked her, she'd have no trouble holding her own. But this boyish grin mingled with soft, kind words—those things, hitting her all at once, disarmed her and left her mute. Just as she was about to recover her speech and tell him she could take care of herself, thank you very much, someone yelled from across the camp.

“Doc!”

She was glad for the opportunity to get away from the man she had spent the last seven years hating. A man who
was slowly chipping away at her anger with every smile, every kind word, every unconscious touch.

“Sounds like someone's hurt.” She averted her eyes, unwilling to find herself captured in his gaze. “You best get going.”

“Hang on a second,” he said. “If there are several injuries, I might need some help.”

Panic welled in Ginger's chest. She couldn't help with gunshot wounds. Not after Clem. She still had nightmares about the blood on her hands after trying to stop her older brother's bleeding.

She would have bolted, but staring into Katie Caldwell's wide, fear-filled eyes, she couldn't move. “Doc!” The thirteen-year-old girl gulped the frigid morning air. “Miss Sadie says come quick. Yellow Bird's time has come and she's having a rough go of it.”

“I'll be right there.” Grant turned to Ginger and placed his big hands on her shoulders. “Go to the supply wagon and bring the black doctor's bag to Miss Sadie's tent. It's on the right when you go in. Please hurry. You know if Miss Sadie called for me, something must be wrong.”

For once, Ginger didn't chafe against an order. She didn't argue. Nor did she speak. Instead, she nodded and took off at a run to do as she'd been instructed.

 

Grant entered Miss Sadie's tent without waiting to be invited. The woman had one of the few tents in camp that was large enough for a grown man to stand up straight. Most were sleeping tents and one had to stoop over to child height to get from the door to the pallet.

Yellow Bird writhed in pain on a pallet but didn't utter a sound. The young Sioux woman had joined the wagon train only recently. She'd come to them while running from a cruel fur trader who had bought her from her father under the pretense of marriage. His threats against her hadn't caused her flight, but when he revealed his intention to sell her baby to the Pawnees, she'd known she had no choice. The woman was a hero, as far as Grant was concerned. Surely someone with that much strength of character could deliver a baby, even under difficult circumstances. But Miss Sadie wouldn't have called him unless she couldn't help Yellow Bird on her own. That scared him.

Miss Sadie knelt beside the young woman and massaged her bulging belly. She had helped with the birthing of every baby born in the wagon train since they headed out from Independence nearly five months earlier, and Grant had no doubt that if the older woman was concerned, it was with good reason.

She stood when she saw him, her face drawn with worry, and took him by the arm. Pulling him back outside into the chill of the new dawn air, she said, “I didn't want Yellow Bird to hear.”

“What's the trouble?”

The tension in her tone was thick, and she spoke with an uncommon lack of confidence. “I think the babe's stuck.”

A chill ran up his spine. “How long has she been having pains?”

“Since yesterday afternoon.”

Not too terribly long for a first baby, but he respected Miss Sadie's abilities and more importantly her opinions
when it came to birthing babies. “I'll have to take a look at her to confirm it.”

“The sooner the better,” Miss Sadie said. “I'm afraid we're going to lose them both if something isn't done.”

Returning inside, Grant knelt at the end of Yellow Bird's pallet and examined her. Miss Sadie's assessment was correct. The baby was stuck in the birth canal, his shoulder caught and unable to dislodge to finish the birthing process.

He nodded to Miss Sadie. “You're right. The baby is stuck,” he said grimly. “I need to pray.”

He took Yellow Bird's hand. She stared up at him, eyes filled with pain and fear. “My baby?”

“We need to get him out soon, or he'll die.” Grant reached forward and smoothed a strand of silky black hair from her forehead. “Do you know Jesus?”

Yellow Bird nodded.

“Okay, then we're going to pray that God will help me deliver your baby safely.”

He kept her hand firmly inside of his, and they closed their eyes just as Ginger barreled in. “I brought the bag.” She stopped short, her chest heaving as she fought for breath. “What's going on? Why are your eyes closed?”