Dangerous Heart (10 page)

With a strength she never would have guessed he had, he grabbed her wrist.

“Hey!” she hollered and yanked it away, jumping to her feet. “Try that again and I'll leave you here to fend off the wolves. How would you like that in your condition?”

“Ginger,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I have to tell you…”

“You don't have to tell me anything except you're sorry for grabbing me and scaring me half to death.”

Scaring her? Web was right—she was going soft. Six months ago, she'd have fought a man for calling her scared, now she was admitting it to a stranger?

“Your brother…”

“What's Buddy got to do with this? You better leave him alone.”

He shook his head vehemently but didn't utter another word. The retching began and continued until he fainted, exhausted and spent.

Ginger tried not to be sick herself as she took the cloth and cleaned him up as best as she could. As she sat waiting for Miss Sadie to return, she wondered, could she really nurse five or six men just like this?

Grant couldn't believe what he was hearing. The fact that Blake had even considered such a cockeyed suggestion let alone gave his approval was downright idiotic. The whole notion made Grant wonder if the wagon master was ailing himself.

“That's ridiculous!” he heard himself utter. “Ginger has no business going into that group of cutthroats and debasing herself.”

“She grew up with those men,” Miss Sadie said with quiet amusement written all over her face. “Besides, I'll be there, too.”

Grant snatched onto this forgotten slice of information. “That's another thing,” he said, stepping closer to Blake, “What are we going to do without Miss Sadie? I need her help nursing these people.”

Blake leveled a gaze at him. “Didn't I see Buddy Freeman helping you?”

“That boy is so weak he could barely carry a ladle of water, let alone a bucket. He isn't much help.”

“So you carry the bucket,” Miss Sadie said with her “my mind's made up” tone of voice. “Let him carry the quinine. There's not much else you can do for the sick, anyway. You'll be fine with the boy's help. I'm needed elsewhere.” She peered closer and her gray eyebrows rose. “Unless
you'd
like to go help Ginger?”

Grant was just about to take her up on the offer when Blake cleared his throat. “Hold on now. We can't be sending our only doctor off on a mission to help another camp when we got our own sick.”

Grant sent him a scowl. “You're right, I guess. But I'm telling you, this isn't a good idea. If Ginger has been trying to run away from these fellows, why are we just letting her go back in?”

Miss Sadie put her hands on her hips. “First of all, did Ginger ever say she was trying to run away from them?”

Grant stared down at the ground, racking his brain. “Well, no, but then she never admitted she was even part of that group, either.” Grant fingered the hat he held in his hands. “At least not until I point-blank told her we'd figured it out.”

“Well, obviously she feels she needs to go. Personally,” Blake said, “I find that reassuring. I was beginning to wonder if the girl had any scruples about her at all.”

Grant's ire rose, and he shot a glance to the wagon master. “That girl has more loyalty to friends and sense of integrity than just about anyone I know.”

Blake's lips twitched. “How do you figure?”

But before Grant could mention her dedication to her friends and brother and how she always brought extra food
in for families with a passel of youngsters to feed or older folks, Blake continued, “Because I'm talking about the girl that won't take orders, lied about her brother and the outlaws, and then lied again about her pa.”

Well, shoot. He had a point there.

Miss Sadie stepped in. “This ain't getting us anywhere. The fact is, Blake's already given his permission. Ginger and I will go to the outlaw's camp and do our best to keep them alive.”

“Long enough to hang,” Grant muttered.

Blake expelled a frustrated breath. “You seem to forget that loyal, sweet girl you're so worried about is one of them.”

“I never said she was sweet.” Grant shoved his hat back onto his head. “Besides, it's not her fault she was born to that Web character, and I'm still not convinced she didn't run away and join us for a better life.”

“She joined us because Sam paid her to look after Toni.”

Thunder and lightning, he was right. “Maybe so, but she was still apart from them and that tells me all I need to know until someone proves otherwise.”

Miss Sadie chuckled.

Grant turned on her. “What's so funny?”

She shrugged and continued to grin broadly. “Nothing much. Except if I was a bettin' woman, I'd be jangling a few extra coins right now.”

Without awaiting a response, she gave him an affectionate pat on the arm as she walked past. “I best round up my things and get going back to Ginger. Yellow Bird ought to have her things moved by now.”

Frustration welled inside Grant's breast. He wasn't ready for the situation to be settled. Not if it meant he'd lost the fight.

There was so much he still wanted to argue. And he wasn't even sure why. All he knew was that the thought of Ginger bending over those men and ministering to them brought out every protective instinct he thought long gone. Feelings he'd thought died with his Sarah. He didn't like the picture in his mind at all. What if she got to that camp and the men weren't even sick? What if it had all been some kind of trick to get her back there? That would mean she and Miss Sadie both would be in trouble.

He turned and opened his mouth to say as much to Blake, but the wagon master held up his hand. “I don't like us being on the opposite side of the fence, my friend, but I've already said my piece. We have no choice but to try to get this thing under control as soon as possible. That means the outlaws have to get treated, too. And even if it isn't just about containing the cholera, we can't call ourselves God-fearing if we leave them to die without any kind of medicine.”

Grant gave a snort. “Onions aren't exactly medicine.”

“The Indians have been using plants to cure all kinds of ills for longer than either of us has been alive, so if Miss Sadie says she thinks this onion remedy will work, I'm inclined to believe her.”

“Fine, put your faith in plants instead of medicine. Why not invite a Cheyenne medicine man to do a dance?”

Blake rolled his eyes. “I got better things to do than argue with you about this.”

“I have better things to do, as well.” He took a short breath. “I'm telling you, Blake. This feels wrong.”

“It feels right to me.”

“Well, maybe it wouldn't if it was…” Grant drew in the words before he could finish the sentence. Blake's eyes showed interest as he waited.

“If it was what?”

Shaking his head, to clear it more than anything, Grant expelled the breath he'd just sucked in. “Nothing,” he shot back.

Blake looked as though he might pursue the issue, but a pale, shaking Barnabas Shewmate ran into Blake's camp area. “You gotta come, Doc,” he said. “It's my Jenny. She's bad off.”

“I'm coming, Barnabas. I have to go to my tent first. I'll need my bag.”

“No, you got to come now!”

Grant took the young man by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. “Listen. I can't help Jenny unless I go and get my medicine. I'll be there directly. I give my word. Go sit with her and hold her hand until I get there.”

Fannie came out of the tent. “I'll go to Jenny,” she said. “You stay with Grant.”

“No, Fannie,” Blake's voice was firm. “Get back inside.”

“Blake, if it's God's will for me to have this baby, I will. I can't stay hidden away when there are so many who need help. I've already been around enough of the illness. If it's going to take hold, it will.”

Blake shot a gaze at Grant, an appeal for support. “Fannie, there's no need to tire yourself out. I'll be at the Shewmates' tent in a few minutes.”

“How much do you think Barnabas will be able to reassure her? He's as skittish as a newborn colt.”

Grant nodded.

“She's about to deliver their first baby, Grant,” Fannie pressed. “She'll need another woman there. And who more reassuring than the wagon master's wife?” She turned to Blake. “I'm going.”

“Fannie…” he said, warning in his tone.

She scowled. “We agreed from the start of our marriage that you wouldn't try to bully me. I know you're concerned. But there's nothing I could do that would hurt this baby by going and sitting next to a sick, scared woman.”

“A woman sick with the deadliest disease I've ever seen. Fannie, I've seen it wipe out wagon trains before.”

“Then sitting next to Jenny Shewmate and holding her hand isn't going to make much difference.”

Barnabas let out an impatient groan. “Doctor, please. She's in an awful lot of agony.”

Wrapping her shawl around her slim body with purpose, Fannie walked to her husband, rose onto her tiptoes, and brushed a quick kiss to his lips. “I'll be back later.”

“One hour.” He gripped her shoulders and held her fast as he looked deeply into her eyes. “If you're not back in one hour, I'll come and carry you back to me. Clear?”

Her lips curved into the softest of smiles. “Clear.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Grant mesmerized by the loving exchange.

Barnabas grabbed his arm, pulling him from the stupor. “Let's go, Doc.”

“She's as likely to make it out of this as anyone on the wagon train, Blake.” Not that it was any consolation. Just a fact.

Blake scowled. “Or just as likely to die.”

The wheels were set into motion now and only God decided when the dying would stop and the healing begin. Blake captured his gaze as each man caught the full brunt of the exchange. “I shouldn't have let her go,” Blake said, his eyes piercing and full of regret. And all at once, Grant wasn't sure if he meant Fannie or Ginger. Either way, he answered for Ginger's sake. “She knew what she had to do.”

Blake nodded. There was nothing more for either of them to say. Jenny Shewmate was near delivery. Would she deliver a baby stricken with cholera? Would she even live that long?

Please God,
he silently prayed,
work a cure before any more of these good people die.

 

Ginger scowled as they entered the filthy, foul-smelling camp. Next to her on the wagon seat, Miss Sadie shook her head, her own disgust showing on her wrinkled, leathery face.

Relief flowed through her as Yuley greeted her with a weak wave. Yuley was just plain good. He was too simple-minded to form a thought on his own and just did as he was told. The one decent thing Web had ever done was keep Yuley on after his brother died, even though the man was more trouble than he was worth, according to Web. She smiled and waved back. “Good to see you're on your feet, Yuley,” she called.

Trembling and visibly ill, he nevertheless managed to make his way to the wagon. “It's mighty fine to see you, Missy Ginger. You ain't sick, are you?”

Ginger hopped down and offered Miss Sadie a hand from the wagon. “No, Yuley. And I'm here to help you get better.”

“I'd be obliged, Missy.” He turned to Miss Sadie. “Can I take your bag for you, ma'am?” Ginger had to wonder where Yuley had learned his manners. It certainly wasn't from anyone in that camp.

Miss Sadie's gruff exterior melted beneath the young man's innocent desire to be a gentleman. “I think I best hang onto this while you go set yourself down and wait for us to fix you up some medicine. Okay?”

He frowned, obviously troubled at the suggestion. Ginger stepped in. She slung a maternal arm around his shoulders, nearly gagging at the stench of his unwashed body. “It's okay, Yuley. Miss Sadie might be old, but she's stout. You don't seem quite as sick as some of those men on the bedrolls, so we want you to save your strength and get well fast. We'll need your help, but first, we have to get you well.” She patted his back, then moved upwind.

A flicker of understanding lit his eyes. “Okay, Miss Ginger.” He shuffled off toward the pit that barely had enough coals still burning to be considered a fire.

Another man sat by the stone circle, as well. Ginger peered closer to confirm it was a grizzled older man by the name of Dale Thane. As far as outlaws went, Dale was one of the better ones. Until he was crossed, anyway. Ginger had seen him bite a man's ear off in a fight over a lost pair of gloves. He was old but wiry, and most of the men knew not to cross him. Especially if he'd had whiskey.

“How you holding up, Dale?” she called out.

“Better than them fellas,” he called with a sweep of his arm.

Four or five more men lay on bedrolls around the camp. In the dusky evening, Ginger couldn't tell if any of them were breathing or not. And she had to wonder where the rest of the band was. There should have been close to fifteen men in the group. Surely they weren't all dead. “Where's Lane and the rest of the men?”

“Gone. Most of 'em left a couple days ago. Lane left this mornin', early.”

“So much for honor among thieves,” Miss Sadie muttered.

Ginger moved around to the back of the wagon and let down the gate. She shook Elijah's foot gently. “We're going to need you to wake up and help us get you settled.”

Weak, white, and shaking so hard he could barely move, Elijah sat up. Ginger climbed into the back of the wagon and let him hang onto her while he somehow found the strength to pull himself to the edge of the wagon. He stopped a moment for a breather as his legs dangled off the side. “I'm sorry I'm not more help.”

“Hogwash,” Miss Sadie said, sliding up under his arm as Ginger did the same on the other side.

Looking around, Ginger couldn't find a lick of firewood. She gave a snort. “I guess I'm going to have to go find something for that fire.”

Miss Sadie nodded. “Those men aren't going to be any help, that's for sure. Find whatever you can get your hands on for now. Brush, twigs. Let's just keep the little fire they do
have built up enough to boil the onions; then we can worry about chopping fresh wood.”

“All right,” Ginger said. “I'll do my best.”

In minutes, she returned with her arms filled with whatever she could find that might build up the fire.

In no time, Miss Sadie's onion broth scented the air, which was a mercy. For the past two hours, Ginger's senses had been violated with the nauseating smells of sickness and a camp in a general state of neglect, which she suspected would have been the case with or without cholera.

Miss Sadie planted her hands on her hips and looked around the camp in disgust. “While this soup boils, the two of us will need to gather up all the garbage these fellas have been collecting. Get a burn pile started, and at first light, we'll start chopping wood.”