Lawman In Disguise

And that meant she shouldn’t be just sitting here, gazing out the window at the barn and wondering about the man lying in one of the stalls. She should be getting bandaging materials ready—or would Doc Walker bring them? At the very least, she could put a pot of water on to boil in case the doctor needed it.

By the time she’d gathered an old sheet and set some water to boil on the stove, though, Billy Joe still hadn’t returned with the doctor. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was getting late and she still hadn’t done anything about supper. She was sorely tempted to go out to the barn to gather the eggs that her son hadn’t collected, but to do so would mean being alone with the stranger out there. Yes, they were alone in the barn before, when she’d sent Billy Joe away, but in that moment protecting her son had been her top—her only—priority. But Billy Joe was fine now, and there was no reason for her to pass any more time than necessary with a strange man. She’d have to face him again at some point, of course, since he’d be staying with them for who knew how long, but it wasn’t something she was ready to do again just yet.

Minutes later, Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the shadow of a man’s figure ripple into the yard between the house and the barn. There hadn’t been many full-grown men on her property since her husband had been taken away to jail—and she still felt the familiar sense of dread at the sight of a man’s shadow. But it was the doctor, finally, carrying his big black leather bag. Billy Joe ran before him, looking back over his shoulder with an obvious impatience for the physician to reach the wounded man. She’d better go out and see what assistance Dr. Walker might require from her. Would he think she was a foolish woman for calling the doctor first before the sheriff, under the circumstances?

By the time she got out to the barn, Dr. Walker had already hung his frock coat over the half door of the stall and rolled up his sleeves, and was peering at Dawson’s shoulder wound. The doctor had already pulled away what remained of the bloody shirt off the outlaw’s shoulder.

“Thanks for coming, Dr. Walker,” Daisy murmured, feeling her stomach roil as she flinched away from the sight of the dried streaks of blood, as well as the man’s bare, well-muscled shoulder. She never dealt well with the sight of blood—not since she was a girl, and Peter...but no, she wouldn’t think of her brother now. That was a memory best left buried.

“Mmm. I’d have been here sooner, but I was a mite busy with Mr. Amos and his bank teller. I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that they’ll live, by all indications,” he muttered.

“I’m real glad to hear it,” Thorn said, and he sounded like he meant it. “It was a lowdown, cowardly thing, what Zeke did, firing like that when there was no cause for it at all. If I’d noticed him aiming just a minute sooner, maybe I could’ve...” He shook his head. “Makes no difference what I would or could’ve done—I know that. There’s no changing what happened. But I sure am mighty glad to hear that both of those men will be all right.”

Dr. Walker gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “You’ll recover, too, once I get the bullet out of your shoulder. But you must know, you’ve lost a lot of blood...”

She was aware that her son was staring at the shoulder wound with a fascinated horror. “Billy Joe, go inside the house.”

“But I’m gonna help the doctor!” Billy Joe protested. “He said he’d need someone to hold the lantern so he could see to clean and dress the wounds.”

She was sure a clear view of Thorn’s injuries was not a sight that a young boy should be seeing. “I’ll do that,” she said in a tone that brooked no disobedience. She would simply have to push past her distaste for the sight of bloody injuries. Perhaps she’d be able to keep her focus on the lantern and not look at the wound at all. “Billy Joe,” she continued, “you gather those eggs like I told you to, then head inside.”

“Are you going to be able to help me without getting faint, Miss Daisy?” Dr. Walker asked. “We don’t want to risk you dropping the lantern and setting your barn on fire, do we?” His tone was no-nonsense, but his eyes were kind.

She set her chin. “I’ll do what needs to be done, as I always have,” she insisted, though her legs already felt like jelly. “Will you have enough light out here with the lantern, or should we move him into the kitchen?”

“Oughta be enough light with that hole up there.” The doc nodded toward the gap in the roof that let in the last of the day’s light at the moment as the sun slowly set, but allowed rain in as well, whenever the rain came. She was just thankful that hill country in Texas rarely got truly cold, or the draught the hole let in might be harmful to the animals. She knew she should get it fixed. She should do a lot of things to maintain her run-down property.

Daisy acknowledged the barn roof’s state of disrepair with a rueful grimace. “I’ve been meaning to get that roof repaired forever,” she muttered. “There just hasn’t been any spare cash—or anyone to do it.”

Thorn had been quiet, watching both of them as the doctor spoke to her, but now he spoke up. “Maybe I can fix that for you, Mrs. Henderson, before I ride on.”

By an effort of will, Daisy kept a skeptical look from her face. Even if he was sincere in his offer—which she doubted, for why would a stranger concern himself with the state of her barn roof?—he must realize there was no feasible way for him to complete the task. It would be a while before he was fit enough to climb up onto her barn roof and repair it. And even then, he’d need to stay hidden, not be working up there in full view of anyone passing by.

“Mmm,” muttered the doctor. “I’d best get on with it, I suppose. Miss Daisy, would you be able to fetch me some clean water, please?”

“Of course. I set some to boil when I sent my son to fetch you, then took it off the fire so it could cool down when I saw that you’d arrived. And there’s a spare cot in the tack room—I’ll bring out some bedding for it.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Walker stated. “I didn’t like the idea of him lying in the dirty straw with these wounds.”

Daisy was grateful for an excuse to get some fresh air before she helped the doctor, even though she had a feeling Nolan Walker would use the time to ask some pointed questions of the stranger in her barn.

She wondered if Thorn would give more answers to the doctor than he’d shared with her. Men tended to do that—hide more troubling details from her, as if she wasn’t strong enough to handle the truth. As if she hadn’t dealt with an abusive husband, and then the shame of a jailed husband while raising her son on her own. She was stronger than most folks realized. Strong enough to deal with this new complication in her life.

Much later, when the ordeal of cleaning out the wounds with carbolic acid and bandaging them was over, the doctor gave Thorn a dose of laudanum, instructed Daisy about his care and then departed, promising to check on him tomorrow.

Back in the house, she scrambled the eggs and set a plateful in front of Billy Joe. Then she loaded up a second plate with eggs, a thick slice of fresh bread and some of her preserves.

“Is that for Mr. Thorn?” Billy Joe asked eagerly. “I can take it to him, Ma!”

“Call him Mr. Dawson, honey. And no, I need you to stay put and eat your supper,” Daisy ordered.

Billy Joe pouted. “But I thought you wanted me to help take care of him. Wasn’t that what you said?”

“I do. And you will. Don’t forget what we agreed,” she reminded him. “You’re to look after Mr. Dawson while I’m at work.”

Her shift as cook at the hotel restaurant lasted from dawn until suppertime. She got only half an hour for a break after the midday crowd thinned out. She usually sat down on the back porch and ate whatever could be spared from the leftovers on the stove, while Tilly Pridemore, the waitress, kept an eye on the dining room.

“I’ll rush back here during my break,” Daisy told her son, “and check on Mr. Dawson then. But you’re responsible for seeing to it that he has whatever he needs the rest of the time.”

“I know, Ma.” Billy Joe rolled his eyes. “You already tole me a hunnerd times.”

“I don’t like that tone, young man. Remember our deal? You promised to be on your best behavior. Have you changed your mind?” Please, no, she prayed. I need this chance to get through to him.

Billy Joe was a good boy at heart—she knew that as surely as she knew her own name. But even good boys could be persuaded to make bad decisions, especially when their friends were leading the way. If Billy Joe was busy looking after their houseguest, it would keep him away from his troublemaking friends, which had to be a good thing. It might even help her boy learn some responsibility.

“No, ma’am,” Billy Joe said meekly. “I’ll look after Mr. Dawson real good, I promise.”

“And you won’t go wandering off with your friends and leave him alone?”

“No way! Not when I can stay here and talk to Mr. Dawson about outlawing.” He looked far too excited at the idea, and Daisy winced. Was it foolish of her to leave her son alone with a man who would fill his head with tall tales that would glamorize the wild life of an outlaw? No, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that Thorn would do that, not after he had already acknowledged that it wasn’t good for the boy to admire outlaws as he did.

“Just see that you don’t bother Mr. Dawson when he’s trying to rest,” she said. “He’s going to need time to heal.”

“Maybe he’ll heal real slow,” Billy Joe said hopefully. “Then he can stay for a long time. I want him to stay and teach me stuff!”

“Teach you stuff?” Daisy echoed, aghast. “Such as what?”

“Like how to do a fast draw,” Billy Joe told her, in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious to her.

“What makes you think he’s a fast draw?” Daisy asked. Had Thorn Dawson been boasting of gun-slinging skills to her impressionable son? Wounds or no wounds, he’d be out of her barn tonight if that was true!

Billy Joe shrugged. “Ma, an outlaw has to be a fast draw,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “I’ll just bet he’s good at it, that’s all. Fast as lightning. You can tell.”

They’d do better to hope the man would heal as fast as lightning—and go on his way before anyone else found out he was here. Mr. Prendergast, the hotel proprietor, wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest hint of a scandal when it came to the people he employed. If he found out she was harboring a fugitive, she’d lose her job, and then how would she support herself and her son?

“Ma?” Billy Joe said, interrupting her thoughts. “You sure you don’t want me to take that plate out to Mr. Dawson? I’m all done with my supper, see?” He gestured to his plate, which he’d emptied while she’d been woolgathering. The boy always shoveled down food as if he thought it was going to try to run away from him. And he was always hungry for more. Keeping him fed only got more challenging the bigger he grew—and the challenge wouldn’t get any easier now that they had another mouth to feed. She’d just have to take it one day at a time.

“No, I’ll do it,” she insisted. She could tell that the process of cleaning and bandaging his wounds had been painful and exhausting for Thorn. The last thing he needed was an excitable boy bouncing around him, trying to pump him for exciting stories. Picking up the plate, she headed for the door. It was dark now, and she carried a lantern to light her way into the dark barn.

She found Thorn Dawson asleep in the stall on the cot, covered with the spare blanket she’d brought out. He didn’t stir when she set the dish of food on a bale of hay and softly called his name. The laudanum must have taken effect faster than she’d expected, on top of the exhaustion the man must already have been experiencing.

He was sleeping on his side, his ribs rising and falling with his soft, regular breathing. Seeing his features relaxed in slumber, Daisy found it impossible to believe this man could be an outlaw. But appearances could be deceiving, couldn’t they?

It would be best if Thorn left as soon as he was physically able, as he’d said. But she shouldn’t be thinking of him by his first name, Thorn, as if he were a friend. He should be strictly “Mr. Dawson” to her, even in her thoughts, Daisy told herself. She didn’t know him, not really. And she saw no sense in trying to get to know him when he would just be on his way as soon as he recovered. She’d treat him with courtesy and with simple Christian compassion—no more than that. But no less than that, either. Not when she’d decided that it was her Christian duty to care for him.

He’d said he hadn’t done the shooting and wasn’t really an outlaw, after all. Why, if either of the wounded bank employees took a turn for the worse and died, she could be sending Thorn Dawson to the gallows, even though he wasn’t the man who had shot them, Daisy realized. A judge might be so bent on making an example of Mr. Dawson that, innocent or not, he’d pay the ultimate price for another man’s actions. She shuddered at the thought of Thorn Dawson with a rope around his neck.

No, she had to help him, even though it would be hard. It was the right thing to do. Blessed are the merciful, Jesus had said. So she was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? She could urge him to turn himself in once he was healed and ready to leave, couldn’t she? Sighing at the complexity of the question, Daisy left the barn and returned to the house.