leather bag clutched in his hand. She’d seen him checking the chalkboard outside his office on her walks through town. In his late fifties, the man was rail thin and small framed, and his kind gray eyes were bracketed by laugh lines. Waving her arms, she frantically motioned him over.
Together with Will, the man rested the boy’s still form on the ground. Shucking his coat once more, Will balled the material into a pillow, and Doc Fletcher knelt beside him.
The doc pulled out his stethoscope. “Are you the boy’s father?”
“Yes. The name is O’Neill. This here is Owen.”
“Did you see what happened, Mr. O’Neill?”
“We were all here for the show. Owen and I were standing on the north side of the corral when the commotion started. People started running. Someone knocked me aside and Owen fell. I think—” The man fisted one hand over his mouth. “I think he was kicked in the head.”
Looking grim, the doc nodded.
Will placed a hand on the father’s shoulder and led him a short distance away. Tomasina hesitated another long moment before turning away. There was nothing more she could do here. She pressed her hand against the pang of longing in her chest. They’d shut her out. She was the outsider.
Feeling as though her cowboy boots were made of lead, she melted into the background. Will already blamed her. There was no use sticking around for more accusations. None of this had been her fault, and there was only one way to prove it.
Outsider or not, she vowed to find whoever had incited that bull and make him pay.
Turning away, she didn’t see when Will reached for her then let his hand drop against his side.
The following day Will had barely sat down, loosened his tie and closed his eyes before he was summoned once more. Between the cattle drives, the baby, the rodeo and the subsequent injuries and investigation, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. His questions had yielded no answers about the incident at the rodeo. Neither had he located Tomasina for an apology. A task that required his immediate attention.
His behavior had been inexcusable.
After wearily rising, he winced with each step as he made his way to the sheriff’s office and discovered Noah waiting for him.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” Will said.
Tall and broadly built, Noah was dressed in his working clothes, his lengthy blond hair visible beneath his hat, his scars shaded by his brim. Since Noah rarely came to town, his business must be important. Will put his confession about the letter on hold. Though he wasn’t normally given to maudlin sentimentality, he owed his friend. As his commanding officer, he owed Noah the life he should have had before the war had ravaged more than just his body. The battles might be over, but loyalty among soldiers never faltered. There was a woman worthy of Noah; a woman who’d see past the scars. Was it so unlikely that the bride they’d sent for might be that woman?
Noah motioned Will inside. “You won’t believe what I discovered on my way to the feed and grain this morning.”
Whatever Noah had discovered must be exceedingly unusual for him to linger in town. Will followed his friend through the building, and they paused in front of the jail cell.
A feverish man writhed on the single cot, a dirty bandage wrapped around his head. His clothing was damp with sweat, his face ashen. Doc Fletcher had taken a seat beside the prone man, a deep crease between his eyes.
Will started. “Is that Zeb Murdoch?”
“I reckon so.”
A few weeks back Zeb Murdoch had been winged in the ear by one of the Cowboy Creek deputies after he and his gang had robbed the church. The gang had subsequently made their way to Morgan’s Creek, where they’d stolen horses and robbed a saloon. One of the witnesses had identified Zeb Murdoch and noted his injury.
The wound had obviously gone septic. The skin visible beneath Zeb’s scraggly beard was pale and waxy. Dark blood matted his greasy blond hair, while his painfully thin frame bordered on gaunt.
The doc leaned over the outlaw and gingerly lifted the edge of the bandage, grimacing at the oozing wound. “He’ll live, but he’ll wake up with one less ear.”
Though Will had seen plenty of lacerations in his lifetime, the angry infection had him wincing. He asked Noah once more. “Where did you find him?”
“He was propped up behind the laundry on Fourth Street. Wolf sniffed him out.”
Noah’s dog was part wolf and, though intimidating, the animal was an excellent tracker and fiercely loyal.
“How long was he there?” Will asked.
“Since yesterday, I’m guessing. He didn’t have his horse, and there were two canteens of water set out. Like someone left him there.” Noah doffed his hat and threaded his fingers through blond hair that nearly touched his collar. “I heard from the deputy that you had some trouble at the stockyards, as well. Anyone hurt?”
“Someone riled up a bull and set it loose. No serious injuries. Cuts and bruises from when the crowd panicked and ran. A sprained ankle. Owen O’Neill fell down and took a boot to the head, but he was only grazed. Last I saw him, he was having pie at the Cowboy Café.” Will paced in front of the jail cell. “I don’t believe in coincidences. The Murdoch Gang left Zeb behind the laundry about the same time that bull cut loose in the ring.”
“The timing works out,” Noah agreed, replacing his hat and running his thumb and forefinger over the brim. “He didn’t get here by himself. Not in his condition.”
The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. “Which means the Murdoch Gang created a diversion and dumped him.”
Remorse socked Will in the chest. He’d accused Tomasina of having an enemy, and she was innocent. He already owed her one apology. Now he owed her a couple of them.
“Why go to all that trouble?” Noah mused. “Why didn’t they shoot him or leave him for dead?”
“Who knows? Family loyalty. Honor among thieves. Seems like Xavier wants his brother healed.”
“But why travel forty miles south with a sick man? Why not leave him in Morgan’s Creek?”
“The sawbones in Morgan’s Creek died last fall. If they were riding south anyway, and Zeb took a turn for the worse, Cowboy Creek is the logical choice.”
“Good point.” Noah braced his forearm on the bars and studied the outlaw. “Zeb gets shot during the holdup at the church. The gang robs Morgan’s Creek, but Zeb’s wound turns septic.”
“There’s no doctor in Morgan’s Creek,” Will said. “Xavier can’t kill his own brother. Can’t leave him for dead, either.”
“Instead they create a diversion and dump him in Cowboy Creek. They’ve been here before. They know the town. They know we have a doctor.”
Will
