did this bull get into the corral in the first place? Someone released him on purpose.” Glaring at Will, she demanded, “Did you have anything to do with this? You wanted my show shut down from the beginning. It’s as good as over now.”
“My whole concern was the safety of the spectators.” He looped the horse’s reins in his hands. “Why would I endanger them this way?”
“All right, all right.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s just that I promised no one would get hurt. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Ever.”
“I’m not exactly thrilled that my premonition was accurate.”
Will crouched beside her and unfurled his handkerchief.
He reached for her head and Tomasina flinched away. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve got a cut on your forehead.” He dabbed at the flow of blood then pressed against the wound. “You’ll need that stitched.”
“I’m fine.” She pressed her gloved hand over his. “I don’t need stitches.”
Despite her bravado, he felt the delicate trembling of her hand beneath his fingertips. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide and glassy. The adrenaline gradually drained from his veins, leaving him oddly lethargic. His gaze dipped to where their hands touched. His mouth went dry. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He’d never lost his temper after a battle or crises. He’d always been known for his cool head, and yet he’d been raging like a lunatic only a moment before. What was happening to him?
“If you don’t want stitches, that’s your choice.” His words were strained, his voice husky. Slipping his hand from beneath her fingers, he left the handkerchief in place. “You’ll be left with a scar.”
Free from her touch, his head cleared. Her expression remained mutinous.
“So what? I ain’t looking to impress no one.” She squinted into the distance, her brilliant green eyes flashing. “I don’t mind killing when killing needs to be done, but someone deliberately wounded this animal. There’s no call for this kind of cruelty.”
“Which leaves the obvious. Someone deliberately riled that animal during your performance.” Will stood and surveyed the trampled grass and scattered debris. Most of the crowd had dispersed. Only a few huddled knots of people remained. He limped toward the fence for a better look at the damage. “You have an enemy, Miss Stone.”
“Me? You’re the one with all the rules and regulations. Maybe someone is tired of following ’em. Maybe your loyal subjects aren’t as happy with the leadership as you think. Maybe somebody has it out for Cowboy Creek. There’s no reason to assume this is my enemy.”
Her words struck too close to home. Was the Murdoch Gang involved? They’d been having trouble with those fellows since the snow melted. One of the gang had been grazed by a bullet in their last encounter with the law of Cowboy Creek. Rubbing his forehead, Will considered the possibility. Something didn’t quite fit. The Murdochs were far bolder than this slipshod attempt at revenge. Men who robbed churches in broad daylight didn’t hide their actions. No. The Murdochs weren’t behind this particular event.
This message was for Tomasina. Will tightened his fists, his heart still racing from the fear he’d experienced when she’d fallen from her horse. Even in death the enormous steer was intimidating, its carcass stretched across the dirt.
He stared at the flattened grass and the hats and other items abandoned by the fleeing crowd. His vision swam, and he was back at Little Round Top once again. His nostrils burned with gunpowder and a haze of smoke hung low in the sky. Men writhed and screamed. They were the lucky ones. Others were still. Horse carcasses littered the field.
The stench of blood filled the air. Will’s trousers were damp with it. A pall of grief settled over him. He’d never become accustomed to losing horses in such a grizzly fashion. At least the men understood what they were facing, what they were fighting for, in those horrific battles. But the animals were innocent. As innocent as children. As innocent as the babe asleep in his rooms at the Cattleman Hotel.
Grasping the reins of his borrowed horse, he approached a cowboy loitering nearby.
“He’s been injured,” Will said. “Hindquarters.”
The cowboy grasped the horse’s lead.
Two men leaned over a prone figure, and Will leaned heavily on his cane.
Tomasina touched his sleeve. “Are you all right?”
He shook off her hold, forcing himself back to the present. He wasn’t at Little Round Top. The war was over. He wasn’t the captain anymore. But this was his community. He’d sworn to protect this town, and he was a man who kept his word.
“There’s been an injury.” He grit the words out. If the man hadn’t risen by now, it must be serious. “Find Doc Fletcher.”
Tomasina followed his gaze. “Do you think it’s bad?”
Had she realized how close he’d come to slipping back into his memories? Had she sensed his agony? He couldn’t let her see him like this. He couldn’t let anyone see him this way. He wouldn’t be seen as weak.
Channeling his shock at the unexpected reaction, he snapped, “Well it sure isn’t good.”
The flash of hurt in her eyes stabbed him with regret. He’d apologize later. And say...what? How did he explain the scars he carried from the war that remained out of view? He’d never let anyone see inside his pain.
Weak men made poor leaders.
* * *
Tomasina retrieved her hat and reached for her horse. She pressed her forehead against the animal’s haunches and sucked in a deep breath. Her heart continued to pound painfully in her chest. She’d have laid down her life to prevent that bull from crashing through the fence. She’d taken precautions. Her pa had always stressed the importance of safety and common sense. She’d made a promise that no one would get hurt, and she’d believed in her own word. Nothing like this had ever happened before. She’d staged dozens of shows without incident.
Clenching her jaw, she straightened. This had nothing to do with her. She didn’t have any enemies.
“Let me help,” she called toward Will. “I’ll send one of the boys to fetch the doc.”
“You’ve done enough already,” he barked over his shoulder. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”
Her whole chest ached. She could have weathered his anger, but his disappointment was her undoing.
Someone had sabotaged her show, and she wasn’t resting until she discovered who had spooked that bull. The act was deliberate; it had to be. She’d seen plenty of animal wounds over the years, and she recognized full well when an injury was man-made.
Several of the cowboys clustered around the downed bull. She motioned for one of the younger men and bid him to fetch the doc. Eager to help, the cowboy sprinted off.
A man she recognized as Theo Pierce, a drover of her father’s generation, rubbed the back of his neck. “That bull is going to cost you.”
“You
