Montana Sky

noted, while her heart thudded. With trembling hands she set the kindling, arranged logs, set them to blaze.
    The first aid kit was in the cupboard over the sink. Setting it on the counter, she flipped the lid to be sure it was fully stocked. With that small relief, she crouched down to the cabinet below for bandages, pushed through containers of cleaning supplies.
    And felt her bowels turn to water.
    The bucket kept below the sink was just where it should have been. But it was heaped with rags and stiffened towels. And the rusty stain coating all of them was blood. Old blood, she thought, as she gingerly reached out. And muchtoo much blood to have been the result of some casual kitchen accident.
    Too much blood to be anything but death.
    “Will?” Adam struggled to sit up. “What is it?”
    “Nothing.” She closed the cupboard door. “Just a mouse. Startled me. I can’t find bandages.” Before she turned back, she schooled the revulsion out of her face.
    “We’ll use your shirt.”
    She clattered a basin into the sink, filled it with warm water. “I’d say this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you, but it won’t.”
    She set the basin and first aid kit beside him, then went into the bathroom for clean towels. She found one, only one, and indulged herself by pressing her clammy face against the wall.
    When she came back, Adam was up, swaying at the window. “What the hell are you doing?” she barked, pulling him back to the cot.
    “Can’t let our guard down yet. Will, we’ve got to call the ranch.” There were bees buzzing in his ears, and he shook his head to scatter them. “Let them know. He could head down there.”
    “Everyone at the ranch is fine.” Willa removed the bandanna and began to clean the wound. “I’ll call as soon as I’ve got you settled. Don’t argue with me.” Her voice took on a trembling edge. “You know I don’t do well with blood to begin with, and this is my first gunshot. Give me a break here.”
    “You’re doing fine. Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. “I felt that.”
    “That’s probably good, right? Looks like it went in here just under the shoulder.” Nausea churned, was ignored. “And came out here in the back.” Raw, torn flesh with blood still seeping. “You must have lost a pint, but it’s slowing down. I don’t think it hit bone. I don’t think.” She gnawed her lip as she opened the bottle of alcohol. “This is going to burn like hellfire.”
    “Indians are stoic in pain, remember. Holy shit!” Heyelped once, jerked, and his eyes watered as the antiseptic seared.
    “Yeah, I remember.” She tried to chuckle, nearly sobbed. “Go ahead and yell all you want.”
    “It’s okay.” His head spun, stomach churned. He could feel the clammy sweat pop out in small beads on his skin. “I got it out. Just get it done.”
    “I should have given you pain pills first.” Her face was as white as his now, and she spoke quickly, words tumbling out to keep them both from screaming. Tears were falling. “I don’t know if we have anything but aspirin anyway. Probably like trying to piss out a forest fire. It’s clean, Adam, it looks clean. I’m just going to smear this stuff on it now and wrap it up.”
    “Thank Christ.”
    They sweated their way through the last of it, then each sighed heavily and studied the other. Their faces were dead pale and sheened with sweat. Adam was the first to smile.
    “I guess we didn’t do half bad, considering it was the first gunshot wound for both of us.”
    “You don’t have to tell anybody I cried.”
    “You don’t have to tell anybody I screamed.”
    She mopped her damp face, then his. “Deal. Now lie back and I’ll . . .” She trailed off, buried her face against his leg. “Oh, God, Adam, where’s Ben? Where’s Ben? He should be here.”
    “Don’t worry.” He stroked her hair, but his eyes were trained on the door. “He’ll be here. We’ll radio the ranch, get the police.”
    “Okay.” She sniffled, lifted her head. “I’ll do it. Just sit there. You’ve got to get your strength back.” She rose and walked to the radio, switched it on. There was no familiar hum, no light. “It’s dead,” she said, and her voice reflected her words. A cursory look made her stomach drop. “Someone’s pulled out the wires, Adam. The radio’s dead.”
    Tossing down the mike, she strode across the room, hefted her rifle. “Take this,” she ordered, and laid the gun across