Only 06 - Winter Fire

and blunt male hunger.
    â€œHell’s fire,” he hissed.
    Sarah flinched. Every time she unwrapped the bandage one turn, she was forced to brush against his crotch. The bulge that had grown beneath the loincloth was intimidating.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to be careful.”
    â€œStop being so fairy-fingered. Just get it over with.”
    She bit her tongue and finished unwrapping the bandage. She didn’t even protest when he levered himself up on his elbows to look at the wounds.
    One wound was scabbed over and healing well. The other was a red, puckered hole in his upper thigh. Poultice glistened on his skin like dark rain.
    â€œAm I carrying lead?” he asked.
    She gave a sideways, hidden look at the loincloth.
    Fully loaded in all chambers, from what I can see .
    Her thought came with a combination of alarm and something else, something odd that she couldn’t put a name to.
    â€œEr, no,” she said. “I cut out the bullet on the other side. It missed the bone.”
    â€œThought so. It didn’t knock me down. Threw off my aim, though.”
    â€œNot by much. Ute said you were the only one to walk away.”
    â€œThere’s plenty more Culpeppers where those two came from.”
    Case sat up enough to feel the back of his thigh. Neatly knotted stitches greeted his fingertips. He bent over the open wound on top of his thigh and breathed in deeply.
    Waves of pain slammed through him with each heartbeat, but he didn’t straighten until he was satisfied. There was no sign of infection in the wound. No smell of it, either.
    Thank God , he thought.
    While death itself held no particular terror for him, there were some ways of dying he would just as soon avoid. From what he had seen in the Civil War, gangrene was a worse way to die than being gut-shot.
    With a rough sound he lay back, breathing hard.
    â€œGood doctoring,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.”
    â€œYou can thank me by not pulling out the stitches or reopening wounds by thrashing around.”
    â€œI’ll work on it.”
    â€œYou do that,” she muttered.
    Despite her tart tone, her hands were very gentle as she spread the healing poultice on a fresh bandage and wrapped it around the open wound. The pallor of his skin worried her, as did the raggedness of his breathing.
    â€œAre you all right?” she whispered.
    â€œFine as frog hair.”
    â€œI’ve always wondered just how fine that was.”
    â€œFiner than silk,” Case said through his teeth, “but not so fine as your hair.”
    Sarah gave him a startled look. His eyes were closed. Obviously he was fighting not to reveal the pain he was in.
    He probably doesn’t even know what he said , she thought.
    â€œThere’s some broth warming by the fire,” she said in a brisk tone. “You should drink some if your stomach is steady enough to hold on to it.”
    Case didn’t answer.
    He was asleep.
    Very gently she brushed his thick hair away from his eyes, pulled the covers more securely around him, and rested the inside of her wrist against his forehead.
    There was a faint sheen of sweat caused by pain, but no sign of fever. She smiled and trailed her fingertips down his broad, bearded cheek.
    â€œGood night, sweet prince,” she murmured, thinking of his liking for Hamlet .
    Then she remembered more of the play and felt chilled.
    The sweet prince had died.
    Sarah wrapped a blanket around herself and curled up next to Case. Even when she slept, her fingertips rested on his wrist where his pulse beat, as though she needed reassurance that he was still alive.

5
    S tanding outside in the yard, Sarah fished bandages from a kettle of boiling water and draped them over a wash line that was strung between clumps of big sage.
    Several bandages steamed slightly into the fresh, early-morning air. The sun was a golden benediction over the land, heightening the red of the cliffs that lined the valley on both sides.
    High overhead a golden eagle soared on transparent currents of wind. The bird’s rippling, keening cry was so beautiful it brought goose bumps to Sarah’s arms.
    Stay away from Spring Canyon , she warned the bird silently. Sure as sin, those no-good outlaws would shoot you just because they can .
    â€œYou keep boiling them rags and there won’t be nothing left but threads,” Lola said.
    Sarah flipped the last bandage over the line