Buck walked down the front steps and headed for the barn. He knew he'd have to unwind a little before he could sleep anyway, so he might as well check and make sure everything was settled for the night. He was almost to the barn when a voice startled him out of the darkness.
"That was some shindig, boss."
"Yeah, it was," Buck agreed. "What are you still doing up, Ben?"
"I figured I'd get the extra feed bins put away - no sense tempting the coyotes in close looking for some free food."
"Good thinking."
Ben hesitated for a moment, then said, "Buck, can I ask you something?"
Buck looked closely at the older man, a little concerned by the serious tone of his question. "Sure, Ben. What is it?"
"Well, I suppose it's really none of my business, but I'm wondering anyway. Are you planning to ask Amy to marry you?"
The question caught Buck off guard, and he didn't answer right away. Finally he said, "I hope so, Ben. Nothing I want more. But you know some of what Amy's been through." Receiving a nod from the other man, Buck continued, "She asked to take things real slow, so that's what I'm trying to do."
Ben nodded and then smiled. "I was just wondering. Everyone else can see how good you two are for each other - but sometimes the people involved just don't see it so clearly. I know I had to be prodded to figure out how I felt about my Esther."
Buck knew the other man was referring to his wife of many years who had died the previous spring. "You didn't realize you loved her?"
"Oh, I guess maybe I knew - just hadn't admitted it to myself."
"How long were you married?"
"We had twenty three years together before Essie got sick and died."
"You must miss her so much."
Ben
nodded. "One of the reasons I was ready to move on, and wound up here.
Everything back in
Buck recalled Amy saying much the same thing just after her father died. Everything in the house reminded her of the mother and father she lost. "I'm very sorry, Ben."
The older man stared off into the distance, then spoke softly. "It's still hard sometimes. Once in a while I swear I can still hear her voice or smell her perfume." He turned back toward Buck and smiled. "But when it's the hardest, that's when I remember all those good years, and that gets me through."
"I understand. I do the same thing when I'm missing my best friend Ike."
Ben nodded in understanding. Buck had shared many stories about Ike. "Well, I hope I didn't overstep my place. Just wanted to make sure you were headed the right way with Amy."
"I'm moving as fast as she'll let me, Ben."
"That's all right then." He held out his hand. "Merry Christmas, Buck."
Buck returned the handshake. "And to you too, Ben."
Amy watched as Buck disappeared into the night, heading in the direction of the barn. It was always so hard these days when he left, even though she knew he wasn't going very far. Still, it was like a piece of her heart went with him each time.
Maybe soon she'd be ready to ask him not to leave.
She wandered back to the parlour, extinguishing the lamps and candles, then headed for the music room to do the same. The excitement of the party hadn't worn off yet and she was sure she'd never get to sleep, but it was time to at least try.
The keyboard cover had been left open on the piano and she started over to close it - when all of a sudden a sweaty hand clamped down hard over her mouth, and a strong arm snaked around her waist.
All the panic from a year earlier came back in a huge wave. But beyond that was a new determination not to let it happen again. She pulled away with all her strength as she bit down on the hand over her mouth. She was rewarded by a yelp from the man, and his hold eased. She stumbled forward a few steps, opened her mouth to scream for help - only to be caught again. She fell back against the piano, landing hard on the keyboard. Her heart necklace from Buck tumbled to the ground, the chain broken.
And then time froze as she heard the voice that had haunted her for so long. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the little scar-faced bitch. Did you miss us?"
Buck frowned, trying to identify the sound he had just heard. It seemed to be coming from the house, but he couldn't place it - not a voice, not a crash. He looked up at the house, noting that all the windows were dark on the side he could see. But there did seem to be a glow from in back, near where the window for the music room would be.
Just then a coyote howled, still distant but close enough to be very clear. And there was an answering whinny from a nervous horse.
A horse that seemed to be hidden in some trees beyond his cabin - where no horses should be.
A million thoughts raced through his head as he started for the house. It could easily be a wild horse that had wandered in, or a stray from another neighboring farm. Even one of their own horses that had slipped out during all the comings and goings of the night.
He didn't believe any of that.
He saw Ben just reaching the bunkhouse door. "Ben! Get Pete and the others up to the house. Now!" He didn't wait to see if his message had been heard. He just ran, faster than he had ever run before.
They had stuffed a bandana in her mouth to stifle her screams, and two of the men now stood next to her, one on each side, holding her arms. She struggled for all she was worth, but to no avail.
The third man was in front of her, fingering his knife. She remembered him all too well - he was the one who had cut her face a little more than a year ago.
Baxter grinned, an evil sight to be sure. He waved the knife blade in front of her face, then ran the edge ever so lightly down the old scar. "I bet you remember me, don't you," he whispered, leaning in close and nearly overpowering her with his bad breath.
"Where's that Indian lover of yours?" Gus demanded.
Amy's eyes went wide, and she shook her head frantically. They couldn't mean to go after Buck too.
Holling laughed. "Maybe he ain't done her yet," he said, running his free hand down her stomach, and along the inside of her thigh.
"He don't know what he's missing then," Baxter said, laughing. "We missed you, darling. Figured we better come back and remind you what real men are."
She struggled against them, harder than before, trying desperately to break loose. This could NOT be happening again!
Holling and Carter just laughed and grabbed her legs. They pushed her roughly against the piano and she winced in pain as her hips banged against the edge of the keyboard.
Baxter just laughed at her struggles and stepped forward with the knife. He put the point against her stomach and drew the blade upward, slicing through her dress and undergarments. The fabric fell to one side, exposing her right breast. He reached out his hand, touching her bare skin. "Oh, we're going to have some fun tonight," he snarled.
Buck slowed only marginally as he hit the back steps. He pushed the door open just as he heard something strike the piano keys, hard. He sidestepped the pots and pans and other remainders from the party, sliding around the corner into the parlour. His eyes fixed on the door to the music room, and his heart nearly stopped as he heard the voices inside.
He raced to the doorway, pausing only momentarily when he reached the room. Everything came into focus quickly. He saw Amy, her dress ripped, her arms and legs held - the look of terror in her eyes. He saw the two men holding her. And he saw the man in front, the one with the knife.
Buck had just enough time to register regret that he didn't have his gun or knife before he launched himself at the man threatening Amy with the blade. He wasn't even sure his feet touched the ground as he pounced across the room, roaring in anger. The impact of his body sent both of them crashing to the floor, sliding into the Christmas tree.
Buck had managed to stay on top, and he used the advantage to throw two quick punches, leaving the man beneath him reeling. The knife fell free and Buck grabbed it, spinning off the fallen man and turning to face the other two attackers.
Abe Holling grabbed the girl away, hiding behind her while he looked for a way out. That left Gus standing alone, and as he grabbed for his gun, Buck reached back and threw the knife, watching with satisfaction as it buried itself to the hilt in the other man's chest.
Unfortunately, that left Buck unarmed again. He lunged across the room toward the dead man's body, reaching for his holstered gun.
Holling saw what was happening and for just a moment lost his concentration - and his grip. Amy stomped her heel hard on top of his foot and twisted away, falling to the floor. He yelped in pain, but drew his gun at the same time. His first shot went wide, but he fired again, and again.
Buck had the gun in his hand and he fired once, then spun backward as he felt a searing pain in his side. He fired again, then felt another bullet hit him, in the leg this time. Struggling to stay on his feet he gritted his teeth and aimed, firing a third time with the last of his strength. But he watched in satisfaction as the other man's face went blank, the gun dropped from his hand, and he fell face-forward onto the floor.
"You almost made it, Indian," Baxter growled, holding his side. He figured he probably had a couple of broken ribs from the impact of the other man's body. But he also had a gun trained dead-center on the Indian's chest. He knew he should just pull the trigger, but he couldn't resist one last barb. "We had your woman before, and I'm going to have her again after you're dead." He cocked the gun and fired.
Buck felt as if he'd been kicked in the chest. He fell back against the wall, struggling to breathe. His left arm felt useless, and he couldn't bring the gun up to get a shot. All he could think was that after all this, he had still failed Amy. He saw the other man coming toward him, grinning, the gun aimed right at him. And then there was a shot . . .
Buck waited for the impact, but it didn't come. He thought for a moment that maybe he was already too far gone to feel it, but then he saw the red wound spreading on the other man's chest. He looked to the side, his vision blurring, and he saw Amy, holding a smoking gun.
At least she was all right, he thought. His numb fingers dropped the gun he'd been holding.
The room filled with people just then as Ben, Pete, and the other hands burst in. "Ben, go to town, get Teaspoon," Buck managed to whisper.
"And the doctor," Amy ordered, rushing to Buck's side.
"Pete, go," Ben ordered. "Ride like you never rode before." The younger man was off and running before Ben had even finished talking.
Ben set a couple of the other men to check on the intruders, then he went over to Buck and Amy. Amy had a small cut on her chest, and a number of bruises. But overall she didn't look too badly hurt. But Buck . . .
Buck didn't look good at all.
"Buck, please hold on," Amy was pleading. "Don't leave me."
Buck wanted to tell her he wouldn't leave. He wanted to tell her he'd be fine. He wanted to tell her not to worry. He wanted to apologize for not protecting her. He wanted to tell her so many things. But the words wouldn't come.
He looked down at the hand he held over the wound in his side, watching as it was covered with blood. He had the briefest thought that he'd have to apologize for getting blood on his new Christmas shirt. But the blackness at the edge of his vision was growing. His legs felt like they were turning to jelly and he began to fall.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but then the blackness was complete.
Teaspoon walked slowly out of the house, his heart heavy and his feet feeling as though they weighed a ton with each difficult step he took. He shook his head. No matter how long he lived, he'd never understand why some things happened, or why good people seemed to get hurt so often.
He looked up and saw her at the top of the small hill, kneeling by the grave. It was very close to where he had first seen her - what seemed like years ago right now.
He felt every one of his years, and then some, as he trudged up the short incline. For all the times he'd had to deal with grieving relatives and friends, he still didn't know what to say.
She heard him coming. Without looking up she said softly, "Why, Teaspoon. Can you tell me why?"
"Nope, I surely can't. Sometimes it just don't seem like you can put your finger on a reason. Leastwise, nothin' that makes sense."
She looked up then, frozen tears streaking her face. In a quivering voice she whispered, "It hurts so bad."
He knelt beside her, wrapping one arm protectively around her shoulders. With his free hand he brushed away the tears swelling in his own eyes. "I know," he said, his own voice none too steady. "I know it hurts." He hugged her tightly to him, wishing for a way to ease the pain they both felt. "Buck always said you were strong, Amy. You gotta be now."
"He gave me whatever strength I had, Teaspoon. I don't know if I can be strong at all without him."
"Well, you gotta find a way - we both do," Teaspoon replied. He knew it was far easier to say than to do.
Amy looked sadly around the hilltop that had become a graveyard. "He lost so much blood," she finally whispered.
Teaspoon nodded - he'd seen the pool of blood on the music room floor, the stained sheets on the bed. But he couldn't let himself voice his fears. "He's a fighter, Amy. He's going to pull through this." He just hoped that somehow the confidence he tried to put in his voice could carry over to his heart.
Amy looked up at him, searching his eyes, trying to see if he really believed those words. She wanted so much to believe it herself. Holding his eyes with hers she said, "I came up here to ask my parents to put in a word with God, not to take Buck. I know he doesn't believe in that, and right now I don't know if I do, but . . ." She choked back a sob, unable to go on.
Teaspoon swallowed hard against the lump in his own throat. When he could finally manage the words he said, "I think right now, we need every advantage we can get." This was one of those times when he wasn't quite sure what he believed in himself.
She was quiet for a moment, struggling for control again. Finally she asked, "Teaspoon, I know you've seen a lot of men shot. Do you really think there's a chance?"
Teaspoon considered all the lost blood, Buck's cold, clammy, pale skin, the worried look on the doctor's face. But he also remembered a few times when he'd known he had witnessed a miracle in survival. This was the time for confidence, not doubt. "Yes. Yes, I do," he answered firmly, convincing himself as he spoke. "Amy, Buck is young and strong." He looked at the fear in her eyes, and he reached out a hand to lift her chin up. "And he has the best reason in the world to hold on to life." He smiled. "He loves you."
Amy tried to smile, but the muscles in her face wouldn't cooperate. She settled for taking Teaspoon's hand, squeezing it for comfort.
They knelt there in silence for a few moments, lost in thought over what had been said - and what was left unsaid. Then Teaspoon stood up, pulling Amy with him. "Let's go get an update."
She pulled back, not moving. "I was banished from the room."
"Only because they was fixin' to cut off his pants to get at that leg wound." Teaspoon winked and leaned in close to whisper, "You want some surprises left on your wedding night, don't you?"
Wedding night? She didn't dare let herself think about that. Right now she just wanted to think about not having to bury anyone else. But she let Teaspoon guide her toward the house, because above all else, she had to know what was happening. She wanted - no, needed - to be with Buck, whatever happened.
Rachel stood in the doorway to the music room, fighting to keep from retching. Still, she couldn't take her eyes from the blood on the floor. She took a step into the room, staring at the puddle she knew to be Buck's. It seemed like so much, how could he possibly . . .
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Buck was upstairs right now, struggling for life, and she was not going to be down here thinking about him dying.
From the kitchen came the sounds of splashing water and plates clinking together. She clung to those sounds, trying to come to grips with what needed to be done. She had organized the people Amy had hired to clean up after the party, and work was underway in the other rooms of the house. Word of the tragic turn of events had spread quickly, and people had shown up early to help, most of them coming directly from the early church service.
But the music room she had taken herself. How could she ask anyone else to step into this carnage?
She retrieved the bucket and rags she'd left outside the door and turned back to face the blood. There was so much, it was hard to even know where to start.
"Rachel?"
She jumped, startled. "Oh, Jimmy! I didn't hear you come in."
Jimmy stepped all the way into the room, looking around. He'd been in there before, moving the bodies out and taking Abe Holling, who had somehow survived, into custody. But now, it all looked different. Now there was just the piano knocked almost sideways, the Christmas tree all askew at a strange angle. And blood.
He swallowed hard. It wasn't like he'd never seen blood before - but it was different when so much of it belonged to your friend. "I thought maybe you could use some help," he offered.
Rachel nodded. "I don't know where to start," she said softly. Then, "Jimmy . . .?"
"I don't know, Rachel," he answered, shaking his head. "Doc's still up there working, and Amy and Teaspoon are there too." He took a deep breath. "It doesn't look good."
Rachel bit her lip and just nodded, knowing she couldn't speak. She put the bucket down, took a rag, and knelt on the floor. "It just doesn't seem possible," she finally said softly. "Just yesterday, everyone was so happy . . ."
Jimmy knelt beside her. "I know." What else could he say?
"Jimmy, I'm so afraid." Her voice shook as the words barely came out.
He put his arms around her, and she returned the hug. They held each other for several minutes in silence, taking strength from each other. Finally they separated, and began the process of cleaning the room.
Aaron Tyler put down the last of the bloodied instruments he'd been using and reached for a towel, wiping the sweat from his brow. It wasn't particularly warm in the room, but he'd been working intensely for several hours, trying desperately to save the life of the young man on the bed in front of him.
The last time he'd come to the Dandridge ranch in the middle of the night, the results had not been positive. He was hoping for a different result this time - but it wasn't looking good.
"Well, Doc?" Teaspoon prodded.
Teaspoon studied Amy's too-pale face, the white-knuckled grip she held on Buck's hand. He could see she was shaking. Walking over to stand beside her, he asked, "But he's got a chance?"
"A chance? Yes,"
"I do too," she answered. "But I'm glad you told me the truth."
Amy reached out one hand, taking the watch. She could barely manage to look at the mangled back, but when she turned it over, the running buck was still there, unscathed.
She had to believe that was a good omen.
While Rachel directed the flurry of clean-up activity downstairs, the upstairs level of the house was quiet. Doctor Tyler finally left early in the afternoon. Having done all that he could do as a medical professional, he went back to town to see if anyone else was waiting for help.
Teaspoon stayed with Buck and Amy for a while, sitting silently on a chair in one corner and just watching. Waiting. Even praying a little. And he guarded the door, keeping most of the well-wishers outside the room.
Pastor McCready was allowed in. He knelt next to Amy and whispered quietly to her for a few minutes. Then he joined hands with her and led her in a prayer before he headed back to town.
Teaspoon left early in the evening that Christmas day. He'd been gone all day and felt the need to get back and make sure everything was all right in town. Still, he lingered in the doorway of the guestroom longer than he had planned, plainly worried about the young man who would always be one of "his" boys.
When the last of the clean-up was completed, Jimmy rode with the day's helpers back into town. But he, too, spent some time in the guestroom first, trying to make sense of things. He'd always kind of figured he'd be the one lying in a bed like that, struggling to survive - it was his lifestyle that invited getting shot, not Buck's.
Rachel stayed with Amy that night. They didn't even pretend to want to talk. Instead, they just sat and waited - Amy next to the bed, still holding Buck's hand, and Rachel off to one side, a comforting presence in the too-quiet room.
Ben took quiet charge of everything outside the house, seeing to it that the milking was done, deliveries were made, and the other animals were attended to. He sent Digger up to the house with food that night - between them, Rachel and Digger made sure that Amy ate something.
And through it all, they waited.
Day two passed much the same. Teaspoon and Jimmy each spent about half the day with Amy and Buck, taking turns so that one of them was always in town to watch the prisoner, or handle any trouble that might arise. Polly spent the earlier part of the day with Amy, coming out before the saloon opened. Rachel came out later in the day, freeing Polly and Teaspoon to ride back to town together.
Doctor Tyler visited in the afternoon, again assuring them that the longer Buck could hold on, the better his chances for survival were. But the worried look on his face told them all that the danger was far from past.
Ben, Pete, Digger, and the other hands stopped by occasionally - always hoping for good news, and needing to know where things stood.
Between them all, they made sure that Amy ate, and every few hours they would banish her from the room, telling her to get out for at least half an hour away from the vigil.
One time she made it all of twenty minutes before she was back at Buck's side.
Through it all, Buck remained unconscious, the slight rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was still with them at all.
It was the third day after the shooting. Amy had again spent the day sitting with Buck, and this time she had been left alone for most of the day. She spent the time talking to him, telling him he was loved and not alone. Begging him to hold on, and come back to her.
She had no idea if he could hear or understand the words, but it made her feel better. And if nothing else, maybe he at least knew he wasn't alone.
Finally, exhausted, her remaining voice a raspy whisper, she wrapped her hand around his and put her head down on the edge of the bed. Her hair fell loose over her arm and his hand. Squeezing his hand to reassure herself, she closed her eyes - just for a minute.
Blobs of light and dark swam before him, weaving in and out in front of him. He seemed to be lost in the blobs, a confusing mass of nothing - and yet everything.
Buck decided he must be dreaming, and he tried to concentrate on getting through the confusion. He gradually became aware of something warm and soft touching each of his hands.
With a great effort he managed to open his eyes and he looked at his left hand, trying to get his eyes to focus. Gradually things cleared, and he recognized Hope curled up by him. The little kitten had crawled up next to his leg and nudged her way under his hand.
Fighting the urge to close his eyes again, and using all the strength he had, he turned his head the other way. He saw Amy, sleeping with her head on the edge of the bed. He could feel her hand wrapped around his.
The blobs were swimming mightily in front of his eyes again, and he knew he was losing the struggle to stay conscious. He seemed to recall being hurt - but more than that, he couldn't remember.
He wanted to talk to Amy, but he couldn't make a sound. In fact, he didn't think his lips were even moving. With his last drop of strength he concentrated, trying to close his hand around hers. He wasn't sure if he succeeded or not before the darkness overtook him again.
Amy awoke with a start, knowing that something had happened, but having no idea what it might be. She looked around but the room was still quiet and peaceful. Looking down at Buck's face, she could swear he was getting some color back, replacing the pasty pale shade he'd been since the shooting. Otherwise though he was still unconscious.
A slight movement caught her attention and Amy looked over to see Hope sitting up on the other side of Buck. The kitten was purring quietly and busily grooming his hand with her little tongue.
His hand - that was it!
Trembling, she looked down at her own hand. When she'd fallen asleep, her hand was wrapped around his. Now his long fingers were tightened around her hand.
Feeling a touch of hope for the first time since the shooting, Amy reached across to the namesake kitten. Stroking the soft fur, feeling the steady purr under her fingers, she whispered, "Hang on, Buck. And come back to me."
Buck took a turn for the worse on the fourth day. His breathing became more labored, and by the time Doc Tyler arrived in the afternoon, each breath seemed to be a struggle.
One
look at
"There's
fluid building up in his lungs,"
"Damn!" Teaspoon shook his head. "I seen that before, too many times."
Amy was too worn out to be anything other than numb at the news. "So even though he seemed to be getting better from the gunshots yesterday, he could die now because he can't breathe."
"What can we do?" Her voice came out little more than a whisper.
"You
already did good by propping him up before I got here,"
Polly had been standing quietly by the door, but now she turned toward the hall. "I'll get all the pillows I can find," she said.
"Teaspoon,
help me get Buck up a little farther on the bed,"
Polly returned with an armload of pillows from the other beds. "Will this be enough, or do you want some blankets too?"
"We'll
see how it works out with these,"
Those
words came through loud and clear to Amy, and she got up quickly, walking over
to the bed. Teaspoon and
Polly was the first to break the silence that filled the room. "No, he's not going to fall," she agreed, helping arrange the pillows so that Amy was as comfortable as possible. She rested a comforting hand on Amy's arm and added, "Honey, if ever anyone had something to live for, it's Buck. He's got you."
"Do you think he knows that?" Amy whispered.
"I know he does," Teaspoon said. He sat down on the edge of the bed across from Polly. "Amy, I been shot up a few times myself. I remember one time some years back, I was unconscious for almost two days. An' I heard the doc sayin' I was gonna die." He leaned in closer and winked. "'Course, I was too ornery to do as expected."
"Well,
I haven't had the personal experience,"
"Doc, Polly and I need to be getting back to town, so we'll walk you out," Teaspoon said. "Amy, I'll tell Ben we're leaving so he or Pete can come up to the house and be with you. And Jimmy will be out soon as I get back and relieve him at the jail."
"We'll be fine," Amy said, hoping that if nothing else, Buck heard those words.
Water. Water everywhere, and still more water. He was drowning, and he knew it.
He had seen eight winters, and today his brother, Red Bear, had decided he was old enough to go to the deep lake hidden in the hills to swim. He was so proud to be going with Red Bear, who already looked and acted like the chief Running Buck knew his brother would become. And when he was with Red Bear, the others didn't dare taunt him about his hated white blood.
But now he feared this would be the last swim with Red Bear. After swimming and swimming, they had floated on a log farther out toward the center of the deep lake, taking turns diving down as deep as the air held in their bodies would allow. Three times before Running Buck had gone down, touching the bottom of the lake way beneath the surface, then rising again to breathe deeply in the clear air above.
On the fourth dive, his foot snagged on something, and he was trapped. He struggled to free himself, feeling his body start to burn inside as his lungs demanded air. Finally, his foot came free, and he shot toward the surface. But it was so far away, and he needed to breathe so badly. He could see the sunlight on the surface, so close and yet so far away. He gave one last push toward the surface, his right arm reaching straight up. He was going to miss Red Bear . . .
Buck gasped, his right arm shooting up from his side. As his lungs drew in air, he blinked, trying to clear his vision. He must have reached the surface after all . . .
But he wasn't in the water, he realized. He was in a bed. And it wasn't Red Bear grasping his hand. He could hear a voice calling to him and he closed his eyes again, listening, trying to concentrate. "Amy?" The word came out as a croak from his dry throat, barely audible.
"I'm here, Buck," she answered through tears of happiness. "I'm right here."
He could feel her behind him, holding him. It was her hand that held his own. But it had seemed so real that he was reaching out to Red Bear.
He concentrated on breathing, feeling pain with each breath he took. Gradually, flashes of memory came back. Amy, being held against her will. Amy, being threatened with a knife. He remembered throwing the knife, and gunfire. "How long?"
"It's been four days since you were shot."
He nodded, trying to absorb that information, as well as all the images of the shooting that were coming back to him. But his throat was to dry to ask any more questions. "Water."
"Oh, of course!" She tried to move, but her legs had gone numb from Buck's weight, and she didn't want to risk hurting him by trying to move him by herself. "We'll get some help," she promised. "Jimmy!"
They heard feet hitting the floor almost immediately, footsteps coming their way in a hurry, and then Jimmy slid into the doorway, his stockinged-feet almost slipping out from under him. "What's the matter? Has something . . ." His voice trailed off as he finally saw what was in front of him - Buck had his eyes open. "Hey, Buck."
"Hi, Jimmy." Buck coughed as the words caught on his dry throat.
"Jimmy, can you help me move him? I can't move my legs right now," Amy said. "Then I'll get some fresh water."
Jimmy helped to carefully lean Buck forward, then held him as Amy struggled to climb out. Finally she got to the edge of the bed, then stumbled and fell back when she tried to stand up.
Buck reached out and caught her arm. "You're hurt." He coughed again, wincing at the pain the action caused in his side and his ribs.
Amy quickly reached for his hand, shaking her head. "No, I'm not hurt," she assured him. "I just sat with you like that, in the same position, for so long, my legs don't want to work. I'll be fine in a minute." To reassure him, she stood up, moving very slowly this time - and with the help of the chair next to the bed, she managed to stay on her feet this time.
"I could go get the water," Jimmy offered.
"Actually, I think I need to move," Amy answered, stretching her legs. She took the pitcher from the nightstand and poured the last half-cup of water out. "You can start with this, and I'll get more." She started toward the door, then turned. "I'll be right back."
Jimmy held the cup to Buck's lips, letting the water dribble out very slowly. "She's barely left this room," he said softly. "You really got a winner there, Buck."
Buck just nodded - he knew. Right now though he had so many questions. "The three men?"
"Two of them are dead," Jimmy answered. "The third's in jail. Circuit judge is due next week for the trial."
"Anyone else?" Coughing cut off the rest of the question.
"No one else was hurt, if that's what you mean," Jimmy said, helping Buck with the last of the water in the cup. "Amy was banged up some, but nothing serious."
"You're sure?" More coughing.
Jimmy held his friend until the coughing subsided, then answered, "I'm sure. She's got a little cut on her chest, and some bruises. That's all. You got there in time." He paused, then added, "And Buck, she shot the guy who cut her."
They heard footsteps approaching, and in a moment Amy was back in the room, a pitcher of water in her hand. She took the empty cup, refilled it with water, then sat on the edge of the bed. As Jimmy helped hold Buck's head up, she held the cup to his lips, letting him drink slowly. After the second cup he leaned back, indicating he'd had enough for now.
"Better?" she asked, wiping up some water that had spilled.
"Better," he answered, his voice still weak but much less raspy.
"How are you feeling, really?"
He paused for a moment, taking inventory. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to even think about breathing. But he was breathing, and that was good. "Everything hurts," he finally said. "And I was having the strangest dream, like I was drowning. It seemed so real."
"You got fluid in your lungs," Jimmy told him. "Doc said it would be like you were drowning."
"That's why I was holding you up," Amy added.
Buck coughed again and nodded. "What else does Doc say?"
"He did everything he could, and then it was out of his hands," Amy answered softly. "It was up to you to survive or not."
Buck's eyelids were getting heavy and he struggled to keep his eyes open. "I'm going to try," he promised.
Amy pulled the battered watch out of her pocket. "This saved your life." The heart pendant, with its broken chain, was in the same pocket and she wrapped her hand around it for comfort.
It took Buck a moment to focus and recognize the watch as his Christmas gift. "I guess I messed up the shirt and the watch."
"Yes, you did," Amy agreed. "I'll forgive you this once, if you promise to never do anything like that again." She reached up to wipe away the tears that were flowing down her cheeks.
"I'll try," Buck whispered. The room was starting to spin, but he struggled to look at Amy, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. "Amy, are you sure you're all right?"
"Nothing some sleep wouldn't help," Jimmy answered for her.
"I've slept," Amy protested weakly.
"A few minutes here and there, mostly sitting in that chair," Jimmy responded. He decided it was time to take charge. Standing up from the bed he said, "Buck's gonna be just fine. With him waking up now, he's through the worst. He just needs to rest. And that means you can go get some real sleep."
Amy was shaking her head in protest. "Jimmy . . ."
"No, it's not gonna do Buck any good if you make yourself sick." He walked around to the other side of the bed and took her arm. "I'm gonna stay right here, Amy. And you'll be right across the hall." When she still made no move toward the door, he added, "Buck, tell her to go to bed."
"Go to bed, Amy," Buck replied dutifully, barely able to stay awake at this point.
Amy's first instinct was to be stubborn and stay, but somewhere in the back of her mind she could recognize the wisdom of what Jimmy was saying. "All right, I'll go," she said. She leaned down and kissed Buck gently on the forehead, then turned back to Jimmy. "But if you need me for anything . . ."
"I'll call," Jimmy promised. He pushed her toward the door, then settled into the chair by the bed.
Buck had already closed his eyes, giving in to the battle with sleep.