The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

It wasn’t any good and James knew it. She was wetter than he was. As he wrapped her in the blanket he just knew she’d catch an inflammation of the lung. To his relief he saw that the bleeding was sluggish now, thank the good Lord. “Come along, Bess, we’ve got to get her out of these wet clothes or she’ll get really sick just to spite me. I don’t think we should wait for Dr. Hoolahan.”

He automatically walked to his bedchamber. Then, realizing what he’d done, he turned and took her to his best guest chamber. “I’ll see to her, Mr. James. You go get changed yourself. The good Lord knows you’re nearly as sodden as poor Miz Jessie. I’ll take good care of her. Don’t you worry, Mr. James.”

When James knocked on the bedchamber door some seven minutes later, Old Bess told him to come in.

Jessie Warfield had three blankets pulled to her chest and was wearing one of his never-worn nightshirts, buttoned to her throat. He wondered where Old Bess had gotten it. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and Old Bess was gently daubing a wet cloth to the wound just above her left temple. Thank God the bullet hadn’t struck her face. And it was a bullet. He’d known that right away. It had scared the devil out of him. That she’d remained conscious was a good sign. A head wound and unconsciousness could mean death. The thought made him shiver. He was relieved to see that the brat’s eyes were bright, not all clouded up with pain and confusion.

Jessie watched him come to the bed. His hair was tousled, his shirt wasn’t fastened properly, and he looked worried. About her? No, more likely his concern was for Sweet Susie.

“I’ll take over now, Bess. Go downstairs and wait for Dr. Hoolahan.”

“Yessir, Mr. James.”

Jessie watched her lean down, pick up her iron skillet, and walk from the bedchamber. Jessie said, “This room needs fixing. The wallpaper is so old it’s—Ouch!”

“Sorry. You might consider keeping your mouth shut for a while. Hold still, I want to see how bad this is.”

She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

“It hurts.”

“Yes, I imagine it does. The bullet split through your scalp. That’s why you’re bleeding like a pig. Damn you, brat, hold still. Don’t pull away from me. Don’t you dare go to sleep.”

It was then he saw the tears seeping from beneath her closed eyes. He didn’t like it but didn’t know what to do about it. “I’m sorry, Jessie, I won’t touch you again. Dr. Hoolahan should be here soon.”

He lightly touched the edge of the soft cloth to her cheeks to wipe away the tears. He felt like a clod.

“Just lie still. That’s right. Don’t move; just lie there and try to relax. And stay awake.”

She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Sweet Susie’s still in heat. She wanted Billy’s horse to mount her.”

“You can explain that later. Rest, Jessie, and—”

“I know. Stay awake. I’m not stupid, James. I won’t go to sleep, not with a head wound.”

She closed her eyes again, but the pain didn’t lessen. Her head seemed to pulse, a dull throbbing that was fast becoming a vicious headache. How could she relax when she wanted to cry and huddle into herself?

“He was stupid to shoot at me when he could have hit Sweet Susie. That’s what finally stopped him, the fear of hurting her. She even wanted Benjie. You must keep her apart from the stallions, James.”

“I will.”

She sighed deeply, gave him a vague smile, and fainted. It scared him to death. She shouldn’t have fainted. Not now. God, maybe it wasn’t just a superficial scalp wound? What if—“Jessie? Jessie, wake up! I don’t like this. Come on, wake up.” He shook her shoulders, but her head just lolled on the pillow. He cursed some more. He was still cursing, ordering her to wake up and stop scaring the devil out of him when the bedchamber door opened and Dr. Hoolahan strode in. Actually, the doctor never strode; he minced. He took short, delicate little steps. He was thirty years old, barely five feet four inches tall, and had a full head of nearly white blond hair and slanted blue eyes. That mincing walk of his made James want to hit him, but now, he was s

o relieved to see him, he jumped up from the bed and said, “Quickly, Dancy, she’s been shot, her scalp grazed, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly. She just fainted and I know that’s not good. Oh, Jesus, quickly.”

“It’s all right, James. Just move aside, that’s it. Give me a bit more room.”

Dancy Hoolahan might mince, but his voice was as deep and soothing as Bishop Morgan’s in Washington. He had light hands and he was clean, necessities for both people and horses. James watched him lightly probe around the wound, then lean down and press his cheek to Jessie’s chest. He watched him take her pulse, watched him pry open her eyes and look at her pupils.

“Ah, she’s coming around. Jessie? Come on, my girl, wake up and stop scaring your host out of his socks.”

She groaned and opened her eyes. James saw the pain deepen her green eyes to nearly black and said, “Can’t you give her some laudanum, Dancy?”

“Not just yet. Head wounds are tricky—you know that. She can bear the pain, but I doubt she could bear being dead. Hold on, Jessie. Can you understand me?”

“Yes, naturally. I’m not deaf.”

Dr. Hoolahan laughed, a deep, very sweet laugh, which should have come from a man James’s size. “Good girl. Now, I’ve got to cut your hair away from the wound. It’ll leave a bald spot but you’ve got so much hair, it won’t show.” He removed a razor from his black leather bag. “Have Bess get me some very hot water, James. I’ll need a bandage as well, lots of clean white linen.”