mug before scurrying back into the room with Morgan. She stuffed the items, along with her rifle, under the bed. In seconds, she had her gun belt strapped to her waist and the Colt in her hand. Doc took the bowl of broth and eased the door shut. Shadows closed in around her. Again the hammering against the door thundered in her ears, and she heard a haunting voice.
“Open up, Doc.”
Her heart hammered against her chest until she feared Tim might hear.
She stole across the room and waited. The idea of shooting her own brother sickened her, but she could threaten.
Her gaze flew to Morgan, who peered at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes. Tim would pump one bullet after another into him. She stepped across the room and covered his head.
“Doc, if you’re in there, open up.”
“Who’s there?” Doc said, and Casey realized he searched for any traces of what might have been left behind.
“Tim O’Hare.”
“What’s the problem?”
The front door creaked open.
“Jenkins got a bullet in his leg, and it’s busted. The bone’s sticking out. Hurting him powerful bad.” Tim sounded tired, and that meant a short temper.
“Where is he?”
“Outside of town, about two hours’ ride from here. I tried bringing him in, but he’s carrying on like a madman.”
The familiar agitation in her brother’s words caused her to shudder. He couldn’t be trusted when he was riled.
“Just let me get my bag and pack a few things.”
“Make it fast. I’m tired of hearing Jenkins bellyache.”
Doc must have lifted his black medical bag onto the table. From the sound of clinking bottles, she assumed he was rummaging through its contents.
“I have splints and bandages, but I need to get extra laudanum from my bedroom,” he said.
Casey cringed at the thought of the painkiller on Doc’s dresser. Normally it would be in the other room where he treated folks. Would Tim suspect anything? She backed behind the door. Her hand wrapped around the handle of the Colt. Odd how something she knew so well could be what she despised the most. Her palm rested on the butt, worn by use.
Doc opened the door, and Tim’s tall silhouette cast an eerie shadow across the wooden planks. Even in the dimly lit room, Morgan’s body could be clearly seen.
“Who’s your patient, Doc?” Tim said.
“She isn’t a patient. I do have a personal life.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Tim said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Doc rummaged through the medicinal items on his dresser. “I’ll be back in a few hours, honey.” He leaned over Morgan’s covered head and planted a kiss atop the blanket, then turned to Tim. “Does Jenkins appear to have an infection?”
He shook his head. “Cut real bad, but nothing festerin’. Say, have you seen my sister?”
“Casey? Why? Did you send her to fetch me?”
“Naw. She lit out and is traveling with some man. He got himself hurt, so I figured they’d have headed here.” Tim leaned on one leg. How well she knew the stance. “ ’Course he might have died.”
“True. Check the undertaker or the saloons. I heard quite a bit of commotion last night.” Doc walked toward the open door. “I need to saddle up my horse.”
Casey held her breath. She recalled Doc’s earlier request to stable her and Morgan’s horses in an empty shed across the way. Thank you.
The front door squeaked shut with the same grating irritation as when it opened. A moment later, the only sound came from a clock ticking on the dresser. Time. Doc had bought her time.
As much as she wanted to leave Vernal, Morgan needed tending until Doc returned. After latching the front door, Casey carried the rocker from the kitchen to Morgan’s bedside and then gently uncovered his head. She contemplated whether to light the kerosene lamp. After much deliberation, she set a faintly lit lamp on the floor beside the bed and hoped no one could see the light through the shade covering the single window. Wrapping a quilt around her shoulders, she eased into the rocker and watched Morgan’s face for signs of distress.
The longer she sat, the wearier she became. Sore tired, she labeled it. Every part of her body ached, even after the hours she’d slept the previous night. Sometimes she thought she could sleep for days. But not now.
I need to sort things out . . . figure out where to go, what to do.
No matter how she looked at the situation, staying in Vernal invited trouble. Each moment she