ride ahead with her and Clark. With luck they could be back in camp by dawn.
She didn’t want to leave her Ranger, but Anna saw the logic. She hadn’t sat a horse since her days as an army nurse, but she hadn’t forgotten how to ride hard, and Clark, despite his wound, rode as easy as he walked. McCord’s wound was too deep to risk traveling fast, and Clark’s arm still needed proper care or the infection could kill him. The practical side of her she’d always depended on overruled her heart.
Clark signaled that he was ready and they were off. They rode fast across flat land, with only the moon for light, and reached the camp at first light. Anna swore half the garrison turned out to help.
While she cleaned up, three men washed a few layers of dirt off Clark. Another lit a fire in the examining room and spread out a buffalo hide on the table for the Ranger.
Anna doctored and bandaged Clark’s arm with the roomful of men watching. They groaned with the kid, like midwives at their first birthing. Anna grinned at Clark, guessing he was complaining more than necessary just to hear the echo.
As she wrapped the wound, one of the men who’d ridden with Cunningham asked Clark, “How’d you shoot that one hiding in the shadows without your firing arm?”
Clark thought for a moment, then started slowly into a story he knew he’d tell more than once. “When I heard the shot coming out of the night, I grabbed a rifle lying in the dust. The bandit, who’d been riding behind us all day yelling obscenities, must have dropped it when he was knocked out of the saddle. I raised it toward where I’d seen the flash of fire. It was so black I couldn’t see anything but his eyes. I just shot between them.”
“With your left hand?”
“My father always said, ‘You got two, might as well learn to shoot with them both.’” Clark smiled. “I didn’t want to mention that to the outlaws earlier. Thought they might decide to blast away at my left arm as well.”
Anna smiled, doubting any of the men would call Clark a boy again. He had a wound he’d heal from and a story he might live to tell his grandchildren. He’d not only killed an outlaw, he’d saved other lives. If he hadn’t fired when he did, the outlaw would have picked them off one by one.
Everyone fell silent as Sergeant Cunningham and one of his men arrived with the Ranger. There would be no laughter, no telling of stories now. A Texas Ranger was down.
They placed him on the buffalo hide, facedown. He didn’t make a sound. Then the men stepped back and watched as Anna cut off his shirt with shaking hands. Blood seemed to be everywhere.
Cunningham and one of the others she didn’t know stepped up to help. Both took orders from her as if she were a general. They could make him comfortable, clean him up a little, but then it would be up to her.
When the Ranger’s star hit the floor, everyone froze.
Anna took a step and picked it up. She shoved it into her apron pocket. “I’ll keep this safe for McCord until he needs it again.”
No one believed he ever would, but they all nodded as if agreeing that she should be the one to keep it safe.
When Anna had the wound cleaned, Cunningham seemed to think it was time for the audience to leave. He ordered everyone out except Clark, who’d fallen asleep in the corner.
Anna set to work, doing what she knew best. Years of working under all kinds of conditions kept her hands steady. She’d done her job when cannon fire still filled the air, when it was so cold that bloody bandages froze on the wounds, when sleep was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She could do what had to be done now.
“Listen to me,” she whispered to McCord as she worked. “You’re going to live. You’re going to come back. I don’t care if you like my accent or not, you’ve got to hear me. You’ve got to come back to me.”
Sergeant Cunningham returned with whiskey he claimed was for McCord when he woke up. Anna hardly noticed the sergeant moving around the room trying to find a comfortable spot. She talked only to Wynn as she worked, telling him everything she was doing and what kind of scar he’d have when she was