To Know Her by Name Page 3

  There was no moon this night, but Pup knew the path to the lake as well as she knew her own face. She didn’t linger but slipped into the icy waters and scrubbed furiously with her bar of soap. It felt glorious. Once her hair was clean, she lay on her back in the water and looked up at the sky. Cold as it was, she was tempted to stay out much longer, but McKay’s pale features floated into her mind.

  She swam toward shore and sought her robe, the feel of it like the comfort of a friend. The gun felt heavy in her hand as she walked back to the cabin, and Pup suddenly realized how tired she was. She wondered if she would hear McKay from her bedroom if he started to move about, but then sternly reminded herself that she couldn’t keep him alive.

  Her bed was still torn up from Govern’s searching, and she’d dropped her dirty clothing in a pile on the floor, but all of this was ignored. She fell onto her bed and slept within a minute.

  Dawn was just breaking when Pup woke. It never seemed to matter when she went to sleep; she always woke with the morning’s first light. Her shoulders ached, and her nose felt a little stuffy, but she knew all of this would pass. Ignoring the mess around her, she climbed from the bed and went to the spare room. McKay had thrashed some of his covers off, but he was still sleeping, his breathing even. Pup laid a hand on his forehead and found him slightly warm. She covered him again, making him as comfortable as possible, and debated whether or not she should look under the dressing. However, she heard a noise in the yard before she could decide.

  “You in there, Pup?” a gravelly voice called.

  Pup secured the belt at her waist and opened the door.

  “Hey, Mud,” she greeted the man in her yard.

  “You got coffee?”

  “Not yet. You want to wait?”

  “Nah.” He looked disgruntled and also like he’d been out all night.

  “How’s the claim?”

  This earned her a scowl. “You know very well how the claim is, or I wouldn’t be standing here with a hangover.”

  “You were supposed to tell me when you were going to town, Mud,” the woman chastised him. “I’ve got a list.”

  “I forgot.”

  She frowned at him. “You’d better get home. Percy’ll be having a fit.”

  “I bought him a book,” Mud said by way of explanation, and Pup nodded.

  Percy and Mud Dougan were her closest neighbors. They were brothers who worked the creek about half a mile away. Some weeks they were loaded with gold, and others they starved. Percy hated to go to town, content to pan the creek bed and read in the evening, but Mud was different. If he had money, he sought whiskey and company. At times they were like two fussy old women. Percy would hide the gold. Mud would find it and spend it all on liquor. But then he’d buy Percy a new book to placate him. Pup didn’t know how they survived.

  “I’d better go.”

  Pup didn’t bother to tell Mud that she’d already suggested this.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “All right.”

  “Tell Percy I might be up to borrow a book.”

  “He won’t let you have any of his new ones.”

  “That’s all right. Anything will do.”

  Without bothering to say goodbye, the prospector, who looked old beyond his years, turned and moved away. Pup turned back inside.

  In the few minutes of exchange, the sky had lightened even more, and the mess Govern had left behind became clear to the eye. Pup would have her work cut out for her. Even before she made coffee, she began to put her home and yard to rights.

  McKay woke to a burning in his shoulder that no movement could ease. He was cold, colder than he’d ever been, but couldn’t tell if he was in water. Something was wrong—something was very wrong—but he couldn’t put his finger on the problem.

  Hackett! His eyes opened as the name exploded in his mind, and as if he’d actually conjured him up, Govern Hackett approached and stood above him.

  “Hackett,” he tried to say, but nothing came out.

  “It’s all right,” Govern assured him in an odd voice.

  McKay told himself to get up and fight, but there was nothing—no energy, no strength—to fall back on. He felt as weak as a child.

  “Where am I?” he managed, wondering what bizarre twist had put him at the mercy of his prey.

  “You’re in bed. You’ve been shot.”

  “What drug,” he began, trying to ask the question he dreaded, the one his mind couldn’t quite form. He’d been given something; he was certain of it. He’d been shot before, and it hadn’t felt like this. Govern Hackett had drugged him. He had to stay awake. He had to fight.

  A long-fingered hand was placed on his forehead, and the desire to fight went out of him. The hand was cool. It felt like his mother’s hand on him when he was sick as a child. He told himself to open his eyes and make certain it was Govern, but he couldn’t manage it. The sea was rolling back in again, and this time he didn’t even have the strength to swim.

  Pup stood above McKay’s bed and looked down into his flushed face. She’d been working on some breakfast when he’d cried out. His head was so hot, but he calmed down the moment she placed her hand on him. She went for a cloth then, soaked it in cool water and laid it across his forehead. The chair was still at the side of the bed so she sat down.

  He had clearly thought that she was Govern. What would McKay say when he found out he was dead? Had they wanted Govern for questioning? Or was there a reward? Pup admitted to some ignorance on this matter, and also admitted that she hadn’t wanted to know everything her brothers were up to. She didn’t like to go into town, but when she did, she had learned to turn a deaf ear to rumors about the Hackett brothers. It was odd. Here she had a half-dead man in her spare bedroom, and he was the first one to think she looked like her brother. No one else had ever connected them. What would McKay say when he woke up?

  Pup shook her head and stood up. She was tired of asking questions that had no answers. And besides, she still had a cabin to clean.

  “You in there, Pup?”

  Pup’s brows rose as she left her tub of dirty dishes. Mud’s calling on her twice in one day was unprecedented.

  “I’m here,” she spoke as she opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He was cleaned up now, face shaven and hair in place. It was funny to her that he didn’t care how he looked for town, but to pan gold he cleaned up. Then again it probably wasn’t Mud’s idea. Percy insisted on neatness.

  “Percy sent you a book.”

  Mud held the volume out, and Pup took it without studying the cover.

  “He said he heard shots,” the man went on.

  Understanding hit Pup like a bullet.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I told him you were.”

  “I’ve got a wounded man in the spare room. I didn’t shoot him. My brother did and he’s dead now, but I’m fine.”

  Mud’s eyes widened, but he didn’t ask anything else.

  “Did you want some coffee?” Pup offered the drink as though it were any other day.

  “No, I gotta get back. Are you—” he began but cut off. Pup was the most private individual he’d ever known. Countless times he had come by her place, still half-drunk, and poured out his life story of panning gold with his brother and then drinking it all away. She never talked, only listened. Indeed, she’d never given a hint about her own life until now when she had calmly told him that she had a shot-up man in her spare bedroom and that her brother was dead. Mud hadn’t even known she had a brother.

  “I hope you enjoy the book,” he finally managed, hating how foolish it sounded.

  “I’m sure I will. Tell Percy thanks.”

  “I’m sorry about your supplies.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll probably head down tomorrow.”

  “What about the man?”

  Pup shrugged. “I’ve got to eat, and my sitting by his bed isn’t going to keep him alive.”

  It was exactly the type of remark he
would expect her to make, and somehow it comforted him. She was still Pup. She had told him she was fine, and clearly it was true.

  “Well, I’m off.”

  “Thanks again,” Pup called after him, but he was already on his way.

  She finally looked down at the book in her hand. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. She had heard of this book but not read it. Laying the volume on the kitchen table, she went back to the dishes. The water was cold as she finished them, stacking them to air dry.

  She hadn’t checked on McKay in more than an hour, but felt no urgency since she was headed in there to work on the broken glass. She had made certain there was none on the bed and then ignored the rest. The amount of bleeding he’d been doing when she had dragged him had been too heavy on her mind.

  Now with broom and dustpan, she went to work. She poured the glass and wood splinters into a metal bucket. The sound was like a bell in the quiet room, so she took the bucket to the living room to muffle the noise. It was on her way back into the room at one point that she spotted McKay’s eyes on her.

  “I’ve been shot?” His voice was rusty, but she caught the words.

  “Yeah.” Her voice was soft. “In the shoulder. The bullet is out, but you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  “So tired,” he managed.

  “Here,” she had moved to his side, “sip a little water.” She helped him without speaking, and McKay finally put his head back with a satisfied sigh. He looked at the woman standing above him.

  “Where’s Govern?”

  “Dead.”

  “How?”

  “You shot him.”

  McKay frowned at her and told himself to keep his eyes open. Could it have been her? At the moment he didn’t know where the question came from or what it meant, but something wasn’t right.

  “Think you can manage a little broth?”

  “I’m hot.”

  Pup put her hand on his head. His skin was warm but not on fire.

  “There’s a breeze coming through the window, but you don’t want to get too cold.”

  She watched him try and push the covers away, but he didn’t have the strength. However, it wasn’t a minute before he said, “Where are my pants?”

  Pup didn’t need to answer. His eyes were already closing. A man couldn’t lose that kind of blood and pop out of bed like nothing happened. Pup touched his head once more, and again the action seemed to calm him. He moved slightly under her touch, but the anxiety was gone. Pup didn’t hear from him the rest of the day.

  4

  Pup was gone from the cabin long before daybreak the next morning. Govern had been right about the money. Pup had cash on hand—she always did—but Govern would never have found it in the various places between the logs of her bedroom walls. She had put large saddle bags on Ginny and was now headed in for supplies. If she moved right along, she’d be back up the mountain by mid-afternoon.

  McKay had been awake when she checked on him, and had even accepted some broth from a spoon. She’d left him resting quietly. Pup wasn’t exactly thrilled to leave him on his own, but they had to have food. It had been her plan to tell him where she was headed, but he’d fallen back to sleep. Supplies could not wait another day.

  The ride into town was uneventful, and so was the shopping trip. Pup eyed the produce and canned goods dispassionately but still chose a good variety. Her patient was on her mind for most of the trip, so as soon as she finished filling her saddle bags she made a stop at the bank and headed back up the hill.

  McKay woke slowly, feeling like he’d been dragged behind a horse. His shoulder was still on fire, and the rest of his body was sore to the bone. His head hurt, so he tried not to move much. The back of his head deep in the pillow, he let his eyes roam his surroundings. From his vantage point there was nothing pretentious about the room. It was square with a low ceiling, and only the bed, nightstand, and one chair served as furniture. No pictures hung on the walls, and there were no curtains at the window. Indeed, one window was boarded up, casting a shadow across the bed. His mind still fuzzy, McKay wondered what had happened.

  He shifted his head to the left side. Now he was able to look out the open door to the room beyond. He thought he could see the edge of a table and some chairs, and with his head in this direction he also caught sight of a cup of water that had been left for him. Only about 18 inches away on the nightstand, it was like reaching for the moon. McKay was gasping with pain by the time he managed to maneuver the cup to his lips, and he splashed himself before getting anything into his mouth. He finally let his head fall back, feeling as if he’d run a race. The cup was empty in his hand.

  “Anyone out there?” he croaked, but was only met with silence. “Hey,” he tried again, his voice little more than a whisper. “Is someone there?”

  His hostess, or whoever she was, was obviously out. McKay had a dozen questions, and he was determined to stay awake to ask them, but he couldn’t make it happen. He fell back to sleep, not even stirring when the cup rolled from his hand and landed with a small thump on the rug beside his bed.

  When McKay woke again he was assailed by the smell of meat cooking. His stomach clenched in hunger, and he rocked his head to squint out the door. He could tell by the shadows that the day was long spent, but there was still plenty of light in the sky. He hadn’t cried out this time, but his movement brought the woman with the head of dark curls. She stopped in the doorway but came forward when she saw he was awake.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Water?” Pup filled the glass she’d retrieved earlier and held it up.

  McKay nodded and she helped him drink. Their eyes met when he lay back.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You mean in the hills above Boulder, or the cabin?”

  He didn’t answer. “You live here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Callie Jennings.”

  McKay was not at all surprised that Govern Hackett would have a woman living with him in the hills, but she was different than he would have imagined—clearly small town and down to earth. If rumor could be trusted, Govern enjoyed the big cities and women who’d seen a little more of life. Not that McKay could tell what this woman had seen—her dark eyes gave nothing away.

  “Can you eat something?” she asked without emotion. “I’ve got some rabbit stew on. I can cut it into small pieces for you.”

  “That sounds good.”

  She left without a word, and when she returned it was with a small bowl and spoon. Steam billowed from the top of the bowl. She was almost to the bed when she tripped on the edge of the rug and slopped a little onto the bed covers. Without a sound, she set the bowl on the nightstand and went for a towel. She cleaned up the mess without comment, pulled the chair close, picked up the bowl, and held out the spoon.

  McKay realized in that instant that he hated being flat on his back, weak as a child. It was humiliating. He couldn’t tell her that he could manage on his own, since it hurt to even move his shoulder, and Callie Jennings did not look large enough to help him into a sitting position. But it was true—he hated this helplessness.

  “Are you the woman I saw outside the cabin?” he asked between bites.

  “Yes,” she answered before putting the spoon back to his mouth.

  “Where’s Govern?”

  “He’s dead,” Pup supplied calmly, feeling no need to remind him that they’d covered this the day before.

  “Did I shoot him?”

  “Yes.”

  This time McKay didn’t take the food she offered. He’d eaten all of four bites, but it had cost him.

  “Had enough?”

  “So tired.”

  “You’re going to be, with all the blood you lost.”

  “How’d I get in here?” he asked, slurring his words.

  “I dragged you in.”

  “Bullet,” he began, his eyes barely staying open.<
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  “It’s out,” she told him, but she didn’t think he heard. She set the bowl aside and picked up the cloth. She tenderly wiped his mouth and chin as well as the little bit of stew that dripped onto the sheet. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be wanting a bath. Pup remembered how heavy he was and didn’t relish the thought. It seemed that he was going to make it through, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d be laid up. He didn’t interfere too greatly with her lifestyle, in fact not at all, but she had her own life and didn’t enjoy the idea of a stranger living in her home indefinitely.

  It would be dark soon, Pup thought absently as she cleared away the bowl and towel and left the sickroom. As she did the dishes, she decided she would take a bath and turn in early. Days spent going to town and back always made her tired; it felt good to finish the dishes and sit down. With the little bit of light left in the sky she picked up the copy of Pride and Prejudice, the book from Percy. It was very good. She read until the light faded, lit her lantern, and readied for her bath. McKay was doing surprisingly well, so she took as long as she liked, letting the cold water clear her head and cleanse her body. She then did as she’d planned and turned in early, thankfully sleeping the whole night through.

  McKay’s fever was up the next day. He was in and out of coherency and hot to the touch all day. He was not overly demanding in his needs, but each time he surfaced he had questions.

  Where is my horse? Did you get my saddlebags? What day is it? Where’s Govern? What was your name again? What time is it? How long have I been here?

  None of it was unreasonable, but Pup was a woman who could go for days, even weeks, and not talk to anyone. McKay’s constant questions were wearing her out. However, there was an upside. Each time McKay woke over the next three days, it was for a little longer period. Pup knew that he was gaining strength. She hoped he would be on his feet soon, not just for her sake, but for his as well. However, she hadn’t reckoned with the man—McKay Harrington. She didn’t know him well enough to realize that as he improved he also grew more frustrated with the fact that he wasn’t back to full strength. He woke up on Tuesday morning, just seven days after he’d been shot, his body still weak as a child’s, but his mind moving in 40 different directions.