A Western Tale 0f Love And Fate (Historical Western Romance) Read online

  “Yes, Miss Zoe,” Wiley agreed urgently. “I’ll go down to the station and see if there’s anythin’ available to take yah.”

  “Get me a good horse if there’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just make sure I have a way to get there.”

  She was shaking as she walked toward the stairs. She would need to put a few things in a bag, nothing much, just enough to get her to Richmond. She would figure things out from there once she knew Quinn was safe. She prayed that he was.

  Zoe’s feet trembled and she stumbled as she ascended the stairs, but she soon steeled herself. Quinn would be fine. He had to be. The man had too much gall to die. He needed her, which was why he’d sent for her. She was going to be there for him. If she could help Victor, she could certainly help Quinn.

  Zoe dove into her closet for a small bag and began to put toiletries into it before stuffing two dresses inside. She could wear what she had on for the first part of the journey, and the others would serve for the other two days.

  It was only a short journey to Richmond by horse, thank goodness. It was a small relief, but it was still something positive in a time when Zoe didn’t want to think. Everything that came into her mind ended with funerals or lost limbs and crying. She didn’t want to think of such things. She had to believe that Quinn was strong enough, and wise enough, for Victor to wound him but not gravely. The message had given no indication of the severity of his injury, only that he was injured. There was a chance it could be superficial.

  “Yes,” Zoe said, as she forced a dress down into her bag. It wanted to be stubborn and she wasn’t having any of it.

  There was a knock on the door but Zoe didn’t answer. She didn’t want to be distracted, she was sure it was another concerned patron or member of staff who wanted to check on her. She was fine. It was Quinn who needed help. She shoved the dress down one more time before fastening the bag and hoisting it over her shoulder.

  “Hold on, I’m coming, Quinn.”

  Chapter Nine

  It hurt when he breathed. It hurt when he moved, and Quinn was trying to do as little of both as possible. Sweat dotted his brow as he craned his neck to look down at his torso. The bandage wrapped around his middle like some kind of snake. Blood seeped through his wound. Days had passed, and he was still bleeding.

  Quinn heard the sound of quickly shuffling feet. It was the doctor. The man moved like lightning but refused to pick up his feet. Quinn let his head flop back against the pillow. He was exhausted.

  The screen that separated his bed from the room slid back, and Doctor Quartermaine appeared. “How’re yah doin’ today?” he asked brightly. Quinn gave him a sidelong glance. He did not expect an answer, did he? The doctor chuckled. “I guess I should know you might not be up to talkin’ today.”

  “I am barely up to breathing, Doctor,” Quinn replied. He took a shallow breath to ease his discomfort.

  “That’s what happens when you get shot in the gut,” the doctor answered as he stepped closer. “Thankfully, it went right through you. Now, let’s have a look. Sit up for me.”

  Quinn exhaled deeply. Sit up? He wanted him to sit up? The doctor was used to patching wounds and not to getting them; that was clear! He was obviously unaware of the anguish this move required.

  “Come on now, I don’t have all day,” Doctor Quartermaine continued. Quinn glared at him as his nostrils flared and he took a deep breath and braced himself. Pain shot through his middle like a hot poker was being shoved through his gut inch by smoldering inch. He stifled his pain by grinding his teeth together.

  “There we go,” the doctor stated once he was sitting up. Quinn took several long breaths, each one as painful as the first, as he tried to reduce the fire in his gut. The doctor was too busy unwrapping his middle to mind much.

  It took several long seconds before the bandage was removed and Quinn was able to get a good look at the wound. The hole was small on the front, but a bit larger in the back, or so he was told. He could not see what was there, but he felt it. He felt it the day Victor gave it to him. He reached back, and his thumb slipped inside. That was when he knew he was in trouble.

  The doctor peered at his stomach for a while, poking and pulling as he inspected the wound. As he worked, he hummed a silly tune that made Quinn want to shut his mouth with his boot.

  “Looks like a bit of infection is settin’ in,” the doctor informed him. He looked at Quinn gravely. “I’ll give yah somethin’ for it, but it was expected. You took too long to come to me.”

  “It was not exactly my choice, Doc,” Quinn answered. “The man who shot me failed to ask if there was a doctor nearby. I figure that was because he was hoping I would die.”

  Doctor Quartermaine’s expression fell. “That was not funny, son.”

  “It was not funny when he shot me, either,” Quinn answered with a grimace as he tried to get more comfortable.

  “Let me wrap this back up for yah, then. I think you need to rest,” the doctor instructed. Quinn did not want his advice. Had Zoe come? Was she there yet?

  “Doc, has anyone come to see me?” Quinn asked weakly. He groaned as Doctor Quartermaine began to wrap the bandage tightly around his middle.

  “Not a soul,” the man replied. “Don’t you worry. I am sure with a personality like yours you’ll have tons of visitors.”

  Quinn gritted his teeth and refused to answer. He could not blame the doctor for his opinion of him. He was less than gracious to the man, and it was not his fault. Quinn was angry at himself. He had followed Victor’s trail for days in an attempt to apprehend him. He had left Shaniko and had made his way to Richmond, where he picked up another lead. Victor had been on his way to Portland. Quinn had not lingered a day in the city before he was off again.

  Portland to the Picture Gorge, he chased Victor and each time he knew he was getting closer. Picture Gorge was a sight to behold. Quinn never imagined anything like that could exist, but as it spread out before him, he had to believe there was a God. Who else could make something like that?

  Unfortunately, Quinn’s amazement was short-lived, as a gunshot quickly brought him back to reality. Thankfully, it was a miss, and the bullet ricocheted off a rock and lodged in the dirt near his feet. They shot at one another, ducking behind boulders and stone faces as they each tried to get the upper hand. Eventually, Victor got away in the maze of pathways and Quinn was left with frustration. Then near a mound of boulders near Bone Yard Canyon on the way back to Shaniko, they met again. This time, Victor was waiting for him.

  Quinn felt the shot before he heard it. It flung him back before it doubled him over his horse. He drew for his gun and fired back despite the pain. The bullet brushed past the rocky outcropping Victor was using to shield himself. He heard a growl of pain, but he saw nothing. It was when he was sure that Victor was gone and he looked at the blood pouring out from him front and back, that he knew he needed help.

  The ride to Richmond from Bone Yard Canyon was less than a day, but it took Quinn three. Every step the horse took was like knives in his gut. He fell from the horse more than once as his body began to weaken from the loss of blood. It took everything from him to stumble into the doctor’s office for help. He was barely able to get word to Zoe about what had happened before he lost consciousness.

  Doctor Quartermaine told him that he tore the wound, and the falls had exposed him to infection. Quinn was sure he would be fine, but he was already beginning to tell that there was something wrong in his body. He was hot, and sweating more and more, as the hours passed.

  The doctor finished with his wound and put the screen back in place. Quinn was glad as he did not want anyone looking at him. He was without a shirt or pants. As they were both bloody when he arrived, the doctor disposed of them. A white sheet covered his lower extremities, while his torso remained exposed.

  Quinn tried to rest, as the Doc ordered, but his mind could not. All he could think about was Victor and the fact that the man was still at large. Worse, that he had put a
nother hole in him to remember him by.

  “You need to stop him, Quinn,” he told himself as he tried to close his eyes. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”

  Sleep took him eventually, but it was more to do with the growing fever that was rattling his bones than willingness. Quinn tossed and turned uncomfortably as the heat began to flow through him like a flood. His exposed skin was hot and he wanted to shed everything from his body. At the same time, a chill was starting.

  He woke not long after, more miserable than when he closed his eyes. He needed water, but the jug was empty and refilling it was impossible.

  “Doc!” he called. There was no answer. “Doc!” he called again, this time louder.

  “What is it?” he heard another voice call. It was a man, probably the one on the other side of the room.

  “Where’s the doc?” Quinn asked.

  “He left a while ago to get some food,” the other man informed him. “What’d yah need?”

  “Water,” Quinn stated throat hoarseness.

  The sound of movement beyond the screen piqued Quinn’s attention. He reached down beside the bed where his gun rest. The doctor had attempted to take it from him, but Quinn was not about to part with his sidearm. He put his hand on the trigger and waited.

  The man pulled the screen back several minutes later. He was missing a leg and by the looks of it, the amputation was fairly recent. Quinn watched him suspiciously as he came closer and took the water jug from the table beside his bed.

  “Should you be doing that?” Quinn questioned. His hand was still on his gun, but the grip was no longer as tight.

  “You want water or not?” the stranger retorted. “I could be in my bed asleep, instead of catering to you.”

  Quinn swallowed down the dryness in his throat. “I’ll take the water,” he answered humbly. He set his gun aside and slipped it closer to the bed.

  He watched the man as he poured water into the tin cup the Doc left for him. The man lowered himself as best he could to hand it to him. “There yah go. Don’t drink it too fast. I ain’t ‘bout helpin’ yah with no bedpan.”

  Quinn coughed as the cool liquid rolled down his throat. He gave the cup back to the man, who set it aside. The stranger turned and began to hobble back to his bed as Quinn watched him. “What is your name?” he called.

  The man looked over his shoulder slowly. “Pope. Jim Pope.”

  Quinn’s eyes became large. “The bounty hunter?”

  “Yes,” the man answered gruffly. “Former.”

  Quinn looked at the man known across the country for his ability to always get his man. “I never thought I would meet you.”

  “From the looks of it, you nearly didn’t,” Pope replied.

  “What happened to you?” Quinn asked, as he looked the man over. He heard so many stories of the legend amongst bounty hunters, that it seemed incredible to see the man in such a state now.

  “One too many,” he answered sadly, as he turned to walk away. He hobbled slowly, pain obviously still an issue for him. Quinn wondered how long it had been since he lost his leg.

  “One too many what?”

  “One too many bounties. One too many I’ll quit tomorrows,” Pope replied as he looked over his shoulder. He scoffed. “I spent my life tracking men down, and now there ain’t nothin’ left of me but a missing leg and a name that will fade away with time.”

  Quinn was struck dumb by the man’s candid response. That was not what he had expected, but it certainly gave him pause. It was as if Pope regretted his choices.

  “But you are the greatest,” Quinn answered in confusion.

  “What’s the point of being great, or catching your man, when there is nothin’ and no one to be there, when it’s all said and done?”

  Quinn kept quiet after that. He watched Pope as he pushed the screen back. The sound of his labored gait on the other side was a haunting echo of the words he spoke. Quinn lay back against his pillow and looked up at the ceiling.

  Jim Pope is famous. He’s chased men for years, and no matter how long it took, he always got his man. He’s a walking, talking legend amongst us in law enforcement. The kind of man people told stories about, and he winds up here? Alone, no doubt? Why? Because he put the chase above everything else?

  Quinn swallowed the growing lump in his throat as the considered the fate of a man that he, and so many others, admired. It was a sobering thought.

  Is this where I’m going to end up? I’ve spent the past five years with a singular purpose. When the next case comes along, will I be so devoted? Will I be so consumed in bringing justice and getting my man, that I lose sight of everything else?

  Quinn never considered what his life was like. He only thought he was doing good for others. Now he was beginning to look at where he was, and what he was seeing wasn’t the picture he’d always envisioned for himself.

  Is this what I want my life to be?

  He looked at his stomach and then at Pope’s missing leg.

  Will that be my fate someday? Shot up beyond recognition? Sacrificing life and limb for the job? What about a wife and kids? What about Zoe? What kind of life can I offer her like this? Do I have anything to offer her at all? I don’t even have a place to sleep that’s mine. It wouldn’t be fair to ask any woman to commit to such a life, one where she’d be alone. I guess Pope must’ve felt the same way. But to end your life alone? It doesn’t seem fair recompense for all the crime he’s stopped and the men he’s brought to justice.

  The thoughts were Quinn’s lullaby as he drifted off to sleep. His body was weak and tired. He needed to rest. Still, even as he closed his heavy eyes to sleep, one face appeared before him. A pretty face. Zoe. Nightmares were normal, and today was no different. Quinn relived the shooting with Victor every time he closed his eyes. He saw every mistake he made, and how close he came to death was reinforced with every review.

  He opened his eyes to relative darkness. The sun was down and only the lamps lit the interior of the medical office. Quinn looked up at the cracks in the wood above his head. The wood was worm rotten and would soon need replacing. However, it was not the wood above him that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was the sound of the floor in the room creaking beneath someone’s weight.

  Quinn reached for his gun immediately. He cocked it as quietly as he could. If Victor was coming back to finish him off, then he would get a rude awakening. Quinn was not going to go down without a fight. Solid footsteps and murmured voices made his nerves antsy. He was ready. The minute Victor’s ugly face came into view, he was going to send it back to his maker.

  The footsteps came closer and Quinn’s heart began to beat faster in his ears. He focused his gaze and the screen. His sight was blurred slightly, but his hand was steady on the trigger, despite the pain of holding his position. Fingers took hold of the cloth screen and curled around the edge. It pulled back slowly, silently, and Quinn knew that Victor had come. He braced his arm and waited for the perfect shot. Inch-by-inch the screen rolled back, and for every inch, his heart beat that much faster. Finally, the form came into view and Quinn’s finger tensed to fire.

  “Quinn,” Zoe’s voice exclaimed. Immediately his finger fell from the trigger.

  “Zoe?” he answered, as he dropped the gun to his side.

  “Thank God, you’re all right. I got here as fast as I could. I had to find the doctor to let me in here,” she informed him as she rushed to his side. The Doc was standing behind her looking intently at their exchange. Quinn met his gaze.

  See, I have visitors. Pretty ones, too.

  “I wasn’t sure my message got to you,” he replied with a grimace as he allowed himself to fall back on the pillows.

  “As soon as I got word I came straight here.” She looked at him with so much concern. It was something Quinn had not seen years. “How are you?”

  “I’m just fine,” he coughed.

  “No, you are not,” Zoe answered him firmly. “But you will be.
I’ll take care of you,” she stated.

  “Zoe...”

  “I said I’ll take care of you,” she reiterated. “First, tell me what happened. Did you find Victor?”

  Chapter Ten

  Zoe never rode so hard in her life, as she did from Shaniko to Richmond. The coach from town was leaving too late, and time was of the essence, and not to be wasted. She had no idea what Quinn’s condition was, and she was not going to leave it to chance that he would be well when she reached him.

  Her heart was in her throat the entire time. What if Quinn died before she got there? What had happened to Victor? Was this war between them over, or only getting worse? There were no answers, and that only made her anxiety on the matter worse.