wasnât he?â
âI âspect.â
âWhy?â
âSometimes, when he least expects it, a manâs past can catch up to him. Reckon mine has.â
âI donât understand. Please tell me.â
âEmily, Iâve told you before that not everything Iâve done in my life has amounted to something to be proud of. What happened between James Lee Hogg and me doesnât mean nuthinâ, although I imagine it does to him. But the
real
reason heâs here might not be something you want to hear.â
âCotton, there is nothing you could tell me that would make me turn away from you. Please, I have to know what this is all about, especially since it appears to involve me somehow. Please. You owe me that much. And Henry, too.â
Cotton flinched at her words. She was right, he did owe her an explanation after she was nearly shot as a result of
his
perceived misdeeds. But could he actually steel himself to the task? It was a question heâd wrestled with for some time. There still seemed no answer in sight.
Chapter 15
T horn McCann was groggy and disoriented when he awoke. He tried to sit up, blinking his eyes to clear them, to figure out where he was. And why. The stabbing pain in his shoulder knocked him back onto the pillow quickly, with a vague remembrance of Indians and an attack andâ¦and Cotton Burke. He groaned and licked his chapped lips. Delilah heard him and came to his side. She sat down on a spindle-back chair next to the bed.
âThat you, Delilah? Where am I? What happened?â He tried once more to sit up, but another surge of pain changed his mind.
âWeâre at the relay station. The Hardinsâ place. Mrs. Hardin patched you up. Just lie still so you donât undo the good work she did sewing those bullet holes up so no more of your blood leaks out.â Her words were barely above a whisper as she leaned in close.
âHoles? Was I hit moreân once?â
âOne bullet, clean through.â
âI sorta remember being on the stagecoach, and theattack of them blasted Apaches, and us trying to climb a hill to get you out of there before they saw us, andâ¦and thatâs all that comes to mind. Well, I
do
have some recollection of Cotton Burke, but that could have just been a bad dream.â
âNot a bad dream, Thorn. If he hadnât come along when he did, weâd all be dead by now. Those Apaches werenât all that keen on letting us live.â
âSaved by Cotton Burke. Damn! Thatâs humiliatinâ.â
âOwing a man your life isnât nearly as bad as being under a pile of rocks for eternity.â
âYeah, I sâpose you got a point, Delilah,â he sighed. âHow long I been laid up?â
âThree days now. You got real feverish for a couple days. Looks like its finally broke, thank goodness. Mrs. Hardin said if you lived through the fever, youâd survive.â
âWhereâs Cotton?â
âHe took the kid with the shotgun and that passenger, Denby, and went on to Apache Springs. Said heâd be back with a buckboard to haul you out of here. I donât think he figured youâd be able to sit a horse for a week or more, bad as you were wounded. I look for him anytime now.â
âThe driver, what happened to him?â
âKilled.â
Just then Mrs. Hardin came into the room. Thorn could hear some commotion outside but couldnât make out what it was about. Delilah smiled and said, âIt looks like your patient might pull through after all, Mrs Hardin.â
âLooks like. You up to a little soup, mister?â she said.
âI hadnât given it much thought, but I could use a little somethinâ, yes maâam. Whatâs all that hollerinâ outside?â
âA couple of Apaches came demandinâ whiskey. Jeremiah donât hold with givinâ whiskey to Indians. They know that. He tells them every time
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