The Five Dollar Mail Book 3: The Road Home

51: And Miles to Go

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of Lily by Laura Hollingsworth. All graphics by me.

Book 1: The Green, Book 2: Lynch's Boys, Book 3: The Road Home, and the Riders & Kickers Anthology are available on Amazon under the name Regina Shelley. So if you hate waiting for chapter posts and/or want a more polished read, the finished product is available now.

Lily was so glad she and Saint had made it back to the Green, she barely resisted the urge to lie face down in the dusty trail running through the yard and wallow in the dirt. Saint had drunk most of the pot of coffee that Tommy had brought to him. In fact, he'd probably have drunk all of it, except he'd fallen asleep on Gennie Lynch's sofa in the parlor before he'd managed to polish off the last cup or so.

He had been steadily weakening as they made their way home, his lungs tightening and his head heavy with splitting, throbbing pain. Lily had put on a brave front, but she'd been terrified, constantly tormented by visions of holding him helplessly in her arms as his breath stopped in his throat and his face turned gray.

Arriving back at the station, coming home, and allowing him to lie down on the sofa and relax in a place where people loved him and they both could feel safe had felt like a massive, smothering weight sliding from her back. She pulled the wool blanket up under his chin, gently brushing his hair back and drawing in a shaking breath. Wash was sitting on the stone hearth, stoking the fire. He met her eyes, raising a rusty eyebrow at her, questioning. She nodded at him, letting out a long breath through pursed lips.

Tommy brought in a tray of food from the kitchen, shouldering open the door and striding across the room. The young blonde girl, who the gents had introduced as "Rosie", trailed along behind him with a pitcher. Tommy set the tray down on the demilune against the wall. "Miss Lily, are you cert...are you sure you don't want me t...I mean, I can ride for Doc Plunkett, if you think we need him."

She considered it. Logically, she knew Saint wasn't badly fevered, and that his gunshot wounds were clean and not festering. His breathing had steadied and deepened. Unless he takes a bad turn, I reckon we're through the worst of it. She tentatively shook her head. "What do you think, Mr. Wash? You've had more experience nursing him through a breathing spell."

Wash got up and dropped to a knee beside the sofa, gently settling an ear to Saint's chest and listening to his breathing for a moment. "Tosser," he muttered in what was probably the most tender, affectionate tone Lily had ever heard him use. "I think he's probably alright, lass. He's not turning blue and I think he's got air going where it's meant to go." He got up and took her elbow, leading her to a chair beside the demilune. "He's out of danger. I'm more worried for you, so I am. Are you alright? You don't look yourself."

"I'm not. I won't be till Jesse and Bender come back." She rubbed her eyes with her fingers, putting the remains of her spectacles on the table in front of her. "We got attacked, Wash. The land out there is valuable to the railroad. Someone who owns part of it wanted to buy it so they could sell it to the railroad at a profit. They were willing to kill us." She drew in a deep, steadying breath. "They took Jesse. Oh, Wash, it's too much to tell." She leaned her face on her arms, elbows on the table. Rosie poured her a cup of water and she took it, not realizing how thirsty she'd been until the water touched her lips. "Thank you," she croaked. The girl was looking at her with worry, her eyes huge, and Lily tried to give her a reassuring smile that she didn't feel. For the first time, she wondered why the girl was here at the station. I'll ask later. When I'm not half out of my mind...

"It's alright, lass." Wash put a gentle hand on her back and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, his callused paw big and warm and strong. She felt her eyes brim over, the relief of being home overwhelming her.

"Oh, Wash," she whispered, leaning her head back down onto her hands. "My brother's been taken by Indians. He might...he might be dead, and Jon with him. How did this get so out of hand?"

Wash's eyes were soft, comforting. "Bender's the man for the job, so he is. You know that."

"Ma'am," Rosie ventured. "I can go try to fry up some more bacon if you think your beau might want more when he wakes up. He seemed really hungry. I'm not the best cook, but..."

"Thank you," Lily said gratefully. "Maybe later. I doubt he'll wake up for a while." She could feel Wash's eyes on her, startled and questioning. He was expecting me to deny that Saint is my beau, she thought, feeling a twinge of heat blushing lightly in her cheeks. And I can't see myself ever lying to Wash. I reckon we have quite a bit to catch him up on. Not now. I can't do it now. All she wanted to do was to curb her hunger and thirst, make sure Saint was comfortable, and sleep for as many years as it took for her to feel normal again. "Wash, just tell me it's quiet and boring around here. We'll be alright if we can just have some peace and quiet for bit. Tell me nothing bad is happening here."

He roached his hair back and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well...uh...if it helps..." He shrugged helplessly, his face reddening slightly under his freckles. "We're all going to school tomorrow."

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