Something Borrowed

Chapter 42

Peering through the warped glass, she tried to see some evidence of a fight but all she saw was the tall, unmoving trunks of the trees, reaching toward the sky. Shivering with a chill of foreboding, she went back to the kitchen and plopped Rebecca in a chair. Her daughter, oblivious to her mother's fears, dug happily into her potatoes and gravy, chattering about horses, her sweet voice a balm to Amelia's nerves.

By the time lunch was finished she had all but forgotten about the gunshots. She settled Rebecca in the sitting room with her building blocks and went to the kitchen to tidy up. Busy with the dirty dishes, she barely heard the voice yell over the splash of water and the clattering of ceramic. She froze, her hands still submerged in soapy warm water, and tilted her head. The voice came again. This time clearer and closer.

"Amelia!"

Josh! Hurriedly drying her hands, she snatched up the rifle, checked on Rebecca, and rushed to the front mudroom. She shoved her feet into boots and pulled the door open, rushing out onto the porch. The sight before her nearly brought her lunch back up.

Josh was reining up Copper in front of the house. The horse was panting, sides heaving, and it was no wonder because the poor animal bore two riders. Brent sat slumped in the saddle before his brother, his face a deathly shade of white that put the snow to shame and made the smears of red on his skin all the more apparent. The air reeked of iron, and streaks of red oozed down Copper's sides and dripped off Brent's fingertips. He sagged heavily in his Josh's grasp.

"You can put down the gun Ames," Josh said, dismounting with a grunt and apparently oblivious to the shock that rolled through her in waves. He turned his back to her to catch Brent as the man folded forward and slipped from the saddle. Copper shied away at the movement and Brent's weight sent Josh backwards into the snow. Still cradling his brother's upper body, Josh huffed with exertion and shoved up onto his knees, glancing over his shoulder at Amelia.

"Sweetheart, I need your help," he said. "Put the gun down and come get his legs... Amelia!" he snapped when she merely stared, and she snapped out of her paralysis.

"Okay," she breathed, leaning the rifle against the wall and hurrying down the stairs. She slipped and slid in the snow, and icy clumps stung her hands when she slipped them beneath Brent's ankles and lifted. His legs were much heavier than she expected. Walking backwards, Josh carried Brent's upper body up the stairs and she followed, hunched over by Brent's deadweight. Several times, his soggy boots slipped from her frigid fingers, and his legs thumped to the wooden stairs.

Together, they managed to drag him into the house, bypassing the mudroom and laying him down in the entryway between the sitting room and the kitchen. Breathing hard, Josh knelt by his brother and ripped off his gloves, holding the back of his hand over Brent's mouth. "He's still breathing," he said, and Amelia swallowed hard and nodded. Beyond Josh, Rebecca stood in the sitting room, blocks forgotten as she stared wide-eyed at the bloody scene before her.

"Papa?" she whimpered, her lower lip trembling, eyes already shining with tears.

Josh jerked and his eyes flared wide before he twisted around. When he spoke she could tell he was trying to sound calm. The words came out shaky. "Hey honey."

"Papa?" This time the word was less pleading and more plantic.

"It's okay, Reb."

"I'll take her to her bedroom," Amelia said, abandoning the men and stepping over Brent's inert body, hefting her daughter into her arms. "It's okay," she crooned, pressing Rebecca's face into her shoulder. "Close your eyes, sweetie." Shoulders shaking, Rebecca clung to her neck as she carried her down the hallway and into her bedroom. Setting her on the bed, she took her daughter's shoulders in her hands.