Chapter 27
The night air soothed the still sounds that were echoing through the Cooper house as it’s inhabitants rested peacefully in their beds. All but one sank deep into their dreams and escaped reality in the joys of their sleeping minds.
Clint, however, couldn’t force his eyes to close long enough to even try to rest. His senses felt alert and uneasy, and he knew that something was wrong somewhere. His mind had begun to grow weary of thinking reasonably as his imagination took over. His eyes were wide open, refusing sleep, while the muscles in his arms refused to relax. He felt apprehensive, yet he couldn’t force himself to relax.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Clint sat on the edge of the bed and lit a lantern on his bedside table.
Pop!
As soon as the wick inside the lamp caught on fire, the sound of the floor creaking in the kitchen could mean nothing other than a physical presence in the area. Every one of Clint’s senses tensed and became on high alert as he reached for the gun slung over the back of the chair to his left. He heard a muffled voice and relived the events of the night before. Whoever had walked in on Bliss was back, and he had every intention of stopping them this time. Taking his steps carefully, he tiptoed toward the door and turned the knob as silently as possible. The door opened, and he stepped out into the cold air outside of his room. His heart pumped pure adrenaline and he was sure that the intruders could hear it thumping. He walked stealthily down the hall and came up to where it led into the kitchen. He could hear the muffled sounds of two people whispering to each other. Pulling his gun from its holster, Clint placed his thumb on the hammer and took one final step into the kitchen. He was going to catch them this him and they wouldn’t get away.
“A’ight you two better freeze or I’ll blow a hole in you both quicker than you can even think about running,” he growled out at the intruders.
Suddenly, the one nearest to him whirled around and a gunshot fired. Clint felt a searing pain in his right hand, making him drop his gun. The intruders ran for the door and Clint bent for his gun, taking it in his left hand. Shaking off the pain as quick as he could, Clint winced and saw, through the view of the window, two riders approaching their two horses. He ran out after them, but they were already mounted on their horses and out of range by the time he leveled his unsteady left hand correctly in their direction. Disappointment washed over him as the pain took over in his hand. He looked down just as a drop of blood landed on his right foot.
His jaw muscle tightened in pain as he walked into the house.
The lantern lit and someone turned the wick up to cause more light to shine. It wasn’t until the light reached the person’s face that he realized that it was Grace.
“What happened?” she asked.
Clint hid his hand behind his thigh. The last thing he wanted was Grace fondling over him.
He didn’t answer her question, as he didn’t know what happened himself. He looked around the kitchen. Drawers and cabinets were pulled open, their contents in disarray. Pots and pans had been flipped over and the bowels had been rummaged through. Whoever was just inside the house was looking for something.
Grace hurried to begin cleaning up the mess as more footsteps hurried down the hall.
“This is getting old very quick,” Damian’s voice grumbled.
Clint rolled his eyes. Sherman and Damian entered the room, both of their gazes fixed on the mess around the room.
“Who was it?” Sherman asked.
Clint shrugged. “I have no idea. There was two of them.”
“And you couldn’t even hit one? So far I’m finding that your skills concerning are glorified. If this is the best you can do, then you might as well pack up now. My daughter could be killed with all the help you are,” Sherman snapped.
Clint was tempted to do just that. His temper flared, and his jaw tightened even more. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped short. Bliss needed him. He knew he could protect her if it came down to it. He wouldn’t let anything as simple as a shot to the hand stop him if she was in immediate danger. Of that he was sure.
He didn’t reply to Sherman, much too annoyed by his aching hand, but turned to Colt as he and several of the other cowboys came rushing toward the house.
“I heard a shot,” Colt said as he entered the kitchen.
“Everyone’s alright,” Sherman said. He directed a pointed look toward Clint before adding, “Fortunately.”
Clint scowled and diverted his eyes from the annoying old man. Every one of them knew that he could drive Sherman into the ground like a thumbtack, even with a hurting hand, but it wasn’t Clint’s place to point that out.
Smaller footsteps came padding down the hall and Clint knew that it was Bliss even before her blonde head peeked around the corner.
“Is everyone alright?” she asked, focusing on him.
He holstered his gun with his left hand and nodded.
“What happened to your hand, Mr. Slade?” Bliss’ voice echoed over to him.
Every eye turned toward him and Clint realized that he had accidentally moved his bloodied hand into their view. He closed his eyes in annoyance as Grace gasped.
“Lord, have mercy,” she breathed in more of a prayer than an exclamation.
Clint opened his eyes just in time for her to drag him into a chair.
“It’s just a scratch,” he protested.
“It still needs tended to. You wanted to keep this from me, didn’t you?” Grace went to the cabinet and rummaged through the strewn things to find a box that she kept medicines in.
Clint didn’t answer her. Her antics were just enough to coax a small smile on his lips. Suddenly, Bliss plopped down in the chair next to him just as Grace brought the box over.
“Let me do it,” she mumbled to the older woman.
Grace gave her the box with a knowing smile and Bliss rolled her eyes and opened the box, withdrawing some gauze.
“Quit your grinning and get me some warm water and a rag, please?” she looked up at Grace.
Grace patted her arm and went to do Bliss’ bidding.
“How many were there?” she asked.
“Two,” Clint answered.
He found it interesting that Bliss didn’t accuse him of things like her father did. Recalling the man’s former statement, Clint looked up at Sherman and scowled.
The man didn’t meet his gaze, which gave Clint a level of triumph.
Bliss began to wipe away some of the blood on his hand with a dry rag.
“How did this happen?” Bliss asked.
Clint shrugged. “One of them whirled around and shot in my general direction before I could figure out what to do with them.”
“You could have not let ‘em go,” Sherman mumbled.
Clint turned his head to face Sherman and laced his words with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah. That’s a novel idea. I’m sure if I asked them politely they would sit real still while I tied them up and locked the doors.”
“What’s that gun you got for?” Sherman spat back at him.
Clint rolled his eyes. “So you wanted me to shoot one of them in the back. The other one would have killed me before I could pulled my hammer back again. I’m not stupid, Sherman.”
Sherman mumbled something in return, but Clint didn’t care anything about hearing it.
Bliss had apparently heard it, as she gasped at her father and threw one of her rags at him. Some of the cowboys laughed as they stood by, listening to the conversation.
“A’ight boys. You can go back to sleep now,” Grace told them all.
The cowboys filed out of the door, all except Colt. Grace brought the warm water and Bliss thanked her.
“I’m gonna go back to bed, too. You’d think we could find some way of keeping those guys out of here without waking everybody up,” Damian grumbled.
“Maybe we’ll find some way for Clint to get shot silently next time so you won’t be interrupted,” Grace scowled after him.
Colt sat down at the table, Sherman sitting beside him at the end of the table so he could meet Clint’s eye. Bliss laid his hand in hers, covering her whole tiny hand with his palm. Clint felt strange, almost as if she were holding his hand. He was about to shake off the feeling when he looked down the table at Sherman, who had the most deathly glare a father could muster on his face. If looks could kill, Sherman would be convicted of murdering Clint.
He found the face amusing, thus bringing a smile to his face. Colt looked over at Sherman, then at Clint, then back at Sherman before resting his eyes on Clint and Bliss’ hands, watching her every move.
She was oblivious to the silent argument as she washed his wound with the warm water, keeping her gaze on the gash on the side of his hand.
“You’re lucky this is only a scratch, Mr. Slade. It shouldn’t take too long to heal from the looks of it. I’m not doctor, though,” she said.
Clint shrugged. “I knew you two were making a big fuss over nothing.”
“This is not nothing. You better keep a bandage on it, too. If it gets infected, we’re up a creek without a paddle,” Bliss told him as she applied some sort of salve on his hand.
Clint groaned. “I’m not a baby.”
“Do you wanna lose this hand, Slade?” she looked up at him for the first time.
“I won’t lose it,” Clint told her.
She held his gaze. “Do you think anyone plans on infection setting up? You could die if it gets bad enough. Just wear the bandage and admit that I’m right and we’ll be just fine.” Her words ended with a sweet smile.
Clint pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow at her, but she looked back down at his hand.
After wrapping it in gauze, she tied it but didn’t let go.
“Can I have my hand back now?” Clint asked.
“Depends,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you gonna take care of it?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Clint pulled his hand from her grasp and examined the wrapping.
“You’re learning,” Bliss smiled.
“Okay!” Sherman jerked to his feet a little more harshly than necessary and pushed his chair back. “I think we can get back to bed now.”
Bliss nodded and started walking down the hall. “Don’t forget to put something in front of the door until we can get a lock,” she called back.
Sherman nodded and walked after her. Colt dismissed himself and went back out to the barn.
“Don’t worry about Sherman, Mr. Slade. He’s a little callous, but he’ll warm up to you,” Grace told Clint.
Clint shrugged. “Let him not warm up to me. I won’t lose sleep over it.”
“Don’t you ever get attached to people?” Grace asked.
Clint struggled to answer that. No, he didn’t normally get attached to people, but there was something about the residents of the Dottie Belle - one resident in particular - who made his want to trust people again. Yet if he did that, he wouldn’t be taken seriously ever again. It was best if people thought him heartless.
“No,” he stated firmly.
*****
Bliss heard Clint’s answer to Grace’s question just before she entered her room. A part of her heart sank at his one-worded answer.
He didn’t trust people. That was how he had been for his whole life, and that’s how he wanted it to stay. He didn’t want anything or anyone softening his heart toward people
Why was she upset at that? She had heard her father’s rude remarks to Clint and knew that he didn’t approve of the man. Never again would she think about getting too attached to a man that her father didn’t approve of. She had learned her lesson in that area years ago.
She couldn’t deny that she liked the way his big, strong hand felt atop hers, even if it was weakened with a gunshot wound.
She collapsed back onto her bed and thought about what would have happened if the man who had shot Clint had had a better view and shot him in a place the wouldn’t heal as easily. What if he had been killed? How could she live with herself after that? She would have blamed herself for years and years and wasted her life on regrets.
Shoving the thoughts away from her mind, she turned into her pillow and closed her eyes, begging for sleep and sweet ignorance of the questions plaguing her mind.
I know it's taken me longer than usual to update, but that's because I'm lazy:) Tell me what you think! :) Thanks for reading! You guys are literally AWESOME!