Free Texas Proud (Vincente 2) by Constance O'Banyon

the minutes as if they were hours. It was
nearing midnight. Why hadn't Alejandro returned
with the doctor? Where were they?

    He refused the food Margretta brought him and
hovered next to Rachel, feeling a helplessness that
verged on panic. If Dr. Stanhope didn't come
soon, Noble realized, he'd have to remove the bullet himself That thought scared the hell out of
him; the bullet was deeply embedded in her chest,
and only a doctor had the knowledge to operate
so near the heart.
    Night passed, and predawn light filtered into
the room. Noble rose from the chair to extinguish
the lamps, stretched his cramped muscles, then
returned to his vigil beside Rachel. Panic lingered
on the edge of his mind. If she died, it would be
his fault because he knew in his heart that the
bullet had been meant for him.
    Rachel moaned in her unconscious state, and
began tossing and fretting. Noble pressed her
back onto the mattress, forcibly restraining her to
keep her still. Already fresh blood soaked through
the bandage he'd applied only moments before.
    The morning breeze stirred the curtains, and
soon bright sunlight streamed through the open
window. Noble steeled himself for the inevitable.
He could no longer wait for the doctor. He'd have
to remove the bullet or Rachel would probably
bleed to death.
    Alejandro's wife, Margretta, poked her head in
the door. She was a tiny woman with even features and looked ten years younger than her actual age. She didn't look strong enough to be the
mother of five strapping sons. Her dark hair was braided and wrapped at the nape of her neck. Her
soft brown eyes were filled with concern and pity.
She advanced into the room and laid her hand on
Noble's shoulder. "Will you let me sit with her
now, Patron, while you rest? You have not left the
senorita's side all night."

    Noble glanced down at his hands, which were
trembling in fact he felt as if he were a mass of
trembling flesh. He drummed his fingertips
against his leg, knowing what he must do and rebelling against it. "I have to remove the bullet,
Margretta. Bring me the sharpest knife you can
find one with a good point-and lots of boiling
water, whiskey and more clean linens."
    "Si, Patron," she said with understanding. "It is
very bad, is it not?"
    "Si, very bad."
    Margretta hurried away to accomplish her
appointed task, while Noble removed a bloodsoaked bandage and examined the wound carefully. "The bullet is less than an inch above her
heart. Unless it's lodged at an angle; then it could
be even closer." He felt his palms sweating and he
dragged air into his lungs. Involuntarily his hand
went to Rachel's hair, which was matted and tangled. He softly touched her cheek, now flushed because she was feverish another bad sign.
    It seemed to him that hours passed before Margretta returned, her arms laden with the items
he'd need. He moved a small wooden table next to
the bed. Without being told, Margretta laid a clean strip of linen across the table, then arranged the
knife, hot water and bandages in a neat row.

    Noble looked at Alejandro's wife, trying to
gauge her character, and wondered if she was
strong enough to assist him. "Ill need your help,"
he told her. "Can you do it?"
    Margretta looked somewhat apprehensive, but
she nodded without hesitation. "I will not fail you,
Patron" She crossed herself, and her lips formed
a quick prayer before moving to Noble's side.
    Noble reached for the knife, his grip tightening
on the handle the same way his insides were tightening. He'd dug bullets out of people before, but
never this deep, never so close to the heart, and
never a woman-God, help him, not just any
woman but his Green Eyes. All it would take was
one slip of the blade to finish what the unknown
gunman had started. Noble doused the knife with
whiskey, wishing he could have a drink to get him
through this ordeal, but his hand must be steady,
so he resisted the temptation.
    "I need more light,