Free A Cowboy at Heart by Virginia Smith, Lori Copeland

good, old-fashioned way of keeping those wounds clean. Soap, water, and a generous splash of this.”
    He set a bottle on the table with a thunk . Amber-colored liquid gleamed in the flickering light of the lamp.
    “What is that?”
    “Whiskey.” The doctor looked at Jesse. “He’ll scream like a wildcat when you pour it on, but do it anyway. If infection sets in…” He shook his head.
    Katie swallowed. If infection set in, Jesse would die.
    The doctor left the room, and Katie moved to take his place on the bedside where the light was better. She picked up the catgut and inspected it. Always before she’d use ordinary cotton thread, but this seemed stronger, thicker. With a practiced eye, she threaded the needle.
    Before she began, she laid a hand on her patient’s bare skin. Jesse felt warm beneath her touch, though thankfully not feverish. Was it her imagination, or did his breathing settle at her touch? She formed a silent prayer, as she did every time she nursed someone, but never had she nursed a patient in such grave shape as this man.
    Dear God, please do not let him die. Heal him with a word, as You healed the soldier’s servant .
    Setting the needle against his scalp, she began her work.

FIVE

    A wakening to consciousness was like climbing out of a pit. Jesse’s body refused to cooperate, and his limbs felt as though they were tied to his sides. His attempts to lift them resulted only in a dangerous swirling inside his pounding skull, and an upsurge of the nausea that roiled in his stomach. Where was he? Not heaven, that much was certain. Nobody could be this miserable inside the pearly gates. Maybe he’d gone in the other direction after all. Trying to pry his eyes open proved to be impossible. They remained firmly closed no matter his effort. His mouth felt as though a herd of Texas Longhorns had trampled through it. And dry. So dry.
    He sucked in a breath and pain exploded in his body. Oh, yeah. He realized he’d been dimly aware of the agony of breathing for a while now. How long, he had no idea. A groan raspedthrough the desert in his throat, and he was surprised to hear the result, a pitifully soft wail barely louder than that of a weak kitten.
    Instantly he was aware of a cool hand on his forehead.
    “You are awake, then?”
    A female voice, soft and low, close by. He tried again to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to obey. Another agonizing breath, and he managed to repeat his pathetic attempt at a moan.
    “Hush, now. She needs her sleep. A full night and day she has kept watch over you.”
    Who? Who needed sleep? Watched him do what? If only he could open his eyes and see.
    “Would you like something to drink?”
    Yes! Oh, please, God, I’d give a year’s pay for a sip of water .
    A hand slid to the back of his neck and tilted his head forward. Jesse ignored the shooting pain that resulted from the minute movement, for something cool and wet pressed against his lips. With an enormous effort he pried his mouth open. The trickle of lukewarm moisture tasted better than any whiskey he’d ever chugged down. He let the liquid slide down his throat, moistening parched tissue wherever it touched. Not water, but something sweeter and infinitely more delicious. He tried to suck more down thirstily, but the mug was removed and his head lowered.
    “Not too much at first,” the soothing voice whispered. “You must guard your stomach, lest it revolt.”
    The thought of the physical effort involved in vomiting sent a shudder through his weary body. Exhausted, he sank back into the soft something-or-other behind his head, for the first time aware that he was lying on a padded surface. He tried to decide what it was. Softer than grass, and smooth. A bedroll, maybe? That didn’tseem right either, but Jesse had no more time to consider the question. His body rose on a blessed swell of unconsciousness, and he hadn’t the strength to fight against it.

    He awoke sometime later to a noise somewhere