Free Open Country by Kaki Warner

injured, but it’s rare to forget everything. If so, it’s usually temporary.”
    “How temporary?”
    “A few days, maybe a week or two. I’m not sure.” When she saw his look of distress, she added quickly, “You mustn’t make too much of it, Mr. Wilkins. He woke up. That’s good.”
    “Good? He didn’t even know who he was. How can that be good?”
    “He could see and speak and move. That’s all good. If the damage was severe, he wouldn’t be able to do even that.”
    “Christ.” He dragged a shaking hand through his hair. “What do we do now?”
    After a moment to think about it, Molly said, “We wait for him to wake up, then we get as much water down him as we can, try to keep him calm, and let his body do its work. He’s strong. He should heal fast.” If his arm didn’t become infected. If one of his broken ribs didn’t puncture a lung. If there was no bleeding in his brain. Too many “ifs” and not enough skill. She felt out of her depth and sinking fast. “Perhaps I should get Dr. Murray. He’s probably more familiar with—”
    “No!” Wilkins spun toward her, raw terror in his eyes. “Whatever needs doing, you do it. I don’t trust him.”
    If the situation had allowed, she would have laughed. “And you trust me?”
    “No. Yes. I don’t know. You’re just a liar. He’s stark crazy.”
    She couldn’t argue with that. Sighing wearily, she nodded. She would do what she could—not for this man—but for Henry. “Get some rest then. I’ll watch over your brother for now. And please tell Mrs. Beckworth I’ll be delayed here for a while, possibly all night.”
    After he left, she settled into the chair beside the bed to begin her vigil. Now that the crisis was over, every aching muscle made itself known. But she felt heartened. She had accomplished something important here, something that might impact the rest of this man’s life.
    Because of her, Henry Wilkins was whole. Because of her, he might live a complete life. Surely that might mitigate the terrible injustice she had done him.
    Looking toward the window, where the nearly full moon softened the angular planes of El Capitan’s rocky face, she realized that for the first time she felt confident in her nursing skills—not intimidated by the task put before her or overwhelmed by the burden of responsibility those skills carried with them—but proud. She had saved a man’s arm. What a wonderful thing to be able to do that.
    She turned back to study Henry—Hank—counting his breaths, watching to see if his fingertips turned blue, if his face flushed with fever or he opened his eyes again. If he did and questioned who she was, what should she tell him? Now that it seemed her husband might recover, what was she to do about their marriage? And the money she so desperately needed?
    She would have to act quickly. Even now, Fletcher might be nearing El Paso. But how could she leave until she knew for certain her husband would survive? There could be infection or fever or seizures from his head injury. Dr. Murray was clearly incapable. Who would take care of Henry—Hank—if she left?
    Sighing, she tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.
    You’ve made a fine mess of it now, haven’t you, Molly?
     
     
    IN THE EARLY DAWN LIGHT HE STUDIED THE WOMAN STRETCHed on the unmade cot beside his, trying to figure out who she was and why she was there. He had a hazy memory of a woman leaning over him, her hand on his cheek—and a man who called him a big bastard as if they knew each other. But beyond that, nothing. No idea who they were, or where he was, or what had happened to him. He didn’t even know his own name.
    He tried to sit up to see how bad he was hurt or if he was missing any parts, but the motion made him dizzy and nauseated, so he gave up and checked by feel.
    Despite stabs of pain in his back and ribs, he could move his legs, which was a relief. His right arm seemed to work, but the left was so sore and