Free Stay With Me by Beverly Long

saddle horn, so that he was
almost lying on the horse. Fred had both sets of reins in his hand
as he led John’s horse.
    “How bad is he hurt?” she asked, not able to
move off the porch.
    “Sliced his head open and he’s got a hell of
a lump. Might have cracked it.”
    Didn’t people die from fractured skulls?
“Cracked it?” she repeated, her voice small in the big, dark night.
“Are you sure?”
    “Hell no, I’m not sure. All I know is he was
conscious when I found him. He’s been floating in and out most of
the way here.”
    Concussion. Brain damage. Coma. They’d been
just words before. “Let me help you get him inside.” She hurried
toward the horse but stopped when John lifted his head a couple
inches.
    “Hi,” she said. She wanted to weep but didn’t
think he’d like it or appreciate it. “I’ll bet you’ve got one heck
of a headache.”
    “I’ve felt better,” he admitted. “You won’t
want to come too close,” he said, his voice rough.
    “He smells a bit ripe,” Fred said.
    He did. He smelled like vomit and sweat and
blood. She swallowed hard and took three more steps and raised the
lantern to get a better look. Blood covered the left side of his
head and neck. His hair, all that beautiful hair, now lay limp and
dark, plastered to his skull.
    Sarah pressed her lips together tight, afraid
she might get sick too. Fred got off his horse and moved to her
side. He cupped her elbow with his hand. “He needs you, Sarah.”
    She nodded and took a deep breath. “John, you
should be inside. Can you walk?”
    No response but she watched as he slowly
pulled both feet out of the stirrups.
    “Good,” she said. “If you can just slide
down, Fred will take one side and I’ll take the other.”
    “Too heavy for you,” he said.
    “I’ll just be there for balance,” she said.
“You can lean on Fred.”
    He slowly slid sideways in the saddle, and
somehow, she and Fred managed to catch him before he hit the
ground. Fred, who stood a good six inches taller than John and more
than a foot taller than Sarah bent over and looped one of John’s
arms over his neck. Sarah reached for John’s other arm and flung it
over her own shoulder. Together, they managed to get him into the
house. They were six feet from the bed when Sarah realized they
were literally dragging him. He had passed out again.
    They dumped him on the bed as gently as
possible. Sarah took a quick step back, sucking in gulps of
air.
    “Heavy son-of-a-bitch, ain’t he?” Fred said,
trying to smile, awkwardly patting his friend’s leg.
    He was. Six foot of pure muscle. “We need a
doctor,” Sarah said.
    “Doc Mosley died two months ago,” Fred said.
“Nobody new has come yet.”
    Sarah whirled toward him. “No,” she said.
“You are not frickin’ going to tell me there’s no doctor.”
    Fred shrugged.
    Sarah paced in front of the bed. “What kind
of god-forsaken place is this? No water, no telephones, no doctors.
What’s wrong with you people?”
    Fred frowned at her. “Sarah?”
    Sarah rubbed the palm of her hand across her
mouth. “Never mind,” she said. “Just never mind. Now what? If
there’s no doctor, what do we do?”
    “We do the same thing we’d do if there was a
doctor. We wait. If he’s lucky, he’ll wake up with a hell of a
headache. If he’s not, well then, we’ll deal with that too.”
    Damn him for being so cold. Damn John Beckett
for cracking his fool head open. Damn them all. “Okay,” she said,
walking over to the stove. “We wait. But in the meantime, I’m going
to get him cleaned up.”
    “I’ll help you,” Fred said, taking off his
coat.
    Sarah shook her head. “No. You need to get
home. Your children are by themselves. I can take care of
this.”
    “He’s my best friend,” Fred said.
    “And he’s my family,” Sarah lied. “You go
now. Come back in the morning. We’ll be fine.” As she said it, she
prayed it would be true.
    “You’re sure? It could be a long