Free Cindy Holby by Angel’s End

rig.”
    Leah went through his pants pockets. She found a few coins that she dropped in a crock and a wide blue ribbon. It was wrinkled and dirty, as if Pastor Key had found it on the ground and then stuffed it in his pocket. Leah extended it between her hands. It was long enough to tie back hair. What a strange thing for a minister to keep. Was it any stranger than having him show up shot? Leah put the ribbon in a wooden bowl she kept on the table and put the pants aside to wash.
    She held up the frock coat. It needed a good brushing. The collar looked like it was charred. Had he dropped it ina fire? That would need some work, but maybe with some of the black velvet she had in her quilt fabric she could repair it. She turned it over to search for the bullet hole but there wasn’t one. So he’d been shot when he had his coat off, then put it back on before he got on his horse? Leah dropped the frock coat and grabbed the big coat from the hook. It was heavy. She searched the pockets, and found the letter Ward had read and a Bible. She put both aside and turned the coat over to see if there was a bullet hole in the back of it. There wasn’t.
    “What happened to you?” Leah placed the letter inside the Bible and went to the preacher’s room.
    The room was dark except for the dim glow of the lantern hanging over the table. Leah put his Bible on the bedside table, turned up the wick on the lamp, and studied her patient.
    He was definitely resting easier now. His chest rose and fell with long, steady breaths. He lay on his back with one strong arm thrown over his head, revealing the curve of the muscle. The sheets and blankets were pushed down to right below his chest. His skin was dry, and the fever gone.
    His mouth was slightly open, showing the tips of his teeth. He needed a shave and a haircut. His hair was wild.
    Leah picked up the bowl of water she’d used to cool him with. “Sleep well Pastor Key.” She turned down the lamp.
    “Amen…” He sighed as she left the room.



SIX
    T here was a dog staring at him. Cade opened his eyes and found himself eyeball to eyeball with a black and white dog. The light was dim, a shade of bluish gray that told him it was either morning or evening, he had no way to tell. The dog sniffed him, and then got downright personal by licking his cheek before voicing a gentle “wuff” as a greeting.
    “Pleased to meet you.” His voice was hoarse and cracked and his throat dry. “I think.” He held his hand out beneath the dog’s nose and it sniffed him again, and then opened its mouth in a friendly grin with its tongue lolling out. Cade rubbed its ears. “Where am I?”
    He rolled over on his back, weak from the small bit of exertion. He could make out a wood plank ceiling above him. His entire body hurt like hell, especially his gut. He put a hand over his wound. Yes, he’d been shot. Shot by Fitchand his bastards because he had helped the girl and her husband escape.
    “I should be dead.” Cade closed his eyes. Was he grateful to be alive? That all depended on where he was. If this was prison, or worse, Fitch’s place, then no, he wasn’t. It could just be another one of God’s jokes. Yes, I saved your life but what I’ve got in store for you now is worse than death. God did seem to enjoy playing with his life.
    What happened after he got shot? His memory was fuzzy, lost somewhere among strange dreams that seemed as if they belonged to someone else. Cade felt like he’d been asleep for a year. Wished he had. Wished he could wake up to find the last ten years nothing but a horrible nightmare.
    Cade opened his eyes again and stared at the wooden planks of the ceiling. He was in a small room, in a comfortable bed, with a dog. A lantern hung from a peg off to one side. It was turned down low.
Morning then
. He rubbed the dog’s head again. There wouldn’t be a dog in prison or at Fitch’s. Most dogs, or at least the smart ones, stayed far away from Fitch. Maybe he’d been