The Heart of Lincoln County 2/?
Title: The Heart of Lincoln County
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 2/?
Series: TDS/TCR/The O'Reilly Factor
Genre: Western AU (romantic comedy-drama)
Chapter pairings: Jon/"Stephen" (comfort), Amy/Paul, Jon/Tad
Chapter rating: PG-13
Content: slash sex, Old West violence, language, angst, prejudice, mild het content.
Word count: 2800
Chapter summary: Doctor Jon Stewart has a busy night. Deputy Steve Carell discovers Lincoln's unique brand of justice.
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta insanekht for all her help.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Crossposted to tds_rps
Chapter 1
Doctor Jon Stewart pushed through the crowd surrounding the stagecoach and found Ed Helms already taking possession of the body.
"Ed, do you mind if I examine him before you stick him in a box and bury him?" Jon asked good-naturedly.
"I know dead, Jon," said the undertaker, "he's already stiff as a board. Name's Fred Hogan according to his papers."
Jon knelt beside the man, pushing his hat back on his head. He had to agree. The man had been dead for several hours, no doubt from a bullet that probably pierced his heart. "There'll be an inquest. I'll need to do an autopsy before you embalm him. Do you know how it happened?"
A small man emerged from the shadow of the stagecoach. "I'm John Oliver, I was one of the passengers," he said with an English accent. "Two men tried to rob us and killed the driver. Another passenger, Deputy Carell, shot one of the men, but they escaped."
"Pardon me, but there's an injured man here in desperate need of some morphine!"
Jon looked up into the handsome face of bespectacled man with a slight Southern drawl. He was holding his wrist, in obvious pain, though Jon wondered how much of it was an affectation. "I'll be over as soon as I can, Ed." He stood and faced his next patient. "Why don't you follow me to my office and I'll have a look at that wrist, Mr.--"
"Colbert, Stephen Colbert."
"Of the Colbert Store?"
"The same." Colbert turned to Mr. Oliver. "John, take our luggage inside the store and guard it with your life." Oliver looked less than enthusiastic, but did as he was told.
Jon wondered if Mr. Colbert had any idea what a brave and foolhardy thing he was doing by taking on Bill O'Reilly. He doubted it. "I'm Doctor Stewart--Jon. Welcome to Lincoln."
***
Steve was pointed in the direction of Lincoln's jail, a one-room adobe building with two cells, one of which was occupied by a balding man sitting on a cot. The deafening sound of snoring came from the other man in the room. His hat covered his face and his feet were propped up on the desk. The gold star pinned to his waistcoat identified him as Sheriff Lewis Black.
"I wouldn't wake him if I was you," the prisoner said.
Steve ignored him and shook Sheriff Black gently by the shoulder. The man awoke, flailing wildly, and began hitting Steve with his hat.
Steve put his hands up defensively and backed out of his reach.
"Who in the hell do you think you are, waking a man from a sound sleep?" Black yelled in a gravely voice.
"I-I'm Steve Carell, your new deputy. I just came in on the stage--"
"Hallelujah!" Black smiled widely. He shook Steve's hand and gave him the keys. "These are the cells, the criminals go inside. Don't forget to lock them in." He stuffed his hat on his head and made for the door. "See you in the morning."
"Wait!" Steve said, a bit confused by that odd exchange.
Black turned, obviously annoyed that his escape was thwarted. "What?!"
"The stage was held up on our way here, just north of White Oaks," Steve told him. "The driver was killed, but I shot one of the men, they couldn't have gotten very far. If we get a posse together now--"
Black tapped his chin with his finger. "North of White Oaks--that's Valencia County--not our problem."
"We were definitely in Lincoln County," Steve insisted. "I checked the map."
Black pretended not to hear him and turned back towards the door. "I'll send a wire to Sheriff Henry in the morning," he called over his shoulder. "Good night!"
Steve sunk down in the chair just vacated by his boss and stared after him. What have I gotten myself into?
***
Doctor Stewart lit a lantern as Stephen settled on a wooden bed with a thin mattress that served as the doctor's examination table. Stephen looked around the room, unimpressed with the rustic surroundings. Besides the bed, there was a single chair, and a cabinet overflowing with muslin bandages, bottles, and jars filled with various medicines. Thankfully, there were several medical texts on a shelf, but only a lone picture of a tree on the otherwise bare adobe walls. "A gentleman would remove his hat indoors," said Stephen priggishly.
With a small sigh, Jon removed his hat and placed it on the table, revealing the kippah he always wore underneath.
Stephen recoiled slightly. "Oh…you're Jewish."
Stewart forced a smile. "If that's a problem, you can always see the other doctor in town."
Stephen brightened.
"Oh, that's right," he said, his fake smile fading, "there isn't one."
Stephen didn't try to hide his disappointment. "I hope you at least have morphine."
"Yes, I do," the doctor said, going to a locked cabinet. "You're going need it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stephen asked as fear gripped him. "Aren't you just going to put a cast on it?"
The doctor measured some liquid into a glass and handed it to Stephen. "It's laudanum, and I have to set the bone first." His smile returned. "It's going to hurt a bit."
Stephen struggled to sit up, drank it quickly, and steeled himself for the worst. Doc Stewart rifled through drawers, gathering bandages and a canister of plaster for the casting. Within a short time, the pain in his wrist eased, the tension left Stephen's face and was replaced by a silly grin. Stephen waved his hand in the air aimlessly. "You're a wonderful doctor," Stephen said as the narcotic took hold of his mind and body. "For a Jew."
"I haven't done anything yet." Stewart helped Stephen slip out of his waistcoat, shirt, and the top half of his union suit, then he sat near the end of the bed, facing his patient. The doctor took off his left shoe and placed the heel of his stockinged foot in Stephen's armpit.
Stephen giggled and started to squirm. "That tickles."
"It won't in a minute," Stewart said with a little laugh. He took hold of Stephen's wrist with one hand, and grabbed his hand with the other. "On the count of three…"
"Three what?"
"One…two…three!" Jon simultaneously pushed his foot into Stephen's armpit while pulling as hard as he could on his arm.
Stephen, who had been feeling no pain just a second ago, vaguely realized he was screaming in agony. The last thing he felt was the stomach-turning sensation of his wrist bone snapping back into place, then everything went black…
Doc Stewart waved smelling salts under Stephen's nose. As soon as his brain registered the pungent ammonia, Stephen's eyes fluttered open and he pushed Stewart's hand away.
"Are you all right?"
Stephen glowered at the doctor. "I hate you."
But the look on his face was so comical, Stewart laughed. "I told you it was going to hurt." He picked up two small wooden boards and some bandages from atop the cabinet. "I'm going to splint the wrist while I mix up the plaster. Wouldn't want it to pop out of place and have to go through that again." Stephen's eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously.
As soon as Stewart splinted Stephen wrist, he heard frantic knocking on his office door. It was little Amy Sedaris and she'd been crying. She looked around Stewart at his patient warily. "You gotta come to the Damfino, now!" She stood on her toes and whispered in Stewart's ear. "Paul's been shot bad."
Stewart sighed. The possible connection between the holdup, the dead driver and Paul's gunshot wound immediately formed in his mind. Mr. Oliver had mentioned the new deputy shot one of the bandits. "I'll be there directly." Amy pulled her shawl around her shoulders and disappeared into the night. He rushed to the cabinet and started shoving instruments, bandages, and medicine into his black bag. "I have an emergency," he said to Stephen over his shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Stewart was expecting more vitriol from his patient, but when he met Stephen's eyes, he saw an almost childlike look of fatigue and distress there. "Are you still in pain?"
"A little," he said bravely. "It's not too bad."
The doctor fetched him a glass of water and a shot of whiskey, placing both on the little table next to the bed. Stewart quickly fashioned a sling for Stephen's wrist, then pulled a blanket over his patient and stroked his brow. "Try to sleep, I'll be back soon." With black bag in hand, the doctor grabbed his hat and left the infirmary, making doubly sure the door was locked and bolted.
The Damfino brothel was the second grandest building in town; the first was Bill O'Reilly's "House" next door. Jon was greeted by the madam, Annie Coulter. Miss Annie was a tall, striking woman, her waist-length blonde hair was done up in elaborate braids and curls; she was dressed in a pink silk gown trimmed with the finest Irish lace. Stewart would have considered her beautiful if underneath all the curls, silk and lace weren't an evil mind and stone cold heart.
As always, she looked down on Stewart as if he was something unpleasant she had found on the bottom of her calfskin boots. "Follow me."
The girls in the parlor waved affectionately and flashed flirty glances at Stewart, who had treated most of them for one thing or another. Their customers, who were playing cards and draughts with the girls as a form of foreplay, looked down as if that would prevent them from being recognized. If those pillars of the community only knew of the upstanding Doctor Stewart's proclivities, they would think their own dalliances quite ordinary and would no doubt run the good doctor out of town on a rail. Being the only Jew in the county was hard enough, but being Jewish and homosexual--only his scrupulous discretion had prevented him from being lynched.
Miss Annie led him up the stairs to room four. Paul was lying on a bloodstained bed, looking dangerously pale. Amy, dear girl, looked up at Stewart like he was an angel come to perform a miracle. Tad, Paul's twin, stood in a corner, wringing his hands.
"He got shot in the right arm and leg," Amy supplied.
Annie pulled Amy roughly out of the way. "Shut up, he's got eyes."
"How did it happen?" Stewart asked Amy defiantly.
"None of your damn business," Paul spat.
"You're not paid to ask questions," Annie told him.
"Now that we're on the subject," Jon said, "who is paying my fee?"
"I am," replied the madam.
That meant whatever happened, O'Reilly had his hand in it, but was trying to distance himself by letting his paramour handle the details. Jon removed several instruments from his bag, some bandages, and his carbolic acid sprayer. Before even touching Paul, he liberally sprayed the carbolic acid on the wounds and then his hands to disinfect them, thus preventing infection.
Paul had a half-empty whiskey bottle next to him and looked fairly anesthetized already. Despite all the blood, neither bullet appeared to have hit bone. The bullet in the arm had exited cleanly, so Stewart packed the wound with lint to staunch the bleeding and keep it open so it could drain. The bullet in Paul's thigh had to be dug out. Stewart enlarged the hole with a bistoury knife, then pulled it out with bullet forceps. He packed and dressed the thigh wound as well and sat with his patient just long enough to make sure he was out of danger.
"Bill wants Paul moved to his ranch as soon as he's able," Annie said.
Jon shook his head. "It's going to be several days before he can be moved safely."
"You got two days to make it safe." With that, Annie bustled out of the room to join her girls downstairs.
Stewart watched with growing anger as Amy tried to comfort her beau with sweet words and gentle caresses, but Paul would either return the affection with brutal kisses or push Amy away from him altogether.
She glanced at Stewart, ashamed for both herself and Paul. "It's the pain. He ain't usually like this."
"Shut up and get me something to eat!" Paul yelled. Amy dutifully rushed from the room on her errand.
Truth be told, Paul was always like this. Stewart held his tongue, knowing any chastisement coming from him would be taken out on Amy. Even Tad couldn't control his brother's abusive behavior. Jon took leave of his patient and promised to visit him in the morning. Tad followed him out of the room.
"What's wrong, Tad?" Stewart suspected it was a guilty conscience, but didn't say so.
"Got a headache," he replied in a familiar hopeful tone.
Tad having a headache was actually a coded request for a sexual encounter. It had been three weeks since the last time, so Jon was as eager as Tad for a meeting. Also, getting Tad away from that brother of his for an hour was always a good thing. Jon smiled and put a hand on Tad's shoulder. "Come by the infirmary tomorrow afternoon and I'll see what I can do for that headache of yours."
Tad gazed at Jon with more than desire in his eyes. He wanted to unburden himself with what happened today, but Jon knew Tad would never willingly betray Paul. "I'll be there," Tad said finally, then returned to his brother's bedside.
Jon left the Damfino with a heavy pouch of gold in his black bag; blood money paid to assure Jon's silence.
***
Jon returned to the infirmary to find his patient fast asleep. Being in a clinical frame of mind earlier, he had registered that Mr. Colbert was indeed a handsome man, but watching him sleeping so peacefully made Jon realize just how handsome he truly was.
But it was something else that caused Jon's heart to contract. His suspicions about Paul and Tad's involvement in the stagecoach holdup and the likelihood that it was Stephen who was the real target; everybody in Lincoln knew how O'Reilly resented the opening of a new general store. Jon could easily believe O'Reilly had ordered the 'robbery' that had backfired so badly.
Jon started mixing the plaster and only woke Stephen when he was ready to start the casting. Stephen looked up at him and smiled pleasantly, too groggy to say much of anything. The cast would take two or three days to dry fully. Jon wrapped a piece of linen around the wet plaster and stuck Stephen's arm back in the sling.
Unlike his assistant, Stephen would be staying at the Wilmores' Boarding House. Jon slipped Stephen's coat around his shoulders and helped him up the street. Larry Wilmore, an ex-slave and the best cook in Lincoln, helped Jon settle Stephen in bed.
"Take good care of him, Larry," Jon said with obvious concern in his voice. "I'll be in to see him tomorrow."
"Sure, Jon," Larry said, "I'll have a nice chicken and matzah ball soup for lunch."
"Ah, you're a prince," Jon replied, clapping the man on the back. Larry was the only reason Jon hadn't starved to death on the frontier. With the help of a Jewish cookbook Jon had brought with him from New York, Larry learned quickly and cooked kosher better than Jon's mother ever did.
Larry smiled and left the room. Jon was about to follow when Stephen stopped him.
"How much do I owe you?" Stephen asked softly.
Jon was inclined to charge him nothing, by way of apology for his reception into town, but thought Stephen might look upon it as charity and take offense. "Two dollars--to cover the plaster and bandages."
"Only two dollars?" Stephen said with a mild look of disbelief. "You are an odd duck, Doctor Stewart."
Jon wished him goodnight and closed the door behind him.
Though he longed for sleep, Stewart dragged himself to Ed Helms's place to do the autopsy on the stagecoach driver. In the New Mexico heat, a dead body could go very bad very quickly. Better to get it over with so Ed could embalm him early in the morning before the sun rose fully. It turned out Jon's initial suspicions were correct: Mr. Hogan died from a single gunshot wound to the heart, probably from Paul Dinello's gun.
It was two o'clock in the morning before Jon finally laid his tired body down on his feather bed, but sleep eluded him. Instead his mind turned from murder to the handsome Mr. Colbert, who Jon feared was in mortal danger.
Author: darkfaery1
Chapter: 2/?
Series: TDS/TCR/The O'Reilly Factor
Genre: Western AU (romantic comedy-drama)
Chapter pairings: Jon/"Stephen" (comfort), Amy/Paul, Jon/Tad
Chapter rating: PG-13
Content: slash sex, Old West violence, language, angst, prejudice, mild het content.
Word count: 2800
Chapter summary: Doctor Jon Stewart has a busy night. Deputy Steve Carell discovers Lincoln's unique brand of justice.
Author's Note: Thanks to my beta insanekht for all her help.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the life or defame the character of any actual person. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. No money is being made from this work of fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material. Any mention of any copyrighted material is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976.
Crossposted to tds_rps
Chapter 1
Doctor Jon Stewart pushed through the crowd surrounding the stagecoach and found Ed Helms already taking possession of the body.
"Ed, do you mind if I examine him before you stick him in a box and bury him?" Jon asked good-naturedly.
"I know dead, Jon," said the undertaker, "he's already stiff as a board. Name's Fred Hogan according to his papers."
Jon knelt beside the man, pushing his hat back on his head. He had to agree. The man had been dead for several hours, no doubt from a bullet that probably pierced his heart. "There'll be an inquest. I'll need to do an autopsy before you embalm him. Do you know how it happened?"
A small man emerged from the shadow of the stagecoach. "I'm John Oliver, I was one of the passengers," he said with an English accent. "Two men tried to rob us and killed the driver. Another passenger, Deputy Carell, shot one of the men, but they escaped."
"Pardon me, but there's an injured man here in desperate need of some morphine!"
Jon looked up into the handsome face of bespectacled man with a slight Southern drawl. He was holding his wrist, in obvious pain, though Jon wondered how much of it was an affectation. "I'll be over as soon as I can, Ed." He stood and faced his next patient. "Why don't you follow me to my office and I'll have a look at that wrist, Mr.--"
"Colbert, Stephen Colbert."
"Of the Colbert Store?"
"The same." Colbert turned to Mr. Oliver. "John, take our luggage inside the store and guard it with your life." Oliver looked less than enthusiastic, but did as he was told.
Jon wondered if Mr. Colbert had any idea what a brave and foolhardy thing he was doing by taking on Bill O'Reilly. He doubted it. "I'm Doctor Stewart--Jon. Welcome to Lincoln."
***
Steve was pointed in the direction of Lincoln's jail, a one-room adobe building with two cells, one of which was occupied by a balding man sitting on a cot. The deafening sound of snoring came from the other man in the room. His hat covered his face and his feet were propped up on the desk. The gold star pinned to his waistcoat identified him as Sheriff Lewis Black.
"I wouldn't wake him if I was you," the prisoner said.
Steve ignored him and shook Sheriff Black gently by the shoulder. The man awoke, flailing wildly, and began hitting Steve with his hat.
Steve put his hands up defensively and backed out of his reach.
"Who in the hell do you think you are, waking a man from a sound sleep?" Black yelled in a gravely voice.
"I-I'm Steve Carell, your new deputy. I just came in on the stage--"
"Hallelujah!" Black smiled widely. He shook Steve's hand and gave him the keys. "These are the cells, the criminals go inside. Don't forget to lock them in." He stuffed his hat on his head and made for the door. "See you in the morning."
"Wait!" Steve said, a bit confused by that odd exchange.
Black turned, obviously annoyed that his escape was thwarted. "What?!"
"The stage was held up on our way here, just north of White Oaks," Steve told him. "The driver was killed, but I shot one of the men, they couldn't have gotten very far. If we get a posse together now--"
Black tapped his chin with his finger. "North of White Oaks--that's Valencia County--not our problem."
"We were definitely in Lincoln County," Steve insisted. "I checked the map."
Black pretended not to hear him and turned back towards the door. "I'll send a wire to Sheriff Henry in the morning," he called over his shoulder. "Good night!"
Steve sunk down in the chair just vacated by his boss and stared after him. What have I gotten myself into?
***
Doctor Stewart lit a lantern as Stephen settled on a wooden bed with a thin mattress that served as the doctor's examination table. Stephen looked around the room, unimpressed with the rustic surroundings. Besides the bed, there was a single chair, and a cabinet overflowing with muslin bandages, bottles, and jars filled with various medicines. Thankfully, there were several medical texts on a shelf, but only a lone picture of a tree on the otherwise bare adobe walls. "A gentleman would remove his hat indoors," said Stephen priggishly.
With a small sigh, Jon removed his hat and placed it on the table, revealing the kippah he always wore underneath.
Stephen recoiled slightly. "Oh…you're Jewish."
Stewart forced a smile. "If that's a problem, you can always see the other doctor in town."
Stephen brightened.
"Oh, that's right," he said, his fake smile fading, "there isn't one."
Stephen didn't try to hide his disappointment. "I hope you at least have morphine."
"Yes, I do," the doctor said, going to a locked cabinet. "You're going need it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stephen asked as fear gripped him. "Aren't you just going to put a cast on it?"
The doctor measured some liquid into a glass and handed it to Stephen. "It's laudanum, and I have to set the bone first." His smile returned. "It's going to hurt a bit."
Stephen struggled to sit up, drank it quickly, and steeled himself for the worst. Doc Stewart rifled through drawers, gathering bandages and a canister of plaster for the casting. Within a short time, the pain in his wrist eased, the tension left Stephen's face and was replaced by a silly grin. Stephen waved his hand in the air aimlessly. "You're a wonderful doctor," Stephen said as the narcotic took hold of his mind and body. "For a Jew."
"I haven't done anything yet." Stewart helped Stephen slip out of his waistcoat, shirt, and the top half of his union suit, then he sat near the end of the bed, facing his patient. The doctor took off his left shoe and placed the heel of his stockinged foot in Stephen's armpit.
Stephen giggled and started to squirm. "That tickles."
"It won't in a minute," Stewart said with a little laugh. He took hold of Stephen's wrist with one hand, and grabbed his hand with the other. "On the count of three…"
"Three what?"
"One…two…three!" Jon simultaneously pushed his foot into Stephen's armpit while pulling as hard as he could on his arm.
Stephen, who had been feeling no pain just a second ago, vaguely realized he was screaming in agony. The last thing he felt was the stomach-turning sensation of his wrist bone snapping back into place, then everything went black…
Doc Stewart waved smelling salts under Stephen's nose. As soon as his brain registered the pungent ammonia, Stephen's eyes fluttered open and he pushed Stewart's hand away.
"Are you all right?"
Stephen glowered at the doctor. "I hate you."
But the look on his face was so comical, Stewart laughed. "I told you it was going to hurt." He picked up two small wooden boards and some bandages from atop the cabinet. "I'm going to splint the wrist while I mix up the plaster. Wouldn't want it to pop out of place and have to go through that again." Stephen's eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously.
As soon as Stewart splinted Stephen wrist, he heard frantic knocking on his office door. It was little Amy Sedaris and she'd been crying. She looked around Stewart at his patient warily. "You gotta come to the Damfino, now!" She stood on her toes and whispered in Stewart's ear. "Paul's been shot bad."
Stewart sighed. The possible connection between the holdup, the dead driver and Paul's gunshot wound immediately formed in his mind. Mr. Oliver had mentioned the new deputy shot one of the bandits. "I'll be there directly." Amy pulled her shawl around her shoulders and disappeared into the night. He rushed to the cabinet and started shoving instruments, bandages, and medicine into his black bag. "I have an emergency," he said to Stephen over his shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Stewart was expecting more vitriol from his patient, but when he met Stephen's eyes, he saw an almost childlike look of fatigue and distress there. "Are you still in pain?"
"A little," he said bravely. "It's not too bad."
The doctor fetched him a glass of water and a shot of whiskey, placing both on the little table next to the bed. Stewart quickly fashioned a sling for Stephen's wrist, then pulled a blanket over his patient and stroked his brow. "Try to sleep, I'll be back soon." With black bag in hand, the doctor grabbed his hat and left the infirmary, making doubly sure the door was locked and bolted.
The Damfino brothel was the second grandest building in town; the first was Bill O'Reilly's "House" next door. Jon was greeted by the madam, Annie Coulter. Miss Annie was a tall, striking woman, her waist-length blonde hair was done up in elaborate braids and curls; she was dressed in a pink silk gown trimmed with the finest Irish lace. Stewart would have considered her beautiful if underneath all the curls, silk and lace weren't an evil mind and stone cold heart.
As always, she looked down on Stewart as if he was something unpleasant she had found on the bottom of her calfskin boots. "Follow me."
The girls in the parlor waved affectionately and flashed flirty glances at Stewart, who had treated most of them for one thing or another. Their customers, who were playing cards and draughts with the girls as a form of foreplay, looked down as if that would prevent them from being recognized. If those pillars of the community only knew of the upstanding Doctor Stewart's proclivities, they would think their own dalliances quite ordinary and would no doubt run the good doctor out of town on a rail. Being the only Jew in the county was hard enough, but being Jewish and homosexual--only his scrupulous discretion had prevented him from being lynched.
Miss Annie led him up the stairs to room four. Paul was lying on a bloodstained bed, looking dangerously pale. Amy, dear girl, looked up at Stewart like he was an angel come to perform a miracle. Tad, Paul's twin, stood in a corner, wringing his hands.
"He got shot in the right arm and leg," Amy supplied.
Annie pulled Amy roughly out of the way. "Shut up, he's got eyes."
"How did it happen?" Stewart asked Amy defiantly.
"None of your damn business," Paul spat.
"You're not paid to ask questions," Annie told him.
"Now that we're on the subject," Jon said, "who is paying my fee?"
"I am," replied the madam.
That meant whatever happened, O'Reilly had his hand in it, but was trying to distance himself by letting his paramour handle the details. Jon removed several instruments from his bag, some bandages, and his carbolic acid sprayer. Before even touching Paul, he liberally sprayed the carbolic acid on the wounds and then his hands to disinfect them, thus preventing infection.
Paul had a half-empty whiskey bottle next to him and looked fairly anesthetized already. Despite all the blood, neither bullet appeared to have hit bone. The bullet in the arm had exited cleanly, so Stewart packed the wound with lint to staunch the bleeding and keep it open so it could drain. The bullet in Paul's thigh had to be dug out. Stewart enlarged the hole with a bistoury knife, then pulled it out with bullet forceps. He packed and dressed the thigh wound as well and sat with his patient just long enough to make sure he was out of danger.
"Bill wants Paul moved to his ranch as soon as he's able," Annie said.
Jon shook his head. "It's going to be several days before he can be moved safely."
"You got two days to make it safe." With that, Annie bustled out of the room to join her girls downstairs.
Stewart watched with growing anger as Amy tried to comfort her beau with sweet words and gentle caresses, but Paul would either return the affection with brutal kisses or push Amy away from him altogether.
She glanced at Stewart, ashamed for both herself and Paul. "It's the pain. He ain't usually like this."
"Shut up and get me something to eat!" Paul yelled. Amy dutifully rushed from the room on her errand.
Truth be told, Paul was always like this. Stewart held his tongue, knowing any chastisement coming from him would be taken out on Amy. Even Tad couldn't control his brother's abusive behavior. Jon took leave of his patient and promised to visit him in the morning. Tad followed him out of the room.
"What's wrong, Tad?" Stewart suspected it was a guilty conscience, but didn't say so.
"Got a headache," he replied in a familiar hopeful tone.
Tad having a headache was actually a coded request for a sexual encounter. It had been three weeks since the last time, so Jon was as eager as Tad for a meeting. Also, getting Tad away from that brother of his for an hour was always a good thing. Jon smiled and put a hand on Tad's shoulder. "Come by the infirmary tomorrow afternoon and I'll see what I can do for that headache of yours."
Tad gazed at Jon with more than desire in his eyes. He wanted to unburden himself with what happened today, but Jon knew Tad would never willingly betray Paul. "I'll be there," Tad said finally, then returned to his brother's bedside.
Jon left the Damfino with a heavy pouch of gold in his black bag; blood money paid to assure Jon's silence.
***
Jon returned to the infirmary to find his patient fast asleep. Being in a clinical frame of mind earlier, he had registered that Mr. Colbert was indeed a handsome man, but watching him sleeping so peacefully made Jon realize just how handsome he truly was.
But it was something else that caused Jon's heart to contract. His suspicions about Paul and Tad's involvement in the stagecoach holdup and the likelihood that it was Stephen who was the real target; everybody in Lincoln knew how O'Reilly resented the opening of a new general store. Jon could easily believe O'Reilly had ordered the 'robbery' that had backfired so badly.
Jon started mixing the plaster and only woke Stephen when he was ready to start the casting. Stephen looked up at him and smiled pleasantly, too groggy to say much of anything. The cast would take two or three days to dry fully. Jon wrapped a piece of linen around the wet plaster and stuck Stephen's arm back in the sling.
Unlike his assistant, Stephen would be staying at the Wilmores' Boarding House. Jon slipped Stephen's coat around his shoulders and helped him up the street. Larry Wilmore, an ex-slave and the best cook in Lincoln, helped Jon settle Stephen in bed.
"Take good care of him, Larry," Jon said with obvious concern in his voice. "I'll be in to see him tomorrow."
"Sure, Jon," Larry said, "I'll have a nice chicken and matzah ball soup for lunch."
"Ah, you're a prince," Jon replied, clapping the man on the back. Larry was the only reason Jon hadn't starved to death on the frontier. With the help of a Jewish cookbook Jon had brought with him from New York, Larry learned quickly and cooked kosher better than Jon's mother ever did.
Larry smiled and left the room. Jon was about to follow when Stephen stopped him.
"How much do I owe you?" Stephen asked softly.
Jon was inclined to charge him nothing, by way of apology for his reception into town, but thought Stephen might look upon it as charity and take offense. "Two dollars--to cover the plaster and bandages."
"Only two dollars?" Stephen said with a mild look of disbelief. "You are an odd duck, Doctor Stewart."
Jon wished him goodnight and closed the door behind him.
Though he longed for sleep, Stewart dragged himself to Ed Helms's place to do the autopsy on the stagecoach driver. In the New Mexico heat, a dead body could go very bad very quickly. Better to get it over with so Ed could embalm him early in the morning before the sun rose fully. It turned out Jon's initial suspicions were correct: Mr. Hogan died from a single gunshot wound to the heart, probably from Paul Dinello's gun.
It was two o'clock in the morning before Jon finally laid his tired body down on his feather bed, but sleep eluded him. Instead his mind turned from murder to the handsome Mr. Colbert, who Jon feared was in mortal danger.