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  Beneath a Silver Sky

  Hildie McQueen

  Near Silver City, Idaho, 1865

  Chapter One

  Brogan Hage jerked to consciousness. His widened gaze scanned the wooded surroundings with a certain knowledge a gunshot could come from any direction.

  The most important thing at the moment was defense. Where the hell was his gun? Searing pain traveled up his right arm and straight into his gut when he tried to move it. The damn thing was out of socket.

  Holding his useless arm to his side with his left hand, he listened intently for sounds of either footfalls or horses. There was a moment of eerie silence, then uneven footsteps. After a slow exhale he attempted to sit up. He'd not take death lying on his back. It wasn't like him to wait meekly for the final blow to come. On this day, things had turned out quite differently than he'd planned. The path his life took was not what he expected. Just five years after arriving from Scotland, he was to die in this new land.

  The fact he'd killed several of the outlaws did little to settle his mind at this point, since several of them would get away and one would now send him to the afterlife.

  When neither leg responded to his urging, Brogan forgot the upcoming threat as. once again, he attempted to move. A sharp breath left his lungs and rivulets of sweat trickled down his face as he fought to move.

  The familiar slow whistle did not lessen the fast thudding of his heart at the growing terror he could be paralyzed.

  "Marshal Hage? Can you hear me?" The gravelly voice may as well have belonged to an angel and not one of his deputies, Lucas McKade.

  "Aye, my ears seem to be the only thing working at this point," he replied hoping the man didn't recognize the catch in his throat. "I'm pretty sure I got shot in the back."

  "You are a mess," Lucas said. Not one to sugarcoat things, he placed a hand on Brogan's left shoulder. "Not sure if I can move you since I'm pretty banged up myself."

  "Where's everyone else?" He didn't have to explain whom he referred to, being that none of his men stood over him with Lucas.

  "King and Johnson are dead."

  "Damn."

  Brogan studied his friend. There was an angry gash down the side of his face and blood seeped through his shirt at his left shoulder. When Lucas straightened, the man grimaced, but seemed steady as he walked toward a horse. “Let's see what we can do to patch you up, then I gotta get you to the nearest town."

  Silver City, Idaho, a booming mining town, at least a days’ ride away, may as well be on the other side of the world at the moment. If Lucas were able to get him atop a horse, it would be impossible to get there with the wounded man having to do all the managing of an injured, useless marshal and two horses.

  Lucas had to save himself. The outlaws could return at any moment to ensure there were no survivors. He'd be damned if his deputy would die because of him. Brogan squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for strength. With his left hand, he reached for his gun that lay just out of reach. Brogan winced in pain, but finally managed to touch the butt of the weapon before it was kicked away.

  "We're in this together brother," Lucas glared down at him. "If I have to knock you out I will, but I'll be damned if I let you kill yourself and make things easy for me."

  Relief mixed with sadness. "I can't feel my legs. There's no way you can lift me and put me on a horse with your injuries. Just go, leave me here. If help makes it back and I'm still breathing, then I'm not meant to die."

  As Lucas looked off into the distance, a gust of wind blew his hair across a face much too attractive for a man. Flat, blue eyes met his gaze. "Not gonna happen. We'll manage. Now let's see how much you can move."

  "Stubborn as a mule."

  "I can say the same about you."

  Two things happened next. Somehow Lucas managed to move him and the pain was so excruciating, Brogan spent the rest of the day in and out of consciousness.

  "You have to remain calm. If you can hear me Brogan, relax. Everything will be all right." A feminine voice permeated through the fogginess and Brogan wished the speaking would continue. The melodic, soft sound soothed through the spikes of pain drilling from his back down his legs.

  He tried to speak, to tell her to keep talking, but was unable to do more than moan. It was impossible to measure time; when he came to sometimes it was light, others it was dark. The only constant was the horrible pain and hell fire engulfing his body.

  A cool compress was placed on his forehead, soothing his fevered mind just a bit. It was the hand over his, rubbing and massaging it that took his attention next. Somehow he was able to concentrate on the soft strokes and ignore the pain for the few moments it lasted.

  "I'll go see about some more water," the angelic voice said and Brogan tried to tell her not to go, not to move from him for an instant. Again the only thing he could utter was a long moan.

  "Get more bandages, too, please, Sarah,” a male said before firm pressure was applied to somewhere on his side sending renewed throngs of pain across his body. Thankfully, soon after, the thick fog once again beckoned and he succumbed.

  For days, Brogan wasn't sure how many as he'd been in and out of consciousness, he lived in agony. Several times he'd heard either a stranger's voice or Lucas’. Even though he tried to speak, it was impossible to form words past the dryness of his throat and heavy tongue. Never had he felt such agonizing pains and, at times, he wished for death to claim him and take away the suffering.

  "Get some rest, Father, I will stay here with him," a female voice, the same sweet sound from earlier, said.

  "He's a dangerous man. I am not sure you should be left alone with him," the man replied. "Whether a marshal or not, his reputation is almost that of an outlaw."

  There was a light huff. "Father, he is unconscious and badly injured. It’s doubtful he presents any kind of threat in his current state."

  "True," the reply was reluctant. "Call me immediately if he wakes." Heavy footfalls moved away until fading to silence.

  Brogan wanted to open his eyes and see the woman's face. More than anything he needed to know if his legs were of any use. He concentrated on his arms and moved first the fingers on his right hand, then his left. All ten moved. He wasn't brave enough to try his legs yet. A soft push on his shoulder startled him and he forced heavy eyelids open.

  A heart-shaped face framed by blonde tendrils with expressive hazel eyes scanned over his chest. Lips pursed, the young woman didn't realize he watched her while she lifted the blanket and peered down to his chest. With gentle movements, she peeled back a bandage and examined underneath, her brows pinched. "Healing nicely," she muttered, and then moved down to his hip area. Once again she lifted the bandaging aside and examined what he presumed was another wound.

  It occurred to him at that moment he was probably nude and, also, the woman had firsthand knowledge of every part of his body. Although he'd lived thirty-two years, this was the first time he had ever felt so vulnerable. Not seeming at all phased by the nudity, she replaced the blanket and moved down to the foot of the bed. Lifting the blankets, she once again studied yet another injury. He wondered if he'd feel anything when and if she touched his legs.

  Brogan held his breath, not daring to wish in vain for something that would,
in all probability, not happen. Yet in the next instant, he would know if there was any chance he'd ever walk again.

  At first nothing, then the most wondrous thing happened. Fingers pressed into his calf followed by her speaking again. "Looks good, no infection."

  "I can feel your touch," he said before realizing he spoke out loud.

  The woman gasped and wide eyes snapped up to meet his. Without looking away from his face, she moved away from the bed and walked backwards toward the doorway.

  "Don't go," he lifted his hand. "Please."

  The woman hesitated, her gaze darting between him and the door. "I'll go get the doctor," she replied in a soft voice. "I can't stay here."

  "Where am I?"

  "Silver City...are you in pain?"

  Brogan closed his eyes for a moment. "A bit, yes...but please don't go."

  For a long moment she was thoughtful, then without a word she turned on her heel and left.

  Chapter Two

  Thankful for the emptiness of the clinic, Sarah Sutherland leaned against the wall just outside the room where Brogan Hage was. The man's reputation for being one of the most ruthless lawmen, the Mad Scot, scared her more than she wanted to admit. There had been so much vulnerability in his gaze just before she walked out, Sarah had almost agreed to remain beside him.

  Although she knew he was in no way capable of hurting her, Sarah didn't need to take the chance he would. She decided not to wake her father yet, he needed the rest after being bedside with the injured man for almost two days straight. However, Brogan Hage was in pain and the least she could do was give him something for the discomfort.

  The man's friend, Lucas McKade, had been by to check on him earlier in the day. Sarah considered if she should send for him.

  No, it was best she waited and allow her father to make the decision. She went to the kitchen and heated water for some tea. She'd brew tea and lace it with laudanum before giving it to Brogan Hage.

  From the stories she'd heard of the large Scot, he became a lawman by brawn and his experience as a warrior in his homeland. She'd always expected a fearsome man, an oversized ogre of sorts. The man in the bed down the hall was very different from anything she could have imagined.

  Astonishingly handsome with a face which looked more like a masterpiece than flesh and blood. When he slept dark, long eyelashes fanning down to the top of his cheeks contrasted with the golden brown beard shading his strong jawline. He was muscular with a broad chest and thick biceps. She couldn't help but noticing when inspecting his injuries, his stomach was flat and legs well-formed. She'd averted her gaze from his private area, but not before noticing he was most definitely a well-endowed man.

  The direction of her thoughts made Sarah frown. This was not the time for schoolgirl musings over an attractive man. She'd do her duty and provide him something for the pain. Then after allowing her father a few hours of sleep, she’d wake him and allow him to continue to care for the patient. Once her father became aware Brogan Hage had come to, she'd be banned from the room. The idea bothered her, as she wanted to know more about him. How did he earn such a reputation? Why would a man who swore to protect citizens and uphold the law, have a character that rivaled outlaws?

  Outside the window, a breeze moved across her garden. The colorful blossoms swayed beckoning a passerby to stop and appreciate the blue, yellow and lavender blooms. Although summer was almost over and the days became cooler, her flowers were still sprouting anew.

  The house she and her father shared was located on the end of the main street. In the front half of the house, he'd set up a large area for patients. To the right side of the room was a tall divider providing privacy and to the back were a bedroom for patients and a small table where he performed more in-depth procedures and such. They'd had a thick door installed which led to the main house, consisting of a living room and kitchen on the main level and two bedrooms on the second floor.

  Once the tea was prepared, she carried it on a tray with a small bowl of broth back to the room her father had set up especially for sick patients who could not be moved. As she prepared to see Brogan again, a trickle of apprehension traveled up her spine when her hand touched the knob to open the door.

  His gaze snapped to her when Sarah stepped back into the room. Rather than look directly at him, she kept her attention on the side table. "I brought some broth and tea. You are not well enough to eat anything solid. Are you hungry?"

  The man frowned. “No...I am not hungry. I don't want anything. Tell me, what has the doctor said about my legs? Besides a tingling sensation, I can't move them." He stopped speaking, his throat working for a few beats. "Am I paralyzed?" His accent was strong, one she recognized as Scottish.

  "There is no way to know.” Sarah preferred to be honest. It's what she'd want to hear if she were in his place. "It will take some time before we'll know for sure." Sliding her hand under the nape, she lifted his head and pressed the tea against his lips. The sooner the medication flowed and put him to sleep the better. Something about the man's presence affected her in ways she'd not expected.

  It was unsettling when his gaze alone took her breath.

  "I appreciate your honesty." He didn't protest the tea and drank deeply.

  "Is there anything else I can do for you?” Sarah watched his face soften from the effects of the medication.

  When the man's eyes lifted to hers, there was pleading. He searched her face and took a deep breath. "Tell the doctor I need to speak to him. If I won't be able to walk again, I prefer to die. There is nothing a man like me can do if my legs are useless."

  Before she could reply, his head lulled to the side and his lips parted. For long moments, she watched his chest lift and fall. Each breath made her wonder about the disturbing request. He expected someone to help him die. The handsome, virile man was too proud to continue life as a cripple.

  "Sarah, come and give me a hand." Her father came to the front room and motioned her to follow him to where Brogan was. "He's giving me a hard time. His legs are paining him badly and we need to get him strapped down. Hopefully his friend will come by soon and help calm him down."

  They hurried in to find Brogan writhing and groaning, mad with fever. When his left hand gripped at the sheet, her father took advantage and knotted a strip of fabric around his wrist. His grave eyes met hers. "Get the other wrist if you can." While he tied the ill man’s wrist to a rail on the side of the bed, she hurried to do the same with the other.

  Once Brogan was secured, his back bowed off the bed and he let out an inhuman growl. Quick as lightning, her father took advantage of Brogan’s open mouth and administered medication down the man's throat.

  "There. He will calm soon. Poor man, hopefully he didn't cause more damage with all that struggling." Her father looked down at the sick man, concern etched on his face. "Not sure how much more I can do for him other than wait it out."

  Within minutes, Brogan calmed and she wiped down his heated face with a wet cloth. Even in his sleep, his brow crinkled from discomfort. Her heart ached for him and what he must be feeling.

  Just then the door opened and Lucas McKade entered the room. "How is he, Doc?"

  Her father led the man away from the bed. "Let's try to stay quiet, I don't wish to disturb him."

  Sarah knew what her father would tell the man’s friend. It was too soon to know how bad the damage was, but by the harshness of the pains, he would regain feeling in his legs. She'd seen them move when he'd been writhing, which was good news in the midst of the horrible spasms. He'd have to remain still for several weeks to ensure his back healed properly. That meant he would not be able to ride for a long time.

  From what she'd heard, the rumors about Hage were he was a dangerous man, a marshal who skirted the lines of the law and rarely took pity on those he hunted. He'd been hired as a lawman due to his powerful build and fearless fighting skill. It was easy to picture him in a kilt, riding a horse across the green lands of Scotland. Sarah often wondered h
ow the mountains and harsh Idaho winters compared to his homeland.

  Half an hour later, she sat beside the bed waiting for her father's conversation to end, watching over the now slumbering Brogan.

  "Water," his soft request startled her.

  Brogan had a strong constitution, the medication rarely sedating him for long. Sarah propped his head up and brought a cup to his lips. He drank greedily from it, the entire time his eyes locked to hers. They were clear, no longer hazed with pain or fever.

  "Your friend is here." Sarah looked to where Lucas and her father continued to talk. When Lucas McKade caught her gaze, she motioned him over.

  The tall, handsome man neared, his gaze immediately searching his friend's face. "Doc says we can't leave for a few days."

  "We'll give you some privacy," the doctor said. He took Sarah's arm and led her to the door. "I'll be by in an hour or so to check on you," he told Brogan who nodded in response.

  Chapter Three

  The clinic had a wide porch running the entire front of the house. Upon the wooden floor were four rocking chairs, two on either side of the door. Brogan and the doctor sat in them enjoying the waning sun's warmth.

  "It may take years before you can ride for long stretches, young man.” Doctor Sutherland's face didn't convey whether the man's words affected him in any way when he met Brogan's gaze. "I believe it’s best if you remain off a horse for now. If you wish to return home, your friend will have to take you in a wagon. I don't recommend it for at least another two weeks. Your back is not fully healed yet."

  Brogan had come to respect and trust the man, who, despite obvious misgivings about his reputation, had treated him and Lucas to the best of his abilities. The gunshot Lucas had taken had gone clean through, so he was healing well. On the other hand, his own injuries were extensive and although he'd made progress, the pains in his back and legs remained. Long forgotten, his right shoulder and arm were not an issue. This, he was grateful for as he needed his arms more than ever.