Read Online WESTERN ROMANCE: A Settler’s Wife’s Dreams (Contemporary Westerns Historical Romance, Cowboy Romance) by Melodie Grace - Free Book Online
Authors: Melodie Grace
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because somehow Frank knew. God must have told Frank. That was the only thing that made sense. She had sinned and God had made sure to rat her out. How else?
“You didn't open a line of credit and start picking things out to be delivered or anything like that?” He interrupted her thoughts with a chuckle. “I know how you women get.”
Lisa sat in her seat stunned. So she hadn't been found out. Her heart returned to normal as she tried not to throw up.
“Um, no, no Frank. Why would I do something like that?” She asked, her voice sounding nervous even to her.
Frank just smiled and laughed, explaining his sense of humor like it wasn't obvious enough already what he had meant.
KNOCK KNOCK
“There's someone at the door,” Lisa said frantically as her eyes snapped towards Frank. “Get the gun, quick.”
Frank stumbled for his rifle. Lisa had left hers on her horse. The knock echoed on the door again, this time shaking the wall. Whoever was out there was strong, and was insistent on them letting him in.
“Oh, Jesus,” Lisa said. “Help us! Help me! Save us from the Indian!”
“How do you know it's an Indian?” Frank asked.
Before she could say anything to Frank the door burst open and in an Indian strode, rifle leveled at his hip.
“She comes with me!”
Frank fired and worked the lever of his rifle quickly, firing again and again. The Indian fired as well. Lisa hit the ground and crawled under the table as bullets whizzed through the air around her. The Indian was thrown back by the power of Frank's rifle and he hit the front wall of the cabin, hitting his head hard. He slid down the wall, for a moment grasping at things around him to hold himself up, but it was no use. He was fatally shot.
Lisa saw the Indian's body jerk for a second before he let out his last breath.
“Make sure he's dead!” Frank yelled as he kept the rifle trained on the body.
Lisa crawled forward and checked the Indians chest for a heartbeat with her ear. She heard nothing. The Indian drew no breath and lay very still. Lisa felt his young face with her hands since there was hardly any light from Frank's almost gone out lamp.
“Oh, shit,” Frank said. Lisa looked back toward him and saw him slumped on the bed, trying with all his might to keep the rifle trained on the fallen body of the Indian.
“Are you hurt?” Lisa cried, leaving the Indian’s body to rush over to Frank.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “He got me in the chest, right through the middle. He must have missed my heart and backbone though since I'm still alive. I'm weak though; I can barely hold the rifle. Here, quick, take it from me in case he gets up.”
“It's all right, Frank,” Lisa said. “He's dead.”
Frank's head slumped down to meet his chest and the rifle clattered to the floor. Lisa sat on the bed with Frank's head cradled in her lap, wondering if there was anything she could do. She felt for the wound but all she found was a gaping, ragged hole in his back. Once she found that, Lisa gave up hope. There was nothing she could do. She wasn't a nurse, and she didn't have any materials there to stop the bleeding. She’d learned in school that puncture wounds to a human thorax made it so the diaphragm lost suction and then couldn't expand the lungs to draw breath.
“Oh, Frank,” Lisa said as she cried, rocking back and forth with his head in her lap. “Oh Frank, oh Frank, oh Frank. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
She cried until her eyes were dry. She cried until her stomach hurt from the retching and heart wrenching sobs. Now, more than anything else, she wanted Frank back like he had been before she'd left. All she wanted to do was sit down at the table and have Frank be whole again. She wanted to listen to him tell her about how hard it was to plow, and how much they needed rain, and how little the crops were growing. All of their hard times seemed like nothing now that Frank was gone. She couldn't imagine life without
“You didn't open a line of credit and start picking things out to be delivered or anything like that?” He interrupted her thoughts with a chuckle. “I know how you women get.”
Lisa sat in her seat stunned. So she hadn't been found out. Her heart returned to normal as she tried not to throw up.
“Um, no, no Frank. Why would I do something like that?” She asked, her voice sounding nervous even to her.
Frank just smiled and laughed, explaining his sense of humor like it wasn't obvious enough already what he had meant.
KNOCK KNOCK
“There's someone at the door,” Lisa said frantically as her eyes snapped towards Frank. “Get the gun, quick.”
Frank stumbled for his rifle. Lisa had left hers on her horse. The knock echoed on the door again, this time shaking the wall. Whoever was out there was strong, and was insistent on them letting him in.
“Oh, Jesus,” Lisa said. “Help us! Help me! Save us from the Indian!”
“How do you know it's an Indian?” Frank asked.
Before she could say anything to Frank the door burst open and in an Indian strode, rifle leveled at his hip.
“She comes with me!”
Frank fired and worked the lever of his rifle quickly, firing again and again. The Indian fired as well. Lisa hit the ground and crawled under the table as bullets whizzed through the air around her. The Indian was thrown back by the power of Frank's rifle and he hit the front wall of the cabin, hitting his head hard. He slid down the wall, for a moment grasping at things around him to hold himself up, but it was no use. He was fatally shot.
Lisa saw the Indian's body jerk for a second before he let out his last breath.
“Make sure he's dead!” Frank yelled as he kept the rifle trained on the body.
Lisa crawled forward and checked the Indians chest for a heartbeat with her ear. She heard nothing. The Indian drew no breath and lay very still. Lisa felt his young face with her hands since there was hardly any light from Frank's almost gone out lamp.
“Oh, shit,” Frank said. Lisa looked back toward him and saw him slumped on the bed, trying with all his might to keep the rifle trained on the fallen body of the Indian.
“Are you hurt?” Lisa cried, leaving the Indian’s body to rush over to Frank.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “He got me in the chest, right through the middle. He must have missed my heart and backbone though since I'm still alive. I'm weak though; I can barely hold the rifle. Here, quick, take it from me in case he gets up.”
“It's all right, Frank,” Lisa said. “He's dead.”
Frank's head slumped down to meet his chest and the rifle clattered to the floor. Lisa sat on the bed with Frank's head cradled in her lap, wondering if there was anything she could do. She felt for the wound but all she found was a gaping, ragged hole in his back. Once she found that, Lisa gave up hope. There was nothing she could do. She wasn't a nurse, and she didn't have any materials there to stop the bleeding. She’d learned in school that puncture wounds to a human thorax made it so the diaphragm lost suction and then couldn't expand the lungs to draw breath.
“Oh, Frank,” Lisa said as she cried, rocking back and forth with his head in her lap. “Oh Frank, oh Frank, oh Frank. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
She cried until her eyes were dry. She cried until her stomach hurt from the retching and heart wrenching sobs. Now, more than anything else, she wanted Frank back like he had been before she'd left. All she wanted to do was sit down at the table and have Frank be whole again. She wanted to listen to him tell her about how hard it was to plow, and how much they needed rain, and how little the crops were growing. All of their hard times seemed like nothing now that Frank was gone. She couldn't imagine life without
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