Chapter Nineteen

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Chapter Nineteen

"Whoever did this to you, wanted you dead," Doctor Murphy stated as he finished wrapping a fresh bandage tight around Brantley's busted ribs.

Brantley grunted in pain as he adjusted himself upon the bed in the doctor's spare room. "I reckon they forgot I'm too ornery to die."

Doctor Murphy snorted as he cleaned his hands in the basin. "Too ornery or too dumb? How does a man with broken ribs, severe lacerations, a broken nose and severe head trauma not only live, but manage to drag his own bleeding, busted ass to a doctor?"

Brantley's gaze went to the window and the darkness looking back at him. "A man who isn't quite ready to be dead."

"You got revenge in mind?" Doctor Murphy questioned as a thick white brow rose.

Brantley laughed, though it was weak given the shape of his ribcage. "Depends. You a lawman or one of those anti-vigilante folks?"

Doctor Murphy offered a smile, his wrinkled cheeks curving. "Nope. Sure ain't. Just wanted to know because if it's revenge you have in mind, you'll need a good month or so before your ribs are in any shape to be doing much riding."

A growl left Brantley's throat. A month? What the hell was he supposed to do here for a month? He didn't do cooped up well.

"Hopefully you'll be a decent patient and not take your ailments out on an innocent doctor. Now I've done what you've said and haven't told a soul you're here, other than my wife, but are you sure you don't want to talk to the town sheriff?"

Brantley shook his head. He wasn't quite sure what his plans were but he knew that a town sheriff wouldn't hold any power over Hoff and the gang. If he decided to go to the law, which was a damn big if, he'd have to go a bit higher than some town hick with a tin star pinned to his vest.

Doctor Murphy sighed. "Alright then. I'll go see if Margaret has some supper ready for you and send it up. Get some rest, stranger. That's the only way you'll heal."

Brantley found himself alone and was thankful for it. His body hurt—hell there wasn't an inch of him that wasn't bruised or cut or busted. Hoff and the men had done one hell of a number on him. He'd been dragged for miles behind that horse and then Hoff had simply untied him and left him for dead in the middle of nowhere.

Brantley should have died. He had no real idea how he'd lived. Sheer stubbornness had had him somehow finding his feet and stumbling along with no real sense of direction or purpose.

He only knew he had to live. He had to live and he had to rid the earth of Hoff and the gang. That was the only way Rebecca, and women like her, would ever be truly safe.

His reasons for wanting Hoff dead weren't entirely charitable—he had a few selfish ones as well, including the swollen face and broken ribs he was sporting. Hoff had been the closest thing to family that Brantley'd had left in the world and the man had killed him without so much as batting an eye.

Two could play that game.

But how? Hunt the men down one by one and take them out himself? Then what? Brantley was a wanted man. Even if he got rid of Hoff and the others, the law would still want his head. He would have no real future—no chance at a life with Rebecca.

Was that what he wanted? Or was there a way to somehow get rid of the gang, clear his own name and have the life he wanted with the woman he loved?

Would she even want to be with him now that she was home in her mansion with her wealthy surroundings?

Brantley sighed. Yes, she would. Rebecca was not a woman wooed by riches. She was a real woman or character and she had a strong, pioneering spirit that longed to be free from the life her mother had sold her into.

Brantley could only hope that she would find a way to make her life what she wanted it to be. Brantley knew that he'd rid Hoff and the others from the world. He knew that she would never again be threatened by those bastards. But he had no real plan or way of knowing if he'd ever again be at her side—so he hoped she'd find that happiness she'd admitted to longing for.

Damn, he wanted that for her so bad.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase and Brantley recognized them as being Margaret's. The doctor's wife was a sweet, old lady with a plump figure, a heart of gold and a real talent in the kitchen.

His stomach rumbled in anticipation for whatever she'd be serving him. He would have to learn to be patient and bide his time. At least the month of healing would give him plenty of time to think, to plan, and to eat the hell out of some good home cooking just like his mama used to make so long ago.

***

Brantley stepped out onto the darkening porch of the doctor's house and breathed in his first real taste of fresh air in a month. He'd damn near went brain-addled staying cooped up that long but he hadn't wanted to risk anyone, including the town sheriff, recognizing him and causing trouble.

The last month had given Brantley plenty of time to think and plan. The plan was simple but it was risky and, even if everything went smoothly, it would take quite a while to accomplish.

He walked to the small corral and barn behind the doctor's home. The last month had also made him two new friends. Doctor Murphy and Margaret had agreed to outfit Brantley with a gun, knife, ammunition, some essentials for living on horseback and even a horse. The agreement was that as soon as Brantley was able, he'd send them payment for both the medical treatment he'd been given and all the supplies, tack and horse.

Brantley wasn't certain he'd keep his end of the bargain. Hell, he'd stolen plenty of things in his life. Then again, Doctor Murphy had saved his life and kept him hidden while Margaret had caused his middle to get a bit softer with all that home cooking.....Brantley supposed he owed them.

It took several minutes longer than usual to saddle the horse. His body was mostly healed but soreness and stiffness still accompanied most of his movements.

Heading out into the night with his meager supplies, Brantley pointed his horse toward where he'd heard the U.S. Marshall should be this time of month. His plan was to turn himself in to the man and then make a deal to hunt down each and every gang member to earn his own freedom and a clean slate.

It went against the outlaw code to be a turncoat, but hell, Brantley didn't owe any loyalty to those bastards. This was the only way he could have any hope at all for a future with Rebecca and Brantley was going to take it.

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