She tried to pull him toward the house, but he resisted, and he was still strong enough to prevail.

“No,” he said, reeling unsteadily and heading for the barn. “I don’t want Abigail to see. It’ll scare her to death.”

“How will you keep this from her, Scully? By sleeping in the hayloft?”

The Appaloosa, tossing it’s great head from side to side, ambled along behind them, bridle fittings jingling.

“You can pull the arrow out and put the horse away for the night. He deserves extra oats after the day he’s put in.”

For all her experience with wounded soldiers in the war, Evangeline went a little woozy at the prospect of removing that arrow, though she never doubted that she had to do it. Of the two tasks ahead of her, she was probably more worried about managing the horse.

Inside the barn, Scully sagged onto an upturned crate while Evangeline found matches and lit a lamp. Bessie the cow, overdue for milking, bawled unhappily.

Evangeline ignored the animal and assessed the damage to Scully’s shoulder. The arrow had almost gone all the way through; pressing the skin above his right collarbone, she felt the tip, probably less than an inch under the skin. “This is not going to be pleasant,” she warned.

“I’d pretty much figured that out already, ma’am,” Scully said, grinding out the words.

She bent, cupped his face in her hands, and stared straight into his eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t pass out, because I’m not going to be able to carry you into the house.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, and grinned. She couldn’t believe it. He had an arrow sticking out of him like a porcupine quill and he grinned. “Put the horse away first, will you? Please?”

Evangeline was so distracted that she forgot to be afraid, removing the gelding’s bloody saddle and other tack, leading him into a stall, filling the grain trough.

“There,” she said, exasperated and rushed, when she returned to Scully’s side. He hadn’t moved, of course. “Are you happy now?”

“Not quite,” he answered. The grin was downright feeble now, but it was there nonetheless.

“Remember,” Evangeline said. “You promised not to pass out.”

“I remember,” he answered. “Do it, Eve. Get it over with.”

She nodded, offered up a silent prayer, then took a firm grasp on the arrow and thrust it the rest of the way through. Scully flinched as his flesh tore, closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few seconds when more blood began to flow. After breaking off the arrowhead she wrenched out the shaft from behind and flung it aside.

Evangeline had already torn off the bottom tier of her petticoat; she wadded it into a ball and pressed it against the fresher of Scully’s two wounds, hoping to staunch the bleeding at least a little. She helped him to his feet, and he laughed when she promised the cow that she’d be back as soon as she could.