After covering the bullet hole with a clean kerchief, she handed the basin of bloodied water to Beanpole Tom and took hold of Kansas Pete’s hand in her own. “You’ll be fine,” she said softly. “It’ll take more than that hole in your shoulder to keep you down.”

Her assurances brought a glimmer of a smile from Kansas Pete before his eyelids drifted shut.

Chase arranged a chair next to Emily’s and sat. “How does a nice girl like you know about bullet wounds?” he asked. Since some of the men were now stretched out on their cots, he kept his voice low.

Her blue eyes slanted toward him. “We have guns in Boston,” she said.

“Oh? For some reason, I was under the impression that Boston was more…civilized.” He was teasing her, of course, and the sudden dimple at her cheek told him she knew it.

“We are,” she said. “There’re only three reasons why a man gets shot in Boston. He loses a duel, cheats at cards, or helps himself to someone else’s wife.”

He chuckled. “If I ever have occasion to visit Boston, I’ll remember that.”

For the remainder of the night, he and Emily stayed by Kansas Pete’s side and waited for the doctor.

Occasionally, Chase caught her glancing at him, a strange look on her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking similar thoughts. Did she recall the feel of his bare chest? The feel of his hands at her waist? The way the two of them had worked together like a team?

It was past dawn before Foxhound returned with Doc Avery. An older man with gray hair and beard, the doctor adjusted his spectacles before setting his black bag on a chair and tuning to his patient. “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” the doctor said. “I was delivering a baby.” After probing the wound with a practiced finger, he pulled an extractor from his bag. He waited for Chase to pour a liberal amount of whiskey down the patient’s throat and on the wound before setting to work.

Chase held Kansas Pete down with a hand on his chest while Big-Foot Harry clamped down on the poor man’s legs. Uttering soothing words, Emily sponged the patient’s head and seemed oblivious to the curses ripping from his mouth.

“Hey, we got a lady present,” Boomer said out of habit.

Beanpole Tom shook his head. “She’s no lady. She’s a rancher’s wife.”

Chase met Emily’s eyes for a split second before they both looked away.

Finally, Kansas Pete fell silent, and Doc Avery held the extractor up for all to see. The bloody bullet between the loop-shaped grips brought whoops and hollers from the men.

The bullet made a pinging sound when dropped into a metal bowl. “Give him a day or so, and he’ll be his ornery self again,” Doc Avery said, dabbing his damp forehead with a balled handkerchief.

“That’s good news,” Chase said and thanked the doctor. After making certain that Kansas Pete was comfortable, he left the bunkhouse ahead of Emily, surprised to find himself still reeling from the shock of having heard the word husband fall from her lips.