Page 107 of Native Hawk
That was good, wasn’t it? Her heart was still beating. But for how long? She was afraid to look down, to see where the bullet had hit her, afraid of the blood and the hole that might look jagged and empty, like the hole she’d shot in the floor.
But as her eyes remained fixed on the ominous gray barrel bearing down on her, she saw it begin to waver. Then she moved her focus beyond the pistol to the stranger’s face.
He blinked twice, looking puzzled. Then, as the barrel began to droop, his arm lowered, and she saw his throat.
At first, to Catalina’s eyes, he appeared to be wearing a brilliant red silk poppy on a lady’s choker. After a moment, she realized it wasn’t silk at all. It was blood.
She hadn’t been shot. He had.
The pistol fell slowly from his fingers, seeming to float through the air. He moved his hands to his throat, trying to stop the deadly flow. But ribbons of red streamed through his knuckles as he opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Slowly, gradually, he sank to the floor, smearing the wall behind him with stripes of his blood.
As if from very far away, she heard Miss Hattie’s voice. “Catalina! Catalina! Are you all right?”
Clinging to the balcony railing, Catalina turned in the direction of the voice. It felt like she was moving through molasses. Miss Hattie stood below her on the stairs. She was holding a pistol.
“Cat!” Drew called.
Slowly, Catalina looked back over her shoulder. He was standing in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. For an absurd moment, she wondered why he didn’t go put some trousers on. After all, the door was wide open.
It was the real and naked relief in Drew’s eyes that finally woke her up and brought her out of the lethargic fog. And when he rushed over to her, stepping over the body…
She lowered her eyes to the ground for only an instant…and wished she hadn’t.
She started wheezing in horror.
The man lay twitching on the floor. Blood gurgled out of his throat. His face was red and sweaty. His hands clawed at his chest. And his eyes were glassy with disbelief.
And then Drew was there to block it all, taking her in his arms, burying her head against his chest.
“It’s all right now, Cat. Don’t think about it. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
At first, she couldn’t stop shivering. Even when he stroked her hair and murmured soothing words in his breathy native tongue, she kept trembling, unable to piece together what had just happened.
“It’s all over now, Cat,” he whispered. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt anyone.”
Eventually, her heart slowed, and she could breathe without rasping.
Downstairs, the men started up their quiet conversation again, speculating over who had been shot and why.
Miss Hattie summed it up for them, showing them her pistol. “Out-o’-towner messin’ with my girls.”
They seemed to believe that explanation and went back to playing cards.
One by one, the upstairs doors opened, with the ladies and their clients tenuously peeking out to see if it was safe. A few of the ladies ogled Drew.
Catalina, struck by a sudden wave of possessiveness, pushed him back inside the room. He obliged her by putting on his trousers.
Miss Hattie swept along the balcony and knocked on Mary’s door. “Young man, you’d best come out.”
A moment later, a bearded man emerged with a frown, pulling up his suspenders. His frown dissolved when he saw the grisly remains of the sheriff.
“Pa!” he yelped. “What happened? Who did this?”
Then he banged hard on Sophie’s door. “Harvey! Get out here!”
Harvey came out boiling mad, buttoning his trousers. “What do you…” His face crumpled when the first man pointed to the body. “No. Oh no.”
