Longarm and the Restless Redhead by Tabor Evans

Author:Tabor Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 12

He didn’t have to remove Charlotte Conroy’s shirt because he was able to check well enough to see that she hadn’t been wounded above the waist without doing that. The trousers had to come off, though, and as Longarm unbuttoned them and peeled them down over her hips and thighs, he discovered that evidently Charlotte didn’t believe in wearing anything under them. He had expected some bloomers or at least the bottoms from a pair of long underwear.

It wasn’t gentlemanly to gawk at a gal while she was unconscious and in such a vulnerable position. So he steadfastly averted his eyes from the triangle of thick, luxuriant hair that was just a trifle darker than the hair on her head and concentrated instead on the wound on her right thigh.

A bullet had plowed a shallow groove through the outer part of her thigh, knocking out a chunk of meat in the process. It was a messy, painful wound, but not a life-threatening one unless it festered, and Longarm intended to see to it that that didn’t happen.

There was a canteen strapped to his saddle. With some water from it and a rag he took from his saddlebags he swabbed away as much of the blood as he could. Then he took a small silver flask from his saddlebags and uncorked it. After taking a nip of the Maryland rye in the flask, he poured the rest of it over the wound. Charlotte Conroy shifted around and groaned, feeling the pain of the fiery liquor in the wound even though she was unconscious.

When he was satisfied that he had cleaned the wound the best he could, Longarm took one of his clean shirts and ripped it up for bandages, tying the strips of cloth as tightly as he could around Charlotte’s thigh without cutting off the circulation to the rest of her leg. Finally, he was finished and knew that he had done everything possible for her.

Not quite everything, he reminded himself. He picked up her trousers. The right leg from the thigh down was soaked with blood, as well as having a ragged tear in it where the bullet had struck it. Longarm took his clasp knife from his pocket and opened it, then used the keen blade to slice off the trouser leg just above where the bloodstain started.

He got the trousers back on her and buttoned them up just before she regained consciousness. Charlotte stirred again and her eyelids flickered open. She stared up at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then she tried to sit up. She failed and fell back with a moan.

“Take it easy,” Longarm told her. “You lost a heap of blood from that leg wound, so I ain’t surprised your head’s a mite dizzy. Just lay there and rest.”

She closed her eyes and threw an arm over her face. “How . . . how bad is it?” she asked.

“Not that bad,” Longarm assured her. “Like you said, it’s just a scratch. Pretty deep one, though.

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