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it was too late. And he had gone to that brute with his tale of Amelia's weak character... A minute later,
he had his hat in his hand and was rushing out the door after Alan. It took precious minutes to get into
El Paso, and the streets were crowded. Alan reached Amelia's house seconds before King, neither of
them sparing their mounts on the way. They didn't even take time to leave the horses at the stable but
threw the reins the minute they arrived and ran to the front door. Alan knocked and knocked again, but
there was no answer. Oh, God, he groaned, because it was past time for the elder Howard to be
home from work, and Amelia would surely be there, in any case. With a muffled curse, King went
around to the side of the house and began looking in through the slitted curtains, room by room.
Suddenly he stopped. The sight that met his eyes made him sick. He ran back around the house. Get
the police! he yelled to Alan as he made a run at the front door. Pray God he could break it in,
because Amelia had been covered with blood. He didn't dare let himself think about her condition
beyond that. He knew he couldn't live with himself if she died because of his stupidity. Why hadn't he
known? Alan hadn't argued. He'd gone at once, at a dead run, when King had called to him. Now King
went about breaking the lock. It was a heavy door but not bolted, thank God. He gave it one last
furious kick, his fear for Amelia spurring him on, and felt it give. He ran down the hall to the room
he'd seen from the outside. The door was open. Her father was shaking from his exertion, slumped
over a chair. Damn you! King cursed roundly as he went past the man to kneel beside Amelia. She
barely seemed to be breathing at all. Her poor back was covered with blood. It had soaked into her
white robe and into the floor rug beneath her, onto the floor. King thought that he'd never seen so
much blood in his life. Her face was as white as flour paste, and she was obviously, mercifully,
unconscious. Running footsteps impinged on his anguish. His head turned as Dr. Vasquez and a
policeman dressed in a suit and Stetson hat came into the room. The situation took no guesswork at
all, because Amelia's father had the belt still clutched in his hand. But he wasn't moving, and his eyes
were wide open and unseeing as he laid with his head back against the chair.
Dr. Vasquez went to him first, despite King's demand that he look at Amelia. He listened to
Hartwell Howard's chest with his stethoscope, felt the pulse at his neck and, with a heavy sigh, got up
to strip a blanket off the bed. He covered the man with it, face and all. Then he went to Amelia, while
the others were reacting to the shock of knowing that Amelia's father had died in the act of his
brutality to her. A tumor of the brain, Dr. Vasquez murmured as he gently examined Amelia. You
knew, of course? he asked the two men. I suspected, Alan said thinly. He grew steadily worse.
Dangerously violent, especially to a man with blood pressure which is already very high. I tried to
entreat her to go to her relatives or stay elsewhere, but she would not. A very brave young lady,
impossibly loyal. And see what it has cost her. He could have killed her or brought on a fatal heart
attack for himself at any time, and she knew it, because I made certain she did. Foolish, foolish girl.
Will she live? King asked through his teeth. She has lost a great deal of blood, and there is the
shock of it as well. I want to move her to my surgery, but covertly, you understand. He glanced at the
men. There must be no gossip. She will have to bear the brunt of this if word gets out. Constable, can
you think of a way to remove her father without undue attention? I think so, he said. We'll wait
until dark. It is almost that, now. In the morning we'll give a notice to the paper that he passed away
peacefully, in his sleep. We can say that the young lady was exhausted and in shock from the trauma of
seeing her father die. Yes, Vasquez nodded. An eminently practical solution. But she will have to
be moved now. Bring me some towels and water in a basin, if you will, and we will see how much
damage he has done. I expect there will be scars beneath this latest wounding as well. King went for
the things the doctor requested, so that he would have a little time to himself. He had never meant this
to happen. The pleasure Amelia had given him made him crazy with jealousy over his brother,
determined to prevent any marriage between them. He hadn't thought it through, he'd only reacted, and
in an unnatural way. Amelia had paid for his stupidity. She might yet pay with her life. He didn't know
how he was going to survive the next few days. And if she did live, she would hate him. That was the
most damning thought of all. He took the basin and cloths he'd found back into the bedroom. The
doctor made the other men leave while he did what was necessary. He cleaned the deep lacerations and
put salve and bandages on them, exchanging Amelia's soiled robe for another that he found hanging
in her chifforobe. She would have to be watched all night, he thought. It would be better to have
someone care for her here, at home, than to try to keep her in his surgery, where questions about her
condition might be prompted. She was still unconscious, too. Apparently her father had struck her
hard enough to send her flying headfirst into the bedpost. There was a bruise high up on her temple,
and the fact that she was unconscious presented the possibility of concussion. That state was always
dangerous. There was something much more damaging to her reputation than this, as well. When he
finished ministering to her wounds, he gathered up her stained, discarded clothing, and parceled it up
with the bloodstained robe. At least he could spare her that humiliation. He called Alan and King back
in when he finished. Amelia lay facedown on the bed. Her eyes were still closed, and her breathing
looked labored. The smell of blood filled the room.
There is washing that needs to be done, and any washerwoman is going to carry tales if she sees
this, Dr. Vasquez said solemnly. These things need to be put into a bag, taken out, and burned. I'll
see to that, Alan said grimly. And Amelia? She is concussed, the doctor added. I do not want to
take the risk of moving her. She needs to be watched until she regains consciousness, and even then
she will need to be under constant supervision for several days. Concussions can be fatal. You must
already be aware of this. One of my men died of it, King said, feeling hollow and nauseated deep
inside. As could this lady, I will be frank. I'll stay with her, King said quietly. And if she wakes up
and finds you here, she'll scream the house down, I don't doubt, Alan said venomously. I will not
leave her, the older man said firmly, his silver eyes flashing. We can make other plans when we
have to. Can you be trusted not to do anything further to make her suffer? Alan demanded icily.
King averted his eyes to the still figure on the bed. He winced. Yes. Alan saw the look on his
brother's face then and relented. I'll take care of everything else. It might be as well if I brought
Mother here. I agree, King said dully. He was barely able to think. Amelia looked so fragile, like a
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