The Engagement Bargain. Sherri Shackelford

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СКАЧАТЬ his easy capitulation, Jo’s expression lost its stubborn set. “Noon.” She reached for the girl’s hand. “We’re going to find your parents. What’s your name?”

      The girl pressed her lips together, as though holding back her answer.

      She shook her head, and her two long braids whipped around her neck. “I’m not s’posed to tell strangers.”

      Jo shrugged. “That’s all right. You don’t have to tell me. My name is Jo. Can I least walk you back to the hotel?”

      The girl screwed up her face in concentration. “To mama?”

      “Yes, to your mother.”

      The girl nodded.

      Satisfied Jo had control of the situation, Caleb spun around and pushed his way through the knot of people toward the frantic voice. He broke through to the center, and his stomach dropped.

      Anna Bishop lay sprawled on her back, a growing pool of blood seeping from beneath her body. Though ashen, she blinked and took a shuddering breath. The white banner across her chest was stained crimson near the point where the chevron ends met at her hip. The gray-haired woman kneeling beside her clutched Anna’s limp hand in both of hers.

      Caleb swallowed around the lump in his throat. “She needs a surgeon.”

      The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “The streets are clogged with carriages. The hotel is closer. She’s losing so much blood. I’m not strong enough to carry her.” Her voice caught. “Help us, please.”

      “I’ll do whatever I can.”

      He knelt beside Miss Bishop and took her limp wrist in his hand, relieved by the strong pulse thumping beneath his fingers.

      Anna’s stunned blue eyes stood out starkly against her pale, almost translucent skin, providing the only color in her pallid face. Even her lips were white with shock. At the sight of such a bold woman struck down in such a cowardly fashion, raw emotion knifed through him.

      Who had such fear in their heart that they’d fight words with bullets?

      A fierce protectiveness welled in his chest. Whoever had done this might still be near.

      “Miss Bishop,” Caleb spoke quietly. “I’m going to take you back to the hotel. I’m going to help you.”

      For a dazzling moment she’d appeared invincible. The truth sent his stomach churning. She was just as fragile, just as vulnerable as any other mortal being.

      She offered him the barest hint of a nod before her eyelids fluttered closed, blotting out the luminous blue color.

      “Don’t give up,” Caleb ordered.

      Seeing her on that stage, he’d recognized a woman who didn’t shrink from a fight. If she needed a challenge, he’d give her one.

      “Don’t you dare let them win.”

      * * *

      The words drifted over Anna. She’d already lost. She was going to die for the cause.

      At least her death would not be ordinary.

      Clenching her jaw, Anna fought toward the surface of her consciousness.

       Don’t you dare let them win.

      The opposition would not have the satisfaction of her death. She’d traveled to Kansas City alone, an unusual occurrence. The speech had started well. There’d been hecklers. There were always hecklers. Anna had learned to ignore them.

      Then she’d heard the shot.

      The truth hadn’t registered until searing pain had lanced through her side.

      For a moment after the disruption, the world had gone silent. Disbelief had held her immobile. She’d looked in horror as a dark, growing stain had marred her turquoise day dress. The ground tilted. She’d staggered and her knees buckled.

      Her mother had advised her against speaking in such a small venue. Reaching a few hundred people wasn’t worth the effort when crowds of thousands awaited them back East. Grand gestures were needed for a grand cause.

      Two ladies from the Kansas chapter of the movement hovered over her, shouting for help. She’d met them this morning—Miss Margaret and the widow, Mrs. Franklin.

      A dark-haired man knelt at her side and pressed his palm against the wound, stemming the flow of blood. Anna winced. The stranger briefly released the pressure, and she glanced down, catching sight of a jagged hole marring the satin fabric of her favorite teal blue dress. She always wore blue when she needed extra courage.

      The man gently raised her hip to peer beneath her, and she sucked in a breath.

      “It’s not bad.” The man’s forest-green eyes sparked with sympathy. “The bullet has gone through your side. Doesn’t look like it struck anything vital.”

      Her throat worked. “Are you a doctor?”

      “A veterinarian.”

      Perhaps her death would not be quite so ordinary after all.

      The absurdity of the situation lent Anna an unexpected burst of energy. “Will you be checking me for hoof rot?”

      “I’ll do whatever is necessary.” The man glanced at the two women hovering over them. “If the hotel is our only option, we must leave. At once. You keep fighting, Miss Bishop.”

      She was weary of fighting. Each day brought a new battle, a new skirmish in the war for women’s rights. Each day the parlor of her mother’s house in St. Louis filled with women begging her for help. Though each problem was only a single drop in the oceans of people swirling around the world, she felt as though she was drowning. She’d given all her fight to the cause, to the casualties subjugated by an unfair and biased system. She didn’t have any fight left for herself.

      Mrs. Franklin lifted her gaze to the nearby buildings, then jerked her head in a curt nod. “It isn’t safe for her here. I’ve sent two others to fetch a surgeon and notify the police. Someone else may be hurt.”

      “I’ll see to Miss Bishop,” the man said, “if you want to check for additional injuries.”

      “Maggie will stay here and coordinate with the authorities,” she said, her expression stalwart. “I’ll remain with Miss Bishop.”

      Anna nearly wept with gratitude. Despite his reassuring words, the man kneeling at her side was a stranger, and she’d never been comfortable around men. Her encounters were rare, often tied with opposition to the cause, and those men mostly looked at her with thinly veiled contempt. Or, worse yet, speculation. As though her call for independence invited liberties they would never dream of taking with a “proper” woman.

      The man ripped Anna’s sash and tied it around her waist as a makeshift bandage. All thoughts of men and their rude propositions and knowing leers fled. The pain in her side was like a fire spreading through her body. It consumed her thoughts and kept her attention focused on the source of her СКАЧАТЬ