Chapter Twenty-Six

Zachariah sat on the porch, fighting sleep and sheer exhaustion as the stars danced on a nearby pond.

The doctor had locked himself in the room with his patients and had banned all others from it. The gang was out back but Zachariah had chosen not to join them.

Tensions and emotions were running far too high and the blame and accusations in their eyes when they looked at him were more than Zachariah had the strength to deal with just now.

"Why are you out here alone?" Eleanor's voice asked from behind him.

Zachariah stood quickly and turned to face her. "You're supposed to be in bed."

Eleanor wrapped the blanket she carried a little tighter around her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep."

The lantern light emphasized the dark circles around her wide eyes and the bruises on her arms. "I'm sorry they got you," Zachariah whispered.

Eleanor's brown eyes met his. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Blame yourself."

"How can't I blame myself?" Zachariah snapped, whirling around and slamming his hand against the banister. "It is my fault that those two men are lying in there trying not to die and it is my fault that you were taken and they....."

"Don't talk about that," Eleanor quickly snapped.

Zachariah's stomach flopped when he saw what little color had been left in her cheeks drain. He should be angry—and it would come later when he had Clint in his sights—but for now all he could feel was bone deep sorrow and overwhelming guilt.

"I've lived a hard life, Eleanor. I made a career out of killing people because violence was the only thing I knew a damn bit about. I was damn good at my job too. I gave you a better life than you'd have had otherwise and we never had to worry about anything.

"But that killing... eventually it eats away at a man's soul and I had to quit. I thought I could give it up and walk away just like that." Zachariah huffed at his own ignorance. "But it followed me. And where did I lead it? Straight to your doorstep."

Eleanor shook her head as she sat down in the rocking chair looking thoroughly exhausted. "None of this is your fault. And I don't blame you. And I can promise you that when Wyatt wakes up, he won't blame you either."

"They blame me....I blame me."

"Some of them might blame you, Zachariah, but you have to forgive them for that and not let it get to you. It is human nature to look for someone to blame when we're afraid. Once Wyatt and Pete recover and things settle down, they'll see reason."

"And if they don't recover?" Zachariah whispered, the words too terrible to speak with much volume.

Eleanor picked at peeling white paint on the arm of the chair. "They will. Wyatt loves you, Zachariah. And he's strong and brave. He tried so hard to protect me and to free us. He wanted to come back to you so badly."

Zachariah couldn't remember a single time when he and his sister had had a discussion like this one. They'd both always been private and closed off; even with each other.

Or maybe Zachariah had been the closed-off one. Knowing Wyatt, being around his warmth and his understanding, had made a bigger difference and change in Zachariah than he had realized.

He couldn't lose him.

It was then that Gill stepped onto the porch. "The doctor is ready to tell us about them. I figured you'd want to know."

Zachariah nodded and cleared his throat. Eleanor walked inside and Zachariah moved to follow her but was stopped by Gill's hand on his chest. "I don't blame you, Zachariah. I know how it is to try to leave your life behind and have it follow you and put those you love at risk—even kill them." Gilliam's gaze wavered and he swallowed hard before looking back at Zachariah. "And when Wyatt gets it in his mind to help someone—to protect them—there is no stopping him. And as far as Jeb goes...." Gill sighed. "He's lost a lot and he's desperate to hold on to what he has left. Don't be too angry with him for that...please."

With that Gilliam turned and walked into the house. Zachariah stood for a moment in the lonely silence before following after the man.

"Alright, doc, we're all here now," Craig said when Gill and Zachariah arrived in the sitting room. "You can tell us."

"I have to admit I don't see many gunshot wounds," the doctor began. "This might be considered wild country but it's a quiet little town. I cleaned and disinfected the wound as best I could and I gave each man something for pain."

"Are they going to make it?" Jeb questioned impatiently.

The doctor pulled off his glasses and began to wipe the lenses on his shirtsleeve. "Hard to say. They both lost a lot of blood but neither of them were fatally hit. Our biggest worry for Pete is infection and I'm fairly confident the wound was cleansed in time."

"And Wyatt?" Zachariah rasped, feeling Jeb's eyes turn to stare at him "Is Wyatt going to be okay?" he somehow managed to ask.

The doctor slid his glasses back onto his face and sighed. Fatigue weighed down his thin shoulders. "He's in bad shape. Malnourished, dehydrated and filthy. The blood loss alone could be enough to kill him thanks to those factors. Add to that the beating it appeared as if his body took..." The doctor shrugged. "He has bruised ribs—probably a couple of cracked ones as well. And he's covered from head to toe in bruises and contusions. I'm not sure his body as strength enough left in it to heal itself."

"I'm gonna get some air," Craig mumbled before disappearing out the back door.

"Can we sit with them?" Gilliam questioned as he kept a strong, supportive arm around Jeb's broad shoulders.

The doctor offered a tired nod. "I guess it won't hurt anything. Talking to folks seems to help them even if it seems like they can't hear you."

Jebidiah and Gilliam went through the door to the patient room. Zachariah, Eleanor and the doctor stood together in awkward silence.

"Well, I'll be going to bed now," the doctor quietly announced before taking his leave.

Zachariah didn't respond as he stood there silently staring at the doorway Wyatt lay beyond.

"Go," Eleanor encouraged him. "He would want you near him."

Zachariah wasn't sure he could. Damn but caring made a man weak—love made a man weak.

Eleanor simply sighed and walked away, heading back up the staircase and toward the bedroom the doctor had given her to use.

Zachariah's knees shook and his heart pounded as he slowly reached out and opened the door in front of him. Instantly his sharp gaze found Wyatt.

The other man was bare from the waist up save for the white bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He'd been cleaned up but Zachariah could still see the proof of Clint's abuse covering his body.

That damn man would pay with his life—and he would pay soon.

Without a glance toward Jeb who was standing beside Wyatt, Zachariah walked to the bed and sat down in the chair beside it, sliding it close so he could take Wyatt's hand.

He was aware of Jebidiah's tension and heard him take a breath as if to speak. Suddenly, Gilliam appeared, having abandoned his post at Pete's beside. He put his hand on Jeb's shoulder. "Why don't we give them some privacy? I could use some rest."

"Gilliam... I don't want him here. This is his fault."

Zachariah winced and glanced up at the men. Gill shook his head as he put both hands on Jeb's chest and urged him backward a few steps. "You don't mean that, Jebidiah. Remember when Wyatt insisted on saving me and nearly died from the gunshot? Remember the way I blamed myself for my own past catching up and almost killing someone we both cared about? Dammit, Jeb, I knew it was my fault but you're the one who insisted it wasn't. This is the same damn thing. You can see it just as much as I can when you look at Zachariah. He cares about Wyatt. He's hurting, he's guilt-ridden and he's torturing himself. He doesn't need you making things worse."

Zachariah simply sat there holding Wyatt's cool hand and saying nothing. Jebidiah closed his eyes and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan of despair.

"I need air," Jeb whispered, his green eyes finding Gill's and locking on them. "Help me, Gilliam..."

Zachariah sat in silence as Gill took Jeb's hand and led him from the room. Finding himself alone with Pete and Wyatt, Zachariah focused every bit of his attention on the man he loved.

"Did I ever tell you that one of my favorite things was to simply sit in silence with you and watch the firelight? Sometimes I would watch it dance off your dark skin and in your dark eyes while you lost yourself in that notebook you liked to write in and it would captivate me..." Zachariah chuckled humorlessly. "Listen to me being all poetic. You know I never said a poetic word in my life 'til just now. I know that the silence wasn't necessarily by choice seeing as how you can't speak, but I kinda always thought that maybe it meant something to you too."

Zachariah scooted closer and laid his free hand over Wyatt's chest, taking small comfort in the steady rise and fall of his breaths. "And so that's why I'm just gonna sit here real silent until you wake up. You've gotta come back to me, Wyatt. There's a lot of things I still need to say to you in the silence."