“The doctor brought it.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“Name?”
“Dr. Silas Wren.”
Nola’s fingers tightened around the glass.
She did not know the name.
Not personally.
That meant nothing.
“Does he live in Hollow Creek?”
“No.”
“He comes through every few weeks.”
“From where?”
“Claims he works the territory between Bitter Ridge and Ash Canyon.”
“Claims?”
Garrick stared.
“I never asked for his family history.”
Nola crouched beside the bed again and replaced the damp cloth across Weston’s forehead.
The child whimpered.
His eyelids fluttered without opening.
Nola felt the pulse beneath his jaw.
Fast.
Too fast.
She looked toward Garrick.
“How much of this has he taken?”
“One spoon every four hours.”
“For how many days?”
“Three.”
Her stomach tightened.
“And before that?”
“Nothing.”
“Milk?”
“Water?”
“Broth?”
“He hasn’t kept much down.”
Nola reached for the tin cup.
“From now on, only water in little amounts.”
Garrick stared at her.
“You’re not a doctor.”
“No.”
“Then what exactly are you?”
Nola met his eyes.
“At this moment?”
“The only person in this room who smelled that bottle before pouring more of it into your boy.”
That silenced him.
She looked toward Eli.
“Bring me clean water.”
The boy moved immediately.
“Boiled first?”
Nola looked at him.
“Yes.”
Eli nodded and ran.
She turned toward Clara.
“Do you have more cloth?”
The little girl nodded.
“Clean ones?”
Another nod.
“Bring every clean cloth you can find.”
Clara disappeared.
Garrick remained standing near the bed.
For the first time since Nola had stepped off the stagecoach, he looked less like the man who owned the ranch and more like someone waiting to be told whether his whole world was about to collapse.
Nola hated that look because she recognized it.
She had worn it herself once.
Years ago.
Different room.
Different dying person.
Same helplessness.
She turned back to the bottle.
“Garrick.”
His eyes lifted.
“This doctor.”
“Yes?”
“Did he give your wife medicine from bottles like this?”
Garrick’s face went blank.
Nola watched understanding begin before he answered.
“My wife had a tonic.”
“Brown bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Same size?”
“I think so.”
“Did it smell bitter?”
“I never—”
He stopped.
His throat worked.
Then:
“She hated taking it.”
Nola remained very still.
“She said it made her mouth taste like metal.”
The bottle suddenly felt heavier in Nola’s hand.
Garrick whispered:
“What?”
Nola looked at Weston.
Then back at the bottle.
Then at Garrick.
“Where are your wife’s things?”
He stared.
“What?”
“Medicine.”
“Boxes.”
“Anything the doctor left.”
“Where?”
Garrick’s expression tightened.
“I packed most of it away.”
“Show me.”
“My son—”
“I am not leaving him alone.”