"Self-defense, plain and simple." Elias lowered the hammer of his Colt. He reholstered the weapon. He felt cold, despite the heat of the fire. He felt the old sickness, the familiar weight of taking a life.
He turned to Naya. She was standing still, staring at the dead man. Then, her knees buckled. Naya, Elias caught her before she hit the ground. She gasped, clutching her stomach, her face twisting in pain.
"The baby," she moaned. "Elias, the baby." Dr. Aris ran forward, dropping his bag in the dust. "Bring her to the porch!" Aris shouted.
Get her out of the smoke. Elias scooped her up. She felt light, fragile. He carried her to the house, kicking the door open. He laid her on their bed, the bed they had shared for warmth, the bed where they had made this life.
The doctor pushed Elias aside. I need water and towels. Elias ran. He was a man who had faced gunfire without blinking, but now his hands shook so hard he could barely hold the pitcher. The next hour was a blur of agony.
Elias paced the main room, listening to Naya's low cries of pain and the doctor's murmurs. Billy sat by the stove, head in his hands, weeping quietly. Elias stopped pacing. He went to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. "You did good, Billy," Elias said hoarsely.
You saved the horses. You saved her. Billy looked up, his face streaked with soot. "I was scared, Mr. Ward." "So was I, son.
So was I." The door to the bedroom opened. Dr. Aris stepped out. He looked exhausted, wiping his hands on a rag. Elias looked at him, unable to ask the question.
Aris let out a long sigh. "She is stable," Aris said. The stress, the smoke, it brought on contractions, but they have stopped. "And the child?" Elias whispered.
Aris nodded slowly. The heartbeat is strong. It is a fighter, Elias, just like its mother. But she needs rest, absolute rest. If she exerts herself again, we could lose them both.