Dustwater Creek
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 2: Blood on the Floorboards
The Rusted Spur Saloon had quieted to a heavy, suffocating silence. Dust motes floated in the golden evening light, and the air still reeked of whiskey, sweat, and splintered wood. Lysandra Bale lay on the floor, copper hair fanned around her like fire, each breath ragged, sharp, and uneven.
“I ... I think I can stand,” she said, trying to sound confident, hoping to convince herself as much as the men. “Help me ... I’ll be fine. Just a little—”
She tried to rise, but the moment her weight pressed down, agony flared like wildfire through her pelvis. Her knees buckled violently. A cry ripped from her throat as she collapsed back to the floor, trembling and gasping.
The men froze, wide-eyed, suddenly aware of how fragile she really was.
“By God...” muttered Harlan Pike, the largest of the cowboys, his voice low and tense. “We ... we can’t let her stay here.”
“She ... she can’t walk,” another whispered, guilt thick in his tone. “We—what do we do?”
“We carry her,” Harlan said grimly, bending down. “Careful. One wrong move and—”
“Don’t,” Lysandra hissed, wincing. “Just ... carefully. Slowly. I—” The words cut off with another sharp twist of pain.
They lifted her together, one under each arm, moving with extreme caution. Every step was measured, deliberate, every bump in the floor sending tremors of agony through her body. She gritted her teeth, trying to breathe steadily, to hide the tremors that threatened to betray her fear.
The men glanced at one another, guilt painting their faces in stark relief. None of them had expected this. None had thought their brawling could leave a young woman so utterly helpless. And now, there was no doctor within miles. No one to patch her up properly. Just them, their hands, and the fragile human body they had almost broken.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.