The Target

"You would have gone to jail."

"Yeah, some justice."

"If you had shot me, sending you to jail would have indeed been justice. For my sake, I hope they wouldn't have plea-bargained you down." Of course that wasn't the point. She didn't say anything to that, but he could practically see the hackles rising. He wanted to ask how Emma had been taken, about Emma's father, and a dozen other things, but now Emma was standing in the doorway, looking bright and clean, a hairbrush in her hand. She walked to him and held out the brush. He heard Molly suck in her breath. He smiled, took the brush, and brought Emma to stand between his knees. He combed out the tangles, then began the braid.

Emma said, "Mama, could you teach Ramsey how to French-braid my hair?"

"Yes, I can. He's doing pretty well with your regular braid, though."

"You should have seen the first braid he did. It was all spiky and crooked, like it was broken in the middle."

When he got to the end of the braid, she handed back a rubber band. "There." He turned her around, his hands on her shoulders. "You look great. Everyone is going to ask you who your hairdresser is. I'm the best."

"That was well done," Molly said in a calm voice, but both of them recognized that it was tough for her, this unquestioned trust and affection Emma had for another human being, one she hadn't even known until a week ago. "Can I show Ramsey how to French-braid it tomorrow for you, Em?"

"Yes, Mama."

Ramsey leaned forward in his chair, taking her hands. "I want you to gather up all your clothes, Em, and stuff everything in a pillowcase. Don't forget anything. It's important. If those men come back, I don't want them to see anything that has to do with any of us in here. The three of us are leaving in fifteen minutes. All right?"

She gave him a long look, then nodded slowly.

He waited until he heard Emma rummaging around in the living room, then said to Molly, "I told you that I was relieved that you weren't the bad guys. We had visitors, two of them."

Emma said from the doorway, a half-filled pillowcase in her hands, "Are you going to look at your leg, Ramsey?"

He'd forgotten. He should, just to make sure there was no infection. He nodded slowly. "I'll get the tape," she called.

"What's going on?"

"Two guys stumbled out of the forest into the meadow yesterday, firing their rifles, pretending to be drunk. I got Emma inside and came back out with my rifle and handgun. I got hit in the leg, but I managed to hit both of them. One of them twice. They ran off. I have one of their rifles. Maybe the police can run a check on it.

"I don't know who they were or why they were here. My feeling is that they were after Emma." Then, Emma was standing there, beside him. He said easily, "Emma, hand me a sterile gauze." He rose and pulled down his sweatpants. He heard Molly suck in her breath. He said as he sat back down again, "Let me get this tape and gauze up. There, that's not too bad. It's supposed to turn black and blue. Okay, Emma, give me the gauze. You know, I think the swelling's down a bit."

"I hope so, Ramsey," Emma said, leaning close. "It doesn't smell bad, so that's good."

Molly said as she watched the two of them work smoothly together, Emma handing him strips of adhesive tape, then helping him pull it tight over the gauze, keeping the flesh together, "How'd you know about that, Em?"

"I know lots of things, Mama. I watched an ancient history show, the one Mr. Spock does, and they talked about how this one phara-"

"Pharaoh?"

"Yeah. He had his leg rot and ooze because someone hit him with a spear, and then he died."

"You mean gangrene?" Molly asked.

"Yes, that's it. I don't see any red, Ramsey."

"No, I don't either."

"Is it still real warm?" She didn't wait for him to answer, just lightly pressed her palm next to the bandage. "Yes, it is. How much longer will it be warm?"

"I don't know. Not much longer. I'm a real quick healer."

"But it is better, isn't it?"

He heard the crawling fear in her voice, and came up with a big grin. He rubbed his knuckles on her cheek. "I'm nearly ready to go skiing, sweetheart. You want to go to Vail?"

"Mama likes to ski at Vail. I'm just learning."

"You can be my mascot. I'll carry you around on my shoulders. When I fall, I'll toss you in a snowbank and you can be a snow angel." Still, she looked profoundly worried. She lightly pressed a hand on either side of the bandage.