An Outlaw's Weakness*Fifth in Crane Gang series*

Chapter One

Outlaws Weakness

Chapter One

Numb. That's how Preston felt sitting upon the table in the doctor's office. Numb. He was faintly aware of Jeb yelling threats at the doctor who had delivered the news. He was faintly aware of Gill urging Jeb to calm down.

But still he felt numb. He was only nineteen. Nineteen-year olds were not supposed to hear what he'd just been told.

The doctor was suddenly in front of him. "Preston, I know this isn't the news you were wanting. I wish I had a better diagnosis for you. You were born with weak lungs. The medicine that once helped you no longer does."

"We already know that." Gill stated.

"So give him something else," Jeb snarled. "You're a doctor. Do something."

The doctor rubbed at his tired face. He was a young doctor. Younger than thirty. Still with plenty of life left to live—unlike Preston.

"There is nothing I can do to help him. All I can offer is, limit stress, limit excitement, limit exertion. Your lungs could last for twenty years if you're easy on them. Or they could give out in a few short years if you're not. Eventually you will have a breathing attack that will be fatal."

As Jeb and the doctor began arguing once again, Preston stared across the room, looking at his reflection in the mirror that sat there. He was thinner than most men. Pale. Had never grown taller than five and a half feet. His blond hair was messy on his head and his wire rimmed glasses sat on his nose.

An unimpressive reflection for an unimpressive boy who had lived an unimpressive life. Sure, he was a decent trick rider and he had a family that he loved, but he'd never done anything outside of the ranch.

And now he was being told he never would. Dying. Preston was dying. It could happen with the next breathing attack he experienced, or it could be years of slowly wasting—either way he was a dead man.

"Doctor is there anything that can be done to help with his attacks now that the medicine isn't helping?" Gill asked, his voice much more calm and controlled than Jeb's. But that was normal for his pa. Gill had always been the calmer of the two when it came to threats against the family. His papa, Jeb, tended to lose his mind a bit.

"Not to my knowledge. Again, I apologize. It's impossible for me to tell when the attack will happen that will push his weak lungs too far. But, I don't see Preston living a full life. As I said, if he takes it easy, he will more likely live longer but it won't save him."

Preston slid down from the table and buttoned up his shirt. After adjusting his glasses, he offered a hollow thank you to the doctor and walked back outside onto the busy city street.

Jeb and Gill had brought him all the way to a big city to see a doctor who specialized in breathing issues. The whole family had hoped the new doctor would offer some cure for Preston's sickness but they were going to be let down.

Preston had been let down. Dying. He was dying. That thought ran over and over again through his mind. He'd always been weaker than other kids. Paler than other kids. He'd always been held back by the sickness in his lungs. But he'd never truly thought it would kill him. His medicine had always helped.

Until the last few years.

Now, when a breathing episode struck, all he could do was struggle to make his way through it and hope that it would end before he was smothered to death.

"Preston?" Gill's voice came from behind him.

Preston turned to look at his pa. The man was one of the strongest Preston knew. Always confident and sure of himself. "I want to go home."

Jeb joined them on the streetside and Preston studied his papa a moment. Jeb was strong too but he was also weaker than Gill in a lot of ways. Jeb was often ruled by emotion alone. Sure, he was tough, but Preston could see the tears in his angry eyes, the hard set of his jaw, and the way his fists were clenched. His papa was not okay.

Preston was not okay.

"Okay son," Jeb said, his voice tired. "Let's go home."

The train ride home seemed to take much longer than the train ride to the city. There was tension thick in the around the trio. Gill spent most of the time doing everything he could to offer comfort to both Jeb and Preston.

Preston didn't want comfort. He didn't want anything. He wanted to live.

As they rode back onto the ranch, Eleanor and Willa were there. Preston didn't speak to anyone. He went straight into the house and up the ladder to his loft bedroom, burying his face in his pillow. Hot tears stung behind his eyes and, finally, Preston let them fall.