Wyoming Engagement

by Joyce Armor

  “What the…”

  He spurred Laredo on slowly, not wanting to spook whatever it was, even though it looked to be half a mile away. As he trotted closer, he realized the thing was dark blue, so it wasn’t a bear or an elk. Slowing his horse to a walk, he approached the object cautiously. He could see now it was a person and was aware of the Indian trick of pretending to be unconscious and then attacking a person who comes near. He dismounted and pulled out his pistol. Laredo wouldn’t stray far unless he had to fire the gun, and even then he would most likely return if Bodie whistled.

  Now that he was off the horse and closer to the figure, he could see that it had to be a woman or a child. Still, he could not help but be cautious. Holding the pistol at the ready, he carefully turned the figure over with his boot and drew in a breath. It was a woman. Was she even alive? He knelt down and put an ear to her chest and was relieved to feel a faint heartbeat. Even in her condition, with swollen and split lips, bruises and cuts all over and a wound bleeding through a bandage on her side, he could see that she was pretty. Her reddish-brown hair, which had mostly come undone from some kind of configuration on the back of her head, transfixed him for some reason. Before he could act on an insane impulse to run his fingers through it, he replaced his pistol in the holster and hurried back to Laredo, retrieving his canteen.

  When he gently lifted her head so she could drink, she moaned softly but did not open her eyes. But she started to gulp the water and started choking.

  “Easy now,” he said. “One more little drink and then we’ll get you on my horse.”

  She drank a little more, but most of the water dribbled down her chin as she slipped into unconsciousness again. He noticed then how pale she was and worried her life would slip away before he could get her back to the ranch. He hung the canteen back on Laredo and pulled a dry cloth out of his saddlebag. The best he could do was fold up the cloth and place it under the blood-soaked strip she or someone had tied around her waist. Then he gently lifted her. She moaned when he jostled her, and he saw how swollen her wrist was.

  “Nothing I can do about that,” he muttered.

  She was so light he was able to hold her on his hip and mount, albeit awkwardly. He settled her sideways in front of him, holding her around the hip with his right hand, so as not to disturb her wound, and the reins in his left as he kneed the stallion into a canter. It was a good distance back to the ranch house, some of it hilly and a little rough. He tried his best to keep from jostling her. About halfway back, he ran into one of his hands, Jess, who was driving the buckboard back from town with supplies.

  “Unhitch the horse and ride back to Medicine Bow,” Bodie instructed. “Send Doc Greene to the ranch right away. If he’s not available, try that lady doctor. You can pick up the supplies on your way back.”

  Jess looked at the woman, obviously puzzled, but Bodie had no answers for him. Before the cowhand had finished unhitching the horse, Bodie had cantered off. For the half-mile back to the ranch, he had time to wonder about the woman. What was she doing wandering around his land, especially in that condition? What caused the wound in her side? Who was she? She did not look familiar, although Medicine Bow was growing and new people were moving in all the time. He had heard the Cotton Ranch had sold recently, purchased by some English baron or count or something. Maybe she was English royalty. He smiled at that. Her blue dress was torn and filthy—had she laid down in mud at some point?—and she looked anything but royal at the moment.

  He reached the two-story log ranch house, relieved to see her chest expanding just enough for him to know she was still breathing. As he rode up, his foreman, Dex, walked out of the barn, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He rushed over to Bodie, wiped his hands on his tan chinos and held out his arms. Bodie carefully handed the woman down to him, dismounted and tied Laredo to the hitching post.

  “I’ll take her,” he said, feeling proprietary over her. “I sent Jess for the doc. Could you rub my boy down and feed and water him?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  As Dex headed off to the barn, looking over his shoulder once or twice, Bodie carried the woman up the steps, struggling to open the solid oak door with one hand. Once inside, he headed for the stairs, calling for Mrs. Glines as he took the stairs by twos.

  Mrs. Glines, her ample body covered in an apron and a dash of flour on her chin, answered him from the bottom of the stairs as he reached the top.

  “I found her a couple of miles from here. She’s hurt and unconscious. I’ll put her in the middle bedroom. She needs a bath, and you should probably be the one to undress her.”

  Another housekeeper might cluck or swoon or complain. Not Mrs. Glines. She was tougher than an Army sergeant and had a heart of gold. “Let me get my cookies out of the oven, and I’ll be right up.”

  He kicked open the bedroom door, which was ajar, and entered the room. He couldn’t figure out where to put her, though. He didn’t want to put her on the bed when she was so dirty, not because he cared about getting his mother’s quilt dirty but because he did not want to put her in a dirty bed once she was clean. Instead, he laid her painstakingly onto the fluffy brown rug near the fireplace. Then he went to the bathing room next door and started her a bath. As it ran, he went back into the bedroom and started the fire, which was already laid out.

  Bodie was considering undressing the young woman himself when Mrs. Glines walked in.

  “Who is she?”

  “I have no idea. I found her out near the south pasture.”

  “She doesn’t look very good,” the middle-aged woman said as she gently turned Jenna over and began unbuttoning her travel dress.

  “I know. I sent for the doc.”

  “You’d best see to the bath.”

  Bodie could not help but notice the creamy white skin on the young woman’s back as his cook/housekeeper unbuttoned her frock. The dress might have been stylish when she put it on. Women’s fashion was a bit beyond him.

  “Go,” Mrs. Glines said again and he did, embarrassed at being caught staring at the little waif.

  The bath was hot but not too hot. He probably should have poured in a little lavender or something. He was a man, though, and didn’t own any of that frilly feminine frippery. You should try to say that three times fast. He chuckled. He had to get his mind off female bath water. He turned off the spigot and grabbed a green towel from the shelf. He also pulled over a little stool, where Mrs. Glines could sit as she tended to the young woman.

  “Bodie, I’m not as strong as I used to be. You’re going to have to carry her and put her in the bath.”

  Oh, Lord.

  Chapter 3

  Time stopped. He was not a virgin, but it had been a while, and his experience was with a few…uh…fast women, not gentle ladies. Bodie’s heart caught in his throat as his mind searched frantically for any other solution. There were no other women on the ranch, and he was not about to call one of his hands for this task. Mind over matter. You can do this. Doctors see naked ladies all the time.

  He walked so determinedly into the bedroom, Mrs. Glines almost laughed. Bless his heart. She had removed the young woman’s clothing, unwrapped the bandaging and covered her in a sheet.

  “Bodie, she’s been shot. She has a hole in the back, too, so the bullet went straight through, which is good. It is still bleeding, but it looks like it has slowed down a lot.”

  “Shot?” It was almost as if he didn’t understand. Why would anyone shoot this beautiful young woman? For a moment it occurred to him that she might be an outlaw. He knew better than most not to judge a woman by her outward package. He had been fooled more than once on that account.

  “Let’s get her into the tub.”

  He picked her up, and she seemed even lighter than she was before. Mrs. Glines had removed the ivory decorative pin and several other pins that were still holding some of her hair back, and now it cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. It was wavy, not quite curly yet not straight. Again, he felt that
strange urge to run his hands through it. That shocked him since he had never before felt that compulsion with anyone else’s hair, even those of similar color. Although he could not recall anyone with hair exactly that color, like the fall harvest at sundown. “Stop it.”

  “What?” Mrs. Glines was behind him as he approached the tub.

  “Uh…I was talking to myself.”

  She smiled. “All right then, this is the tricky part. Just take off the sheet and put her in the tub.”

  He looked at her as if she had two heads, and this time she did laugh. “You’re a grown man, Bodie. It needs to be done. Just do it.”

  “Maybe we better put some bandaging on to protect the wound and then put a dry one on after.”

  “You’re right. She has so much dirt on her, it could get into the wound.”

  A reprieve! He nearly grinned, except Mrs. Glines rushed off and returned with fresh bandaging in less than a minute, skillfully rewrapping and securing it while Bodie tried not to look. The whole procedure was over in a blink.

  That meant it was time. He gulped in a deep breath and couldn’t help noticing how much Mrs. Glines was enjoying his discomfort. She was right. He was a mature adult who built a ranching empire. Carefully, he unwound the sheet from the—oh, my Lord, glorious—woman, letting it drop to the floor. The housekeeper gave him a little nudge, and Bodie scooped the goddess into his arms, gently placing her in the copper tub in a sitting position, leaning her against the back of the tub.

  “You’re going to have to hold her while I wash her.”

  He just looked at the middle-aged woman, almost like a rabbit watching a hawk swooping down on him. Mrs. Glines shook her head, her dimples showing, and plopped onto the stool. “I can’t use this,” she said, picking up the lye soap almost accusingly. “I’ll hold her while you go down to my room and look on the vanity. Bring me the lemon verbena soap.”

  She grasped the young woman’s shoulders as Bodie left the room like he was shot out of a cannon. It gave Mrs. Glines a chance to really study the woman for the first time. She was young, probably in her early 20s, maybe even a little younger. She was pretty, with alabaster skin, auburn hair and a pert little nose with a dusting of freckles. Perhaps the freckles were caused by her time out in the elements, or maybe she had them all the time. She was a little thing, not more than two or three inches over five feet. She looked solid, though, as if she were an active person, not one who sat around embroidering pillowcases.

  It would be interesting when Bodie’s mother showed up. The cook/housekeeper had been with the rancher since the beginning, so she was more than familiar with the formidable Auralee Farnham and her machinations. He had told her to expect a debutante to arrive with his mother. The lady was pushy, condescending and more than annoying. Bodie bent over backwards trying to accommodate her, but she always found something to criticize. To his credit, he took it well and did not engage in shouting matches with his mother, as Elvira Glines would have been more than happy to do and was tempted to do on many an occasion. Bodie was a good man, strong and a leader, with the possible exception of where his mother was concerned. Would he have the strength and courage to oppose her and this new mate she was bringing?

  She knew his father had died when he was only five or six, and his mother had never remarried. He must be grateful that she raised him all alone. There had to be limits, though, of gratitude and duty. Surely he would not make a commitment that would alter his entire life just to suit his mother. Shaking her head, Mrs. Glines held the young woman with one hand while she moved her long tresses out from behind her back and over her shoulder.

  Just then Bodie returned with the lemon soap.

  “You hold her, Bodie, and I’ll wash her.”

  He knelt down behind the young woman and started to put his hands under her arms until he realized that would put them alarmingly close to her breasts. He yanked his hands back as Mrs. Glines sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling. The rancher grasped the young woman’s shoulders, and the older woman began washing her. As she did, Bodie desperately tried to not feel the silky skin beneath his hands or any other part of the pretty young woman’s body.

  Mrs. Glines went about her task quickly. Bodie knelt there mesmerized as she washed her beautiful hair twice and then rinsed it with the bath water. The woman groaned at one point but didn’t awaken.

  “Now pour that clean water over her while I hold her. It’s too heavy for me.”

  Bodie grabbed the bucket of warm water and carefully poured it over the naked woman’s head. Darn it, he was trying not to think of her as naked. Too late now, so when Mrs. Glines turned around to pick up the bath towel, to his shame, he stole a look at the nude woman’s breasts. They were not large, but they were perfect, just perfect, kind of perky, with the nipples taut from the cool air. Stop it!

  “Lift her up.” Mrs. Glines held the towel, ready to wrap the young woman.

  The lithe, supple little naked woman groaned again as Bodie set her on her feet and held her up so Mrs. Glines could wrap her in the towel.

  “I don’t think we have any women’s clothing here, do we?”

  Bodie shook his head.

  “We could fit two of her in any of my things. Why don’t you go get one of your lightweight shirts and we’ll put her in that?”

  He nodded and headed to his bedroom next door, returning a minute later with a light blue shirt that came to her knees when they put it on her. At least he could breathe again now that she was mostly covered. Mrs. Glines buttoned her up, and they each rolled up a sleeve until her hands appeared. Bodie was as gentle as he could be moving the sleeve over her damaged wrist, but that did elicit a groan. He noticed although her hands were small, her fingers were long and delicate looking. Several fingernails were chipped, but it looked as if she normally kept them looking nice. He almost scoffed. What did he know about ladies’ fingernails?

  When they put her in bed, Bodie noticed blood was seeping through the shirt. He lifted it to see that her bullet wound was bleeding again and cursed. “We need to change this bandage again and try to get this bleeding stopped.”

  Mrs. Glines “tsked” and rushed off, returning moments later with a bandage and long strips. The younger woman groaned again as they pressed the padded bandage on the wound and wrapped it with the strips. Then they stood back to look at the frail woman in the bed. She appeared so vulnerable.

  “I think that is all we can do for now. I’ll go make some broth. She’s bound to wake up sooner or later.”

  “I’ll sit with her until you return, and then I’ll be working in the barn. Let me know when the doc arrives if I don’t hear him.”

  Mrs. Glines eyed him thoughtfully. He was awfully concerned with his guest. “I surely will, boss.”

  The doc who arrived an hour later was a “she,” Dr. Eleanor Prudomme. She was a tall woman, probably two or three inches shy of six feet. Her face, while not beautiful, was pleasant. Her most startling feature were her almost aqua eyes. Typically, including today, she wore breeches, and they hugged her surprisingly shapely figure. Surprising because Dr. Prudomme did not exhibit many traditional feminine habits. She was not as popular or as busy as Doc Green, yet Bodie had heard good things about her and was not unhappy that she had responded to the call. He was a practical man and did not imagine any circumstances under which he would turn away qualified help if he was in need.

  He paced outside the bedroom door as the doctor assessed his guest’s condition. At one point Mrs. Glines scurried out to fetch some hot water, and it was all Bodie could do to keep from rushing into the room. Then the doctor emerged and sent Bodie off for sticks or pieces of wood that could be used as splints. He was grateful to have something useful to do. It was against his nature to be an observer rather than a doer.

  Finally, after nearly an hour, the doctor opened the door and motioned Bodie into the room. She wondered what the young woman meant to him but was not about to ask. Mrs. Glines was already there. He looked at the pati
ent. Other than one arm, which was splinted, and stitches in her chin, she was covered and looked the same.

  “You two have done an admirable job of cleaning the bullet wound. I have treated it with carbolic acid, sewed it up front and back, applied a salve and rewrapped it. The bleeding has stopped. She has various cuts, scratches and bruises and, of course, the broken wrist. I stitched up cuts on her left leg and on her chin, as you can see. I believe she has a concussion as well.”

  “When will she wake up?”

  The physician studied him for a moment, feeling his concern. “It is not a certainty that she will. I’m concerned that she has been unconscious for such a long time, but I am hopeful.” She looked into his worried eyes. “The longer she is unconscious, however, the less likely that she’ll awaken.”

  “Ever?”

  She nodded. He felt his heart sink.

  “Still, she’s young and I believe the odds are in her favor. It’s a wait-and-see process.” She patted his hand. “And I can see you are not a patient man. I’ll come back tomorrow and apply a plaster cast to her wrist. She could awaken at any time, and if she does, she will most likely have a vicious headache. I’ll leave a tincture for that. If she develops a fever or is in any other distress before tomorrow morning, send for me.”

  The doctor also instructed them to try to feed her broth and get some willow bark tea down her.

  “You know, Mr. Farnham, my patient would not have lived another day out there in this July heat. You saved her life.”

  “It’s Bodie, Doc, and I wasn’t even planning to be in the south pasture today. Changed my mind at the last minute.”

  The doctor smiled as she finished washing her hands and dried them on a towel. “Or maybe God changed it for you.”

  He looked at the woman in the bed. Her head barely made a dent in the pillow. “Yeah, maybe,” he said absently.