by Linda Broday
“It’s a wise man who patiently teaches. I hope that’s how I am. I’m trying anyway.”
“Don’t worry. You are.” Rayna noticed a shift in Brett when a shaggy, gray-haired man with a pockmarked face entered. Brett seemed to tense up, and his eyes never left the newcomer. “Who is that?”
“My neighbor, Edgar Dowlen. He seems to have a problem with me for some reason.”
“Has something happened between you?”
“No, and I don’t know of anything I’ve done. But please go on. Tell me more about your job.”
“The only part I hate is when patients die. It breaks my heart. I kept a vigil along with Delta Thorne when Granny Ketchum passed. I haven’t seen anyone more devastated about losing someone. My heart broke for Delta. Doc had to give her some medicine to calm her. Right before the light went out of Granny’s eyes, she mumbled something that sounded like, ‘I missed you, little darling.’ Doc said she was probably thinking about her only child that she lost a long time ago.”
“Probably. Did she have a nice funeral?”
“The whole town turned out, and the band led the procession down Main Street all the way to the cemetery. It was like a parade in honor of someone real important.”
“Granny would’ve liked that. Wish I could’ve been here, but me and funerals don’t mix. Never have liked ’em.” Brett’s gaze flickered to Edgar Dowlen, then back to her. “Let’s get out of here if you’re finished.”
“Of course.” She rose, took Brett’s arm, and walked to the door.
Once outside, he seemed more his old self. “I know you have to get back to the hospital soon, but let’s take a walk down to the stream back of the boardinghouse. I won’t make you late.”
“That sounds nice.” She enjoyed the leisurely stroll. In the hospital she went in a run, so the slower pace was nice. “How long will you be in town?”
“Young Adam and I will head back in an hour or two.”
Rayna nodded and fell silent. She hated the thought of him leaving so soon. When they reached the creek, she lay in the wild grass while Brett stretched out beside her, staring up at the sky. The gentle babble of the water was peaceful.
His silence made her wonder if she’d done something wrong. She fidgeted under his quiet study of her. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
He raised on an elbow. Slowly, he lifted a curl, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Your hair fascinates me. It’s beautiful. The softness reminds me of a newborn colt. All shiny and fresh.”
“I’ve always hated my hair,” she murmured, grimacing.
“I don’t see why.”
“Because it’s always drawn the wrong kind of attention, for one thing. And two—I can never smooth it back into the kind of style an elegant lady would wear. My curls are like springs, and there’s no taming them. It’s so frustrating.”
“We always want what we can’t have.” Deep sadness and a little anger tinged his voice.
She met his dark, mysterious gaze. One day she hoped to know what secrets he kept. She thought about asking what it was he wanted that lay beyond reach, but she reckoned she probably already knew. He yearned for a world where he could live in harmony.
“Hard as I try, I can’t forget that night I caught you picking pockets outside the saloon. You were so sure your life here in Battle Creek was over.”
“And I begged you to kiss me,” she whispered.
Leaning closer, Brett traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. Anguish flared in his eyes and tightened the lines of his face. He was in obvious pain, and she didn’t know what to do, what to say. Clearly he wanted more, but had forbidden himself to have her. He denied the one thing that might possibly bring him peace.
She lay silent and still. Waiting. Hoping. Daring to dream.
With a cry that might have come from a wounded animal, Brett lowered his mouth, crushing his lips to hers. Instant warmth flooded her. She laid her hand against his heart, feeling the wild beating, like the thunder of hooves, that matched her own.
Heat raced from her core, blazing a searing path through her, arousing hunger for something more, something indefinable.
As he deepened the kiss, his hand followed the outside curves of her body to rest at the indentation of her waist. A yearning like she’d never felt burned inside as she gave herself over to the pleasure of a touch that only he could deliver.
Her nipples hardened to stiff peaks, straining for his caress.
What they’d shared before, including the night she lay beside him on his bunk, paled in comparison to this raw hunger sweeping through her, devouring her.
In the fragrant grass, surrounded by the scent of wild sage, she ached with the sweet sensations rolling over her. Some strange craving pushed her toward a need for a completion of some sort.
While she didn’t know much, she knew beyond any doubt there would never be any other man for her.
Rayna clutched his shirt, releasing a soft cry.
As if the sound jolted him back to himself, Brett groaned and jerked back. “Sorry. It seems I can’t control myself when I get within a foot of you. I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong.” He got to his feet and stood rigid with his back to her, gazing into the water.
Stinging tears lurked behind her eyelids. His statement about it being human nature to want what she couldn’t have was certainly true.
Only she wasn’t thinking about her curly hair anymore.
*
Brett thought of Rayna all the way back to the Wild Horse. Once he got there, he removed two of Granny’s sleeping cats from inside his shirt. After making them a bed, he threw himself into his chores, even though the sun was fast disappearing on the far horizon.
Work was something he knew. Something he was good at.
He’d do well to keep remembering that.
When he could think of no more work to do until morning, he saddled a fresh horse and told Adam he’d be gone for a few hours. Without further explanation, he rode to the top of a hill that overlooked the ranch. Dismounting, he sat on a huge limestone boulder and watched the moon rise.
This thing he felt for Rayna had him tied in knots. He hated this burning hunger that ran through him like molten steel.
He was a man with needs and desires.
She was an innocent, beautiful woman who was caught between his need and his fear.
Cursing, he looked up at the millions of stars dotting the sky. He acted worse than a fool every time he was with her. He groaned with frustration, still feeling her warm lips beneath his, her silky auburn hair between his fingers.
Yes, he’d saved her. But from what? He certainly hadn’t saved her from him. And in saving her, had he destroyed her?
Dawn was beginning to break when he rode down to his tepee and put the coffee on. The two cats he’d brought from town rubbed against his legs. He scooped one up, stroking its fur. He’d spent the whole night thinking, but it hadn’t done a bit of good. He was still as messed up and exasperated.
The only decision he’d arrived at was to cram his days full of work. If he didn’t give himself any free time, he wouldn’t think about her.
*
The sun was high in the sky two days later when Brett spied a man in a black stovepipe hat stumbling across his meadow. At first Brett thought he must be drunk the way his legs wobbled, refusing to hold him up.
Though cautious, Brett went to meet him. Adam must’ve also seen the stranger with long, snow-white hair, because he stopped in the corral to watch.
Upon nearing the visitor, Brett noticed the wrinkled bronze skin of an Indian. Surprise rippled through him. “Hello? Can I help you?” he asked.
The man collapsed in Brett’s arms, no longer able to stand. Hefting the unconscious old Indian onto his shoulder, he carried him into the tepee.
Adam appeared in the opening. “Who is he? Do you know him?”
“Never saw him before.” Brett touched the old man’s forehead. He was burning with fever,
and his dry lips were cracked.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Don’t know. Could be anything.” He turned to his nephew. “I need you to go into town for Doc Yates. Do you think you can do that?”
Wide-eyed, Adam nodded.
“And bring Rayna too. Whatever he has, it might be best to keep him away from town.”
While Brett waited, he got some cold water and bathed the man’s face. Then, not knowing what else to do, he sat cross-legged beside the bedroll and stared at the Indian’s clothing.
It was the first time he’d gotten a close look at those kinds of garments, and he was curious.
The shapeless pants and shirt adorned with beads were made of doeskin. A leather pouch of some kind hung around the stranger’s neck. Seeing that last item jolted Brett’s memory. He had a similar one. A woman at the orphanage had given it to him when he was about six years old, saying it had been the only thing in the woven basket when they found him on the steps.
Not knowing what the pouch meant, he’d stuck it away and forgotten about it all these years. In truth, he’d stashed it out of sight, along with the memories of that horrible time. He’d never opened it for fear of what he’d find. He stilled.
Or was his fear rooted more in what he wouldn’t find?
He jerked to his feet and went to the box where he kept his things. Digging to the bottom, he found what he was looking for and pulled it out. Maybe all men like him had one of these.
But why?
A lump of something was inside. He loosened the strip of rawhide holding it shut. His fingers closed around something cold. Bringing the object into the light, he saw the rock, a black onyx. Fragrant sprigs of sage came out with it.
A feeling he was supposed to know what these signified washed over him. He wished the old Indian would wake up so he could ask.
But he showed no sign of opening his eyes.
Brett went outside, staring in the direction the stranger had come from. The only thing nestled between two jutting limestone cliffs was a box canyon. He used the canyon often as a natural corral for his horses.
The wind whistled through a nearby stand of trees, moaning, almost as though the breeze was sobbing.
He had a feeling that trouble rode the wind, and he needed to do something—but what?
Sixteen
The closer she and Doc Yates came to the Wild Horse, the more Rayna’s heart thumped against her ribs. She would finally see Brett’s horse ranch, though she wished it was under different circumstances.
Adam had run into the hospital, saying a stranger had stumbled onto the ranch from out of nowhere and collapsed.
All Rayna knew was that Brett needed her.
Her mind went back to the afternoon by the little stream behind Mabel’s and the way his lips had settled hard on her mouth. The kiss had surprised her and, from the look on his face, it had startled him too.
The anger afterward had bewildered her. He’d been cold and distant when he had escorted her back to the hospital.
Had he been mad at her? Or himself?
Now he needed her help, and she was more than willing. The unconscious stranger concerned her. Maybe he’d been shot. Oh Lord, she hoped not.
She calmed. Doc Yates was more than capable of digging out a bullet if that’s what had happened.
Adam said the man had worn a tall stovepipe hat. No one wore those anymore, at least not that she’d noticed.
A tepee caught Rayna’s attention first. As the doctor’s buggy began slowing, she glanced around for a dwelling of some sort. Seeing nothing else, she realized Brett lived very simply.
The pointed tepee fit a man like Brett, who seemed as free and unfettered as the wind. She shouldn’t have expected anything else.
He must’ve heard their approach, because he stood waiting outside the home made of buffalo skins. Her breath caught. His rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed strong brown forearms. His dark gaze meeting hers beneath the brim of his hat showed relief…and something else. Happiness?
“I’m glad you came.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her from the buggy. “I wasn’t sure you would or could.”
Rayna trembled beneath his touch and felt a sense of loss when he removed his hands. “Doc said he might need me, so a nurse who works only at night agreed to take care of the patients until we get back. What’s wrong with the stranger?”
“Beyond a burning fever, I don’t know.” He held the flap of the tepee aside for her. Doc Yates followed.
She’d expected the interior of the dwelling to be shrouded in shadows, but was amazed at the light streaming in from the opening above.
Immediately, her focus shifted to the white-haired man lying on a bedroll, his black stovepipe hat next to him on a large rug. She figured he had to be in his seventies at least, or maybe older.
Doc Yates took a stethoscope from his black bag and stuck it inside the patient’s shirt. “Weak heartbeat,” he murmured.
After checking the man’s fever and completing his examination, Doc rose. “He’s very dehydrated, and I suspect he hasn’t eaten in a while. He could have any number of other complaints, but we won’t know until he wakes up. If he wakes up. Miss Rayna, let’s get some water into him right away.”
“I tried to get him to drink,” Brett offered, “but it ran out his mouth.”
“Then wet a cloth and get some into him that way.” Doc put his instruments back into his bag and turned to Rayna. “Keep trying, and if he comes to, ask about other ailments. I have to return to Battle Creek, but I want you to stay. It would be best to leave him out here until we determine he doesn’t have anything contagious.”
“Yes, Doc.” While she was sad about the old man, her heart sang with the news that she could stay. She brushed past Brett as she went to the nearby creek for water. Filling a bucket, she waved to the doctor, who was driving off, and hurried back to her patient.
Brett sat cross-legged beside the old Indian. He lifted the man’s head while she held a cup to his mouth. At first, the water ran out and onto his chest. After repeated tries, he finally began to swallow some. Hope grew that he would wake up soon and tell them who he was.
“We’ll need to get some broth into him,” she said.
Brett got to his feet. “Adam killed a pheasant this morning. I’ll make a fire and put the bones on to cook. Rayna, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” She fidgeted under his piercing stare that seemed to see clear down to her soul. “Between us, I know we can fix him up.” Turning at last, she wet a cloth and laid it on the man’s fevered brow.
The mysterious patient interested her. He was someone’s father and grandfather. Maybe he even had a wife. His family must miss him. She prayed he wouldn’t die. Nothing was sadder than dying in a strange place among people you didn’t know. She’d seen so many die beside the trail, only to be left there. For years she’d carried that fear inside her.
Only the slight movement of his chest when he breathed let her know he was still alive. She gave him a few more sips of water, praying it wasn’t too late for their efforts. Seeing nothing more she could do, she went to join Brett.
He swung around when she stepped out. “How is he?”
“About the same. I think the broth might help. He’s very weak. I wonder where he came from. Is a reservation close?”
“No. He must’ve walked quite a distance.”
Her gaze scanned the haunting beauty of the land that lay in a valley bordered by high cliffs. A herd of horses grazed on tall grass. The glistening creek where she went for water ran like a silk thread, cutting into the land. It was peaceful. And free.
“I can see why you love this place so much. It’s breathtaking. The Wild Horse is like you—bold and untamable.”
“This land is embedded into my soul. I’m not comfortable anywhere else.”
She noticed Adam working with a horse in the corral. He stood in the center with the animal running in a circle around the edge. Every so
often it would stop and reverse course. “What is Adam doing?”
“Talking to the horse, gaining its trust.”
“I’ve never seen anyone do this.”
“Most ranchers break horses by forceful domination. I hate that method because it’s unnecessary and cruel. I show my horses respect and let them know that I’m not going to hurt them. Over days, or sometimes weeks, I gain their trust. We become lifelong friends.”
“Like us?”
He brushed her cheek with his forefinger and stared at her for a long moment. The world seemed to hold its breath. “Yes, like us.”
“I feel I’ve known you forever,” she whispered, leaning into his feathery touch. “And you know more about me than anyone. Things I’ve never told a living soul. What comes next with us?”
“I don’t know.” His words sounded ragged and bruised, as though they’d had to squeeze through the narrow opening in his throat. He jerked his hand away and turned to the boiling pot.
Knowing the conversation was over, she went back to her patient. Though unconscious, surprisingly he spoke in a language she could understand.
Brett confused her. One minute he seemed happy she was there, and the next totally miserable. How could she ever hope to make sense of him? It appeared impossible.
An hour or more passed before Brett entered the tepee with a cup of cooling broth. She took it, blew on a spoonful, then dribbled it into the old Indian’s mouth. After repeating that for about ten minutes, she set it aside so she could give him more later.
Maybe it was only wishful thinking, but he appeared to be improving. His breathing seemed stronger.
Shadows filling the tepee told her the day was waning. Where would she sleep? Rayna looked around the enclosure. Except for the small fire pit in the center that was surrounded by stones, the floor was covered with rugs.
Bedrolls indicated where Brett and Adam bedded down each night. Her gaze swung to three crates stacked to one side, with a small drum sitting beside them that appeared to get regular use. For some reason, she had no trouble picturing Brett sitting cross-legged on the rugs, playing the drum.
