The Tracker

by Mary Burton

  She rose from the edge of the bed, wanting nothing more than to put distance between them.

  At least he’d been asleep when they’d kissed. He wouldn’t remember a thing.

  If only she could forget.

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Ellie fell into a routine. She cleaned the marshal’s wound, drained it and watched for gangrene, which blessedly never showed.

  Early in the morning of the sixth day, the marshal’s fever had eased a little. It looked as if his body would fight off the infection. He would live.

  This realization fostered a new set of worries. What if she couldn’t convince him that she didn’t have Frank’s gold? Would he take her to jail? Could he take Rose away? He’d already proven himself hardheaded and single-minded.

  Gathering the logs she’d just split, she walked up to the porch and inside the house. The door to his room remained ajar, as she’d left it. The sound of his deep, even breathing filled the house.

  She set the logs in the box by the fireplace and then, wiping her hands on her apron, looked down into the cradle at Rose. Since the marshal had taken over her room, she’d moved the cradle out to the main room. At night, she slept on a pallet by the cradle so that she’d be close to the marshal.

  The floorboards creaked behind her and she whirled around. The marshal stood in the center of the cabin, buck-naked. He leaned heavily against the wall, careful to keep the weight off his injured leg.

  Her gaze darted from his wild eyes to his well-muscled chest. She didn’t dare look any lower.

  Her womb tightened and a hot restless feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She remembered their kiss and heat rose in her cheeks.

  “I want my gun!” the marshal shouted.

  Shocked back to her senses, Ellie snapped her mouth shut. Color flooded her face.

  “Gun!”

  The marshal squinted at her. “Pistol.”

  Her mind cleared. “Oh.”

  In a low growl full of menace, he repeated himself. “My gun, Ellie.”

  She lifted her chin, but held her ground. “No guns at the coach stop. It’s Miss Annie’s policy.”

  The marshal took a step toward her. “Gun!”

  Rose started to cry. Ellie scooped up the baby. She glared at the marshal, all traces of desire gone. “You can’t have your gun,” she said, as if speaking to a child. “When you’re ready to leave, I’ll give it to you.”

  “Damn you, woman, I’m in no mood to argue.” He pressed his fingers to his temple as if talking hurt. “There are men who’ll kill me if they catch me defenseless.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, unmoved. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

  “They’d also kill you and that baby of yours just for fun.”

  A cold chill snaked down her spine. It had been a fluke she’d hit him. If there were others, she might not be as lucky defending herself and Rose.

  “You will be safer with me armed,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.

  She suspected he was right. With Rose cradled close to her, she went to a chest behind the dining table. “It’s in there.”

  He limped to the chest and retrieved the gun. He snapped open the chamber and turned the cylinder. Satisfied his gun remained loaded, he snapped it closed.

  “Anyone else come by the stop since I’ve been here?”

  “No. Frank Palmer might not find me out here.”

  “He will.” He closed his eyes for a moment.

  She kept a respectful distance. Injured predators could still move quickly. “I told you I don’t know anything about the gold.”

  He swayed. “He doesn’t know that.”

  Her next retort died on her lips when she noticed the red stain on his bandage. “You’re bleeding.”

  The marshal glanced down. Neither the blood nor his nudity seemed to bother him. “A little blood doesn’t matter.”

  She laid the baby in her crib. “You don’t have an ounce to spare. It’s a wonder you didn’t bleed to death.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Stubborn, stubborn man. She wrapped her arm around his waist. He felt as hot as a fritter.

  He gave her a good bit of his weight. “If it weren’t for Frank Palmer headed this way, I couldn’t care less if you passed out. You’re easier to deal with when you’re out cold. But I need you healthy so that you can keep my baby and me alive.”

  He touched his bandage and grimaced. “Woman, anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”

  She guided him back to his bed. “More times than I can count.”

  When he sat back down on the bed, he was pale and his white bandage—which she’d only just changed—was stained crimson.

  “You’ve gone and torn one of my nice, neat stitches, mister,” she murmured.

  He ground his teeth as if he were in pain. Few men could have risen from the bed at this stage of the healing process, let alone walked. He lay back against the pillows and she lifted his feet onto the bed before covering him with a sheet.

  Taking scissors from her basket, she knelt beside the bed and uncovered his wounded leg. “I went to a lot of trouble to save your life and I’d hate to see my efforts go to waste.”

  Her saucy tone had his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one who shot me.”

  She shrugged. “I told you to stop.”

  Gingerly, she worked the tip of the scissors under the gauze. She could feel the marshal tense and suspected if she did anything threatening, he’d act.

  “Would you relax? I feel as if I’m ministering to a wounded bear. If I were gonna kill you, I’d have done it long ago.”

  He released the breath he held. “I am relaxed.”

  “You’re back is about as stiff as one of these floorboards.”

  He grunted.

  Her cutting complete, she slowly peeled the fabric away. She leaned closer to get a better look at his leg.

  “I think you’ve only ripped the top stitch. If I bandage the wound tightly enough, and you stay in bed, the bleeding should stop.”

  “I feel like I’ve been run over by a herd of buffalo.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive.” She took a jar from her basket and scooped out some ointment. She probed the wound with her finger. “By the looks of things, I’d say I did a good job patching you up.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you?”

  Slowly she started to spread the ointment over the wound. “It wouldn’t be out of line.”

  “You’re joking,” he grumbled.

  “No.”

  She wound a smaller bandage around his leg. Her breasts grazed his knee as she reached around his leg to wrap the bandage. The touch sent a thousand prickles down her spine. It was one thing to nurse a man when he was out cold, but quite another when he was awake and staring at her.

  She stepped back, her cheeks flushed. Lord, but she was acting like the silly girls she used to watch giggling by the schoolhouse.

  The marshal saw the color in her cheeks. “You don’t make sense.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His gaze bore into her. “You shot me and then took better care of me than most doctors.”

  She felt color creeping up her cheeks. “I’m not a cold-blooded killer, Mr. Baron. If you’d told me you were a marshal, I wouldn’t have shot you. And the idea of hanging for murder doesn’t sit too well with me.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” He captured a stray curl of hers between his fingers.

  Caught off guard, she didn’t know how to react. He was out of line, still slightly feverish, and yet she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and rub her cheek against his callused hand.

  “You know, from the moment I first saw you, I’ve wondered what your hair would look like down.”

  The rawness in his voice stunned her. No man had ever made her feel more alive.

  “If I were healthier, I’d want you in this bed with me.” His voice was like raw silk.

  The idea of lying beside him made her core tighten. Sh
e moistened her lips. A lady likely would be outraged and would tell him to mind his manners. But she didn’t know the first thing about being a lady.

  “Do you know what I’d do to you if you were beside me?”

  Ellie couldn’t speak as her cheeks flamed. The thought that this man wanted her scared and excited her.

  He chuckled. “I’ve never seen a whore blush.”

  Whore. His bluntness shattered the moment.

  Embarrassed and ashamed, she pulled away. She was acting like a whore. Anger nipped at her insides. What had she thought? That he’d wanted more than just sex. Her romantic notions were beyond foolish.

  Men like the marshal took what they wanted and then moved on. She’d seen his kind a thousand times.

  “What’s wrong?” he said. “A tumble would do us both good.”

  She’d never felt cheap before, but she did now. “No thanks.”

  He looked genuinely confused by her shift in demeanor. “I’ll pay, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “Keep up that kind of talk, mister, and I just might shoot you again.”

  NICK HAD NOT wanted to fall asleep, but he did shortly after Ellie had changed his bandage. He didn’t wake until midday. Sweat covered his body, but his mind had cleared and his fever had broken.

  His entire body hurt. He wanted nothing more than to lie in bed. He needed sleep. He needed to take it easy.

  But as he lay staring at the door that separated his room from the rest of the cabin, he was very aware of the silence. He didn’t hear Ellie or the baby.

  He’d spoken to Ellie—said something that had made her mad—but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was.

  Alarm kicked his senses into high gear. Could Ellie have left with the baby?

  He tried to reason the thought away. But an overwhelming sense of unease gripped him.

  And then he remembered that when he’d been feverish, he’d offered to buy an hour of her time. She’d not been pleased. Damn. What the hell had gotten into him?

  “Ellie!”

  Nothing. He waited another beat and then shouted louder. “Ellie!”

  Again nothing.

  Where the devil had she gone? “Ellie!”

  Rose started to cry as if she’d been startled awake. He hated waking the child, but the sound of her cries offered a measure of relief. If the baby was here, Ellie would be close and she would come running at the sound.

  When he didn’t hear her enter the cabin, he knew something was wrong.

  He pushed himself up on his elbows. Pain shot up from his leg and for a moment it nearly took his breath away. Sweat beaded on his forehead. But as the seconds ticked by, the pain lessened and he shifted into a full sitting position.

  Rose’s cry grew louder.

  He grabbed a blanket off the chair beside his bed and draped it around his shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he slid his leg over the side of the bed. Even in the August heat, the floor felt cool on his bare feet.

  He sucked in a breath, stood and shuffled into the great room. There was no sign of Ellie, but he could see Rose in her cradle by the hearth. Her face was red and her tiny fingers were clenched into fists.

  Nick hobbled across the floor. The distance to the cradle might as well have been twenty miles. His heart pumped in his chest and his muscles cramped from the exertion.

  When he reached the cradle he sat on the rope chair beside it, more grateful than he could say to have the weight off his leg. He clutched the blanket around him with one hand and rocked the cradle with the other.

  Rose cried louder. The baby had Jade’s reputed temper.

  “Shh,” he said. “It’s all right.” He looked out the window, hoping to see some sign of Ellie. “I sure would like to know where the devil your mother is.” He jiggled the crib harder.

  Rose’s sobs stopped. “Just looking for a little attention?” His voice sounded calmer than he felt. “I had a sister, Julia, like you. She was fine as long as someone was paying attention to her, but the minute you left her alone, she started to fuss.” The baby’s cries softened. She started to chew on her fist.

  Nick thought about Julia. When he’d left Virginia ten years ago, she’d been nine years old. “She’s got to be all grown up. She could be married with children by now.” The thought that he’d missed so much of her life saddened him. Julia had been the only one in his family who hadn’t wanted him to leave. He pinched the bridge of his nose, amazed how his life had gone so very differently than he’d ever imagined.

  He stopped rocking the cradle and eased his hand back. Immediately, Rose started fussing. He jiggled the cradle again, but this time she didn’t stop grizzling.

  He steadied the crib, reached in and picked her up. She was lighter than a feather, yet he could feel the strength in her. He laid the baby on his shoulder and started to pat her on the back. “Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “I can tell you, if your mama doesn’t get here soon, we’re going to have to go and look for her.” If Frank was out there and he laid a hand on Ellie, he’d kill the bastard.

  Footfalls sounded on the steps and Ellie appeared in the door. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, carried a basket filled with an odd collection of herbs and her shotgun. Her gaze locked on him and the child. “What are you doing?”

  He continued to pat the baby on the back. “I could ask you the same. Where have you been?”

  She set the basket and gun down and crossed the room. She took Rose from him. To his surprise, he missed the warmth of the child against his chest.

  “Is something wrong with the baby? I’d put her down for her morning nap and she never wakes for at least an hour.”

  “I might have woken her. When I didn’t see you in the cabin, I called out to you.” Ellie smelled of fresh air and sunshine.

  “I went to the edge of the woods to collect some herbs and roots to make a paste for your leg.”

  “You shouldn’t go so far. Frank could be anywhere.”

  She frowned. “I took my shotgun.”

  “Frank won’t come at you head-on like I did. He’ll come out of nowhere. He’ll have that gun out of your hands before you even know what happened.”

  Her face paled a fraction. The baby, without a care in the world, had fallen asleep on her shoulder. “I hate this whole situation.”

  “I’m not so partial to it myself. But it’s what we got to deal with.” Sitting up this long had drained what little strength he had and, despite his efforts, his shoulders started to sag.

  “We best get you back to bed,” Ellie said, laying the baby down. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and helped him stand. She nestled her body close to his so that she had a firm grip on him, though he doubted she could support his weight if he did fall. She was such a little bit.

  He grunted, hating the weakness in his body. Slowly they moved across the cabin. When she eased him onto the bed, he felt as if he’d run ten miles.

  “Don’t worry. You will be your old self soon enough.”

  He glanced up at her, surprised she had read his thoughts.

  She caught his expression and smiled. “You’re an open book.”

  He lay back on the pillow. “I am not an open book.” Hell, how many times had he bluffed his way through a bad poker hand or around an outlaw when his gun was out of bullets?

  She tucked the blanket under his chin. “You were worried about me, weren’t you? I could see it on your face.”

  Had he been that transparent? Damn, he was losing his touch.

  She laughed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHEN NICK WOKE, the sun was low in the sky, bathing the cabin in orange and red light. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but his leg no longer burned with pain.

  Sitting up slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. For a second, he paused, until the swimming sensation eased and his body adjusted to sitting up. From the corner of his eye, he saw his gun on the bedside table.

  The faint smell of stew filled t
he cabin.

  He glanced down at his naked body. He’d have to find his clothes.

  Dragging a blanket with him, he wrapped it around his waist and stood. Immediately his leg started to throb. The pain forced him to lean against the wall and ease the weight from his injured limb, but he was heartened to realize the ripping pain he’d endured days ago hadn’t returned. Good. He was healing. Now if he could just find Ellie.

  A large walking stick leaned against the cabin wall. A sign of Ellie. He sensed she wasn’t far. Damn, did the woman ever stay in one place?

  He limped outside. The cool, fresh air smelled sweet.

  Ellie sat in a rocker, her back to the front door. Her hair hung loose, past her shoulders. As he stepped closer, he realized she had a nursing bottle in the baby’s mouth.

  The sight of Ellie holding the baby stirred images and emotions he’d thought long forgotten.

  She glanced up. “It’s good to see you moving about. How does your leg feel?”

  “Better.”

  “Good.”

  He’d not realized until this moment how young she looked—perhaps not even twenty years old. “Where are my clothes?”

  “I’ll get them.” She stood and he could see she was dressed in the same frayed dress she’d worn when he arrived. The garment hid the full curve of her breasts and her narrow waist. He’d seen women draped in silks, furs and jewels who had not looked half as stunning as Ellie did now. His body hardened and he was grateful for the blanket draped around his waist.

  “No need, just point the way,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Be easier if I showed you.” Carrying the baby, she walked inside. “I did laundry yesterday.”

  Yesterday. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  She nodded to the clothes in a neat stack at the edge of her bed. “This time? Only about six hours.”

  “And since I’ve been shot?”

  “Six days.”

  “Six days!” He’d never lost time like this before and it was unsettling.

  “Six days is nothing. Most men would have been out for weeks.”

  He wasn’t appeased. Instead he thought of Frank. The bastard could be anywhere.