"Yes, Papa."
"And I will too. Now how about if you help Grandma with some oatmeal cookies? I'm sure they'll help me get better much faster."
Her blue eyes sparkled like sunshine off a rippling creek. "Come Grandma, let's make Papa some cookies!"
His mother poked her index finger into his chest. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."
He grinned. "I love you too, Ma."
"Oh, go on!" She swatted him lightly on the shoulder, sniffed and left the room.
Jillian came in as his mother and daughter were walking out. With a roll of his eyes, he heard her reassure his mother one more time that he was fine then ask for sewing supplies, since she hadn't brought her bag along. She also promised Annabelle, after some rather determined begging on his daughter's part, that she'd stay afterward for a cookie. Hearing his daughter squeal with excitement after having seen the fear and sadness in her eyes eased his mind. Poor thing must have been so scared, thinking she'd lose her father.
When he'd first felt the warm cloth and gentle strokes, he'd been content to relax under the gentle ministrations, to give himself up to the soothing caress. It wasn't until the touch brushed the wound that he'd felt pain and realized he wasn't dreaming.
Still, he'd expected to see his mother upon opening his eyes and it had taken him a moment to comprehend that Jillian was there. When had she gotten there? How long had he been out cold? But then fully understanding that it had been her hands on him--if only his face--he'd wished he could have gone back and enjoyed her touch all over again. Which, considering that he'd already vowed not only to his mother but also to himself that he wasn't interested in Jillian, made him wonder just how hard he'd smacked his head.
Jillian placed the bowl at her feet and soon afterward his mother returned with a bottle of whiskey, needle, thread, and scissors.
He watched silently as she cut a length of thread, then soaked both it and needle in whiskey. Just as he'd noticed the night of the surgery, he saw that she had delicate hands, hands more suitable to another profession than the one she'd chosen.
"Did you ever consider being a nurse?"
"No."
"Because you wanted to follow in your father's footsteps?"
"Because animals don't talk," she answered with a twinkle in her eye. Then, with a soft laugh that hit him square in the gut, she proceeded to thread her needle.
Wade eyed the needle. This wasn't the first time he'd needed to be sewn up, but he hated needles almost as much as he hated heights.
"Where did you put the whiskey?"
Jillian handed him the bottle and he raised it to his lips, took a long swallow.
"I'm ready when you are," he said, passing her the bottle.
Being poked with a needle wasn't what Wade would call pleasant. It sure as heck wasn't as nice as having her bathe him with a warm cloth. Yet he couldn't think of a place he'd rather be. Lying on his side, with Jillian leaning over him to stitch, left him in the very enviable position of having her breast inches from his face. His eyes fixated on it like a moth to a lantern. The generous, soft curve of it tempted him until he figured he'd surely go to Hell for the thoughts he was having.
What if he leaned forward a bit, let her breast brush his mouth? What if he opened his lips, drew the hard tip into his mouth. Of course it would be even better if it wasn't hidden behind her dress, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd taken a woman's dress off.
Damnation! What was he doing? Without thinking Wade jerked back.
"Ow!" he yelled when the thread pulled on his wound.
"Don't move!" Jillian scolded. Then she leaned a little closer and Wade had to close his eyes. He couldn't keep looking at her without having such thoughts, without smelling her warm skin and wondering what it would taste like.
Why was it so blasted hot in here? he wondered when sweat beaded his forehead.
"Are you almost finished?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained.
"I was about to cut the thread when you moved," she said, the admonishment in her voice was unmistakable.
A few more tortured seconds passed as she snipped the thread. Then--finally--the sweet, tempting smell of her eased and he was able to breathe again.
"Sorry, this will hurt."
She took the whiskey and poured a little over the sutures. He flinched at the burn but was grateful it gave him something else to think about besides her body and what thinking about it was doing to his own.
She dabbed at the liquid that ran from the sutures. "Now I'm done."
He opened his eyes, took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, I know that hurt." While he was still battling to control himself, he felt the much cooler cloth once again sweep over his face. It felt too good to do anything but lie there and let her wash him. Of course it also prevented his body from forgetting what it had been two years without.
He caught her wrist. Her gaze reflected everything he was feeling: surprise, uncertainty. Desire.
Hellfire.
"I'm fine now, Jillian."
Wade felt less vulnerable sitting up. But as the blood rushed down, his ankle started throbbing. He tried to move it, grimaced as a stab of pain ricocheted up his calf.
"Do you want me to have a look?"
Not a hope in hell, he thought. He was barely keeping himself tethered as it was. If she put those hands on him once more he wasn't going to be able to fight it any longer.
"Nah. I've wasted enough of your time. Besides, I don't think it's broken."
"Be sure to keep it wrapped, then. And keep it up as much as you can."
Oh, hell, Wade thought as he met those deep green eyes, keeping it up certainly wasn't proving to be a problem so far. Even the pans clanging from the kitchen reminding him there were others nearby didn't ease his need.
"I know that's difficult with the work you do, but it really will heal faster if you can."
His lips curved. "All I'll have to do is tell Ma your orders and I'll be lucky to walk to the privy without help."
She folded her hands into her lap. Wade was intrigued by the blush that rode underneath her creamy skin.
"You look like you have something on your mind."
"I didn't happen by, though it turns out that was a lucky chain of events. I actually came to thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming to the meeting and speaking on my behalf. I don't know if it will help, but I appreciate the gesture."
He shrugged and struggled to stand, keeping his injured foot off the ground. Jillian pushed her chair back, rushed to help him but he held up his hand.
"I don't think you should be up yet. Are you dizzy?"
He held onto the couch until he wasn't. He managed to hop a few steps, but the pain was like a red-hot poker and it was jabbing him in both the head and the foot. Feeling like he'd just run up the steepest hill, he leaned heavily against the wall.
"It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch."
"I heard that!" his mother's voice came from the kitchen, but Wade didn't bother apologizing. He was too busy gritting his teeth.
"I really think you need to lie back down," Jillian said.
"I'll be all right, just give me a minute."
She crossed her arms, which only served to push her breasts higher. Wade groaned, shut his eyes. The next thing he knew she was at his side, her arm sliding between him and the wall.
"If you're so determined to move, then at least accept some help. Clearly you're not up to doing this on your own yet."
It was the same authoritative voice she'd used the night of the surgery and he grinned.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"You can be very bossy, did you know that?"
"I'm not bossy."
His grin spread. "You most certainly can be. You've already bossed me around a time or two." That flush he so enjoyed seeing on her cheeks deepened.
"Well, you deserved it," she answered with as much starch as one of Shane's shirts.
She had her arm wrapped around his waist. Her head barely reached his shoulder. But her chin jutted defiantly and her eyes dared him to argue the point. He didn't bother. First, because she was right, he had deserved it. And second, with her tucked in tight next to his body, there were much better things he could think to do than argue.
Before her eyes had more than a moment to widen at the realization of what was about to happen, Wade bent his head and touched his lips to hers.
He'd felt the scorching heat of a grass fire. Hell, there'd been one, back when he wasn't more than Annabelle's age that had burned through the back edge of their pasture. Folks had seen the smoke and come running and it had been a long day of fighting the blaze, eating smoke and feeling the fine hairs on their arms burn off before they had it out.
But even that was nothing compared to the flames that rose around him as he took Jillian's mouth with his own. She didn't resist, but rather leaned into him, sighed and opened her mouth under his.
It was a burning the likes of which he'd never known. It came from his chest and pushed its way out, engulfing him until he heard the roar of it in his ears. He wrapped his arms around Jillian, pulled her tightly against him. The movement nearly toppled them over. Before he lost his balance and took them both down, he swiveled on his good foot until he once again had the support of the wall at his back.
She felt delicate and small in his arms. She felt good. He held her pressed against him, all soft curves to his angles. He licked his tongue against hers, shuddered at the same time she did. Body burning, Wade slanted his mouth and took the kiss deeper. The roar intensified. Her scent enveloped him as much as her arms. He ran his hand up her back, clutched her braid in his fist, wished he could untie it and feel the satin of her hair pour through his fingers. He wished-
"Oh, my!"
"Papa!"
Jillian tensed and jerked free. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and hit the wall. The small thud was the only sound save his and Jillian's labored breathing.
"Papa, you were kissing!"
Hellfire, he thought, rubbing a hand down his face before he dared open his eyes. What he saw when he opened them was exactly what he figured he'd see. His mother looked like she'd just struck gold. Hell, she could've eaten it the way her face glowed. Annabelle's eyes were wider than a harvest moon. Jillian, on the other hand, was red as a beet.
"Cookies are baking, shouldn't be more than a few minutes. We thought we'd come see how the stitches were coming but," his ma grinned, "I can see everything is coming along just fine."
"I'll just clean up," Jillian said as she moved to gather everything.
"Aren't you going to kiss my papa some more?"
Jillian wobbled the bowl and water poured over the rim and down her dress.
"Annabelle! You've embarrassed Miss Matthews. Here, Jillian, let me take that," his ma said, taking the bowl. "There's a towel in the kitchen. Come and we'll dry you off."
Following his mother, Jillian didn't look back, but then that was just as well since Annabelle was heading his way. She stopped before him, crossed her arms. Then, with one foot tapping, looked up into his eyes and asked, "Well, Papa, are you going to kiss her again?"
TWELVE
Jillian jolted awake. Heart slamming against her ribs, she sat up, clutched the blanket to her chest and tried to ascertain what had yanked her from sleep. A sleep that had been hard to come by since she couldn't stop thinking of Wade's kiss.
A pounding on the door, loud and insistent, carried into to her bedroom, which was tucked behind the parlor. Knowing what woke her didn't help her erratic heartbeat. There was nothing but darkness behind her curtains and while she hoped whoever was at her door was there because they needed her medical skills, the truth of the matter was that, after the town meeting, she couldn't be sure.
Tying her wrapper around her waist, she slid her loaded rifle out from under her bed. She tiptoed to the door, deliberately not bothering to turn on a lantern, not wanting her shadow to announce her presence. She pulled back the thin curtains then jumped when another thump beat on her door.
"Miss Matthews, it's Jacob Garvey. My dog is sick and I need your help!"
Releasing her death grip on the rifle, she placed it against the wall. The door opened with a slight creak and the loud sigh of Jacob Garvey. Damp night air wafted through the opening, its long cool fingers swirling around her bare ankles.
Jacob didn't waste any time, words poured from his mouth before she could even get him in the door. "My dog, Fred, is hurtin' real bad." He sniffed, wiped his nose on the sleeve of his dark jacket. "You need to come quick."
"What happened?"
He took a shaky breath. "A rattlesnake bit him." His chin quivered. "Pa says he's gonna die."
Jillian seethed. Rattlesnake bites weren't normally lethal and she figured if his father didn't know for sure, he shouldn't have jumped to the worst conclusion and scared his son half to death.
"Jacob, is Fred an old dog?"
"No, he's only four years old."
"Is he a sickly dog?"
The boy sniffed. "He's healthy, ain't never been sick before."
Jillian placed a hand on Jacob's shoulder. Fred was going to be just fine.
"Come into the kitchen, Jacob. I'll make Fred a poultice. That will help draw out the venom."
She lit a lantern, opened her stove and poked at the now dead fire. Arranging kindling, she started another. It wouldn't take much to get the flaxseed boiling for the poultice. When the pot was set on the stove, Jillian turned to the boy.
He wasn't crying but his cheeks bore the tracks that he had. "Does your father know you're here?" Jillian asked.
Fear gave way to anger and small hands fisted at his side. "He said he'd rather see Fred die than ask for your help."
Her fury came fast and hard and it took a mighty effort to keep it contained. What kind of father would hurt his child so needlessly? Would let his son's heart break rather than get help, especially when it was so easily gotten? A short-sighted, pompous one like Steven Garvey.
"I hope you won't get into trouble for this, Jacob, but I can promise you that Fred will be fine. Let me go change. When I'm done, the flaxseed should be ready. Then I'll show you how to do this, so that if Fred ever gets bit again, you'll be able to help him yourself."
His large brown eyes met hers and the hope and gratitude in them gave her heart a squeeze.
"He'll really be all right?"
She smiled. "He really will."
Once dressed, she showed him how to make the poultice. When it was wrapped in a clean cloth, Jillian put it in her medicine bag and drew on her slicker.
Shadows danced on the plank walls of her barn and Rascal chattered a blue streak as Jillian tacked Hope. Once the bag was tied behind the saddle she led her horse outside.
"Ready," she said once she was astride.
"You're not gonna use that on Fred, are you?" he asked, pointing at the rifle she had across her lap.
"No, Jacob. But I'm not familiar with this area and I want to be careful. Besides, I'll be riding back on my own."
He nodded in understanding and then kicked his own horse into a gallop. Hoping his father was a sound sleeper, Jillian followed Jacob.
They kept a steady pace, despite the darkness, and soon arrived at the Garvey farm. Jacob leapt from his animal, which knowing it was home, ambled for the fence. Jillian secured Hope, untied her bag and followed the boy into the barn.
Fred was in one of the stalls. The boy set a lantern on a peg that stuck out and slowly walked in. Jillian followed into the straw-laden stall.
Fred, a lean and healthy golden dog, was licking his wound.
"Jacob, can you get me some clean water? Snake bites are usually dirty and we need to get this clean."
He nodded and slipped outside. Water sloshed inside the bucket as he came back a few minutes later.
She washed the area clean of dirt and motioned for the boy to come closer. "See here," she lifted Fre
d's paw so Jacob could see the two holes that marked the snakebite. "There are two more on the bottom of his paw. All we have to do is-"
Suddenly another light shone from the doorway. Beside her Jacob froze. The thump of footsteps on the hard dirt floor accompanied the heavy breathing that slithered closer. Jillian stood, prepared for the worst.
"Dammit Jacob, I said no!" Steven's yell was shrill in the silence.
"Pa, I'm sorry-"
"Get out!" Steven's words, she knew, were for her, not his son. "Get off my land. Now!"
The whole ride over Jillian had formulated arguments in her head in case they were discovered. She used them now.
"And then what? You'll let the dog suffer? Maybe die of infection?"
"No, I'd shoot it first."
"No, Pa, don't shoot him!" Jacob wailed as he threw himself over the dog.
She pointed to his son's teary face. "Look at him! He loves that dog! What's to gain by letting Fred die and watching your boy pine over him? Is your dislike of me really worth having your son resent you for not letting him get help? This is easily fixed and if you weren't so stubborn you'd see that!"
Garvey swallowed and looked to his son. He seemed to lose some of his bluster. She pressed the advantage, small as it was.
"If you run me off, I'm taking Fred with me."
Both males faced her, one with terror, the other with hatred.
"You said yourself you're willing to let him die," she said to Garvey, "If you don't care enough to help the poor animal, why should you care if I take him?"
Jacob stood. "Please, Pa, let her help Fred."
Garvey jammed a hand through hair in desperate need of a brush then fixed his resentful gaze on her. "I will not pay you, not one red cent. Nothing!"
She nodded and knowing that was as much acceptance as she was likely to get, set down to her task. Jillian heard the man's mumbled curses and then the curt order for his son to get back inside the moment they were finished.
Jillian took a steadying breath as his boots thumped back down the aisle.
"Now then," she said as though they hadn't been interrupted. "There are two holes on the bottom of the paw, as well on the top. First," she opened her bag, "we apply the poultice. That will draw out the venom." She tied it in place with a piece of string.
Another Chance Page 12
