She adjusted her shawl over the top of her head, then raised her leg into the stirrup and pulled herself onto the stallion’s back. Riding the animal to the spot where its owner fell would be faster than walking. Her heart sped up. The last thing she needed was to get bucked off if this horse decided to be uncooperative.
He stepped to the side but didn’t walk off, giving her a chance to find the other stirrup. It was a futile effort. They were obviously adjusted for someone much taller, so she abandoned the idea altogether and dangled her legs from the saddle. She shoved her rifle into the scabbard, and nudged the horse into a lope, reining him from the yard and toward the trees.
The horse covered the ground in long, easy strides. Laura had never sat on a blue-blooded horse like this before. The few thoroughbreds Noah had bred couldn’t hold a candle to this magnificent animal. What would happen if his owner was dead? She couldn’t simply turn this horse loose. Having a stallion like this in her possession could cause a lot of trouble for her, especially if Jack found out, which he no doubt would the next time his hired hands showed up.
She mentally shook her head as she guided the horse toward the stand of cottonwoods. Now was not the time to worry about it. First she had to see if the stallion’s owner was even dead. Her eyes widened when she approached the trees.
“A child?” she said out loud.
A little boy sat hunched over in the grass beneath one of the trees, leaning over the motionless body of a man. The boy raised his head to her, tears streaming down his olive-skinned face.
Laura pulled the horse to a halt, and scrambled from the saddle. She pulled her rifle from the scabbard, just to be safe, and approached slowly.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said softly when the boy held a revolver in his trembling hand, pointing it at her.
The weapon looked ridiculously large in this child’s hands. Blood smeared one side of the boy’s face, and Laura’s hand rose instinctively to her own cheek. Out of habit, she adjusted the shawl more securely around her head.
“Is he dead?” she asked, when the child didn’t move or speak. She lowered her rifle to the ground. The thought of firing at a child was inconceivable, even if he pointed a weapon at her heart. Perhaps if he saw that she wanted to help, he’d lower the gun.
Slowly, the boy nodded. His eyes filled with renewed tears. Laura’s heart went out to him. He looked so small and frail, which stirred a longing that she’d buried deep inside herself. Even though his skin was a deep olive, the boy’s cheeks were noticeably flushed, and his eyes looked tired. He was sick with a fever, there was no doubt.
“Let me help you,” she said, smiling. She held her hand out to the boy, who eyed it warily. “What’s your name?”
Before he could answer, the lifeless body on the ground groaned.
“Cade,” the little boy called, and dropped the revolver. He sank to the ground, his hand on the man’s chest, pushing against him repeatedly.
Laura rushed up to him, and glanced down at the man. His face was covered in several weeks’ growth of a dark–colored, nearly black beard, the rest of his dark hair reaching to his shirt collar, and unkempt. He wore black denims, a gray shirt, and an oil-skin duster. His boots looked well-worn. The shirt was stained red, blood oozing from a bullet hole on the right side.
He moaned again, and moved his head to the side. His eyes fluttered open for a split second, and he grimaced.
“Cade,” the boy called again.
The man raised his hand to the child’s face. “I’m sorry, Jonah,” he rasped.
The boy grabbed his hand. “Don’t die, Cade.” His head whipped around and he stared up at Laura, a pleading look in his eyes. “Please. Help,” he cried.
Laura sank to her knees beside the boy. She eyed the torn shirt where the bullet had entered the man’s chest. He needed a doctor for any chance to survive, but Elk Lodge was nearly two hours away.
“Help him.” The boy grabbed her arm, and something twisted inside her heart. She looked into the imploring eyes of this child, so full of fear and desperation.
Indecision warred inside her. The man looked dangerous, almost like a criminal, with his unkempt hair and beard.
You should know better than anyone not to judge someone by their appearance.
Laura gritted her teeth. Other than her friends, Ethan and Sally Mallory, or Jack’s hired hands, no one ever stopped at the farm. No one wanted anything to do with her. Jack had made sure of that. She glanced at the pleading boy again. Finally, she nodded.
“We have to get him back to the house so I can tend to his wound properly.” She stood, and headed for the horse, which thankfully hadn’t run off, but stood cropping at the grasses.
Laura pulled the lariat from around the saddle horn, and returned to the dying man.
“I’m here to help you, mister,” she said, leaning over him. “I’m afraid I can’t move you without the help of your horse.” She waited for some kind of a response that he’d heard her. When none came, she looped the rope over his shoulder and under his arms, taking care not to position it too close to the bullet hole.
“We’ll have to drag him to the house, Jonah,” she said to the boy, calling him by the name the man had used. Hopefully he’d understand what she had to do in order to get this man to the farm. He looked to be solid, not someone she could move on her own. She tied the end of the rope to the saddle, and reached for her rifle.
“We’ll go real slow,” she said, smiling at the child. If the man survived being dragged the hundred yards or more back to the house, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
Chapter Three
Laura swiped a hand across her forehead. She tucked several wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid back under her shawl. The noon sun shone brightly overhead, and beads of perspiration continued to form on her face.
A gentle gust of wind cooled her flushed cheeks. She lifted her face into the breeze and closed her eyes to the soothing sensation. The sound of clothes fluttering on the clothesline mixed with the soft snorts of horses on the hillside pasture. The gray stallion nickered from the corral by the barn.
Priming the handle to the water pump several times, she filled her wooden bucket. Before lifting the rope handle, she dipped the end of her apron in the water and held the wet fabric to her face. She sighed with contentment, and straightened. Darting a hasty glance out into the valley, she picked up the bucket and headed back to the house.
She’d expected Jack’s men to have returned by now, after what had happened three days ago, if for no other reason than to see if they had killed the man they’d shot. Once, she’d glimpsed some riders on the horizon, but they hadn’t come close to the farm. It was only a matter of time. Jack surely wouldn’t leave her alone, especially not now that one of his men had been killed.
Laura pushed her shoulder against the front door of the house, water sloshing out of the bucket. She headed for the kitchen, and set the heavy pail on the counter. She dipped a tin cup into the water, and headed through the small main room of the house to her bedroom.
“Here’s something to drink,” she said, smiling at Jonah, who sat up in bed. He rubbed at his eyes, and held out his hands to accept the cup.
“You’re looking much brighter this afternoon.” Laura sat at the edge of the mattress, and held the back of her hand against the boy’s forehead. “Your fever’s completely gone.”
“Can I get out of bed, then?” The boy’s eyes widened with eagerness.
Laura laughed. “Yes, but only for a little while. You don’t want the fever to come back.”
“No, ma’am.” The little boy shook his head.
“I’ve got chicken soup cooking on the stove, and bread baking in the oven. A good, solid supper tonight, and you should be brand new come morning.”
“I like bread,” he said with eager eyes.
She smiled, and tousled his hair. “I’ll bring you a slice as soon as it’s ready.”
Laura reached for the jar of o
intment that sat on the small table next to the bed. She dabbed her finger in it, then applied it to the boy’s cheek.
“Your wound where that bark hit you is healing nicely, too.”
“Will I have a mark there?” Jonah touched the scab on his cheek.
Laura shook her head. The smile faded from her face. “Most likely just a little one, if at all. It won’t even be noticeable once it’s all healed.”
The boy nodded, then scrambled from the bed. “Can I see Cade?” he asked with a hopeful look in his eyes.
Laura met his gaze. “Maybe for a moment.”
What could she tell this boy? That the man she’d brought into her home was still teetering between life and death? Somehow he’d survived the first night after Laura dragged him back to the house. With the child’s help, she’d managed to get him inside and into the bed in the spare room. The boy’s pleas must have been heard, and the man had regained consciousness long enough to stumble into the house and onto the bed. After that, Jonah had collapsed from exhaustion and fever, and Laura had carried him to her own bed. That had been three days ago.
She suppressed a yawn. Three days of tending to the sick child and the man who was fighting for his life had taken its toll on her. What little sleep she’d had, sitting in the rocking chair by the hearth in the main room, had scarcely been enough.
She’d done what she could for both of them. After making the boy comfortable in her bed, offering him some water and a cool cloth for his head, she’d seen to the man. She’d had no choice but to cut the blood-soaked shirt he wore off of him before assessing the gunshot wound. The bullet had been stopped by one of his ribs, or it would have torn into his lung.
Laura had done the only thing she could think of, and sterilized a knife in the fire to dig the bullet out. The man had moaned in agony, then mercifully passed out from the ordeal when she poured some whiskey over the wound. He’d been feverish ever since, babbling nonsense in his delirium, sometimes speaking words that didn’t even sound like real words.
Laura had tended to the man’s horse, but hadn’t dared go through his saddlebags to find out who he was. If he lived, it wouldn’t be right to have pried in his belongings.
Now that Jonah seemed to have recovered from his illness, perhaps she could find out more from the boy.
“Is Cade your pa?” She handed him his shirt that she’d washed yesterday.
The boy looked up at her, wide-eyed. His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know.” He shrugged.
Laura tilted her head. “You don’t know? Why are you with him, then, and where is your ma?”
Jonah looked to be struggling with her question. “I don’t have a ma. I lived with the nuns in the orph . . . anage. They told me I didn’t have a ma or pa.”
Laura knelt down to eye level with the boy, and helped him button his shirt. Something tugged at her heart when he said he had no mother. She smiled.
“So why are you with Cade?”
“He came and took me away from the nuns. I like being with Cade better. The nuns weren’t nice to me.”
Laura pulled the boy into an embrace. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the hard life this child must have had. She’d eat her best mare if Jonah wasn’t part Indian. His raven hair and the dark olive complexion of his skin made it difficult to believe that he was white, even though his hair had been cut short and he wore ordinary trousers and shirt.
“He must have told you why he was taking you away,” she pried gently. “What’s his last name?” The more she asked, the more it aroused her curiosity. Cade looked like a no-good drifter, yet he rode a fine horse, and his rifle and sidearm were of the highest caliber.
“No, ma’am.” Jonah shook his head. “He just told me he was taking me away. And his name’s just Cade.”
Laura stood. She smiled again to cover her confusion. “Well, I’m sure he would be mighty glad to have you visit him for a while, Jonah.” She took his hand and led him from her room to the spare bedroom. It was clear this boy couldn’t provide her any more answers. “Just don’t be alarmed at what you see. He’s very sick, and probably won’t even wake up.”
Jonah nodded silently. He didn’t say a word when he walked up to the bed where the man slept. It appeared that he’d been feverish again. Laura stood under the doorframe, hugging her waist while Jonah scrambled onto the mattress and touched Cade’s arm.
The man slept restlessly, his chest and abdomen moving up and down in rapid succession as he breathed. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and limp. Laura had kept his upper body exposed to the cool air, but even so, a sheen of sweat covered his torso, under his neck, and along his broad shoulders. The white linen she’d torn to make bandages stood in stark contrast to his tanned skin. From his appearance, Cade whatever-his-last-name-was was no stranger to the outdoors and hard work.
“Is he gonna be all right?” Jonah asked, looking over his shoulder.
Laura moved into the room. She dipped a cloth into the washbasin, which contained tepid water, and wrung it out. Dabbing it along the man’s forehead, she turned to Jonah.
“Only time will tell. I’m doing the best I can for him, but he’s very sick. All we can do is keep him comfortable for now.”
Jonah nodded vigorously. He took the cloth from her hand, and rubbed it along Cade’s arm.
“I’ll watch him,” the boy said. “Just like he watched me.”
Laura nodded. She offered a weak smile, and pulled the shawl she wore to cover her head tighter under her neck.
“I’m sure he’d like that,” she whispered.
Cade squirmed, and moaned. He raised one leg, and the covering fell away, exposing a firm thigh and buttock. Laura’s face flushed. She rushed up to the bed, and pulled the quilt up to cover him again.
“Why’s he naked?” Jonah asked.
“Because he’s been feverish,” Laura stammered. “He needed to be kept cool.”
She’d had no choice but to remove this man’s britches to keep him cool when the fever spiked. Somehow it hadn’t been such an embarrassing thing to do when she was trying to save his life. Her face flamed even more, and she kept her hand at her side to keep from pulling her shawl from her head. It had become unbearably warm in the room all of a sudden.
Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve seen a nude man before.
Laura shook her head. Seeing her husband in the altogether was one thing, but this complete stranger . . . She cursed under her breath when her subconscious made a mental comparison between Noah and this man. She turned her back, and hugged herself tightly.
Noah had been a good man, full of dreams and ideas when they’d come to Montana Territory a year ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She’d been naïve and followed him without question. This past year had made her realize that Noah was just not cut out for the harsh life here, and he’d paid the ultimate price for his steadfast belief that he was going to make something of the land he’d bought, raising a few cattle and horses.
She blinked several times. Now it was up to her to make his dreams a reality. She’d fallen in love with the land, no matter how hard it was to live here. It would have been easy to give it all up and move back to Ohio, and ask her folks’ forgiveness for running off and marrying her childhood beau.
“I’m going to go check on that soup,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. “Let me know if he wakes up.”
Without turning to look at the boy, or the man in the bed, she left the room. She inhaled a long breath and headed for her kitchen. No, she couldn’t leave this farm. It was her home, and she loved it here. She’d learned to make do over the year. Even living alone, she was better off than going back home, where people would stare at her worse than they did here whenever she went into town. She had her friend, Sally, although she’d been busy lately with her newborn.
Sally’s brother, Trace, and his wife Katherine, were good people, too. Despite the hardships, and her problems with Jack and the folks in town, Laura was happy here. Being alone, and far awa
y from most folks would be better than having people look at her with either pity or revulsion in their eyes.
Laura pulled her shawl from her head to cool her cheeks, which were still flushed, and stirred the soup in the pot. She held a hand to her sore lower back. She yawned, and shot a hasty glance at the rocking chair in the main room. It almost looked comfortable, and seemed to beckon her to rest for a while and close her eyes.
There was no time for that now. Once she’d taken the clothes from the lines outside, fed the horses and eaten some supper, it would be dark. Perhaps tonight, she could get a few hours of good rest.
Chapter Four
Cade turned his head from side to side, and grimaced. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them. Darkness. He stared straight up, then to the sides again. Four walls and a ceiling seemed to be closing in on him. His heart jumped in his chest. Was he back in his jail cell at the penitentiary?
No. His bunk there hadn’t been soft and comfortable, and it certainly hadn’t smelled of freshly washed linen. The faint scent of baked bread and some other food that made his mouth water lingered in the air. When was the last time he’d tasted a home-cooked meal?
He rolled to the side, then flinched and rolled back the other way. He almost cried out. He gasped, each intake of breath agony to his chest.
“Damn,” he grumbled.
Moving slower this time, he pushed himself to a sitting position. Pain ripped through his chest, searing into his shoulder. His hand flew to the source of the pain, and connected with a thick bandage. Slowly, he eased his legs over the side of the mattress. His head swirled, and his stomach roiled. What the hell was going on?
Once the dizziness subsided, he ran a hand over his bushy face, and squinted into the darkness. The faint light from a half moon shone in through the glass-paned window in front of him. He blinked, and strained his eyes. Other than the bed along one wall, the room was furnished with a dresser and a small table by the bed. More light, orange this time, flickered under the crack of the door.
In His Touch: Blemished Brides Book 2 Page 2
