The wagon lurched through a rut. Her gorge rose. Heat, motion and now anxiety combining to make disaster imminent.
“Senorita?”
Clutching her stomach, she waved the vaquero’s concern away. She wouldn’t be sick. She wouldn’t. “I’m fine.”
He frowned at her, drawing his rifle from its scabbard. “You have nothing to worry about. Senor Luke would not allow you to be captured.” He settled the rifle across his saddle. “And neither would I.”
What could he do? He was just one man. So was Luke. And that rifle didn’t look big enough to take on the hordes of Comanche that could even now be charging toward them. Unbidden, one passage from her favorite author’s latest novel leaped to the forefront of her mind: “The Comanche came out of nowhere like a mist rising from the ground, enveloping everything in their path.”
There was a whole lot of ground out there.
No. For him to say it was just some Indians did nothing to reassure her, even if he’d clearly been trying to. She took a breath to steady her nerves. Hot air filled her lungs. Cold sweat beaded her brow as the persistent nausea surged along with fear. She whispered soothing nothings to Glory as if the steady old horse was the one in danger of an attack of the vapors.
The man frowned at her.
“You do not need to be afraid of the Indians, senorita. You are well guarded.”
She took another steadying breath, fighting dizziness. If they could just stop for a minute, her stomach might settle. Her request was met with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but we cannot stop.”
Of course not.
“But you are safe, senorita.” He gestured to his chest. “With me, Stefano.” He broadened the gesture to include everyone. “And if I should fall, there are the men of Rancho Montoya and Hell’s Eight.” He tipped his hat. “You are very safe.”
Was she? They had fifteen riders, plus Luke, Ed, Tia and herself. Hardly an army. And she didn’t even have a gun. Good heavens. Why didn’t she have a gun? The wagon hit a rut. The horizon tilted. Or was it the wagon? Her stomach lodged in her throat. She recognized the cold clammy feeling for what it was. Holding her hand over her mouth, she imagined Indians pouring over the little hill, swarming them, intent on driving them off their land. It was too easy to imagine their wild cries. Blast Dane Savage and his gift for description! She could see them as if they were real, dangerous men on horseback, armed with guns and bows, feral smiles on their painted faces… Intent on revenge.
Oh dear God.
“Senorita?”
The voice echoed around the periphery of her consciousness. The wagon bucked and swayed over a series of bumps. Her vision clouded. Nausea rose as hard as fear. In an obscure part of her consciousness, she realized she was about to faint. She reached out. Found nothing.
The last thing she heard was the shout of her name.
It sounded amazingly exasperated for a Comanche war cry.
CHAPTER FOUR
“SENORITA!”
Stefano’s cry jerked Luke around in the saddle. Chico, bored with standing still, pranced right along with the shift in weight, which worked out just fine as what Luke saw chilled his blood. Glory was still plodding along, every step bordering on hipshot, but the wagon seat that should’ve been sporting the bane of his existence was empty. What the hell had she done now?
“Goddammit, Josie!”
Zach shook his head. “That woman is not made for this country.”
Lobo nodded. “Then it is just as well the Comanche are intent on moving and not war.”
Luke grunted and sent Chico trotting back to Josie’s wagon.
Behind him he heard Zach order Lobo to keep an eye on the tribe.
Kicking Chico into a canter, he raced back down the line. Tia and Ed turned as he passed, and saw what he saw. Ed’s curse and Tia’s gasp trailed in his wake. By the time he got to Josie’s wagon, Stefano was off his horse and climbing into the front seat. Luke pulled back on the reins. Sitting back on his haunches, Chico slid to a stop just short of Stefano’s buckskin. Momentum propelling him forward, Luke jumped off. His boots hit the dirt in time with Stefano’s next curse.
“Back off, Stefano.”
Stefano turned and stepped back, hands raised. “Whatever you say, Luke. You’re the man with the gun.”
Luke looked down. Shit, he was. Damn. Luke took his hand off his revolver. The wagon creaked and sagged as he stepped up. Josie didn’t move from where she lay crumpled on the floorboards, her torso twisted to the left, one arm stretched out to the right. Toward him. “What happened?” he asked Stefano.
“She collapsed.”
He could see that. “Why?”
“Do you want me to guess?”
“No.” He wanted an answer. Josie was lying there so still, her breathing shallower than normal. Her face was pale but she was perspiring heavily. Reaching down, he slid his hand behind her. Her back was soaked.
“What is wrong with her, mi hijo?” Tia asked, coming alongside.
The hard bone of a stiff corset bruised his fingertips. Why the hell was she wearing a corset out here? Was she crazy?
“Might be the heat got to her.”
Tia crossed herself. “That is not good.”
No it wasn’t.
Tia shook the water jug hanging on the side of the wagon. Liquid sloshed. She clucked her tongue. “The pobrecita. The water is untouched. She forgot to drink.”
And he’d forgotten to remind her. “Damn.”
“So we are back to heat,” Stefano concluded.
Heat and carelessness. Luke checked the pulse in her throat. Her skin was smooth and hot under his fingers. Her pulse was steady but fast. This was his fault. He’d been too busy sparking her temper to pay attention to what Josie had been doing—or what she hadn’t. Not drinking enough water was a typical tenderfoot mistake. He knew it as well as he knew his name. There was no excuse for his negligence. He touched her cheek, which was beginning to show a hint of sunburn. She deserved better.
Tia clucked her tongue. “I should have checked on her.”
“Who would think she would not drink?” Stefano sighed.
Tia shook her head. “Apparently none of us.”
For sure, it’d been a long time since an Easterner had landed at Hell’s Eight. Josie’s lashes fluttered.
“Josie,” he called sharply. She didn’t respond. He tried again, grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly. “Wake up, woman.”
“Here, mi hijo.” Tia handed him a wet handkerchief.
“Thank you.” He wiped Josie’s face carefully. Her skin was so pale, so delicate. As he wiped, a light dusting of freckles appeared.
How the hell had he missed that she had freckles? Looking down at the cloth, he got his answer. She’d put some kind of powder on them to cover up. He shook his head. There was no understanding women sometimes.
He shook her again. “Come on, Josie. Wake up.”
“See if she will drink this,” Tia said.
Taking the cup Tia passed him, he trickled a little water over her dry lips. The clear liquid pooled at the corners before sliding down over her cheeks and neck leaving a trail in the pale powder.
She groaned. He held the cup to her lips, tipping a little into her mouth. “Drink.”
Half-conscious, she frowned.
“Don’t fight me on this, woman. Drink.”
Parting those sexy lips, she sipped.
“She’ll be all right?” Stefano asked.
“Yes.” He wouldn’t allow otherwise. He smoothed the moisture over her cracked lips and tipped the cup again. “More.”
“She needs to get out of the sun,” Ed called, limping over.
He was right. The shadow he was casting over her merely darkened her expression, emphasizing her distress rather than providing any real relief.
“True enough.”
Across the way, he saw the scout nod to Zach before heading out. He could tell from the slap of the reins against his boot Zach
was worried. And rightly so. A Comanche sighting was never good news. They needed to keep moving.
Handing Ed the cup, Luke gathered Josie up. She struggled a little before settling into his arms as if she belonged there. The corset pressed into his forearm. He didn’t know why she wore one. They were impractical as hell. A woman couldn’t move in one, let alone breathe. While those restrictions might be fine and feminine back East, out here those restrictions could be a death sentence. The wagon creaked and dipped as he backed awkwardly down the steps. As his boots hit the grass, her petticoats caught on the brake lever, yanking him up short.
“Shit.”
“Hold on.” Ed reached over and tugged at them. There was a slight rip and then “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
Ed frowned as Luke carried Josie toward the back of the wagon. “I thought she’d handle the trip better.”
“She is not used to our heat,” Tia fussed, hurrying to get to the rear of the wagon before Luke. Her gait, he noted, was not as easy as it used to be. There was a stiffness in one hip. He shook his head, remembering his conversation with Ace. Damn.
She opened the back door, revealing the interior. Hot air rushed out.
At least the pallet on the floor was clear, he noted.
“Be careful,” Tia cautioned as he propped Josie on the edge of the pallet, leaving her feet dangling over the side.
“Aren’t I always?”
Tia clucked her tongue. “Hardly.”
“Ed?” Luke called to the front.
“Yes?”
“Could you water the nag? We don’t need him dropping from exhaustion, too.” If they had to run for it, he needed the gelding ready.
“Stefano is already on it.”
He wasn’t surprised. Zach only kept on good men. “Thanks.”
A tug on his shirt drew his gaze. Josie’s lips moved.
“What?”
She said it again. He had to bend closer to hear.
“His name’s Glory.”
That again? “As in glory be to God?” he asked drily. “Or Glory be, will he make it through the day?”
She frowned up at him, a little of the fight coming back into her expression. “Neither.”
At least her voice was getting stronger.
“Are you sure?” He hitched her up to move her back. Her nails dug into his arm. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh no!”
He’d been on the back end of too many benders not to know that look. He turned her just in time. She vomited. All over his boots.
“Son of a bitch!”
If her moan hadn’t been so pitiful, Luke would have dropped her right there. Instead, he set her gently on the ground. She scrabbled to her hands and knees. He supported her with an arm around her waist as she vomited up all the water he’d just poured down her throat. Between heaves, she swatted at her bonnet. Since he hated the drab, ugly thing, too, Luke tugged it off and tossed it aside. His own stomach lurched, but he held it back, until finally, with a last retch, she slumped. With another sympathetic “Pobrecita” Tia handed him the cup. Water sloshed as he held it to Josie’s lips. She shook her head.
“Rinse your mouth out.”
She took a sip. “Don’t swallow, spit,” he ordered.
She did with an utter lack of self-consciousness that said more than anything about how horrible she felt.
“Good job.”
When he was sure she was done, Luke pulled Josie back until she sat on his thighs. Her head flopped limply against his shoulder. Her breath shuddered out.
“I’m so hot,” she whispered. “Just so hot.”
“I know.” He stood and turned to look into the wagon. It was dark and still, likely still stifling. “Stefano!”
“Yes?”
“Open the front panel, please.”
The wagon slouched with the vaquero’s weight. The panel rattled as it opened.
“It is done.”
A little bit of light and air moved through the interior. Hopefully, more air would flow once the wagons were moving. Josie braced her hand on a trunk as he set her down on the thin mattress sandwiched between her belongings. Tremors vibrated from her to him. He started unbuttoning her dress. Her fingers wrapped weakly around his wrist. From behind him, Tia said, “I can do that.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You cannot undress a young, unmarried woman.”
He didn’t spare her a glance. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”
Tia placed her hand on his arm. “No, mi hijo, you cannot.”
Her resolution flicked at his determination. “Dammit. It’s not the first time I’ve seen undergarments.”
Tia’s chin set. “You would mortify her.”
“She should be mortified for being so stupid. Why the hell is she wearing so much?”
Tia elbowed him aside. “It is proper.”
Dammit. There was no fighting with Tia when she got that set to her mouth. He stepped back. She didn’t have to say it as if he were an idiot. “Proper will get her killed.”
“Women are taught proper is what saves their lives.” Tia glanced over her shoulder. “Turn your back.”
Even more reluctantly, he did. “You’re not wearing that much,” he pointed out, tipping the cup and rinsing the vomit off his boots. It was going to take more than the cup he held to get the job done. Son of a bitch. His cobbler was going to be pissed.
“I should have talked to her,” Tia fussed.
He could hear the sounds of clothing being removed. The slide of a sleeve down an arm. The rustle of petticoats being removed. His imagination pieced in the removal of the corset. At any other time his imagination would be running rampant. But right now, all he could think about was the Comanche, the delay and the risk to everyone every minute they were stopped here. A trunk opened and a minute later it closed.
He hated being forced to cool his heels. “Does she at least have something lighter to wear?”
Tia sighed. “Do you not have something else to do?”
“No.”
“Then you can come make yourself useful.”
“Uh-huh.” Turning, he saw Josie drooped on the pallet, half sitting, half propped against a crate. Her eyes were closed. She looked pale and lethargic in the yellow dress. In need of support. “I could have been useful all along,” he muttered, helping Tia down.
Tia just rolled her eyes as she stepped back.
Luke slid his hand between the rough wood and Josie’s head. Her hair was silky against his palm. Her breath an airy caress as he tilted her face up. “You gave us a scare, my darling.”
She blinked at him, whether at his endearment or his touch, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. She was still a little green around the gills.
“Sorry.”
He smiled at the weak apology that could have covered anything. “You’ve got to be feeling pretty badly not to be taking a swing at me right now.”
She licked her pale lips. “At least the darn wagon has stopped moving. All that back and forth…” She shuddered. “It’s worse than being on a ship.”
“You get motion sick?”
She nodded and swallowed hard.
He scooted back a bit. Just in case. His boots couldn’t take another attack. “You feeling sick now?”
“Not yet.”
That yet was ominous.
“Do you feel as if you could sip a little water?”
There was nothing lethargic about her “No.”
“We have a problem with her dress, hijo. I cannot reach around to fasten it and she does not yet seem ready to stand,” Tia interrupted.
“I can handle that.”
“I thought you might be able to,” she agreed drily.
He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Tia was watching him with assumptions brewing. He’d never called anyone “my darling” before within her hearing. Hell, he hadn’t done it within his own hearing, but what was done couldn’t be undone. Tia would just have to speculate and he�
��d just have to deal.
“Turn for me just a bit, Josie.”
Using his body as a brace, he turned her enough to see what he was up against. The dress had a little collar and buttoned down the back with over a dozen cloth-covered buttons. It was made of heavy cotton, and within the gape of the material, he could see red spots on her neck where the previous dress had chafed.
“She’s got some prickly heat here. Do we have any ointment?”
“Of course.” Tia called out instructions to Ed.
While he waited for the ointment, Luke began working from the bottom. Her camisole protected her modesty. He could see the deep creases in the fine material from her corset. He was equally sure that beneath it, her skin bore the same imprints. He traced a wrinkle with his fingertip. “No more corsets.”
Her lack of argument settled a little of his annoyance. The satisfaction lasted a good five seconds, until she began to retch again.
“Son of a bitch!”
Letting gravity flip her forward, Luke barked a warning to Tia. Placing his hand against the wagon in front of her, he gave Josie something to brace against as she vomited. When she was done, Tia gingerly stepped closer and held out a fresh cup of water.
“You will feel better when you rinse your mouth, hija.”
Luke took the cup and held it to Josie’s pale lips. Cupping her hand around his, she attempted to take control. He circumvented the move through a simple application of muscle.
“I don’t need help rinsing out my mouth,” Josie muttered.
“Humor me.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
She took a sip, rinsed and spat. Half her bun was straggling around her shoulders in a dark, sleek fall. “I’m trying not to be so obedient.”
Interesting. “What have you got against obedience?”
“It’s not part of my plan.”
He humored her. “I see.”
She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was half naked in his arms. He took advantage of the position to work on the buttons of her dress. The bottom seven were hopeless—the dress was cut to go over the corset, which held her in—but when he got to her rib cage they fastened.
“Here’s the balm,” Tia interrupted, handing him a small pottery jar.
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