He gave a little moan and his eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t awaken. Rose let her gaze go to his body. There was a bloody bite on his shoulder and another on his lower leg, but the worst was on his thigh where a chunk of flesh had been ripped away.
His clothes were drenched in blood, but none of these wounds should have made him unconscious. Rose moved her gaze back to his face. He seemed so peaceful as he lay there. The hard lines and anger were gone and he was a gentle sleeping giant. There was no more dangerous aura and no tension.
Rose found herself wondering what he would look like without that beard. She wondered how all those hard line and angles he was made up of would sculpt his face.
“What are you doing, you foolish woman?” she chided herself. “Stop daydreaming and help the man.”
Rose examined the area around his head and that’s when she saw the blood on the rock. She gasped and turned his head slightly, her fears confirmed when she saw the blood matting his brown hair.
She needed to get him back to her cabin, but there was no way Rose could get him up on a horse without him helping. She grabbed his arm and attempted to tug him but couldn’t budge his body which was probably at least two-hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle.
“Marston,” she called sternly. “I want to help you, but you have to wake up!”
She shook him roughly and suddenly his golden eyes flew open and his calloused hand closed around her throat. Confusion filled his gaze as Rose clawed desperately at his hand.
“Marston... it’s me... it’s Rose...” she gasped weakly, finding that it was a struggle to draw any air into her lungs.
He released as quickly as he’d grabbed her and as he flopped back down to the ground, Rose rubbed at the tender, bruising flesh on her throat and shook her head. “No, you don’t!” she grabbed his arm. “You have to stay with me. You have to climb up on that horse because I sure can’t lift you.”
Without warning, Marston sat up, nearly bashing their foreheads together. “What happened?” he slurred.
Rose wondered just how bad his head injury was. She had heard of people never being the same after suffering a bad enough one. “You must have been attacked by coyotes and you fell and hit your head.”
Rose frowned when Marston reached out and twirled one of her red curls between his fingers. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his gold eyes becoming tender as he gazed at her. A lopsided smile curved his lips and Rose felt a blush color her cheeks as her heart rate quickened.
Then she saw him swoon and she barely managed to grab his arm and steady the giant of a man before he fell back to the ground.
“Okay then. I’m pretty and you have a head injury. Now let’s get you up and on that horse so we can get back home,” Rose insisted.
Marston once again seemed confused. “A head injury?”
“Yes.” Rose felt her patience waning. “You fell and hit your head.”
“My head’s fine,” Marston insisted and before Rose could stop him, he reached around and patted himself on the back of the head. With a roar of pain, Marston held out his bloody hand and glared at her. “Dammit, that hurt! Why didn’t you tell me I hurt my head?”
“I did,” Rose assured him, stifling her laughter as she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips.
Again, Marston’s eyes turned tender and he leaned his face toward hers. “You’re so pretty.”
Again Rose felt herself light up at his words and then she scolded herself for being foolish and got to her feet. “We’ve covered that already,” she informed him. “And it would probably mean more if you weren’t half out of blood, semiconscious and delirious from hitting your head.”
“I hit my head?” he asked and Rose laughed outright when he once again reached back and patted himself on the head. Again he let out a roar of pain and Rose fought hard to control herself. She honestly shouldn’t be laughing…. What if the loss of memory were permanent? She smiled. He’d certainly be a lot of fun to have around.
“Come on, Marston. I’ll help you.” Rose offered him her hand and he took it. She pulled as hard as she could, but she knew that he did most of the work himself as he got to his feet and stood there swaying.
He leaned some of his weight on her as Rose led him to the gray. It took several long painful moments to get him onto the horse’s back but when he finally made it, Marston gave her that lopsided grin once again. “You want a ride, pretty lady?”
Rose shook her head. Being close to him made her feel things and given his current state of mind, it would be a very bad idea to get on that horse. “I believe I’ll walk. You just focus on not falling off that poor beast.”
“I’ve never fallen off a horse!” he replied indignantly. Rose found herself stifling another laugh. Marston certainly was entertaining when he was nearly incapacitated.
By the time they reached the cabin, Marston had once again lost consciousness and was slumped over the horse. Rose managed to get him awake just enough to hear him say she was pretty once more and then get him inside and tossed down on the sofa.
“What’s wrong with him, mama?” Langley asked, staying near the corner.
“He was attacked by coyotes in the woods,” Rose replied gently. “I need you to get on his horse and ride into town to get the doc, okay?”
“That big gray one?” Langley gasped.
Rose nodded. “It’s plenty gentle. You’ll be just fine.”
Langley swallowed hard but left the house to do as he’d been told. Rose put a pot of water on the stove to heat. While that was going she walked into the water closet to get towels and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Rose gasped when she saw the darkening bruise that Marston’s hand had left upon her pale throat. She touched it gingerly with her fingertip and gasped in pain.
Rose gathered up the towels and laid them on the edge of the sofa before going to her bedroom. She quickly changed back into her blue skirt and white, high-necked blouse. She didn’t need the doctor seeing that bruise and getting the wrong impression of Marston. Rose had to go back to the water closet to ensure the bruises were covered. She didn’t have a mirror in her bedroom. There were certain parts of her reflection that she didn’t want to have to see each and every day.
Rose took her needle and thread from the cabinet and stepped back out into the kitchen. She used a towel to grip the heated pan of water and carried to the sofa.
She stared in awe at Marston’s form. He was so massive! All sprawled out on the sofa the way he was caused that piece of furniture to look no bigger than an armchair. His legs were hanging a good two feet off the end and his hand was on the floor.
Rose sighed and wondered just how she was going to get his weapons and shirt off so she could begin to tend to his wounds. She could cut his pants away to get to the ones on his thigh and ankle, but that band of bullets around his chest would have to go.
Rose laid her hands on his broad chest and searched for ways to take it off. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Marston’s sharp voice suddenly growled deeply.
Rose quickly removed her hands. “Trying to get your clothes off,” she replied as his golden eyes darkened. Lord, but it was hard to think with those intense eyes staring at her that way.
“Don’t ever touch me like that,” he warned.
Rose didn’t’ reply, simply busied herself smoothing out her skirt.
Damn but that woman must not realize what she did to him! She had been all but begging him to throw her down and take her by touching him that way. Marston fought back the raging desire in his blood and focused instead on the raging pain.
But why was he in pain?
Glancing down, Marston saw the blood covering his clothes and he felt the same sticky substance in his hair. He fought for some memory of how he’d come to be injured and then he remembered the coyotes and the rock. But how had he gotten back to Rose’s cabin, on her sofa with her tiny hands rubbing all over his chest?
“What happened?”
he demanded.
“The horses came back without you so I went looking for you,” Rose replied and Marston realized she avoided his gaze. “I found you unconscious, but I got you to wake up just enough to get you back here.”
“And you were rubbing your hands all over me, why?” he questioned as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position and let out a loud curse at the pain in his leg.
Rose winced. “I wasn’t rubbing all over you,” she insisted. “I was just trying to get that strappy bullet thing off of you so I could tend to your wounds.”
Marston’s frown deepened. “Strappy bullet thing?”
Rose pointed it and Marston laughed heartily. Rose was surprised by the sound. It was rich and deep and it rumbled out of him, causing him to look younger and more carefree.
“It’s called a bandolier,” he informed her.
She waved her hand. “Well take it off and your shirt too so I can clean that bite on your shoulder.”
Marston raised a brow but did as Rose commanded and she gasped at the sight of him. His body was unlike any she had ever seen. He was hard, solid and thick. Brown hair dusted his chest and a trail of that hair started low on his solid stomach and led down into the waistband of his trousers.
With a blush, Rose forced her eyes back up and took in the alarming sight of scars. Marston was covered in scars. This clearly hadn’t been the man’s first brush with death.
Puckered scars marred his left shoulder and his right side. Long jagged scars lanced across his chest. Those were the scars that stole her breath and caused the room to begin to sway. They were identical to the scars on her back—whip marks.
Rose somehow forced herself to turn away from those scars and began wetting a towel. She had to tend to the oozing bite on his shoulder.
Marston watched her closely. He had seen the way her eyes had widened when she’d caught sight of his scars. He was surprised that she hadn’t asked about them the way most people did when they first saw them.
Marston was confused by what he felt inside while sitting near her. Rose was something he had never experienced before. He was certain that she feared him, at least a little, and that proved she was smart. But despite that fear she seemed to truly care and have real concern for his welfare.
Rose was a walking contradiction of sweet and innocent mixed with temper and toughness and she intrigued him. He found himself wanting to know more which shocked him. Marston had never once cared about another person enough to want to get to know them more. He took what he wanted whether it was money, supplies, food, quick physical satisfaction or shelter for a night and then he was gone.
What made him act differently with this woman and her boy?
“So why do you need all those bullets anyway?” Rose asked as she took the towel and dabbed at his wounded shoulder.
Marston hissed with pain but remained still and let her do as she wished. “Some men are hard to kill.”
She shuddered. “I was being serious,” she replied without meeting his gaze.
Marston lowered his voice. “So was I.”
Silence fell over the cabin as Rose took out her needle and thread and began to sew up the deepest lacerations on his shoulder. Marston’s jaw popped and his fists tightened painfully.
Rose’s face was pale and a line formed between her eyes as she scrunched her brow and focused all her attention on her work. When she blew a sweaty lock of hair from her brow and sat back, Marston uttered two words that he had never before uttered. “Thank you.”
Chapter Seven
Though Marston hadn’t wanted to stay around Rose any longer it seemed fate wasn’t on his side. Leaving simply wasn’t an option. The doctor had said he needed to take it easy and Marston could tell by the pain his shredded thigh was in that riding horseback for hours wasn’t something he could manage.
Rose had put fifteen stitches in his thigh, ten in his ankle and another ten in his shoulder. By the time Langley had returned with the doctor, Marston had already cleaned up, changed clothes and had been sitting on the porch. The doctor had left him some laudanum for pain, told him to rest for at least a week to let the wounds begin to close and then he had left.
“Where are you going?” Rose asked that evening as Marston stood from the porch chair and limped toward the steps.
“I’m going into town. I’ll get a room at the hotel.”
Rose shook her head as she finished clipping a faded purple dress on the line. “It’s a long ride to town and the doctor said you need to rest.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’ve had worse than a ripped up leg.”
He’d rather have the pain in his body from riding than the torment he felt in his soul as he sat and watched her. Rose tempted him as nothing else ever had and the fact that something inside of him wouldn’t’ let him give into that temptation and simply take what he wanted from her irritated the hell out of him.
“It’s not your leg I’m worried about,” she insisted. “It’s your head. You shouldn’t be alone after a head injury like that.”
“Why the hell are you worried about me?” Marston demanded and then he kicked himself for asking it. Did he really want to know the damned answer?
‘Yes, you do. That’s why you’re still here,’ Great his favorite voice was back again.
‘I’m here because a chunk of my leg is missing,’ Marston countered silently.
‘Would you be honest for once in your life?’ the voice grumbled. ‘You’re still here because you don’t want to leave.’
Marston growled under his breath. “Are you okay?” Rose’s voice broke through the argument he was currently having with himself. He looked up from the dirty ground and let his eyes find her face.
She had one arched red brow raised and her teeth were nibbling her full bottom lip. She was truly beautiful. Like the sight of a hoof trampled waterhole when you’d been riding days in a drought.
Growling, Marston turned away from her. “I’m fine, dammit. I wish you people would stop asking me if I’m okay and worrying about me. And quit thanking me for stuff. And quit treating me like I’m something I’m not!” Marston stalked off to the barn without giving Rose time to respond.
Rose watched him go and wondered if that outburst meant he was staying or leaving. On one hand, Rose knew she should fear Marston and, in a way, she did. But, on the other hand, she had seen glimpses of his kindness, generosity, and caring. And her desperation for friendly companionship outweighed her fear tenfold.
Rose was about to go into the barn to plead with the man not to leave until the leg healed, when he came limping out with a burlap sack of nails and a hammer. Langley was hot on his heels. “Can I help you fix the corral? I’m real good at pounding nails. Can I use the hammer?”
Rose hid her smile behind her hand as she watched them. It was clear that Marston was a man who didn’t talk much and Langley was a boy who rarely ceased. Rose hoped Langley wouldn’t irritate Marston too badly. The boy had been his whole life without a strong male influence and needed someone who would be patient with him.
Marston nodded in response to Langley’s questioned and handed him the hammer. Langley’s eyes lit up and Rose continued to watch them as she finished hanging up her wet clothes.
“Now you hold that piece up and I’ll nail it in. Yep, I’m real good at nailing. I just never fixed nothing up because I’m no good at nailing and holding at the same time. That’s hard to do, you know? Hey, what are you doing with those nails?”
Rose looked up from a pair of trousers to see Marston holding the flat ends of four nails up to Langley’s mouth. Her first instinct was to rush to her son’s aid, but she forced herself to remain still and simply observe.
“Hold these between your lips,” Marston ordered.
“Why would I wanna do that?” Langley asked skeptically.
“That way I don’t have to reach in the bag every time we need one,” Marston replied.
“Well, why don’t you hold them in your
mouth?”
Marston’s eyes narrowed. “Because I need you to hold them in yours.”
Langley rolled his eyes but did as he was told and put the flat ends of the nails between his lips. Marston caught Rose’s gaze and the victorious smile on his face had her laughing—Langley was now rendered completely unable to speak.
***
“Eat with us,” Rose ordered as she sat a third plate potatoes, cornbread, and beans on the table that night.
“I’m not hungry,” Marston lied just before his stomach rumbled.
“You sure sound hungry to me,” Langley countered with a grin. “Sit down and have some taters. Mama makes ‘em better than you do. I promise.”
“Langley!” Rose scolded, but the smile threatening to curve her lips took any harshness from her voice.
Rose sat down next to Langley and motioned for Marston to sit at the other side of the table. Marston stared down at that chair as if it were a lit stick of dynamite. He had never in his life been invited to sit down to a family meal. Hell, he’d never in all his life been a part of a family.
‘You could be now if you wanted to.’
“I don’t want to,” he growled.
Rose let out a squeak at his sudden outburst of temper. “Okay then,” she nodded. “You don’t have to.”
She reached for his plate, but Marston quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist gently. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Then who were you talking to?” Rose asked with confusion.
Marston shook his head. “No one.”
“Are you going to eat with us then?”
Marston stared down at his dark, calloused and scarred hand holding on to her tender, pale wrist. “Yeah, I’ll eat.”
Marston released his hold on her and sat down with a wince. Langley was grinning across from him. “He was talking to himself, mama. He does that when he doesn’t think anyone is listening.”
“Shouldn’t you be shoving potatoes in that overactive mouth?” Marston grumbling before shoving a bite in his own. Damn, but the kid had been right. Rose was one hell of a cook.
Give My Love to Rose Page 6
