by Mallory Kane
Then she saw the gun clutched in his hand. Her sore heart ached anew. He was battered, beaten, but he still strove to protect himself. Hallie stared at him. Her first thought was his skin looked like fine tanned leather in the shadows. Her second was he certainly didn’t have on many clothes.
Standing perfectly still, hardly breathing herself, she stared at his bare chest until she saw its faint rise and fall.
“Thank God!” she muttered. He was alive.
Jacob Chandler jerked and stiffened, then lay still again.
“Oh Mr. Chandler. I’m so glad--” Hallie stopped. “Mr. Chandler? Jacob?” She peered closely at him, then reached out and pushed long strands of brown hair out of his face. “Why, you’re burning up.”
She looked around. “I can’t see anything in here.” She pulled down the blanket that was draped over the single window and squinted in the sudden brightness. “That’s better,” she said, turning back to the bed.
The sight that greeted her almost buckled her knees. In the shadows she hadn’t seen how badly beaten he was. “Oh, look what they did to you.”
His nose and mouth were crusted with blood. One eye was swollen, and ugly purple splotches marred his shoulders and what she could see of his chest and belly. There was blood matted in his hair.
“How could they?” She gingerly felt his forehead. “You have a fever. I’ve got to get some water into you. You must not have drunk any since yesterday.” She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “But I’ll have to wake you up enough to drink. And where is your water, anyway?”
Then her wandering gaze fell upon a bucket sitting on a bench with a dipper in it.
“Now, I just need some cloths and a bowl.” A wooden bowl sat on the table, but the only cloth she found was stiff with dirt. She used his butcher knife to cut her underskirt for a cloth. “You will pay me back for this,” she said to the unconscious man, gesturing with the knife. “It was brand new.”
She picked up a tin cup and, sitting carefully on the edge of the narrow bed, she dipped the fine cotton material into the water and touched it to his mouth.
His head jerked. He gasped and opened his eyes. His fingers tightened convulsively around his gun, but his eyes didn’t quite focus on her face. Hallie smiled at him tentatively. “Are you thirsty, Mr. Chandler?”
Jacob Chandler’s first thought was he hurt more than he ever had in his life. His second thought was his first thought underestimated the amount of pain. The effort required to clutch at his gun started muscles cramping throughout his body. He lay still, breathing shallowly through his teeth, hoping to stop the convulsive tightening of his bruised and battered muscles. It didn’t work.
“Mr. Chandler,” A soft, hoarse voice penetrated the haze of pain. At the same time a gentle hand touched his. The hand trembled. The only reason Jacob noticed was because his hand was about the only place on his body that wasn’t knotted in pain.
“It’s me,” the voice continued. “The lady you saved yesterday? It’s just me. I’m Hallie Greer.”
Jacob remembered, and remembering knotted his muscles even more. He pushed air out between his teeth, trying his best not to move until the agony lessened. He recalled making it back to his cabin sometime around dawn after a hellish night during which the best he could manage was to stay on his horse. One time he’d passed out and fallen off. Hell was probably a Sunday picnic compared to the agony he’d endured climbing back up onto the horse.
Concentrate, he thought. Concentrate on Hallie Greer’s voice, on the soft touch of her hand, on anything but the pain.
He tried to focus on her face, on her kind brown eyes, her delicate features, the cloud of chestnut hair, but another cramp gripped him like huge hands twisting his limbs into knots. He frowned and put all his energy into bearing the pain. His eyes drifted shut.
“I know we haven’t been formally introduced--” she said softly.
Jacob struggled to concentrate on her voice.
“--but since you saved me from a horrible fate, and I’m seeing you in your bed, I suppose you could call me Hallie. That is, if I may call you Jacob?”
He knew who she was. Knew her melodious voice, from the few times he’d been in her store, although her soothing tone and matter of fact words surprised him, as did her presence here in his cabin. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Hallie Greer in his cabin.
He’d always thought she was attractive, plus she was one of the few people in town who ever spoke to him. She’d never failed to smile and speak, as if he were just another customer. She’d always made him feel welcome in a town that had long since dismissed him as crazy. That was fine with him, of course. He didn’t talk to anyone, and didn’t want anyone talking to him.
He kept his eyes shut and let her voice flow around him like a slow summer river. Slowly, his muscles began to unknot. He breathed carefully, knowing one sudden movement could start it all up again.
Hallie watched Jacob’s eyes drift shut. She tried to keep her gaze away from his bare shoulders and arms, but it wasn’t easy. His muscles were in knots. Tendons wound like cords through his neck and arms. There was no spare flesh on him, so each cramped muscle stood out like a knot on a smooth log. She longed to rub the cramps away, like she used to do for her father, but the idea of touching him was profoundly disturbing.
She didn’t quite know why, but the thought sent tingles through her fingers, up her arms, and down her body to make her legs weak. So she contented herself with touching his sinewed hand and trying to relax him with her words. She talked as if she were trying to calm a scared kitten, slowly, smoothly, non-stop.
“My pa always said I could talk enough for two people. He said I had a pleasant voice, though. Now I know you’re hurting, but if you would settle down enough so I could put your gun away--” As she talked, she slid her fingers down his until they left the hard warmth of his skin and touched the cold barrel of the gun. Still talking, not changing her tone a bit, she slipped the gun out of his grasp. At the same time, she wiped the wet cloth across his forehead.
“That’s good, Jacob. As soon as I clean you up a little we can see about getting some water inside you. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”
Suddenly, Jacob’s hand stopped hers and he looked straight at her. She jumped and her breath caught. His fingers curled around her hand like they had around his gun.
She stared into eyes as hard and bright as glass on a clear summer day. Gone was the soft concern she remembered. She managed a shaky smile. “Jacob?" she said, "are you awake now?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jacob didn’t answer Hallie’s question, but his fingers pried the gun out of her hand with more strength than she expected. He slid the cold weapon back onto the blanket and wrapped his hand around the butt.
“O-okay, Jacob. If you want to keep your gun, that’s fine.” She swallowed nervously. “Did you hear me introduce myself just now?”
His gaze didn’t waver, but his mouth opened slightly, and he licked at a drop of water that had trickled down his face from the wet cloth.
“My name is Hallie Greer and I said you could call me Hallie and I would call you Jacob. You need some more water, Jacob.” She carefully held the cup of water to his lips.
Although his head didn’t move, his eyes followed her hand.
“I came to see if you were all right,” she said, as she tipped the cup to trickle water into his mouth. “I see that you’re not. I’m so sorry, Jacob. I tried to stop them. I tried to tell them you weren’t the one who attacked me, but Brent Myers was there and he wouldn’t listen.”
“Oh they hurt you,” she whispered. “Can you hold your head up to drink?”
He closed his eyes and tried to move, but when he did, his skin turned ashen and the lines in his face grew deeper.
“Don’t move,” Hallie said belatedly. “You’re too bruised and sore. Your muscles will just keep cramping. I had a horse once that mashed my leg against a fence. Bruised me up something
awful. Every time I moved my leg it cramped up. After a day or so it got better, though. I think you’ll get better too, if nothing’s broken.”
He looked at her, his eyes slightly unfocused. Then his eyelids drifted shut, his lashes resting on his hollowed cheeks.
She turned around to sit so she could put her hand behind his head. “Can you hear me Jacob?” she asked. “You have to drink some water. I’m going to lift your head. I did this for my father, so it’s perfectly all right.” She talked to reassure herself as much as him. It was all right for her to touch him. After all, she was nursing him, taking care of him, just as she had her father. There was no difference.
“Now, I’m just going to slide my hand behind your head,” she said softly and followed words with actions. She slipped her hand between the rough ticking of the mattress and his head, her fingers sliding through his soft, tangled hair. A sweet pain caught at her insides at the feel of his hair, and the fine shape of his head.
“Just lie back and I’ll help you raise your head,” she said breathlessly.
His brow furrowed and his breathing became shallow and fast, but he followed her urging.
“I promise you’ll feel better if you can drink some water.” She cradled his head and turned the cup up. He tried to drink, but more water ended up on the bed than on him. “I have to lift you more,” Hallie said, and slid her arm under him until he was resting against her bosom. She felt his heat through her clothes, and as he drank, his breath warmed her hand.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, startling her.
Hallie jerked back. “Oh.” She hurriedly slipped her hand from under his head. “Th-there now, doesn’t that feel better?”
Although he didn’t speak, she could tell the water had refreshed him. He now had color in his cheeks, and slowly and painfully, he stretched out his long legs.
As he did, Hallie watched, mesmerized. She had taken care of her father after his first stroke, so she knew something of men’s bodies, but knowing didn’t lessen her embarrassment at seeing Jacob half-clothed. His lean belly heaved with the effort of moving, and he kept one leg bent, which caused the buckskin breeches to strain at their seams. It was obvious to Hallie, even through the worn buckskin, that Jacob was very much a man. Her face burned at her thoughts and she quickly averted her eyes, making a production out of squeezing and rinsing the cloth.
Something happened to her each time she looked at him. Something she’d never felt before, different from the dislike Brent Myers engendered. Different even, from Billy Robertson, the young man who had courted her one summer, years ago. Billy had been sweet and handsome, in a boyish way, but his hand touching hers had never made her heart quicken or her insides quiver like jelly.
What she felt right now was closer to the feelings evoked in her when she read the romantic books her father didn’t like her to order. Tingly, breathless, warm and soft, odd feelings for an old maid. She didn’t know why her foolish brain was thinking of silly romance stories now. She was here to help Jacob because he'd helped her.
That was all.
As quickly as she could, she cleaned his face. With the blood removed and his hair damp and slicked back, Hallie took her first good look at his face. His right eye was purple and swollen, and he had a cut on his lip, but she recognized what she’d seen every time she’d ever laid eyes on him.
He was a fine looking man. Fine and proud and unutterably sad. His face was lean and long, with high cheekbones and a wide, straight mouth. He had a strong jaw, clenched now in pain, and his neck muscles were corded with strain. His wet hair looked dark, but when dry she knew it would reflect the sun with golden highlights.
After she’d gotten the blood and grime off his face and out of his hair, she quickly swiped at the worst of the scrapes on his shoulders and chest, trying her best not to actually touch him with her bare hands. When she finally finished, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Jacob?” she whispered, but he seemed to be asleep. Good. He needed to sleep.
She pulled the blanket over his bare, bruised belly and chest, and sent a silent prayer heavenward that he would sleep long enough for his tortured muscles to loosen up.
“I’d better see to the horses and the mule.” She spoke to Jacob as if he were awake. It was how she had dealt with her father. She’d talked to him as if he could talk back, instead of just lying helpless as a babe, dependent on her for his very life.
“I did pretty well with Pa, all things considered,” she told her sleeping host. “He’d get frustrated and try to get out of bed. He couldn’t move one whole side of his body. He couldn’t do anything for himself. Much worse off than you are.”
She squeezed the cloth dry and spread it out on the table. Drying her hands on her skirt, she turned back toward the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. It’s beginning to get dark and I think it’s going to rain. I’ll never get back down that mountain this late.”
A small chill of apprehension skittered up her spine. Riding up here earlier, she had not considered the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to go down the mountain before dark.
“I guess we’re stuck here together for this night, Jacob.” She laughed hesitantly. “This will be a new experience for me. I’ve never spent the night with a man before, except my father. Of course he was family. Different. You know.” She glanced back at the silent figure on the bed as she went out the door.
If his eyes and his actions had been any indication, he was a gentle, concerned man who helped those in trouble. He was not a man she should fear. “Besides, I could probably beat you up, the shape you’re in,” she murmured as she pulled the packs off the exhausted mule and led it to a makeshift corral.
Then, she turned to the horse. “What about you? Ready to get rid of that saddle? I’ll bet you are. Ho, don’t get skittish on me. You look like you’re about as independent as your master. Don’t like to be too confined. Well, it’s the corral for you, big fellow.”
Hallie was breathing hard by the time she wrestled the saddle off the big gelding. She brushed her dusty hands on her skirt, then gathered up as many of the sacks as she could and hauled them into the house. “You really intended to stock up for the whole winter, didn’t you, Jacob?” she remarked breathlessly as she pushed open the cabin door.
He seemed to be in a deep, restful sleep.
“I won’t bother you a bit,” Hallie whispered. “I’m just going to put away your supplies. You’ve got enough flour and meal here to last the winter. Hardtack, beans, sugar.” She smiled. “You like sweets? Me too. Let’s see. Ah, a bottle of whiskey. Just one for the entire winter? Not much of a drinker are you, Jacob? Plenty of coffee though, and some tea. Good. I'd like a cup of tea and I think you could use some. Ooh, and a big jar of honey. You do like sweets.”
Hallie looked around. In the tiny cabin, it didn’t take long to figure out where he kept things. He was a neat person. Neat and precise.
Hallie hummed softly as she poured flour into the bin, emptied corn meal into a tin, put the coffee and tea away, and found a gallon crock for the sugar. She wiped the counter and table and lined up the cans on a shelf.
Then she stepped back and looked around in surprise. What was the matter with her? Doing chores had never made her feel like singing, before. She’d always hated chores.
There was a comfortable, homey feeling about doing these things for Jacob, though. A feeling very different, but just as pleasant, as that other, disturbing feeling she had experienced while she washed him.
When the supplies were all put away, Hallie set a jar with a cracked mouth in the center of the table, then glanced at the door. Hadn’t she seen some late-blooming wildflowers by the corral? It was beginning to rain, so she hurried outside, and had a sparse bouquet picked within a few minutes. Humming, she placed the flowers in the jar and wiped a last speck of dust off the table.
“Now, I need something to make broth with because you’re not going to feel like eating anything substa
ntial for a while.” She considered the burlap sacks on the floor. “How would you like some potato soup, Jacob?”
She peeled potatoes and onions, and made a fire in the fireplace. Soon she had water boiling and had dipped up enough to make a pot of tea before she dumped the chopped vegetables into it with a good dose of salt.
“While that cooks, I think it’s time for you to wake up and drink some hot tea, Mr. Jacob Chandler.” She brewed the tea, then put a generous dollop of honey and a splash of whiskey in it. “This will probably do both of us some good.”
By the time she pulled the chair up to the small bed and prepared to wake him, shadows had crept into the cabin, and she heard the spattering of rain on the tin roof.
Hallie lit a lantern and brought it close to the bed, then sat down and picked up the cup. “Jacob?” she said, looking at his face.
His blue eyes were open, staring into hers with a cold blankness that surprised her. She blinked and licked her lips nervously. “Hello,” she said hesitantly, forcing a smile to her face. “Do you remember me? I’m Hallie Greer, the lady you saved. I’m the reason you got beaten up. I’m not sure you were awake enough to understand me, before.”
Jacob looked at her. For a moment, he couldn’t remember who she was, standing right in front of him, talking to him so calmly. I’m the reason you got beaten up.
Memory caught him off guard, like the renewed cramping in his bruised muscles. He tensed, waiting for the awful gripping pain to engulf him, but although he ached everywhere, his muscles didn’t immediately knot.
Relieved, he took the time to assess the woman who claimed she was the reason he'd been beaten within an inch of his life. Hallie Greer. Her father owned the general store. Had owned it, rather. He remembered hearing Mr. Greer had died.
Her dark hair, which had been pulled into a discreet bun at the nape of her neck, was coming loose. Tendrils floated around her heart-shaped face. He studied her green eyes, memory assaulting him again. She’d looked so scared when she’d opened her eyes to find him bent over her. But as soon as she’d realized who he was, she’d calmed down.
