Deborah Camp (5 page)

“I dunno.” Cassie entwined her fingers with Jewel’s, reluctant to let go. “Taters, I guess.”

“Yes. Potatoes, greens, corn. I’ll send out what you need to get started on that garden.” She disengaged her hand from Cassie’s and opened her purse to withdraw a shiny coin from it, which she placed in Cassie’s palm. “There you go. Spend it when you have to and not before. There’ll be more coming.”

“This is enough.”

“I’ll decide that, little lady.” Jewel’s lips brushed Cassie’s cheek. “I’ll check in on you from time to time.”

Desolation settled in Cassie’s stomach as Jewel moved outside with her characteristic springy gait. She untied the horse and stepped up into the buggy, arranging her skirt carefully before sitting down.

Cassie stood beside the creaking buggy and gazed up at the woman who looked out of place in her fussy dress. Jewel opened the dainty parasol and grabbed up the reins.

“Time heals all wounds, Cassie,” she said, smiling sweetly. “You’re a strong girl. You’ll do fine.”

Cassie wanted to scream, sob, get down on her knees and beg Jewel to stay with her, but she forced herself to remain motionless, her fists clenched at her sides, as Jewel turned the buggy in a tight circle.

“Do you know his name?” Cassie called out as Jewel flicked the reins across the horse’s back.

Jewel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“You don’t remember what he’s called?” Cassie asked, moving forward as the buggy rattled across the ground.

Casting her a quick glance, Jewel shrugged. “Rook,” she shouted over her shoulder as the horse broke into a trot. “He goes by Rook!”

Cassie made herself stop, although she wanted desperately to chase after the buggy. She stood like a statue until it disappeared around a bend. Quiet settled over her like a shroud. Her heartbeats filled her ears, and she wanted to scream and break the heavy silence. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she fought off the urge and moved over to the new grave. She knelt beside the mound and ran her fingers down the crude cross.

“Oh, Pa, I miss you so,” she whispered brokenly. “You left too soon. What am I supposed to do now?” Her listless gaze moved over the crumbling dirt and the dried flowers strewn across it. A garden. It wasn’t the answer to all her problems, but it was a beginning. It would at least keep her busy and keep her mind off all the things that frightened her now that her pa was gone.

She stood up, brushed the dirt from her long apron, and lifted her face to catch the first warm rays of the new day.

The shot rang out and the darkness was broken by a flash of white light that ripped through skin, muscle, and bone.

Rook grunted, jerked violently, and his eyes popped open. Seeing nothing at first but a glare of light, he blinked and swallowed the ball of cotton that seemed to be stuck in his throat. Moving his lips, he felt them drag across his dry gums. His tongue felt like a slab of bacon in his mouth. As his vision began to clear he found himself staring at a fly-specked ceiling. Gradually, he became aware of his burning arms and legs and of something holding him—binding him. He looked down at the stretch of white sheets tucked around his body so tightly that he could hardly breathe. The sight triggered a worrisome memory that he couldn’t quite grasp. Wiggling and thrashing his legs, he loosened his bonds but stilled quickly when a sharp pain bit into his shoulder. His teeth sliced into his lower lip and he shut his eyes, squeezing his lids together tightly and fighting off the scream.

Damn Blackie! He never would have thought that Blackie would shoot him. If Irish hadn’t stepped into a hole and stumbled, Rook knew that the bullet would have gone through his heart instead of his shoulder.

The pain floated away and he opened his eyes again, moving them this way and that in their dry sockets to survey the bedroom and its crude furnishings. Handmade, he thought. He wasn’t in a hotel, and he wasn’t at Jewel’s, so where the hell … ?

He lifted one hand and let the back of it fall onto his forehead. His skin felt hot and sweaty. A floral fragrance drifted to him and he took a deep breath. Dried flowers?
Ah, a woman’s touch. Somewhere around here there was a woman …

A distant memory of a girl—blue eyed and sad—drifted to him. She’d been bad tempered, he recalled. Other bits and pieces fell into place in his numb mind, and they made him uneasy. The crack of a whip. A shovel. A shaking gun pointed at his belly. A bundle of sheets.

Frustration wove through him, and he turned his head on the stiff pillow and stared at a square of landscape. Green hills, budding trees, a rickety, run-down chicken coop and an outhouse. He squinted against the sunlight that poured into the room and was so blinding that it gave him a headache. He forced his eyes to focus. Something—no, someone—was in the field and moved with a slow, sure rhythm. It was a woman, dressed in a drab, brown skirt and a baggy, loose shirt. Hair the color of corn silk spilled from beneath her sunbonnet. She looked young. Her shirt stuck to her back and her shoulder blades poked at the material. She raised a hand to mop her face and the gesture was graceful but bone tired.

This woman has a hard row to hoe, Rook thought as the memory of grief-stricken blue eyes wafted to him again.

“
Your man, ma’am?
”

“
None of your business!
”

Irritated by his inability to grasp the memory that kept drifting in and out of his mind, Rook sucked in his breath and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. His upper body trembled with the effort and he realized that he was worse off then he’d thought. Must have a fever, he thought, moving his tongue in his mouth and grimacing at the bad taste of it. God, what he’d give for a swig of whiskey!

What was she doing? he wondered as his wandering attention returned to the woman outside. She had a … a … Christ Almighty! It was that crazy girl! The one who’d been digging a grave when he’d ridden up on her. She still had a shovel in her hands! The memory flooded through him, clear and jarring. That bad-tempered hellcat with the whip and pistol. His gaze narrowed as he recalled her biting orders and menacing frown. Digging a grave…. Digging a grave?

Good God! He swallowed hard and his eyes bulged in their sockets. That’s what she was doing now! She was digging another grave—for him!

He fell back, gritting his teeth when the pain knifed through him again. Was he near death? Was she planning on letting him rot here and then burying him? He broke out in a cold sweat, feeling the stench of death cover him. To hell with that! He wasn’t ready to meet his maker! Goddammit, he had to get out of there!

Using all his strength, he sat up and, for a moment or two, he thought his head had crashed right through the ceiling. The room tilted sideways, making his stomach break loose inside him and float up into his chest. He struggled against the dizziness, but it overtook him and his eyes rolled back in his head. The room collapsed around him as a moan slipped past his lips and he dropped back into oblivion.

Cassie dropped the shovel and rubbed her hands together. She studied the red blotches across her palms, gingerly touching them and wincing from the sharp pain. Her feet felt like lead weights as she trod across the ground to the pump for a drink of water. The coolness soothed her throat and she drank deeply. The chestnut, which she had tied near the old chicken coop, chomped nosily at what sprigs of grass it could find.

She’d have to find something to feed that animal, Cassie thought. It was good having another pack animal on the place. Her Pa’s faithful mule Bawler had died the year before, and she and Pa had never had enough money to replace it. The chestnut wasn’t a pack animal though, she thought, correcting herself as she went over to it and stroked its silky mane. It was well bred and long of limb, with an intelligent face. The stranger had taken good care of it.

Looking over her shoulder at the cabin, her thoughts circled back to the man in her bed.

“Rook,” she whispered, trying out the name. Sounded like an outlaw’s name, but it was better than thinking of him as “the stranger.” One thing about it: she had to get used to having him around. She leaned her forehead against
the chestnut’s side. Make the best of it, she told herself. He’s here and he’s gonna be here for a spell. She’d agreed to doctor him and she’d stick to her word. With Jewel’s help, she might be able to get through the summer without having to sell the land. All she had was the land. And the mine.

Lifting her head, she looked in the direction of the mine and her earlier questions about Shorty’s death resurfaced. What kind of lowlife would shoot an old man in the back? She could only pray that the scoundrel was long gone and wouldn’t be back to finish her off.

The chestnut moved sideways, tired of supporting her weight, and Cassie left it and went into the cabin. It was stuffy inside, and she loosened the top button of her shirt and fanned her skin with a fluttering hand.

Resigned to the situation, she took off her bonnet and mentally prepared herself for the task of dealing with her patient. Cassie opened the bedroom door. Time to check on him and his mysterious gunshot wound, she told herself firmly. The sooner he was well, the sooner she could—She blinked her eyes several times before believing them. The bed was empty.

“Oh, Lordy!” Cassie gripped the bedpost and looked around the small room for him. He couldn’t have gotten far…. Her panic subsided when she noticed the muslin sheet that drooped over the side of the bed. Knowing full well what she’d find at the end of it, she stood on tiptoe and peered over the side of the bed. A startled gasp slipped through her lips when she saw him. One hand flew to her throat, where a tide of hot embarrassment swept upward. She could feel her eyes grow large and her heart pound furiously.

He was lying on the floor, and the only thing the sheet covered was one leg, bent at the knee. Sunlight covered the rest of him.

Propriety told her to avert her gaze, but something stronger and more potent kept it fixed on his exposed masculinity. She was dumbstruck by the foreign territory he presented. Like an explorer who had stumbled upon an undiscovered vista, she felt wonder creep through her and
quickly supplant her timidity. She gripped the bedpost, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she conducted a slow, thorough inventory. He was like her, but so unlike her.

Delightful differences
. That’s how Jewel had put it and Cassie understood that definition now that she had the proof of it in front of her.

She’d likened him to a hairy animal, and he was, but he was so much more than that. Powerfully built, as sleek and long limbed as a Thoroughbred. Black, curling hair darkened his legs, his arms, his chest, and even his buttocks! But it was the nest of ebony hair below his belly that flirted with her femininity. Her gaze kept moving back to it and the strange member that sprouted from it, bigger than she had imagined…. Shame crept over her. Not that she had ever thought much about what men carried between their legs, she excused herself. She hardly ever thought about it, but when she had dwelt on the question, she had imagined something smaller and less obvious.

He’s as God made him
. Jewel’s words came back to her, and Cassie pondered them. She’d seen nearly every male animal there was in that part of the country—everything from roosters to bulls—but the sight of this male made her tingle and feel … feel, well, sort of dizzy.

She swallowed hard and forced her gaze up to his wide chest, his broad shoulders, his thick neck. He was so big! All over, he was big. His thigh was two hands wide at least! How in heaven had she lifted him?

Cassie let go of the post and stepped around the corner of the bed to get a better look at his face. His midnight hair was thick and curly, falling onto his forehead and mingling with his black brows. She bent over to study his high cheekbones, pugnacious nose, and generous mouth. His lower lip was fuller than the top one, giving a brooding cast to his features. Cassie leaned closer and nodded appreciatively when she saw that his front teeth were white and healthy.

A smile teased up one corner of her mouth when she realized that she was examining him as she would a horse she was about to purchase. There was so much to look at!
Who would have thought that a man would be this interesting?

A thread of boldness wove through her and she reached out a hand and let her fingertips touch his shoulder. His skin was warm and tougher than hers, making her silently agree with Jewel’s earlier assessment that men were tough and women were soft. Her boldness increased and she pressed her palm flat against him before letting it slide down his upper arm where the hair started to grow. She had brushed her hands against her pa, but he had never felt like this. This man was young and vibrant. His arms were hard and long. Her curious eyes glanced over his thigh, bulging with muscle, and his stomach, flat and taut. He was … She paused, searching for the right word, then shrugging when only one came to mind. Beautiful. Yes, he was a beautiful beast.

A queer feeling coiled in her stomach and she pressed a hand there, alarmed at the reaction. She straightened up and let her other hand trail over his shoulder, her nails leaving little trails on his skin. He stirred and Cassie jumped back as if he’d growled at her. His dark lashes fluttered, and he rubbed his whiskered cheek against the cool floor.

“Blackie … ?” His voice was faint and hoarse. “Where … what?”

Cassie squared her shoulders and looked down the bridge of her nose at him. He straightened his bent leg and his wounded shoulder pressed against the unyielding floor. He groaned and his eyes opened to slits.

“I’ll help you back into bed,” Cassie said, moving around him and tucking her hands under his arms. The hair there was damp and Cassie gritted her teeth. So much hair! Were all men like this one? “Don’t you be falling out of it again. I’m tired of lugging you into it.”

“Blackie?” he murmured.

“No, I ain’t Blackie.” Was that his horse? No, couldn’t be, she corrected herself. Who would call a chestnut Blackie? “I’m Cassie Potter. Ma’am, to you.” She set her feet firmly and strained upward. He helped a little, turning himself around so that he could fall onto his back into the bed. His legs dangled over the side and Cassie sighed with exaggerated
exasperation as she slipped her hands beneath his knees and pulled his legs onto the mattress. “There.”