Lorraine Heath (6 page)

He retrieved a rope halter that was hanging on the wall and slipped it onto Black Thunder before leading the stallion into the sunshine. At the corral, he bent and brought the horse’s foreleg up between his knees. He studied the festering wound and wondered if his back had looked this nasty when Miss Grant had tended it.

Releasing the foreleg, he knew he wouldn’t be traveling today. He looked toward the house. The dog had either captured the butterfly or given up because he was stretched out beneath the shade of a distant tree. A weakness settled in Austin’s legs. It galled him to have to admit Loree may have been right—he wasn’t quite recovered.

He ambled to the tree. Always watchful, the dog opened an eye and closed it. A flash of yellow caught Austin’s attention and he shifted his gaze. He leaned against the rough tree trunk. A strange sense of contentment stole over him as he watched Loree stand in the middle of a vegetable garden with a fawn nibbling something out of her cupped palm. Three other deer tore up the growing foliage. A family, he mused, and discontentment edged the peacefulness aside.

“I could string up some barbed wire for you,” he said.

The deer bounded into the thick grove of trees. Loree turned, her lightly golden brows drawn tightly together. “Why would I need barbed wire?”

“To protect your garden. Keep the pesky critters away.”

She looked toward the trees where the deer had disappeared. “They aren’t pesky, and I always grow more than I need.” She walked toward him, eyeing him suspiciously. “How are you feeling?”

Like he’d fallen from his horse, caught his foot in the stirrup, and been dragged across the state.

“A little tired. Do you have any kerosene? My horse’s hoof is festering. I need to tend it.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to check his hoof.”

“You shouldn’t have to be concerned with my horse at all.”

Or with me.
He’d shown her far more of himself than he wanted her to see. She was a stranger, but he had disconcerting memories of telling her things …

He followed her into the house and retrieved his knife from his saddlebag while she found the kerosene. By the time he returned outside, she was waiting beside Black Thunder, stroking the horse’s mane.

Stepping away from the stallion, she dropped her gaze to the knife Austin held. “Do you want me to hold his head?”

“It’s not necessary. He’s trained.” Giving the horse his backside, he brought the hoof up between his knees and dug the knife into the wound. He heard a whinny just before the sharp pain ricocheted through his butt. He dropped the hoof and jumped away from the horse. “Son of a—! Damn!”

He rubbed his backside while glaring at the horse that tossed its head like a woman might tilt her nose with indignation. Then he heard the laughter.

Light and airy, like a star drifting down from the heavens. He turned his attention to the woman. She had pressed her fingers against her lips, but he saw the corners of her mouth tilting up, carrying her smile to her eyes, shining like a golden coin. “You think it’s funny, Miss Grant?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Mr. Leigh. It’s just not what I would have
trained
him to do.”

A bubble of laughter escaped from between her lips and it touched a chord of warmth deep within his chest. “Believe me, he picked that trick up while I was gone.”

She dropped her hand, and he watched as she fought to contain her smile. “You just don’t seem to have any luck.”

“Oh, I have luck, Miss Grant. Unfortunately, it’s all bad.”

Her smile withered. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t the cause of it.” He jerked his thumb toward the horse. “I’ll hold his head if you’ll rub the kerosene into his hoof.”

He grabbed the halter on either side of Black Thunder’s head. When Loree bent to grab the hoof, Austin almost thanked the horse for nipping him. Her skirt lifted to reveal her bare ankles and pulled taut across her backside. How in the hell had he mistaken her for a boy the day before? His fever must have addled his brain.

Loree Grant was a tiny bundle of delicate femininity. Just as she had at the stove, she swayed her hips slightly with the motion of her hand, rubbing the kerosene into the horse’s hoof. Sweet Lord, it was pure torture to watch, to imagine that backside pressed against him, circling—

She dropped the hoof, straightened, and faced him. “Is there anything else I need to do for the horse?”

He swallowed hard and unclenched his fingers from around the halter. “Nope.”

She lowered her gaze and drew a wiggly line in the dirt with her big toe. “I should probably”—she glanced up quickly, then down—“check your backside, make sure he didn’t break the skin.” She lifted her gaze. “You don’t want to get an infection”—she waved her hand limply in the air—“back there.”

He smiled warmly. “No, ma’am, I surely don’t. I swear, Miss Grant, when I stopped here yesterday, I had no intention of putting you to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Leigh. Besides, I’ll put the tincture of iodine on it to begin with so it shouldn’t fester at all.”

He watched her hurry to the house and decided it was a good thing that the medication burned hotter than hell. Otherwise, he didn’t know how he’d endure her gentle fingers touching his backside without his body reacting and making a fool of him.

Loree pumped the water into the sink, then set about scrubbing her trembling hands. What in the world had possessed her to offer to look at Austin Leigh’s backside? She wondered if the tincture of iodine would be as effective if she simply poured it into a pan and told him to sit in it and soak his wound. If there was even a wound to soak.

She heard his boots hit the porch. She inhaled deeply, grabbed a towel, and dried her hands. She glanced over her shoulder. He stood in the room, looking as uncomfortable as she felt.

She’d drawn the curtains aside allowing the late morning sun to pour inside. She pointed to a chair opposite the one he’d used that morning. “I can probably use the sun best if you stand there.”

He gave her a long slow nod, but she thought she saw worry reflected in his blue eyes.

“I’ll be gentle,” she assured him.

“That’s not what concerns me,” he grumbled as he moved to stand behind the chair.

She grabbed the bottle of iodine and a cloth. She hurried to the table, but once she arrived she wished she’d walked more slowly. She pulled the stopper and soaked the cloth. She only wanted to do this once, really didn’t want to do it at all. She glanced up. He was staring hard at something on the far wall.

“I … I guess you need to lower … your britches,” she said hesitantly.

She saw a muscle in his cheek jerk.

“Why don’t you get behind me?” he suggested.

She stepped around him and tried not to think about the buttons his fingers were releasing. Her breath came in short little gasps. She watched as he grabbed the back of his britches and struggled to lower one side while keeping the other raised. He bent over slightly.

“Can you lift your shirt?” she asked.

She stared in amazement as his skin came into view. So incredibly white that it reminded her of clouds on a summer day, but just above his hip, his skin turned as brown as soil. He must have often worked without a shirt, and she realized with sudden uneasiness that she was about to touch a part of him that the sun had never seen.

“Is the skin broken?”

She flinched at the harshness in his voice and dropped her gaze to the area where he had halted his britches’ downward journey. Torn flesh and blood marred his otherwise smooth backside. “Yes.”

Gingerly she touched his britches, the tip of her finger skimming over him. He jumped as though she’d pressed a red-hot brand to his flesh.

“I’m sorry. I just … I just need to lower these a little more.” She brought them down as far as she dared, grateful the horse had nipped him high on the cheek.

She pressed the iodine to the wound, heard his sharp intake of breath, and saw his fingers tighten around his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Trust me. The more it stings, the better.”

She heard the strain in his voice and worked as fast as she could, pressing the cloth to the wound—

“Good God Almighty! What are you doing, Loree?”

Loree spun around at the unexpected voice, lost her balance, and toppled into Austin as he was turning, struggling to pull up his britches. He reached out to steady her, swore harshly, and released her to grab his britches before they slipped any lower.

Loree would have laughed if it weren’t for the young man standing in her doorway, glaring at her. Her heart was pounding so hard that it sounded like a herd of horses stampeding between her ears. “Dewayne, what are you doing here?”

Dewayne Thomas removed his hat, his blond hair glinting in the sunlight, his brown eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Austin. “Come to check on you after last night’s storm. Heard there were tornadoes about. Wanted to make sure you were all right.” He jutted out his chin. “Who’s this?”

“Mr. Leigh. He was traveling to Austin, but his horse came up lame—”

“So how come he’s taking off his clothes in your house?”

“He wasn’t taking off his clothes. He was treating his horse and it nipped his backside.” She held up the stained cloth as evidence. “I was just applying some tincture of iodine to his wound so he wouldn’t get an infection.”

“Good God, Loree, I’d think you’d have more sense than to let a stranger into your house after that man murdered your family.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Austin Leigh jerk his head around, his gaze boring into her.

“What do you know about this here fella?” Dewayne asked.

“I know all I need to know.”

“You know what a man can do once his britches is undone?”

“That’s enough, Dewayne!” she yelled. She hurried to the sink, threw the cloth into it, and began frantically pumping water and washing her hands. Tears stung her eyes, and she felt the heavy silence permeating the room. She heard the hesitant footsteps.

“I meant no harm, Loree, but I was Mark’s best friend. He’d want me watching out for his sister.”

She grabbed a towel, began to dry her hands, slowly turned, and forced herself to smile. “I know, Dewayne.”

As though her words reinforced his position, he turned to Austin. “What’s your business in Austin?”

“My business in Austin is my business,” Austin said, his eyes hard, his mouth a firm line. “But I’m no threat to Miss Grant. As soon as my horse is healed, I’ll be on my way.”

Dewayne snorted. “I’m supposed to believe that just ‘cuz you say so.”

“I’ve lied once in my life and it nearly cost my brother his life. I’d need a damn good reason before I’d lie again.” He tilted his head toward Loree. “I appreciate your gentle ministrations, Miss Grant. I’ll finish tending to my horse now.”

She watched him walk through the door, his back stiff, and she somehow knew that Dewayne’s distrust had wounded Austin more than his horse or some man in a saloon had.

“I don’t like him being here,” Dewayne said, the inflection in his voice reminding her of a petulant three year old. “What if he finds out what we did?”

“How’s he gonna find out?”

Dewayne pushed out his bottom lip. “You might tell him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You trust him enough to drop his britches, you might trust him with our secret.”

“He has no interest in anything around here. He just wants to get his horse healed so he can move on. He’s been a perfect gentleman. He chopped wood for me—”

“I coulda chopped wood for you.”

Smiling softly, she touched the nick on his chin, remembering when he’d ridden over after his first shave, wanting to show it off. “You can’t always watch out for me.”

Dewayne blushed and ducked his head. At moments like this she found it difficult to look at him and not see what her brother might have been as a man. He had only been fourteen when the killer had hanged him from the rafters. Only fourteen. How often had she wished she had been the one to die, and he the one to live?

“Then why don’t you move to town, Loree?”

“I like living here.” In her self-imposed exile, her punishment for what had happened that night and all that had followed.

“But what if some fella stops by who ain’t a gentleman?”

“I have my rifle and Digger. Remember how he attacked you the first time you showed up after I’d found him?”

Dewayne laughed. “I still got the scars on my calf. You sure it was the man’s horse and not Digger that bit him?”

Loree tilted her head in thought. “Oddly enough, he only growled at Mr. Leigh. He didn’t attack him.”

“Maybe Digger is getting to be like you. Too trusting.”

Smiling, she shook her head. “No, he chased away a man in a medicine show wagon last week. I think Digger would attack anyone he thought would harm me.”

“Well, if the storm didn’t do any damage here, then I reckon I’ll head home. If that fella’s still around tonight, you bolt the door.”

Simply to appease him, she said, “I will.”

She walked outside with him, hugged him as she always did—the way she had hugged her brother—and watched him mount his horse and ride away. Then she strolled over to the man who was brushing his stallion near the corral.

“Dewayne meant no offense,” she said quietly.

“None taken.” He stopped brushing his horse and met her gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me someone had murdered your family?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d lied?”

“It’s not the same.”

“How is it different?”

“It just is.” He walked around his horse and began brushing the other side as though he needed to put distance between them. “I told you I served time in prison for murder.” His hand stilled, his blue gaze capturing hers. “I’m not a murderer.”

Her throat tightened. She knew he spoke the truth. He wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer. Remembering the puckered flesh on his shoulder—a scar similar to the one she possessed—the kind of scar a healing bullet wound left behind, she imagined he had killed in self-defense, shooting the man who had shot him. “I know that. You don’t have the eyes of a murderer.”

He seemed to relax as though she’d lifted a burden from his shoulders. “Who did he hang?” he asked, his voice low.