Love Inspired Historical June 2014 Bundle: Lone Star Heiress\The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart\The Gentleman's Bride Search\Family on the Range (3 page)

As soon as he turned away, she closed her eyes. Then she suddenly remembered what it was she needed to tell him and her heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly. “Mr. Parker.”

He turned and took a step back toward her. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

“It's about Jubal. You should know, he turned up lame yesterday. It's why we're camped here.” She hoped he'd show Jubal the same kindness he'd shown her.

His expression tightened, but he nodded and continued on his way.

Ivy watched as he made quick work of collecting her few items. For a big man, he moved with surprising grace.

She closed her eyes again. Sometime later she heard Mr. Parker talking, though she couldn't quite make out the words. His tone was soothing and a bit distant.

Prying her eyes open, she watched him approach Jubal. The mule eyed him suspiciously, ears flicking forward. Gradually, though, the animal relaxed, and by the time Mr. Parker attempted to stroke his nose, Jubal seemed ready to eat from his hand.

Satisfied, Ivy let her lids fall shut again.

“Miss Feagan.”

The voice seemed much closer this time and when she opened her eyes he stood over her, a worried look on his face. His horse stood just behind him.

“I'm okay,” she assured him. “Just resting my eyes.”

If anything, the concern in his expression deepened. “This is Seeley. He's a well-behaved horse with an easy gait. I know you're probably not feeling up to a ride, but the cabin isn't far and I don't know of any better way to get you there.”

She tried to focus on the animal. He was big—probably had to be to carry such a rider. But how did the man expect her to mount? “I can ride, but getting into the saddle might be tricky.”

His lips quirked up at that but he nodded solemnly. “I think we'll be able to work that out.” He offered his hand. “Do you think you can stand for just a moment if I help?”

“Of course.” At least she hoped so.

He placed his hand under her elbow and gently guided her into a shaky standing position. Unfortunately, her legs felt more like limp rope than bone and muscle. If he hadn't been supporting her she probably would have toppled over. Still, if she could get a good grip on the saddle and he formed a stirrup with his hands, she might be able to—

Before she could complete the thought, he'd scooped her up in his arms.

Caught by surprise, her arms reflexively slid around his neck. “What in blue blazes do you think you're doing?” The man, for all his well-meaning kindness, was much too high-handed for her liking.

He hefted her, pulling her unsettlingly closer against his chest. “I'm helping you into the saddle.”

The ease with which he lifted and held her was impressive. She wasn't a petite woman, but he made her feel almost dainty. And the sensation of being held in such a way was unnerving. Though, strangely, she felt completely safe.

He looked down at her uncertainly. “It would be best if you rode astride rather than sidesaddle.”

Ivy shrugged, or at least what passed for a shrug in her current position. She shook off her irritation at the same time. This was merely an expedient way of getting her on the horse, nothing more personal. “It's my preferred method of riding, anyway.”

He stared into her eyes, and she felt the full power of his gaze. He seemed to be gauging her strength and her resolve. Would he find her wanting?

As she stared back, the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes drew her in with surprising intensity.

She finally blinked and the connection—if it had ever been there—disappeared.

He cleared his throat. “Once I get you up there, do you think you can keep your seat?”

“Of course.” She'd have to, wouldn't she?

Was he really planning to
lift
her bodily into the saddle?

As if in answer to her question, he did exactly that. Mr. Parker kept a supportive hand at her waist until she'd grasped the saddle horn and swung her leg over.

“How are you feeling?”

Was he concerned for
her
or just for the trouble her passing out would cause?

She'd felt dizzy for a moment, but that had settled into a merely foggy sensation. “I'm fine.” Then she frowned. “How are you planning to travel?” Would he try to climb up behind her? How did she feel about that?

“As I said, it's not far. I'll walk.”

He turned the horse and led it toward Jubal, but his gaze rarely left her. It was disconcerting to be the focus of those very direct brown eyes. He quickly tied Jubal's lead to his horse's saddle then moved to her left. She noticed Jubal only carried a saddle, and realized he'd loaded her things onto his own horse. It was more kindness for her animal than she'd expected.

“Still doing okay?” he asked.

She forced a smile. “I'm ready when you are.”

“I'll be right here at your side. If you start feeling the least bit faint, let me know. Better to delay us than to risk your falling over.”

She nodded and he patted the horse's side and clicked his tongue to set the animal in motion.

As they headed down the road, Ivy smiled drowsily at the thought of what an odd procession they made. She was in the lead on his horse, he walked on her left, Jubal followed on the right and Rufus alternately led and padded alongside.

The pounding in her head was amplified with each step the horse took, but she was determined not to worry her self-appointed caretaker more than necessary. She
would
remain conscious and she
would
stay in this saddle until they reached this cabin of his.

Because the alternative wasn't only dangerous and inconvenient.

It would also be altogether mortifying.

Chapter Three

M
itch kept a close eye on his injured charge as they traveled back to the cabin. He hadn't been fooled by her assurances that she was okay. He'd seen the tremble in her hands, the glaze of pain in her eyes, and the way she fought to maintain focus. The sooner he got her to the cabin, the better. But jarring her too much wouldn't do, either. He only hoped she had enough sense to let him know if she needed to stop.

The trip, which had taken only twenty minutes on his way out, took nearly an hour on the return. He paused their little caravan a few times to give her a rest from the jarring movements and make her drink some water, but otherwise he kept them moving at a slow, steady pace. At least there was no sign of fresh blood seeping from underneath her bandage. Perhaps the worst really
was
over.

Throughout that endless trip he tried to keep her talking, to make certain she was both conscious and aware. Fortunately, talking seemed to be something she enjoyed. Not that they had a coherent conversation. She mostly rambled and his contribution was limited to an occasional question whenever the pauses drew out.

Mitch learned she came from a small town called Nettles Gap and that she lived with someone she called Nana Dovie. He also learned the life history of her dog and her mule, and what great companions they'd been on this trip.

She continued to assure him she was all right whenever he inquired, but by the time he called for the third rest stop he could see she was starting to droop. So when the cabin finally came into view he wanted to shout, “Hallelujah.”

“Almost there,” he said bracingly.

She straightened and he could almost see her gather her strength as she squinted ahead.

He directed Seeley right up to the front porch before he called a halt. “Now you're going to have to let go of the saddle horn and slide right down into my arms. Don't worry, I'll catch you.”

To his surprise, she displayed none of the suspicion she'd exhibited earlier. Perhaps it was because she was exhausted and hurting, but he hoped it was at least partly because she had begun to trust him.

A moment later, she'd half slid, half fallen into his grasp. And for the second time he thought how nice she felt in his arms, how he wanted to protect her from harm.

“If you'll set me down, I can walk from here.”

He ignored her and headed up the steps. She didn't argue further, which in and of itself worried him. After a bit of tricky one-handed maneuvering, he got the door open without jostling her too badly, then carried her inside and set her on the sofa.

“I'm going to check your bandage. It won't take but a minute, then you can lie down.”

Without a word, she slumped against the cushion and closed her eyes.

He watched her a moment. She looked so vulnerable, so achingly brave as she tried to hold herself together. His hand moved to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, then stopped just short of its goal. His hand slowly withdrew, as if it had a mind and conscience of its own.

This burgeoning awareness of her as more than a person in need of aid was dangerous and had to be smothered before it could go any further.

He turned and moved to the counter, ready to put some distance between them.

* * *

Ivy focused on remaining conscious, at least conscious enough to not fall over. She didn't want to get blood and dirt all over his furniture. There were probably all sorts of other things she should be worried about, but for now the only thing getting through her foggy mind was the longing for the promised bed and the chance to sleep undisturbed.

She didn't realize Rufus had followed them inside until he nudged her leg with a worried whine. She placed a hand on the dog's head without opening her eyes. “I'm okay, boy. Just need to rest for a bit.”

Sometime later—she wasn't sure how long—Mr. Parker returned. “Now, let's have a look.” She felt the tug as he removed the cloth pad that had stuck to the blood.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“The bleeding's stopped. I'm going to put a clean bandage on it and then let you rest while I cook some soup.”

As he pressed the cloth against her head a moment later, Ivy marveled at what an amazingly gentle touch he had for such a big man.

Then he was done. She opened her eyes to see him examining his work. He made a small adjustment to the bandage, then met her gaze. “Ready for your nap?”

She'd
been
ready. But she'd rather not be carried again. It was a mite too unsettling. “Yes. If you'll lend me a hand and show me the way, I'd prefer to walk.”

He frowned, but finally nodded.

Good to know he wouldn't just ignore her wishes willy-nilly.

He placed a hand at her elbow and helped her up. Then, slowly, led her to a door next to the fireplace.

Leaning on him more than she cared to admit, Ivy stepped inside a cozy bedchamber. As soon as she was seated on the edge of the bed, her rescuer knelt down and unlaced her boots.

She studied his bent head, strangely entranced by the whorl of hair at the top. What would he do if she reached down and touched it? She stopped herself just short of acting on that thought. What was wrong with her? That knock on the head must have affected her more than she thought.

When he'd removed both her shoes, he hesitated a moment, then went to work removing her socks. The sensation of his hands on her skin sent little tingles through her that caught her unawares.

She must have made an inadvertent movement because he glanced up.

“Sorry if that was uncomfortable,” he said as he stood.

She wasn't sure how to respond so said nothing.

He studied her uncertainly, and she wondered if he was worried about putting her to bed. But before she could reassure him that she could take it from here, he turned, suddenlike, and marched to a chest across the room. He came back with a bundle that he shoved at her.

As she took it, she realized it was a nightgown. But whose?

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I thought you might want to change. I don't think Reggie would mind if you borrowed this.” He turned and quickly moved to the door.

Once there, however, he paused. “I'll leave this open just a crack. If you need anything, call out.”

He smiled as Rufus padded in. “It appears you'll have company.”

As he left, she had two completely unrelated thoughts. The first was that it was kind of him to allow her dog inside the cabin.

And the second was, just who was Reggie and what was she to him?

* * *

Mitch unsaddled, then fed and watered both Seeley and Miss Feagan's mule. He patted the mule's side as the animals dipped their heads in the feed trough. Jubal's limping had gotten more pronounced the farther they'd walked. It would be best if he was allowed to rest for a couple of days before they set out again. Which meant a trip to town would not be on tomorrow's agenda, not unless they left the animal behind.

Which posed another problem. Miss Feagan's presence had become more than just an intrusion on his privacy. Now he had her reputation to worry about.

Of course, one could say that a woman who traveled alone in these backwoods probably wasn't terribly concerned with her reputation, but he didn't know the full story on that. Nor was that an excuse for him to treat the issue lightly.

There was nothing he could do to salvage the situation—it wasn't as if he could snap his fingers and make a chaperone appear. He'd just have to do what he could to make her comfortable and hope for the best.

On the way back to the cabin, Mitch noticed the stack of firewood was low, so he grabbed the ax from the shed and spent the next twenty minutes replenishing the pile.

Wiping his face with the tail of his shirt, he decided a quick dip in the lake to cool off and clean up wouldn't be amiss.

He quietly entered the house, wanting to check on the patient before he got out of hailing distance. He pushed her bedchamber door open just enough to look inside. The dog, lying beside the bed, lifted its head to stare at him. He stared back, keeping his demeanor impassive, and after a moment the dog lowered its head again. However, the animal's watchful gaze never left Mitch's face.

Miss Feagan, on the other hand, didn't stir. She lay on her side under the covers with that thick mahogany braid of hers mostly unbound. He watched her a moment, assuring himself she was sleeping and hadn't passed out again.

In sleep her expression lost most of the hardness that suspicion and pain had given it. With her hair flowing over her shoulder and that generous sprinkle of freckles, she had the look of a schoolgirl. The guilt he'd felt for his part in her fall washed over him again. Along with something protective and tender.

He wanted to find whoever was responsible for her and give them a piece of his mind for allowing her to end up in this situation. She deserved better.

Then Mitch remembered something he'd heard once about head injuries, something about not letting the injured party sleep too deeply. He hated to rouse her, but he'd hate it even more if he didn't and she got worse.

He squeezed her hand while he said her name. He had to do it three times before her eyes opened.

She glanced up at him, obviously disoriented. “What is it?”

“Nothing important. Go back to sleep.”

With a nod, she closed her eyes and snuggled down deeper into the pillow. He pulled out his pocket watch and noted the time. He'd repeat the process every thirty minutes for the next several hours, just to be safe.

Mitch started to ease back out when he spotted the pile of dirty clothing she'd left on the floor. She'd need something clean to wear whenever she recovered enough to leave the bed. He crossed the room under Rufus's watchful gaze, gathered up the discarded clothing, then left, pulling the door behind him until only the barest crack remained.

Pausing just long enough to give the soup simmering on the stove another stir, he headed back out.

* * *

Ivy frowned as a soft
woof
intruded on the peace of her sleep. Rufus did it again and she reluctantly gave up on trying to sink back into oblivion.

“What is it, Rufus?” Even to her, her tone sounded petulant. Then she saw Mr. Parker standing in the doorway and her cheeks heated.

“Sorry if I disturbed you,” he said. “I was just checking to see if you were ready for some soup. If you'd rather continue sleeping, though, the food will keep until you're ready.”

She eased herself up against the pillows, wincing at the throbbing of her head. “Actually, food sounds good.” Her cheeks heated again as her stomach loudly echoed those sentiments. She certainly wasn't making a very good impression. “If you give me a minute to collect myself, I'll join you at the table.” She wondered if there was a robe in that trunk he'd pulled the nightgown from.

But he shook his head. “You stay put and I'll fetch you a bowl.”

Before she could argue, he changed the subject. “How's your head?”

“Better.” Not exactly a lie. The throbbing had eased.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted her knife resting in easy reach on the bedside table. It was likely his way of trying to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from him, and her heart softened a little more. He really was a very kind, honorable man. She was no longer worried about his intentions, even though she was still at his mercy.

He stepped closer. “Mind if I check?”

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her injury, and she turned to give him access to the back of her head. As he bent nearer to study the bandage, she felt suddenly shy and vulnerable. Both feelings were foreign to her and that made her edgy and unsettled. It didn't help that as he checked the bandage, his hands brushed against the nape of her neck and she shivered in reaction.

It was just an aftereffect of her fall, she told herself.

He stilled. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She tried to keep her tone light. “I guess I'm more woozy than I'd thought.”

“Understandable.” He straightened and stepped back. “I'll get that soup. Food and rest are what you need.”

He was right—that was all she needed. Then she'd be back to her old self.

She tried to shake off those earlier feelings as she settled more comfortably and watched him exit. Better to focus on the savory smell wafting in from the kitchen. If the aroma was any indication, he was as good a cook as he was a caretaker.

Rufus plastered his front paws onto the mattress. “Hello, boy. I guess I haven't been very good company the past—” She paused. How long
had
she slept? Ivy glanced toward the window and frowned at the lengthening shadows. It had obviously been more than an hour or so.

Then her brow furrowed as hazy images of him repeatedly checking in on her floated at the edge of her memory. Had that really happened? Or had she dreamed it?

When he returned a few minutes later carrying a steaming bowl balanced on a tray, she edged up straighter. “How long was I asleep?”

“About six hours.”

“Oh, my goodness. You must think me an awful slugabed.”

“Rest is the best medicine at times like this.”

As he helped her settle the tray onto her lap, she inhaled appreciatively. “Smells good.”

He gave a small smile. “Only because you're hungry. I don't usually cook for anyone but myself and I make no claims that it's more than passable.”

“I'm sure you're being too hard on yourself.” She picked up the spoon, then frowned when he pulled up a chair. “Aren't you going to eat something, too?”

“I ate earlier. I'll get more later.” He settled back in the chair. “I thought I'd keep you company, if that's okay?”

What was he up to?

Then she took herself to task. She had to stop being so suspicious of menfolk—not everyone was a mean-spirited polecat like Lester Stokes. Mr. Parker was nice and seemed to expect nothing in return. He probably just wanted to make sure she didn't faint into her bowl while she ate.