Promises Linger (Promise Series) (39 page)

She glared at the door. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she felt betrayed. “He just wanted the ranch.”

“Use your head, woman.” His response was curt. “The Tumbling M is a prime property of over three thousand acres. There’s no way the man would want the headache of the Rocking C on top. Hell, your land doesn’t even abut his.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“McKinnely’s a good man who was concerned, rightly enough, about a woman alone being taken advantage of.” He glared into her mutinous expression. “I respect him for it, even if you don’t have the sense to. He did what any honorable man would. He’s the only one of your neighbors who did anything remotely helpful.”

This time, she put the needle into his flesh without a quiver. He figured she’d caught his slight to Aaron. Her next sentence confirmed it. “Aaron came over often.”

“No doubt trying to prey on your emotions.”

“I am not an emotional woman.”

“You’re one of the most emotional women I’ve met, whether you show it or not.”

She stared at him in shock and horror. Hell, did she really think him that much of a fool? “I wasn’t insulting you,” he tacked on gruffly.

“I can be as hard-nosed as any man.”

“I never said you couldn’t be,” he backtracked, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings.”

“With an ounce of cooperation, I could run this ranch as well as you.”

“I’ve never doubted it.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Just because I don’t think you have to do a man’s job doesn’t mean I don’t think you could manage a fair approximation.”

She pulled the thread through another stitch. “There you go.”

“There I go where?”

She tied off the knot. “You just admitted you think I’m useless.”

“Hell, you’re determined to twist everything I say!”

“Don’t swear, and I am not.”

“You saying you can tail a full grown cow?”

“Well…”

“You saying you can wrestle down a bull for castrating and branding?” Her “no” was long coming. He pressed on. “You saying that, when you ride the range, men don’t see you as fair game?”

“Men get robbed, too.”

“But they don’t get raped and they don’t become targets just for the opportunity.” She didn’t have a ready argument for that. “And before you trot out some lame argument that you’re not afraid of being caught and violated, reconsider. You’re too damned smart not to have sweated the possibility.”

She closed her mouth. He had to suffer another stitch before she responded. “It doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“I never said you were, but you’re not a man, and whether you see it as fair or not, that’s the bottom line.”

She didn’t have an answer to that one either.

“When Aaron came over, I bet he didn’t talk about branding or the roundup.”

“No, but he was concerned. He knew we were being rustled. He wondered how it was affecting our ability to pay the bank note.”

“He knew about the note?”

“Of course he knew. If he hadn’t spoken for me, Mr. Dunn would have never honored his agreement with my father.”

“Your father negotiated the bank note?”

“Yes, but he died before the paperwork was done. Mr. Dunn didn’t want to honor it.”

“What would have happened if he hadn’t?”

“Do you mean would the ranch have gone under?”

“Yeah.”

“No. We were solvent.”

“Then why the hell go through with the deal?”

Pain made the exclamation sharper than he wanted. He’d be damned glad when they were done with this stitching.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look that sorry to him. “My father wanted to expand the breeding program. A lot of ranchers have been talking about crossbreeding Herefords with Longhorns. With the railroad coming through, he saw it as a way to capture the beef market back East.”

“What does Aaron have to do with that?”

“They were partners.”

“And he didn’t talk you out of it?”

She gave him a pitying glance. “You just got done pointing out how I can’t work a ranch like a man. If my father’s and Aaron’s plan worked, in a couple of years, I’d have enough money not to have to scrape.”

The needle touched his flesh again. “How many more stitches we got left?”

“Two.” Her voice was tight. No doubt because she’d just put the damned thing through his wound again.

“So Aaron and your father worked together on this?”

“Yes.”

Wheels began to churn in his brain. “Water would be pretty important to a plan like that.”

“Yes. The drought made it tough for Aaron. The cross isn’t as hardy as longhorns.”

“I noticed your father let Aaron use the waterholes here.”

“Yes.”

“There isn’t a written agreement?”

“No, but Aaron knows he’ll never be denied water.”

Aaron hadn’t struck him as that trusting a sort.

She eyed him suspiciously. “You haven’t been thinking of cutting him off?”

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Today, he added silently.

“Did Aaron have to borrow to finance his side of the operation?” he asked.

She frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not.” She made quick work of the next stitch. “He always seems to have plenty. Rumor is his wife has money of her own.”

Asa made a mental note to check that out. A man who could lose everything if water rights were taken away, was a man who bore watching.

“There.” Elizabeth sat back with a huge sigh of relief. “It’s done.”

He looked at the neat row of black stitches angling up his side. “Neat as a pin.” Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he let on how obscene he thought it looked.

She dipped the needle back in the bowl of whiskey. “As long as you don’t get an infection, you should be right as rain in no time.” She reached out and placed her hand on his forehead as if she expected a fever to conjure itself on suggestion alone.

“I’m too mean to catch a fever,” he told her, completely confident in his assertion. “One look at this ugly mug and fevers tuck their tails in pursuit of easier game.”

Her smile was weak. Uncertain.

He motioned with his fingers. “Bend on down here and give me a kiss.”

“Don’t you ever think of anything else?” she asked, yet doing as he bid.

His smile broadened as her lips touched his. “Not when you’re around, darlin’. Not when you’re around.”

Chapter Eighteen

He was burning with fever. Elizabeth bit her lip and dipped the cloth in the cool well water. She ran it over his face, then down his neck to his torso. Too ugly for a fever, indeed. Ha! The man was more like a God than a troll, and the proof lay in his festering wound.

Footsteps on the stairs indicated the return of Clint. A slower step followed and she figured it was Old Sam.

“Doc’s at the Hennessy’s,” Clint said after a soft knock.

She bit her lip. “He’s not coming?”

He shook his head. “Can’t, ma’am. Seems like Mr. Hennessy’s got some kind of poisoning. They don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night.”

She placed the cloth in the water. “Poor Jenna.” Hennessy wasn’t worth much, but he was still worth more alive than dead.

“Dorothy’s with her,” he said. “Jenna’ll be fine.”

She probably would, Elizabeth decided. Doc’s wife Dorothy was a beautiful woman who radiated caring and warmth. She’d see Jenna through.

“Elly?”

She took a breath and faced Old Sam. “Yes?”

“McKinnely sent me up here to tell you he’s going to take over rounding up those brush tails.”

God! She hadn’t even considered the cattle. “Would you thank him for me?”

“Already been handled.” Old Sam crushed his hat in his hand. “I’ll be going with them.”

“Of course.”

He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the bedroom door. “You gonna be all right?”

Before, no matter what the result, her answer would have been an unequivocal “yes”. Now, she wasn’t sure. If Asa died, would she be fine?

Her silence dragging long enough, Clint answered for her. “She’ll be fine.”

“Glad you think so, young’un,” Old Sam snapped, “but last I saw, Mrs. MacIntyre had a mouth on her face. From that, I figured she could speak for herself.”

“Can’t you see she’s busy, you old coot?” Clint shot back. “She’s got more on her mind than—”

Elizabeth pasted a smile on her face and leapt into the middle of the fray before it could become an argument. “I expect Asa’s fever to break tonight.” Old Sam cast Asa’s supine body a skeptical look. She firmed her voice with an extra dose of conviction. “Everything’s going to be all right. Thank you for asking, Sam.”

He smoothed the brim of his hat. “Guess we’d better get those critters gathered up then. Asa’ll be screaming blue thunder if we don’t.”

“Yes.” She looked at Asa’s flushed face, damp from her sponging. She’d give anything right now to see him rumble, let alone generate thunder. She infused all the confidence she could fake into her voice. “He will.”

He slammed his battered hat back on his head. “Then I’ll be getting those boys moving. No doubt they’ve been lazing about rather than packing. Can’t leave ‘em alone for a minute.” He was still muttering as he disappeared down the hall.

Elizabeth looked at Clint. He stood twirling his hat in that way he had, slow and unhurried. “Aren’t you going with him?”

“Nah.”

“Don’t they need you?”

“We figured I’d be better served here, what with my doctoring knowledge and MacIntyre being sick.”

He made it sound as if it were a reasonable decision based upon illness. It didn’t ring true. She looked at him again. “For this, you’ve come into my house wearing guns?”

Her question didn’t disturb the laconic twirling of his hat. His answer reflected the same unconcern. “Must’ve forgotten to take them off in all the excitement.”

She didn’t believe that for an instant. “Mr…?”

“Just Clint, ma’am.”

“Mr. Clint. I am not a fool. I don’t believe Asa fell off his horse anymore than I believe you forgot to take off your guns.”

“Asa said you kept a man on his toes, ma’am.” His hat continued to twirl at the same lazy pace.

“I’m not finding it particularly difficult when you all persist in treating me like a child.”

His chuckle at her wry statement was as easy as his manner. He was really beginning to irritate her.

She took another breath, picked up the cup of willow bark tea and coaxed a bit down Asa’s throat. “Mr. Clint?”

“Yes?”

“Are you any good with those guns?”

“Fair to middlin’, ma’am.”

Which she took to mean he could hit whatever he wanted. “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If anyone approaches this ranch, I want you to shoot them.”

“Any particular place?”

“Between the eyes would be nice. If you can’t manage that, try for the heart.”

There was a slight jarring in the twirl of the hat before he answered in his usual calm manner. “I take it we’re not asking questions?”

“If you do your job right, there won’t be any need.”

“No disputing that.”

She lifted the poultice over Asa’s stitches. If anything, the flesh looked angrier.

“Any improvement?” Clint asked.

“I think the swelling has increased and there are red streaks beginning.”

His resigned “damn” said it all.

Crossing to the hearth, he put another log in the fire. With the hand bellows, he pumped the flames high and hot. The three steps it took Elizabeth to reach his side seemed like an eternity. She handed him the long straight knife. He took it from her, his expression grim.

“I was hoping the poultice would work,” he said as he put the knife in the fire.

“So was I,” she admitted.

“We’re going to have to cut and burn out the infection.”

It was an unnecessary statement as they were halfway through the procedure. She watched the blade heat. The tip glowed red. Soon, the whole blade would glow and she’d have to lay it against Asa’s flesh. Listen to him scream. Smell his burned flesh. Her vision blackened at the corners. Her stomach rose.

“You want me to do it?” Clint asked.

She pushed back the nausea. “We’ve already been over this. I’m not strong enough to hold him down. You are. Therefore, I’ve got the job.” She took a deep breath. “We’re going to have to do it twice due to the way the wound curves.”

“You checked?”

At least five times. “Yes. I can’t get a clean line in one try.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “Wish that bullet that creased him had stayed flat rather than bouncing off that rib.”