The Outlaw Takes a Bride (27 page)

“I don’t mind, Sally.”

She jumped and whirled toward him. “Don’t touch me.”

Cam stepped back, a look of innocence throwing her into confusion.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything. I just wanted to get the bread down for you.”

Sally took a breath, trying to sort things out. For a few seconds, she had felt that Cam was a threat to her. Was she wrong? She was tired, and she hadn’t liked Cam almost from the start. Was she imagining something that wasn’t there?

She made herself pull out a smile. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of milk? There’s coffee on the stove, but I suppose it’s cooled off. Anyway, I know where everything is, and it will be quicker if I fix us both sandwiches by myself.”

“Sure, Sally. Whatever you say.”

Something in his tone rankled her. He sounded like a man hoping to appease an angry child.

She worked swiftly while he brought in the jug of milk and poured a tin cup full. She was determined to finish the meal preparation as soon as possible. A couple of minutes later, she plunked Cam’s plate in front of him. “There you go. I’m going to go stoke my laundry fire. I put some more water on to heat, and I want it to be warm when I finish eating.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Cam said.

“No, I’m fine. Go ahead and eat.”

Sally dashed out the door before he could stop her. She slowed immediately as the sun beat down on her. She hadn’t grabbed her bonnet. She’d have to move slowly and not stay out here long, but she had already determined that she wouldn’t go back inside until after Cam came out. She didn’t like being in there alone with him, whether justified or not.

As she had feared, the fire had died down to almost nothing. She stirred the ashes and found a few coals. The woodpile had shrunk considerably, but there was enough to heat this last cauldron, at least to warm it. She could rinse their trousers and shirts in cold water.

She picked up two sticks of dry, twisted wood. How far did Mark and Cam have to go to find even this poor fuel? Using the stove made more sense, except that firing it up on a day like this would make it far too hot for them to sleep inside. They could leave the windows open all night, and the cabin still wouldn’t be cool by morning. Maybe someday Mark would remember the idea of an outdoor oven.

Of course, Cam had been the one to bring that up first, and for that reason, Sally wouldn’t mention it. If one of them broached the subject, she would encourage them to go ahead with the project.

The feathery bark on the gnarled sticks caught fire suddenly, and the blaze leaped high. Sally jumped back, but not quickly enough. The hem of her skirt flared up in orange flames, with acrid smoke stinging her eyes.

“Oh!” Sally went to her knees and slapped at the burning cloth. The flames spread around the edge of the skirt, faster than she could quell them. The material seemed to melt away as a long, orange plume raced up the side of her skirt.

“Cam! Cam!” Her hands hurt as she clapped them over the worst part of the fire.

Rough hands grabbed her from behind and shoved her down.

“Roll!”

He pulled her over onto her side. Sally’s brain processed Cam’s presence and his command, and she rolled in the powdery dirt. Her calf screamed with pain, but she kept thrashing until he pressed heavily on her arm and back.

“Stop now, Sal. It’s over. It’s all right.”

She sat up, gasping and reached toward him. He grabbed her hands to pull her up, and she let out a little shriek.

“My hands!”

He turned them palm up and stared at her reddened flesh.

“What else?”

“My leg.”

“Your skirt’s still smoking. Stand up. We have to get it off.”

She stared at him. She would not disrobe in front of Cam, even if it killed her. But the water in her kettle was too warm to douse herself in.

“No. Get me a bucket of water.”

He opened his mouth and closed it then snatched an empty bucket from beside the fire pit. He wheeled and headed for the well.

Sally examined her skirt, separating the layers of burnt cloth carefully with her tender fingers. Her palms screamed with pain, but she had to make sure her skirt wouldn’t flare up again. At least it was her old, threadbare calico, not the new one. The fire had burned her leg, too, but Cam would never know how badly. She would make sure of that.

He came with the water, and she thrust both hands into the soothing coolness. After only a few seconds’ relief, the stinging, searing pain returned.

“Pour it over my skirt, please.”

Cam blinked and then stood back a pace. He swung the bucket, drenching the side where the flames had done the most damage. Sally braced herself for the shock of it, but it didn’t jar her as much as she had expected.

“I’m going in.” Her lips trembled, and her legs shook, too. She hoped she could make it inside without collapsing. “Can you bring me more water?”

“Of course. But won’t you let me carry you?”

“No!”

She limped toward the house, trying to hold together the edges of her tattered skirt. She gave that up after Cam turned away to go back to the well.

Her hands throbbed mercilessly when she tried to lift her skirt to mount the steps. She held them up and looked at them. Blisters were forming, and the rest of her palms were angry, red welts. Her fingertips also held blisters in various stages of development. She staggered up the steps, taking the risk of tripping on her hems.

She had reached the bedroom door when Cam came in behind her.

“Here, let me—”

“Don’t touch me.” The words she had spoken a quarter of an hour earlier struck her with a force that made her shiver. “I can take care of myself,” she said. “Just set the pail inside my room, please.”

She stood aside while Cam obeyed. He came out and paused before her.

“Leave me,” she said.

“I’ll go find Mark.”

“No. He doesn’t want to be here.” She wished she hadn’t said that. The appraising look in Cam’s eyes told her he parsed her words and reached conclusions, ones she didn’t want him to make.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “I’ll be outside. Call for me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“Thank you.”

She waited until he went out. In her bedroom, she closed the door and tried to unbutton the waistband of her skirt. Her seared fingertips sent lances of pain through her when they encountered the hard button. She clenched her teeth and forced the button through the buttonhole. From there, she was able to ease what was left of the skirt down, followed by her cotton petticoat. Ma always wore woolen skirts when she worked over an open fire. Sally should have followed her example, though in this heat she might have swooned wearing wool. She had brought one old winter woolen dress from St. Louis, thinking she would probably never wear it in Texas.

She stepped out of the circle of charred fabric and sat down on her bed. At once she wished she had asked Cam to fill her wash basin. She would not call him back, not for anything.

She got up slowly and hobbled to the water bucket. Bending over, she immersed her hands in the water for several seconds and then splashed a handful on her calf. A large red patch discolored the outside of her left leg below the knee. A smaller spot, about two inches long and half an inch wide, went deeper. The skin was peeling away. She wondered if Mark had any burn salve. If not, she would put butter on it—but she wouldn’t go out to the kitchen for it now. Cam could walk into the main room at any moment, and she wasn’t dressed.

She took a cloth from the washstand and soaked it then limped back to the bed. Cautiously, she worked her way onto the mattress and lay back on her pillow. Her hands and leg hurt so fiercely she wanted to cry out. Tears gushed from her eyes. If Ma were here, she would know what to put on the burns, and she would fix some soothing tea.

Dear God, please help me
.

She lay staring at the board ceiling and tried not to scream.

J
ohnny rode wearily into the barnyard. He was getting home later than usual, and the sun was already lowering. He’d spent half the day cleaning the spring and the other half bringing in some cattle that had broken through a weak place in a stretch of fence on his farthest boundary line. After two hours of chasing them up and down the hills, he’d finally gotten them inside the fence. Then had come the job of repairing it so they couldn’t get out again.

Cam was standing near the corral gate, obviously waiting for him. Before Johnny had even hit the ground, he blurted out, “Sally’s hurt.”

“What happened?”

“Burned herself doing the laundry.”

Johnny’s breath whooshed out of him. “How bad?”

“She said she can take care of herself, but I looked in the cabin a little while ago, and she hasn’t started the stove or anything. Her hands are the worst, I think, where she tried to beat it out.”

Johnny dropped Reckless’s reins and ran for the cabin. The front door was wide open, but the bedroom door was shut. He threw it open. Sally raised her head from her pillow and blinked at him.

“Mark?”

He stepped over a heap of discarded clothing, went to her side, and knelt by the bed. “Sally, are you all right?”

She looked around as though dazed, then back at him. “I must have slept.”

Her hair was damp, clinging in strands to her forehead. He pushed it back gently. “How bad is it?”

She raised her hands and stared at her palms. In the dim light, he could see that they were swollen. A blister the size of a silver dollar disfigured her right palm, and smaller ones had formed on her fingers. He took her wrist gingerly and turned her left hand toward him. It was even worse.

“Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry!”

“My skirt caught. It happened so fast.”

“Your skirt?”

She nodded, and he noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks. “My leg hurts, but my hands…”

She hadn’t put the quilt over herself, but one of the linen sheets covered her from her waist down. He pushed it aside.

“Don’t,” she choked.

His face heated. “I need to, Sally. It’s all right.”

He’d never seen a woman’s bare limbs before. He tried not to think about that but just concentrated on her burn. If this were his own leg he was looking at, what would he be thinking?

“Do you have any salve?” she asked.

“I…there might be something in the barn.” Tears spilled over his eyes, and he swiped at them with his cuff. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”

“Cam…” She stared at him, her lips trembling. “If Cam wasn’t here…”

“Thank God he was.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’ll find something to put on the burns.”

“It’s suppertime, isn’t it?” Her hoarse voice tore at him.

“Don’t think about that. I don’t want you to get up.”

“But I only gave Cam a sandwich this noon.”

“We won’t starve.” Johnny pushed to his feet. “What can I get you first?”

“A glass of water. And a basin full, so I can bathe my hands again.”

He looked toward the doorway and saw a bucket of water sitting there. “Can we use that?”

“Not for drinking. I put my hands in it before.”

“All right. I’ll get some fresh.”

He ran outside. Cam was leaning against the well berm.

“Cool water for Sally,” Johnny said.

Cam waved in acknowledgment.

Johnny went back inside and carried the bucket in the bedroom over to the washstand. He set aside the empty pitcher and poured a couple of quarts of water into the bowl.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

“Help me.”

Sally still wore the bodice of the dress she’d had on that morning, with her muslin chemise hanging down below it to her knees. Even so, Johnny could tell it mortified her that he was seeing her in this state of undress.

A quiet knock on the doorjamb made him cover her again quickly. Cam stood there with another pail of water.

Johnny took it from him. “Get me a cup?”

Cam fetched one and put it in his hand.

“Thanks,” Johnny said. “You’re on your own for supper.”

“I can fry up some bacon.”

Johnny nodded. He shut the bedroom door and dipped a cup of water for Sally. After setting it on the stand beside the bed, he grasped her wrists and pulled her up gently. She caught her breath, and her face went white.

“What hurts?” he asked.

“My leg.” She closed her eyes, and he thought she might have fainted. After several seconds, her eyelashes fluttered. “I’m sorry. Just help me get it over the edge of the bed, will you? It’s stiff and it hurts a lot, but if I could sit up, I think I could bathe it.”

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“No.”

“Yes. And I’ll dress it, too.” Careful not to touch her hands, he got one arm around her and eased her to the edge of the bed until she sat with her lower legs hanging down. Johnny brought over the cup of fresh water. “Ready?”

She reached for it instinctively but then drew back her hands. “Could you—?”

He put the rim to her lips and tipped the cup carefully. She drank half of it down and drew back.

“Thank you.”

Johnny set aside the cup and took a damp cloth that hung beside the washbowl. He rinsed it and wrung it out. “Now let me see the leg.” Kneeling beside her, he swabbed her wound tenderly. She gritted her teeth but said nothing.