Winter's Touch (39 page)

“Aye,” Innes told him, “she will do it because she disnae know what an ass ye be.”

Vickers’s face flushed crimson.

“I do know,” Winter Fawn said coldly. “Hunter told me what he said. But it disnae matter. ‘Tis the child that matters.”

Winter Fawn quietly walked to the edge of the hole and sat down with her legs hanging down into it.

“Winter Fawn.” Carson took a step toward her, then looked at the crumbling edges of the hole and stopped. She could see that he wanted to protest, but they both knew there was no one else to go after the girl. “You’ll be careful.”

“Aye.”

He looked at her another silent moment. She felt the need to say something, to tell him she loved him, but that seemed like a desperate act, as though she feared she was about to die. In truth, she wasn’t much afraid for herself. With a rope around her waist she would be safe enough. If anything went wrong, they could pull her out. It was the child she was concerned with.

But she did love him, and wanted to tell him. In the end, she said nothing.

Carson opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing he could say. What she was about to do should be safe enough. That he had a bad feeling about it was his problem. He would not put fear into her mind at a time like this. Finally he gave her a single nod and turned away. “We need a rope.”

“And a horse,” Hunter said. “We can tie the rope to the saddle horn. She’ll be safer that way than if we lower her ourselves.”

“Safer?” Vickers protested. “I don’t know of a horse in the area that’s trained for that kind of work, unless you got one yourself. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I’m her brother. The horse requires no training. Just—”

“Here’s a horse, mister.” The boy who had been sent to find Mrs. Vickers led a buckskin gelding toward Hunter. “He’s got a saddle an’ all. Will he do? He’s even got a rope.” There was a coiled rope tied to the saddle.

Hunter took the reins from the boy. His eyes were on the horse’s face when he spoke. “He’ll do fine, lad. What’s your name?”

The boy swallowed. “It’s Jimmy. Are you really a savage?”

Hunter smirked. “Nae, I’m half Arapaho. Thank you, Jimmy. Is this your horse?”

“Golly gee, no. All I gots is an ol’ mule named Sally, and she’s not even really mine.”

“A mule’s a fine, noble animal,” Hunter told him. “Smarter than a horse, more sure-footed.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Hunter kept his gaze on the horse, communicating silently through his eyes and his touch. “Who’s horse is this?”

“It’s Mr. Haley’s. He won’t mind. He’s over in the saloon gettin’ drunk. It’s okay, isn’t it, Mr. Vickers?” the boy asked earnestly.

Jimmy desperately hoped it was okay. It was his fault Juney was down in that hole. All he’d wanted to do was look down there, see if there were any neat snakes. If he hadn’t pulled the board away, Juney never woulda fallen down there when she tripped. He supposed he’d have to tell, but he figured everybody was plenty busy enough just then. He’d tell later.

Vickers shifted from one foot to the other. “I guess. He’s pretty docile.”

While Carson took the rope from the saddle, Hunter stroked the horse’s neck and whispered to him in the language of the Arapaho.

Jimmy’s eyes bugged. “What’d ya say to him?”

“I’m praising him, and telling him what he has to do.”

“Does he understand? Mr. Haley tells him to do stuff all the time and it don’t seem like it ever does any good.”

“That’s because he probably tells him in English. Most horses don’t understand English.”

“But they understand Arapaho?”

Hunter stroked the horse’s neck and smiled. “Some do, aye. This one understands just fine.”

A few feet away, Carson checked the knot at Winter Fawn’s waist one last time. “It’s good and tight. You’ll be all right.”

She touched his arm. That small, brief contact brought with it the urge inside him to grab her and carry her as far away as possible from this hole in the ground.

“I am not afraid, Carson.”

I am,
his mind screamed. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We’ll figure something else out. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“Is that what I’m doing? Trying to prove something?” Winter Fawn stilled and searched inside herself. “No,” she said slowly. “I dinna think so. I’m doing it because I seem to be the only one who fits in the hole.”

“Ready?” Innes asked.

Carson stood and checked the loop around the saddle horn. “All right. We’re ready.”

Hunter spoke into the horse’s ear, and the animal backed up until there was no slack in the rope. Then Hunter nodded to Winter Fawn.

Winter Fawn carefully braced herself against the sides of the shaft and lowered herself an inch at a time. Beneath her hands and feet, earth crumbled and fell on the child and down into the black hole next to her.

She had to bend and twist herself to get past the gnarled roots of some nearby tree. In some places there were holes in the sides of the shaft, worn there by water, or left when a rock finally gave way and fell. Some were shallow enough to make convenient footholds. Others were so deep she could not see the end of them. Like small tunnels snaking off from the shaft.

Winter Fawn grimaced. She wished she hadn’t thought of the word snake. She uttered a quick prayer that there were none in this hole.

Why did white people have to dig holes in the ground? Why did they chose to live where such a thing was necessary for water? There was water aplenty in the river.

Above, Carson and Innes were calling advice.

Winter Fawn ignored them. She had to concentrate on what she was doing. She had no desire to lose her footing and fall on the child, or have the rope cut into her waist by the force of her full weight dangling from it.

With every clod of dirt that fell on the child below her, Winter Fawn prayed the girl would not awaken.

The farther down she went, the less light there was. Yet when she finally reached the child, she had no trouble seeing that the girl’s leg was definitely broken. From up above, it hadn’t been as obvious.

Winter Fawn looked up to see a half dozen faces peering down at her. “Please.” She waved her hand, motioning them away.

“Let’s get back,” Carson said. “We’re blocking her light.”

She offered him a smile and a nod, then braced herself to get Juney. Before she picked her up, however, she looked up again. Only Carson and Mr. Vickers were there now. As small as the hole was, and the way she had to bend and stoop to reach the child, all they would be able to see for a moment would be her own back.

Satisfied, she leaned down and wrapped her hands gently around the girl’s leg.

Pain, instant and crippling, shot through her own leg. She bit back a cry and forced herself not to reach for it in reflex.

Concentrate. Let the pain in. Take it from the child. Heal her. Heal her.

The girl’s leg was cold. Winter Fawn’s hands were hot. Hot with the force of the gift she never wanted but could not deny. Sweat beaded across her brow and between her breasts. Her head grew light. The pain in her leg increased.

Then, the pain eased slowly, and her hands began to cool. When the pain was gone and the temperature of her hands felt normal, she knew the girl’s leg was mended.

Of their own accord, her hands moved to the girl’s head. There was injury there. A large knot, but nothing serious on the inside. She pressed her hand there until she felt the heat, the pain. Until both eased, and the child stirred.

“Mama?”

“Nae, Juney, but your mama is waiting for you. Be still now, so I can pick you up and take you to her.” She only hoped she had the strength to lift her and climb out of the hole. Healing the leg had left her trembling with weakness.

The girl’s eyes blinked open. “Who are you?”

“My name is Winter Fawn.”

The girl giggled. “That’s a funny name.”

Winter Fawn scooped her arms beneath the girl. “Is it, now? Can you put your arms around my neck?”

As the child complied, Winter Fawn saw a long angry cut down one forearm.

The injury was minor. She forced herself not to reach for it to heal it. She could not afford a further drain, even a slight one, on her strength. Nor could she afford to have the girl telling tales about her. Besides, she thought the child deserved a reminder of her adventure, and it would give Mrs. Vickers something to fuss over. When a child fell unconscious down a hole in the ground, a mother needed to fuss.

“Hold on tight now,” she cautioned. “Up we go.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Winter Fawn started up the shaft the same way she had come down, using the sides to brace herself. Except now she had a child hanging onto her, and she needed one arm to hold her in place, and two more to help her climb.

A touch of hysteria bubbled up inside her. Why, she wondered, couldn’t freaks have an extra arm instead of a head or eye?

The crumbling of the walls was worse this time. She placed her hand on a rounded rock, thinking it would be more stable. It shifted beneath her weight and rolled out from under her hand.

Winter Fawn cried out and slammed her shoulder and the side of her head against the wall. At the impact, Juney screamed and tightened her hold, nearly strangling her.

Had the hole been any wider, they both would have fallen.

Up above, Carson and Mr. Vickers swore.

“Are you all right?” Carson demanded.

Trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart, all Winter Fawn could do was nod her head. By the time she was able to straighten and loosen Juney’s strangling hold, she realized that she hadn’t heard the rock hit bottom. Maybe she had just been gasping too loudly.

Then she did hear something, and it stopped her heart. The buzzing hiss of a rattlesnake.

Where? Where was it? Below? Above? She couldn’t tell. The sound echoed along the shaft and sounded as if it came from everywhere.

All right. All right. No choice. She had to move. Up was the only choice.

Up above, the men swore again.

Carson’s throat closed.
Rattler!
He wanted to caution her not to move, but she couldn’t stay there. He wanted to snatch her up from that hole, but he couldn’t reach her. He wanted to shout at Hunter to back the horse up as fast as he could and jerk her free of the trap she was in. But such a sudden movement could cause the snake to strike.

Christ, it could already have bitten her.

“Winter Fawn?”

Without looking up, she shook her head and braced herself to move. The hissing rattle of the snake grew louder.

Now,
Winter Fawn thought.
Now I am afraid.
It threatened to paralyze her, this fear. She could not let it.
Move. Ignore the snake and get out.

She pushed herself up.

From below, over the buzzing of the snake, came the distant sound of a splash. The falling rock had finally hit bottom. The sheer distance was every bit as terrifying as the snake. Yet the snake was the more immediate problem, and she still didn’t know where it was.

Dinna think about it. Just move.

One inch. Then another. And another.

All around her the rattle sounded until it filled her head. The urge to scream built. She clenched her teeth together and inched up a little farther. Almost there. Just a little more.

“I’ve got her,” Carson called.

Suddenly Juney was pulled from her arms. Winter Fawn sagged in relief.

It was then that the snake struck.

Winter Fawn cried out.

“Shit.” Carson passed the little girl to Vickers. “Hunter! Back the horse. Now!”

The instant he could reach her, he pulled her from the hole and into his arms. “Did it get you? Winter Fawn, look at me. Did the snake bite you?”

Winter Fawn closed her eyes and swallowed. “Aye.”

“Jesus. Where?” His hands raced over her frantically. “Where?”

“My left leg.” Her hand was shaking when she pulled her skirt up to her knee and twisted her leg so show him the back of her calf. Four punctures showed in the rawhide legging attached to her moccasin.

Hugging her daughter tight, Mrs. Vickers approached. “Is she all right?”

“No.” Carson bit back another curse and used his bandanna as a tourniquet just below her knee. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go down there.” Not too tight, but tight enough, he hoped to stop the flow of venom. “I knew something would go wrong.”

As gently as he could, he pulled the legging and moccasin off. God, his hands were shaking. She was bleeding freely from all four puncture wounds. The fangs had sunk in deep, and the spread of the bite was wide, indicating a large snake.

“Innes!”

“Right here, lad. Ach, lassie.”

“Dear Lord,” Mrs. Vickers cried. “Oh, you poor girl. My Juney’s leg wasn’t broken after all. She barely has a scratch, and now you’re hurt.”

“She’s all right, then?” Winter Fawn asked.

“Yes, thanks to you. Why, you saved her life.”

Carson pulled his belt knife free. “Hold her,” he told Innes, “so I can get to her leg.”

Mrs. Vickers stepped back, and her husband wrapped his arm around her while they watched solemnly.

After being passed from one man to the other, Winter Fawn twisted in her father’s arms to look at the bite. She instantly wished she had not. The back of her leg was already red and swollen for inches around the bite marks. When Carson leaned over her with his knife, she swallowed and looked away.

Carson wished he could do the same, but he could not. Gritting his teeth, he made a short cut over each puncture wound. God love her, she only flinched once. Then he bent down and placed his mouth over the cuts and sucked. The coppery taste of her blood filled his mouth. He turned his head and spat, then repeated the process over and over.

“You’ll want to make her as comfortable as possible,” Mrs. Vickers said. “Please, bring her to our house. She can have our bed while she recovers.”

“That’s kind of ye,” Innes said.

“Thank you,” Winter Fawn managed. She wasn’t feeling well at all. “But I want to go home.”

Finished with her leg now, Carson wiped his sleeve across his mouth. Winter Fawn swallowed. Her blood was smeared on his cheek.