Claiming the Cowboy's Heart. Linda Ford
Читать онлайн книгу.
then plopped, as much as sat, on the ground, stuck the length of wood between his leg and the neckerchief and twisted until the blood stopped. Resting his back against a tree trunk, he held the tourniquet tight and considered his plight.
The wad of money was his major concern. Seemed someone had discovered he carried four months’ worth of wages in his pocket and decided to lighten his load. He stared at his feet, trying to decide what to do. Hard to hide anything on the horse. He had his saddlebags, but that was the first place a thief would look after searching Seth’s person. No hiding a secret pocket in his ruined trousers. He continued to stare at his feet. Hadn’t he once heard of a man who hollowed out the heels of his boots to hide something?
He didn’t fancy trying to pry a boot off his right leg. Figured it might start bleeding again. For sure, it would increase the pain that even now hammered against the inside of his skull. Ignoring the protest from his injured leg, he used it to pry off his left boot then took his knife from his pocket and set to work. He glanced down the trail every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t being pursued.
By the time he’d worked the heel off and dug a hollow in it, his head had grown wobbly. He brushed at his eyes to clear his vision. Then he rolled his money into a tight wad and wedged it into the hole he’d made.
Now to put the heel back on. He found a rock the size of his fist to use as a hammer. Getting the heel on proved harder than removing it but after ten minutes he decided it would do. Had his foot swollen? Must have because he could hardly pull the boot back on.
His head seemed full of air. He swiped his eyes again. Tired. So tired. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard the past two days. Now he was paying for it. He’d rest before he moved on. Just a few minutes.
* * *
“Mister, wake up.”
Seth squinted against the blare of light assaulting his eyes. Awareness of his surroundings came slowly, reluctantly. First, pain. Then thirst. Then the persistent questions of the man kneeling at his side.
How long had he been lying on the ground? Asleep? Unconscious? Either way, he’d wasted precious time. He tried to sit up but the world spun and he decided against the idea. “Who are you?” he managed to croak.
“Eddie Gardiner. Who are you?”
Gardiner? The name seemed familiar but Seth couldn’t place it. “Water,” he croaked.
The man held a canteen to Seth’s lips and he drank greedily before he gave his name. “Seth Collins.”
“Let’s get you on your horse. I’ll take you where you can get help for that leg.”
Seth wanted to argue. Needed to. He had to get to his pa. But his leg hurt like twelve kinds of torture. A little tending wouldn’t go amiss so he let Eddie Gardiner push him onto his horse and lead him away.
He clung to the saddle, which took far more effort than he would normally exert. He managed to tell Eddie about someone shooting him. “Didn’t see them.”
They approached a ranch. A pretty place with a big house on a hill overlooking the outbuildings. Among the structures below the house were a couple of two-story buildings, a cluster of red shacks all alike, a log cabin and a barn. All laid out nice and neat. A bridge spanned a river on one side, leading to more pens and small buildings beyond.
They approached the big house. “This is where I live,” Eddie said. “You’ll get help here.”
Seth managed to swing himself off his horse but didn’t protest when Eddie grabbed his arm and steadied him.
A young woman opened the door.
Seth’s vision was clouded with pain but he was alive enough to note the brown eyes that seemed to smile even when her mouth didn’t, a thick braid of rich brown hair coiled at the back of her head and a flawless complexion. Peaches and cream, his ma used to say.
“This man is injured. He needs our help.”
Someone shoved a chair under him and he sat. Several women clustered around him.
Eddie answered their questions. “His name is Seth Collins. He’s been shot. I found him a few miles to the south.” He gave a wave in that direction. “He didn’t see who did it.”
One of the women addressed Seth. “You’re welcome here. My name is Mrs. Gardiner. This is my sister-in-law, Jayne Gardiner.” She indicated the young woman who had answered the door. Again, the Gardiner name seemed familiar but his brain couldn’t find any more information.
“These are her friends, Mercy Newell and Sybil Bannerman.”
He noted Mercy had reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. Sybil was a pretty thing with blue eyes and blond curls. He hadn’t seen any white women in days and now he was surrounded by them. And him in such a sorry state.
“I wish the circumstances of your visit were different,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
The other three women had been whispering together and now Miss Jayne Gardiner cleared her throat. “I think I might have been the one who shot you.”
Seth stared at this sweet, young thing. His mind couldn’t make sense of her confession. “Why would you shoot me?” How would she know about the money he carried? He pushed aside the remnants of his fatigue. Refused to acknowledge it was pain that clouded his mind. Had someone at the ranch heard he’d collected his wages and ridden south? Were they all in this together?
“It was an accident. I wanted—” she swallowed hard “—I wanted to learn how to shoot a gun so I could protect myself and the ones I care about.”
Eddie jammed his fists on his hips. “I warned you about messing around with guns. I told you to leave them alone. Now do you see why?” He glowered at his sister.
Jayne tipped her chin up and faced her brother. “I must learn how to defend myself. I refuse to be a helpless female.”
Eddie sputtered but before he could get out a word, his wife intervened. “Let’s get this man upstairs so I can look at his wound.”
Jayne brought her attention back to Seth. “It’s my fault. I’ll take care of him.”
Mrs. Gardiner made a protesting sound that ended abruptly. “That would be fine.”
Eddie helped Seth regain his feet and steered him up the stairs that swept to the second story. At the top, he turned them right and into the first bedroom. Seth settled himself on the edge of the bed.
For the first time he gave his leg a good, hard study. It throbbed clear to the top of his head. His trousers were blood-and dirt-caked. He didn’t anticipate the skin beneath looked any prettier.
Mrs. Gardiner and Jayne had followed into the room.
“Eddie, he’ll need to remove those trousers so we can get at the wound,” Mrs. Gardiner said.
“Not my pants.” Seth’s protest sounded weak and he clamped his teeth together. Weakness was not something he cared to reveal.
“We’ll wait outside until you’re decent,” Mrs. Gardiner said as the ladies left the room. He heard them murmur in the hallway, Mrs. Gardiner asking Miss Jayne about the shooting.
Eddie knelt at Seth’s feet. “I’ll help you with your boots and pants.” He tugged at a boot.
Seth would have protested but had to bite back a groan. Cold sweat beaded his forehead.
“Can’t you simply roll up my pant leg?” Seth asked through his clenched teeth.
“Seems to me you’d welcome a clean outfit. Do you have another pair in your saddlebags?”
He grunted in the affirmative.
“I’ll get them later. First, let’s get you cleaned up.” Eddie helped remove the second boot and the soiled trousers then eased Seth to the bed and covered him with a sheet, but not before Seth saw the dirty, bloody