Lone Star Heiress. Winnie Griggs
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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.
*