Loner's Lady. Lynna Banning

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СКАЧАТЬ slipped off the horse to wrestle it open. It needed another screw and ten minutes of his time. He’d do it after breakfast.

      His stomach gurgled as he led Tiny through the gate and maneuvered the rickety thing closed. Maybe another hinge, as well. And some real wood, not these curlicue pine branches she’d used.

      At the back porch steps he halted and peered through the screen door. “Miz O’Brian?”

      The kitchen was empty. He scanned the garden and the spindly looking apple trees at the back fence. Where the hell was she?

      He tramped into the house, checked the neat parlor, where crocheted doilies lay on the arms of the faded green velvet settee, then climbed the stairs and checked each of the four bedrooms. All empty. Maybe the barn?

      By the time he’d rubbed Tiny down with an old gunnysack and given him some oats, there was still no sign of Ellen. An odd prickle swept up the back of Jess’s neck. He headed for the henhouse, but found nothing but clucking brown chickens and one lordly rooster. Maybe she was visiting a neigh—

      He heard something. He shushed the chickens and listened.

      A voice. Thin-sounding and some distance away, but calling out at regular intervals.

      “Miz O’Brian?” Jess shouted. He took a step toward the sound. “Ellen?”

      Another faint cry, and Jess headed toward the creek. What was she doing down there? “Ellen? Miz O’Brian?”

      A weak cry carried to him and his breath stopped. She was hurt. A cold sweat started at his hairline. Oh, God, no. What had they done to her?

      Without thinking he began to run.

       Chapter Three

       S he lay in the creek bed, the lower part of her body half in the water, her skirt rucked up to her knees. Her head rested on a lichen-covered stone, and he could see one leg was folded under her at an odd angle. Jess stumbled down the bank and splashed across to her, a rock lodged in his gut.

      She looked up at him with weary eyes. “What are you doing here?”

      Jess knelt beside her, his heart hammering. “A better question might be what are you doing here?”

      She tried to smile. “Chasing the c-cow into the pasture, and I s-slipped on a rock.” Her voice sounded close to breaking. Her body shivered violently, and Jess reached to touch her arm. Her skin was like new snow.

      “How long have you been here?”

      Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Since dawn. I got up to milk…” Her voice trailed into silence.

      “I milked earlier,” Jess said.

      “Tiny was gone, and… Anyway, the cow…”

      Jess leaned over her. “Don’t talk, Ellen. Save your strength. I’ve got to get you out of the creek, and it isn’t going to be easy.”

      “Hurts when I move,” she murmured.

      “Got any laudanum up at the house?”

      She shook her head.

      “Whiskey?”

      “Just some wine. Port. In a decanter on the top shelf. It was a…” she gave a soft laugh “…wedding gift.”

      “I’ll get it.”

      He started to stand up, but her fingers grabbed at his arm. “No. Don’t leave. Please don’t. I will manage without it.”

      Jess studied the position of her body. Looked like a broken tibia. Should he straighten her leg first? Or lift her up and let the injured limb right itself? Either way it would hurt like hell. Maybe he could pull her backward up the creek bank, see if her leg would straighten naturally.

      He straddled her, one knee in the cold creek water, the other on the bank, and dug his hands into the mud beneath her armpits. As gently as he could, he hoisted her farther up the slope. Her face went white as parchment. Her breathing hitched and she balled her hands into fists, but she didn’t make a sound.

      Dragging her was no good, he realized. Too painful and too slow. He needed to get her to the house, and fast.

      “I’m going to be sick,” she moaned. Clamping her palm over her mouth, she stared up into his face, a desperate, trapped look in her eyes.

      “It’s okay, Ellen. Listen to me. I’m going to lift you up. It’s going to hurt, but it’s the only way.”

      She nodded once.

      “Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” he ordered.

      When her cold, shaking hands met at his nape, Jess carefully scrabbled away the wet earth under her shivering form until he could slide one hand under her shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he bent and slipped his other hand under her knees.

      When he lifted her from the muddy bank, she released a strangled cry, but he stood up slowly, cradling her body in his arms. Her injured leg unfolded and she cried out again.

      A choking sensation closed his throat. Trying not to jostle her any more than necessary, Jess picked his way up the slippery incline, concentrating on her jerky breathing rather than the ache in his own leg. When he reached level ground, he started toward the house. It seemed a hundred miles away.

      He stepped every inch of the way with her moans of agony in his ear, his nerves twisting at every inarticulate sound she made. Jess unclamped his jaw. “You all right?”

      “Of course I’m not all right,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

      He kept moving. Halfway across the yard, she tugged on his shirt, and he heard her whisper, “Talk to me.”

      “I can’t think of a damn thing to say,” he admitted.

      “Talk to me anyway.”

      His mind went blank. What could he talk about? He hadn’t had a woman in his arms since… He didn’t want to think about it.

      After a long minute, he began to sing in a low, scratchy voice. “‘Whippoorwill singin’, and the owl’s asleep. I’m beggin’ you, Lord, my soul to keep.’”

      Ellen pressed her ear closer to his chest. Underneath the smell of damp mud, he caught the faint scent of roses from her hair. “More,” she murmured.

      “That’s all there is. Kind of a one-verse song.”

      “Either you sing,” she said in a tight voice, “or I’ll start screaming.”

      Jess sucked in a long breath. “That might be better than my singing.”

      “Not for me,” she snapped.

      It sounded as if her jaw was clenched. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

      “Don’t think, Mr. Flint. Sing.”

      “Yes, СКАЧАТЬ