Claiming the Cowboy's Heart. Linda Ford

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СКАЧАТЬ death on her conscience.

      * * *

      Who was shooting at him?

      Twenty-four-year-old Seth Collins bent low over his horse’s neck as they pounded down the trail. One minute he was sitting on a rock, enjoying a pleasant moment as he drank from his canteen and ate a couple of dry biscuits. The next, a shot rang out and pain gouged his right leg. It took two seconds and the sight of blood soaking his trousers for him to realize what happened. Then his only thought had been escape.

      He glanced over his shoulder. Saw no sign of pursuit.

      Why would anyone shoot him? He was just an ordinary, poor cowboy. Except for the wad of cash he carried. Had someone followed him? He’d joined the cattle drive north from Fort Benton to a ranch in western Canada for only one reason—to earn enough money to pay the special caregiver the doctor had recommended for Pa. A man with knowledge of how to manipulate paralyzed limbs. The doctor spoke highly of Crawford, saying he’d seen great success with other stroke patients. Some, he said, had even learned to walk again.

      Now he had to get the money to Montana. If he didn’t, what would happen to his pa? Crawford had committed to staying three months. If he couldn’t help Pa in that time he wouldn’t continue on because he’d found he couldn’t do anything more after that. Seth had written the man saying he’d been delayed and would be there as soon as possible with the man’s wages. Crawford’s response had been terse. “I have others interested in my services. Please return immediately.” Seth had written again. “Please stay until I get there. I’ll be home in a week and I’ll pay you extra.” But he had no assurances Crawford wouldn’t leave and Pa would suffer. Pa was all Seth had left and he meant to get home and take care of him.

      He spared a glance at his leg. His buff-colored trouser leg was dark and sticky with blood, which dripped from the heel of his boot. He would need to stop soon and tend to the wound.

      And hide his money so those who shot at him wouldn’t discover it.

      He rode on at the same frantic pace for fifteen minutes then pulled to a stop on a knoll that allowed him a good view of the back trail. After watching a little while he decided he had outrun the shooter. Or shooters. He reined into a grove of trees that provided a bit of cover yet allowed him to keep watch for anyone following him. As he swung off his horse, his leg buckled under him. What kind of damage had the shot done?

      Knowing he had to stop the blood flow, he yanked the neckerchief from his neck and tied it around his thigh. He needed something to tighten it so he hobbled toward the nearest tree, biting back a groan at the pain snaking up his leg and wrapping around his entire body. He broke off a finger-thick branch 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 СКАЧАТЬ