Lone Star Heiress. Winnie Griggs

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СКАЧАТЬ hand moved from the dog to the back of her head. “I... My head—” She pulled her hand back and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.

      It was stained with blood.

      Mitch bit off an oath. “You are hurt. Let me have a look.” He moved in closer, and she quickly raised the knife to block him, swaying slightly with the effort. Her dog let out a warning growl.

      This girl had more spunk than sense. “I’m only trying to take a look at your injury—that’s all. You’re bleeding and it’s not something you can tend to yourself.”

      Without a word, she nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.

      Keeping his moves slow and smooth, he shifted to get a better look, ignoring the knife that unsteadily tracked his movements. A patch of blood on the back of her head stained her hair, matting it against her scalp. The wet, muddy ground she’d been lying on hadn’t helped matters any, either. He tried gently parting the hair but couldn’t see much beyond the blood.

      He moved to face her again, and realized she’d closed her eyes. Had his ministrations hurt her?

      But a moment later her eyes opened with obvious effort and her gaze held a question.

      “I’m going to get my canteen so I can clean this up and get a better look. Try not to move.”

      She nodded wearily, then winced. “There’s a shallow creek just beyond those trees.” Her voice sounded strained and pain shadowed her expression.

      He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers that she’d be all right until he returned, then sprinted back to Seeley.

      Snatching up his canteen and the small cloth bag he’d intended to put the berries in, he quickly headed back, only detouring once when he saw her own canteen amongst her things.

      Mitch pulled out his handkerchief as he knelt beside her again. Her hand was back on the dog’s neck, but now she seemed to be using it for support rather than restraint. Not a good sign. Still, her stoicism and ability to keep her wits under the circumstances was commendable.

      “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said as he wet the cloth.

      She tried to raise the knife again. With a sigh, he wrested it from her in one quick move, then set it carefully out of her reach.

      He regretted the spark of fear he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he kept his tone matter-of-fact “—but I can’t have you hurting either yourself or me while I’m focused on fixing you up.”

      She watched his every move, and he saw the caution and uncertainty she was trying to hold at bay.

      “I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”

      “Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.

      Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”

      She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.

      Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.

      It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.

      He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”

      She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”

      “Okay.”

      He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.

      “That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?

      “How bad is it?” Her wariness was still evident, but he thought he also sensed the beginnings of trust.

      He chose his words carefully—he didn’t want to alarm her unduly. “You’ve lost some blood. I imagine you’re going to have a whopper of a headache for the next several days, but I’ve seen worse.” Much worse. “But right now we need to see about getting you someplace where you can rest and be tended to properly.” He strived to keep the worry from his tone. “Do you have friends nearby or a place I can take you around here?” Please let her say yes.

      “No.” Her single-word answer offered no clue as to why she was out here on her own. And that disconcerting wariness was back in full force. He couldn’t really blame her for her caution—in fact he rather admired her for it. But she shouldn’t have been placed in the position of fending for herself this way.

      He tried again. “Is anyone traveling with you?”

      “Only Rufus and Jubal.”

      Rufus was the dog, but who was Jubal? “Do you know where Jubal is?”

      “Jubal is my mule—” Her face suddenly drained of any remaining color and her eyes fluttered closed.

      Mitch managed to catch her before her head hit the ground again.

      He quickly assured himself she was still breathing, and to his relief, her eyes fluttered open. As soon as she realized her position, she struggled to push him away. “What—”

      He reached for her canteen and held it up to her. “You fainted. Here, drink this.”

      She quieted and took the canteen, raising it to her lips. Her gaze never left his.

      After a few sips, she handed the canteen back, but he shook his head. “You need to drink it all,” he said firmly.

      She stiffened at his tone, but after a heartbeat obediently drained the canteen.

      What in the world was he going to do with her?

      If he had a wagon, he’d transport her directly to Turnabout and hand her over to Doc Pratt. But there was no wagon, and in her current condition, she’d never be able to sit in the saddle for the four-hour ride to town. Even if she could, she probably shouldn’t.

      That left him СКАЧАТЬ