Mary Connealy (45 page)

Grumbling and shoving each other, the boys filed out. Ike saw to closing the door.

Daniel turned back to Miss Calhoun. He touched her face and saw that the fire had begun to warm her just a little. She still lay motionless, but she was breathing steadily under the deerskin blanket.

In the dim lantern light, Daniel leaned close enough to see an ugly scrape along one side of Miss Calhoun’s face. A bruise bloomed on her forehead, and he saw several shallow slits. Inspecting carefully, he saw a sliver of glass in one cut and carefully extracted it.

With a dart of fear, Daniel wondered for the first time if she’d really climbed into his wagon. Or had she been knocked unconscious and put in the wagon by someone else? He thought of that stranger who’d hailed him when he’d climbed onto the wagon. He’d wanted something, but what? Grace?

Daniel reached for the pail of water he always kept hot on the stove. He took two rags to protect his hands from the searing tin and lowered the pail to the floor beside him.

He bathed Miss Calhoun’s hands in the warm water. He washed her knees, mindful of how improper it was to see any more of her legs than necessary. Daniel finished quickly then covered her legs all the way to her toes.

He rubbed her arms and stoked the fire, planning to keep a prayer vigil into the night.

A long time later, the boys trooped back in, pink-cheeked and rowdy from working in the sharp cold of the night. They argued and shoved and fought over what blankets were left. But there was no harm in their rowdiness, just horseplay.

The boys saw to their own supper, and as they ate, Daniel could see their heavy eyelids. Even with the excitement of having the teacher in their house, he knew he’d won.

“A ma hadn’t oughta take all the blankets, had she, Pa?” Luke asked, worried.

“She’s s’posed to take care’a us, Pa,” Mark whined. “Not us take care’a
her
.”

Daniel didn’t answer. He had his hands full controlling the urge to flinch every time the boys called this little fussbudget “Ma.” What a nightmare that’d be if it were true.

The boys were exhausted. Good. That was his daily goal. Let them play hard enough and work hard enough to get them to sleep at night. They eventually settled in, piled up together like a litter of puppies, probably warmer that way than if they’d have been wrapped in a blanket.

“Boys, before you go to sleep, say a prayer for Miss Calhoun to be okay. She looks bad hurt to me and half dead from the cold. We need God looking out for her special tonight.”

“We don’t mind praying for her,” Mark said, the spokesman for the group. “We don’t want her to die ’r nothin’, but we don’t want her to be our ma. We talked it over, ’n’ we say take her back and get another’un.”

Daniel didn’t bother to tell his boys, yet again, that he hadn’t brought the confounded woman home to be their ma. There wasn’t enough stupid in the world for him to do a thing like that.

“Well then, pray she gets well so she can get outta here. She’s not going anywhere as long as she’s asleep like this.”

The boys all sprang to their knees and prayed with a fervor that would have humbled a fire-and-brimstone preacher at a revival meeting.

The boys finished praying and lay down, covering the floor until there was barely room for Daniel to kneel by Miss Calhoun. He was stuck—pinned in here, in the dim light of the cold night, next to the rudest woman he’d ever known. The woman who had gotten his sons kicked out of school. He’d gotten her fired from her job in return.

Here they were, she without a job and he without an education for his boys; he trying to save her life and she doing her best to thwart him, as she did in everything else.

It suited him to pray, too, because he wanted her well. He wanted her out of here. He never wanted to lay eyes on this bothersome woman again as long as he lived.

Then she began to shiver.

T
he wind cut like knives through his long black duster as Sid Parrish stared at the cave. His horse, a poorly trained nag the blacksmith rented out, jerked on the reins, fighting the bit.

“I owe you, girl,” he said into the frigid Texas night. Parrish wanted to hurt Grace until the wanting ate a hole in his gut. He wasn’t a man who forgot a wrong done him.

But he’d seen all those kids come pouring out of the cave. And he’d seen the savvy eyes of the man who had unwittingly helped her escape. He’d have a fight on his hands if he stormed in and took her by force.

He’d be a fool to try it, and Parrish was nobody’s fool. But he was tempted. His trigger finger itched, and his hand caressed the gun on his hip. He wanted to see her eyes and hear her cry out with the pain he planned to inflict. He wanted to hurt her long and slow before he killed her. He’d been too easy on her before, and it had brought him low.

The horse skittered and snorted. Parrish had rarely ridden a horse in Chicago, and he’d never carried a gun. He’d used his mind to survive there. Now he had to learn some new tricks. And the tricks of the West included horses and firearms.

He brought his hand down with brutal power on the horse’s flank and pretended it was that miserable little girl who thought she’d gotten the best of him. His arm hurt before his fury was spent, and he wished for a whip and spurs to work out his rage. The blacksmith had refused to give him either, saying the horse handled fine without them.

His lips curled in cruel satisfaction as he remembered Grace’s terror when he entered her room. He’d almost had her. He’d touched her for just a split second before she slipped away. His fingers still felt the warmth of her flesh, vibrating with pure horror. Knowing she threw herself out of a window to escape him satisfied his hunger to punish her. He would live on that small feast for now. But it was only temporary until he could crush her thoroughly. He was going to take her and break her. No sniveling little
girl
got the best of Sid Parrish.

He turned his horse away from the cave and headed back to Mosqueros. He was no hand for roughing it in the wilderness, and Mosqueros was a small enough town that he’d be remembered. He’d come into town on a mule skinner’s wagon. The supply wagon was headed on west and had only stopped to leave a few orders at the Mosqueros general store. Parrish had slipped out into the hills around the town without talking to anyone. The townsfolk might ask questions if he turned up around the same time Grace disappeared. Parrish would pick his time and be back.

It was the longest night of Daniel’s life. And he’d lived through birthing pains that produced triplets and killed his wife.

Miss Calhoun shook as if a cougar had its teeth sunk into her and wanted to snap her spine. Except a cougar would have been quick. This went on for hours. The tremors came and stayed. Miss Calhoun was never conscious through any of it. Daniel’s boys slept, even when she sobbed aloud and cried out that she would perish.

Daniel pulled her into his arms and held her, trying to keep her from harming herself as the quaking went on and on. She was painfully thin, hardly an armful for him. He wondered at the sharp edges of her bones as he tried to rub circulation into her limbs. She had no cushion of warming fat to help.

After a time, the violent shivering eased and she seemed to collapse into total unconsciousness. A few moments passed; then the trembling began again. Miss Calhoun wept.

Daniel held her and prayed for her and murmured into her hair. “You’ll be all right. I won’t leave you. Hang on. Hang on.” As he spoke to her, he sent petitions to God. However much he’d been at sixes and sevens with the snooty little teacher, he now wished frantically that she’d be all right.

And she did—hang on, that is. Her arms escaped the blankets, and she gripped him around his neck with all the strength of her convulsing arms. “Perish. No, not perish. Not again.”

“You’re not going to perish.” Daniel kept up the comforting hum of his voice, hoping he could reach her. “You’re okay. I’ll keep you safe and warm. You’ll make it.”

The quivering she couldn’t control, he knew. But he tried to ease the fear he heard in every gasp and sob. What was she so afraid of?

Miss Calhoun relaxed as the shivering passed. She lay still longer this time and made more natural movements. A pale pink flush darkened her cheeks and gave Daniel hope.

He stretched out fully alongside her. There really wasn’t any other place for him in the crowded cave home. The blankets were firmly between them, but still Daniel felt an odd reaction to being this near a woman. Well, not odd exactly. Just long forgotten. He hadn’t spent much time close to a woman. And, a few moments of weakness aside, that included his wife.

He tried to put a few inches between them. She clung to him, flowing toward him like warm liquid. He stayed because he had no choice, but he thought of Miss Calhoun’s cruelty to his sons to keep himself from enjoying her slender arms.

And when that wasn’t enough, he thought of his wife nearly dying with his twins.

And when that wasn’t enough, he thought of his own stupidity to let Margaret convince him that more children were needed to make their lives complete.

And when that wasn’t enough and he decided he had to get away from her, she started shaking again.

He held her through this one. Only a monster would let her face this bitter, soul-deep cold alone. And it would be an even greater evil to let her talk of perishing without trying to console her. He murmured comfort and shared his prayers with her and held on. This time the shivering didn’t go on as long, and when it stopped, she seemed to drop into a true sleep.

Once he believed it, he let her go and stood away from her. He looked around the tiny cave. Why hadn’t he built something? There was wood aplenty to build a log cabin in any size he chose. The work would be good for the boys.

Definitely next summer—before any more freezing-cold women happened by.

He saw her toes peeking out of the blanket and stooped to check her feet, worrying about frostbite. They had warmed considerably, and he could pinch her nails and see, in the dim stove light, that there was pink beneath them. He wrapped her again quickly.

While he crouched there, her eyes flickered open. Her eyes seemed to pick up the flickering light. They were dark golden, like her hair. Although the room was dark, the red-hot, potbellied stove cast enough light for him to see she was coherent.

“Where am I?” She sounded sluggish. Her words were slurred, and her lips barely moved.

Daniel leaned closer, trying to hear the bare whisper of her words. Not sure what she’d said, he knew what must be going through her head. “Miss Calhoun, it’s Daniel Reeves. I found you in my wagon nearly frozen to death. You’re at my cabin. We’ll keep you warm and get you back to town as soon as you’re well enough—”

“No, not town.” She gripped his arm until she cut off his circulation, as well as his thinking.

“I can’t go back. I’ll…I can’t. I’ll…” Her voice faded; her grip hardened.

Daniel leaned until his ear nearly rested against her lips. He was sure she said the word “perish.”

He pulled back to reassure her that he wouldn’t let her perish. Her eyes sparkled. He’d forgotten how pretty she was—because he hadn’t been able to see past the meanness. But the sparkle was a flash of desperation. She was beseeching him. Her nails dug into the flannel of his shirtsleeve.

Whether she knew what she was saying or not, her fear was real. Daniel knew something terrible had happened to Miss Calhoun in town to drive her out into the night in this fragile dress.

“I promise I’ll protect you, Grace.” He spoke her forbidden name.

She always demanded the utmost propriety. He knew that, because she’d told him. And told him and told him. Until she had, he’d never heard the word “propriety,” not to mention the word “utmost.” Now, with her too afraid and hurt and cold to complain, he was surprised to find out he missed her prim manners and sharp tongue. A little.

“I won’t let you perish.” Vowing straight from his heart, he could do no less for this frightened woman. He patted her clinging hand, hoping she was rational enough to understand him.

“Thank you.” She released her death grip on his arm, and her hand went to his cheek. She caressed his stubbly whiskers for a moment. He couldn’t think when last he’d shaved. He usually cleaned up for church, so it was at least once a week.

Daniel whispered into the dark of the cave, “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.’”

“Yes,” she breathed. “God is with me. And you. You’re with me, too. Thank you, Daniel. God bless you.” Her eyes fell shut. Tears slipped over her lower lashes, and she moved her palm away from his face. Her scraped and battered hand fluttered to the floor like the last leaf of autumn. She relaxed into real sleep—at last.

G
race woke up in a rat hole. And the king of rats was leaning over her.

“How are you, Grace?” The rodent leaned so close to her it was…it was—
Oh, dear God in heaven, help me!
It was kind of nice.

He looked so worried, and he was so handsome.