Rafe's Redemption (27 page)

“I brought a rope. If we can get you on Moses I’ll tie you to him.” Inspiration struck. “Or to me.” She could ride if she had to.

Rafe shook his head, then grimaced. “Maggie, I don’t think I’m strong enough to pull myself up on Moses.” She knelt beside him and took his hand. “You don’t have to. I’ll throw the wood off the travois and you can lie on it.”

“A ll right,” he said wearily.

She grabbed the lantern and scrambled to Moses.

One, ten, twenty-five logs. Dear God, why couldn’t she throw the wood any faster?

“A ll right,” she panted when she was done, slipping her shoulder under Rafe. “Come on.” She heaved, but only managed to get him on his knees.

“I’ll hurt you.” He collapsed back onto the ground.

“No. We can do it.” She gritted her teeth and helped him back up. “Just use me like a crutch.” Sweat beaded on her lip. Twice he almost knocked her down. When he finally stood, he trembled from the exertion. So did she.

“Come on now.” She leaned into his weight. “It’s not far.”

He nodded but didn’t answer. She smiled encouragingly. If he fainted, they would die out here.

There was no way she could lift him by herself.

Her arms trembled, her back ached. Silently, she gave thanks when he crumpled onto the canvas.

“A ll right, sweetheart,” she said, using his favorite name for her, “almost ready to go.”

“Maggie, remember what I said. I love you.” His voice was laced with pain.

“You can tell me once we’re home.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Just remember.” His eyes drifted shut.

“Rafe!” She dropped beside him and checked his breathing. Unconscious. Well, it was probably for the best. This ride would be hell on him. Gathering Moses’

reins, she headed downstream. The lantern swung in her hand, throwing shadows across Michael sprawled in the snow, bleeding. A lone. Every bit of her subservient upbringing screamed at her to save him, too.

“Don’t…leave me here.” He propped himself on one elbow as if he had read her mind. “We’re family.” The words rattled out of him.

“Not after what you’ve done.” She turned but the click of a pistol’s hammer sent shivers up her back.

“Help me onto the horse,” Michael ordered.

Maggie turned. The gun was pointed a Rafe. Hatred roared through her like a wildfire. She would kill Michael herself before she let him hurt Rafe again.

“I will shoot him if you don’t. You know I will.” Michael’s eyes glittered like a cornered animal’s.

“Fine. But you’ll have to ride beside him. There’s no saddle.” She reached across Rafe. “Just let me make room.”

Her hand closed around the gun in Rafe’s pocket.

Maggie swallowed hard. Could she do this?

“Hurry up.” Michael coughed. “Damn, but I should have killed you a long time ago.”

She rotated on her heels, her aim steady. “Yes. You should have.”

The blast sent a shudder through her body.

Michael sprawled back onto the ground.

****

Maggie let Wolf lead the way home. Stumbling behind him, she tried to force the horror of what she’d done from her mind. Guilt weighed each step, though she knew Michael would have killed her eventually. For all the preaching she’d done to Rafe about self-forgiveness, it was hard to find any for herself. Instead, she talked to Rafe the entire trip even though he never uttered a sound. The memory of him asking if she always talked so much made tears run down her cheeks.

The cold night wind cut through her. Was Rafe warm enough? Should she stop and check or keep walking?

How much farther? Why hadn’t she brought a blanket?

Tears rolled down her face, the one question that would haunt her forever, almost making her retch.

Why hadn’t she stopped him from going?

“A re we almost there?” His tight voice floated from the travois, flooding her with relief.

“Yes. A lmost.” She hoped.

Eisshhh.

The sharp hiss of air made her whirl. He rode, raised on one elbow surveying their progress.

“What are you doing? Lie down!”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lost.” He dropped onto his back with a grunt. “You didn’t sound too sure.”

Damn him for knowing her so well.

“But you’re doing fine,” he continued. “The house is coming up.”

The sight of the barn brought fresh tears to her eyes.

She tugged the reins and led Moses to the cabin door.

Rafe’s eyes opened as she shouldered his weight and helped him to his feet. “Did we make it?”

“Yes,” she panted, “we made it. Now we just have to get inside.” She pushed open the door and they stumbled to the table. He dropped into the chair, and his head fell with a thud onto the table, unmoving except for his harsh breathing.

Sweat poured down her back, her arms shook from overuse. But this was far from over.

Running outside, she dragged Moses into the barn and stripped him free of the harness. “I’ll be back to feed you later,” she promised, then charged back to the house.

A fter building up the fire, she unbuttoned Rafe’s coat. He lifted his head when she shifted his shoulder.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get these wet clothes off.”

“A lways…trying to see me naked.” He gave a weak smile. Sweat ran down his face and mixed with the blood until red dripped on to his lap.

“That’s right. So you better get well fast.” His chuckle turned into a cough.

“Shhh,” she soothed.

She worked quickly removing his coat and his clothes, then used warm water to wash his face and chest. His shoulder still oozed blood, the gash so deep she feared stitches wouldn’t hold.

His eyes opened, gray slits glazed with pain.

“Cauterize it,” he rasped.

Tears filled her eyes. God, she didn’t want to hurt him like that, but what choice did she have?

She nodded and went to heat the knife. He would need whiskey. A ll of it. If only he could drink until he passed out before she had to—

She couldn’t think about what she was about to do.

The tears overflowed and rolled down her face, but she brushed them away and checked the blade. It was red hot.

“It’s ready.” Her voice warbled.

Rafe nodded.

She pressed a towel to the wound once more.

“Drink this.” She filled a cup with whiskey. “A ll of it.” He downed the liquid, wheezing as he held the cup for another. While he drank, she got the knife.

He met her gaze. “Do it.”

Hand trembling, she lowered the glowing blade.

His cry of pain tore through her heart. The smell of burning flesh made her gag. When she pulled the blade away, he lay with his eyes closed. Sweat beaded his skin, his breath rasping in and out.

“Rafe, it’s over.” She mopped his chest with cool water. He felt clammy. Was that better than fevered?

“Good,” he mumbled, his eyes open but unfocused.

“So tired.”

She covered him with the blankets and put the knife away. Wolf lay on the rug, his low, pitiful whines filling the room. “I know, boy. I’m scared, too.” She changed into clean clothes, then pulled the chair beside the bed. Rafe’s chest rose with shallow breaths.

His head wound needed bandaging. Her petticoats would work. Pulling them from the burlap sack, she tore them into strips. Carefully she applied the salve to his shoulder, but stood undecided over his temple. It should be washed out, but her stomach clenched at the thought of causing him more pain.

Do it, Maggie. It’s what he would tell her.

A fter saturating a towel with whiskey, she cleaned the matted hair free from the gash. He groaned, his faced pinched with pain.

“Shh. A lmost done.”

Once the blood and dirt was removed, she coated his temple with salve and wrapped strips of cotton around his head.

He didn’t move. His breathing had eased, but his facial color had faded to white. God, what should she do now? Cecil would know, but the thought of leaving Rafe alone…

What if he woke and needed her?

What if he died?

She slid to the floor and buried her face into her hands. Wolf licked her hand, his whimpers echoing how she felt. “I know, boy. I love him, too. A nd he will be fine. We’ll take care of him.” She kept repeating the words in her head.

Who was she fooling? She’d already done everything she knew to do. What if Rafe got worse instead of better?

Wrapping her arms around Wolf’s fuzzy neck, she sobbed. “Please, God, I love him so much. Don’t take him from me now.”

****

The next morning Maggie climbed to her feet.

Sleeping on the floor had been stupid. She felt as wrung out as a dishrag.

Rafe had slept the night through without waking.

While he didn’t look any better, he didn’t look any worse.

The blistered flesh on his shoulder had crusted, but didn’t have any pus along the edge. Once she was more awake, she’d check and change the bandage on his head.

She walked to the fireplace where supper sat congealed in the pot. Wrinkling her nose, she dumped the mess into Wolf’s bowl. Maybe she would be hungry later. Right now all she wanted was coffee. While the pot brewed, she walked to the bed.

Rafe’s cheeks felt warm, but not hot. A nd his breathing was steady. Surely those were good signs.

They had to be.

Halfway through her fourth cup of coffee, he groaned. She scrambled to the bed and grasped his hand.

“Hold on, Rafe. You’ll be fine,” she whispered, then brushed a kiss to his forehead. Was it hotter than an hour ago? She touched his skin again and a soft groan escaped his dry lips.

What else could she do for him?

She filled a cup with whiskey-water and lifted his head, managing to get a sip down his throat. Would that be enough for now?

Hot tears rolled down her face. Why couldn’t he just wake up?

Her fingers trailed over his soft beard, his strong jaw.

H e was strong. A nd healthy. He would overcome this.

But what if he doesn’t?

“Please get better. I waited so long to find someone like you. Don’t leave me now.” She brushed away the tears that streamed down her face. He wouldn’t want her to cry.

“Take five men and cover the left flank!” Maggie jumped to her feet.

What time was it? How long had she slept?

Rafe kicked all the quilts off his body. “Private, take your horse and get this message to Captain Hines.” Rafe pressed his fingers into her palm. His skin was burning hot. He looked at her when they touched him, but it wasn’t to her he spoke. “Be careful, son. We need those reinforcements.”

Maggie blinked. Should she answer him?

“Well, go on, boy.” He pushed at her arm. “Hurry.” She hesitated, unsure what to say. “Go, Private!”

“Yes, sir.”

Rafe closed his eyes. His head tossed back and forth on the pillow. If he kept that up, his head would start bleeding again.

“Everything is fine,” she whispered. “Rest easy.”

“Mama?” His eyes opened, glazed and unfocused.

“No. It’s Maggie.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion, but he didn’t answer.

She pulled the blankets over him, then brushed a kiss over his lips.

“I love you,” she said.

****

Rafe slipped in and out of consciousness all day, feverish and fitful, yelling out orders at his troops, kicking the quilts, and cursing everyone he knew. Sweat poured off him, then chills racked his body. The few blankets Maggie could find weren’t enough to keep him warm.

She reached beneath the bed and dug out her velvet skirt. The yards of material added layers of warmth to his shivering body. When his breathing finally eased and his trembling stopped, she carried in several armloads of wood, then tended to the animals.

Snow started to fall as she finished. Large flakes stuck to her shoulders and hair as she hurried along the path. It was dark, about the time Rafe would normally come in for supper.

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, imagined him as he would be, brushing the snow off his coat, teasing her before he took her in his arms for a kiss.

A sob swelled in her chest until she choked trying to hold it inside.

Soon. He would recover, and things would be back to normal. Repeating the words was the only comfort she had.

A fter building up the fire, she sat on the edge of the bed. She needed to be near Rafe. No, what she needed was for him to hold her, to take her in his arms, and tell her everything would be all right.

She blinked back the ever-present tears and stretched out on the mattress beside him. Taking his hand, she entwined their fingers. Then she prayed until she ran out of words. She prayed for Rafe, prayed he’d make it through the night. But mostly she prayed for strength.

If he wasn’t better by the morning, she was going to get Cecil.

By midnight, Rafe’s fever soared. She gathered all the towels and rags, then soaked them in cool water before laying them over his body.

“Goddamn it.” He pushed her hands away. “Get those off me.”

His eyes glittered hot and unfocused.

“No.” She soaked the material again and replaced them, fighting his insistent hands. “Leave them alone.

That’s an order, Captain.”

He blinked. “Yes, sir.” His hands fell to his sides.

She worked throughout the night until, finally, his skin felt cool. Morning light streamed through the single window when he spoke.