Wildfire in His Arms (29 page)

T
HAT AFTERNOON DEGAN OPENED
his eyes a couple of times but quickly fell back to sleep. Max considered that a good thing. Sleep would help his body heal. And she had a lot to do. She found the trapdoor to a root cellar behind the shed. More dried and salted meat was in it than vegetables, which wasn't surprising considering Artemus's occupation. He would have told Jackson to help himself to the stored food, but she had to feed two, so she would replace some of the meat. But for now, she took what she needed to get a stew started for dinner.

She scrubbed Degan's clothes and hung them to dry. She refilled the water trough behind the cabin where the trapper obviously kept his horse when he was home. He'd even erected a rickety partial roof over it that would only half cover an animal. What was the point of that? Just to keep snow out of the trough in winter? Or maybe he'd just run out of wood to extend it. A long leather tether was attached to the cabin so the horse could graze on the grass back there. She needed two, so she fashioned one for her horse out of Degan's ropes. She left the animals unsaddled and rubbed down back there.

The pond was just beyond the trees, but still quite a distance down the edge of the woods in the direction of Bismarck. She almost hadn't noticed it yesterday when they'd ridden in with Jackson. This morning she'd hoped to slip away and bathe in it, but she wasn't the first one up so she couldn't manage it. She did that now, and to heck with scaring off the wild animals that drank at the pond.

With Degan out cold, no neighbors for miles, and, more important, no riders passing by this way, she stripped down for the bath. Then castigated herself for it afterward. The boy Jimmy might be coming this way to get to Bismarck after he buried his brother. Jackson might sneak back this way, too, for whatever reason. And she didn't know what was on the other side of the woods. There might be dwellings there. She decided to find out for herself.

Dressed again, and with just her rifle, she headed deeper into the woods. With the trapper expecting Jackson to return so he could leave to do his visiting, she figured he had probably removed any traps he had laid in the woods. Still she stepped carefully in case he hadn't. The last thing she needed was to get stuck with a trap on her foot that she couldn't open without help.

A lot of small animals were in the woods, but no signs of any deer. She took careful aim at a plump quail. She'd throw it in the cellar for lunch tomorrow. The other quail scattered. She searched for their eggs and used her bandanna as a sack to carry four of them. She saw a family of wild turkeys, too, but she steered clear of them. Plucking birds that big was tedious, and wild ones usually had tough meat.

She didn't reach the other side of the woods since it stretched farther than she'd figured and was far deeper than it was wide. But she could see no other dwellings. She picked berries on the way back. If Artemus had anything sweet to cook with, she could make a sauce for the quail with the berries—if she didn't eat them all before she reached the cabin.

Although the sun would be setting soon, Degan was still sleeping. She stopped by the bed, moved a lock of his hair off his brow, and just gazed at him for a few minutes. The man was too handsome. Even laid low like this, nothing about him was unappealing. He'd scared the heck out of her today, taking that bullet. She didn't like what it had made her feel. But they would be parting ways eventually. Would he return home to Chicago where the beautiful Allison lived, now that he knew Allison wanted him to return? Max didn't like
that
thought either and thrust it away.

She'd only covered him to his hips with the sheet. Without any salve she was leery of bandaging the wound even though she winced whenever she looked at the blackened skin around it. But the cauterizing had worked. The wound had stopped bleeding, although a lot of dried blood was on his side.

She wet a cloth and warmed it in her hands before she dabbed at the dried blood. She did it slowly and carefully so she wouldn't wake Degan. Nonetheless, he stirred. He even started to sit up before dropping back to the pillow.

“What the hell?”

Max winced at the accusing tone. He'd lifted his head high enough to get a look at his charred flesh.

She quickly said, “I looked for a needle and thread, I really did. Tore through this place and your bags. I almost carved a needle from wood, even started to, until I realized you might get splinters from it.”

His gaze swiftly shifted to her. “You're joking, right?”

She grinned. “Yeah.”

“It still sounds like I put you to a lot of trouble. You should have just fetched a doctor.”

“I thought about it. But it would have taken two days, getting there and back. I'm pretty sure you would've bled out by then.”

She glanced back at the wounded area. She'd tried to press the blade only against the bullet hole, but she'd still burned about an inch of skin on either side of it.

“I don't suppose it's still numb?” she asked hopefully.

“Still?”

“On the way here you said you didn't feel any pain. That really worried me.”

“Not something you need to be concerned with now.”

She winced again, imagining the pain he was experiencing, and turned toward the fire. “Food's hot if you think you can sit up a little to eat it. Or I suppose I could spoon-feed you.”

He snorted.
That
was a reassuring sound and one he'd never before made in her presence. It figured he'd let down his guard a little in his weakened condition.

She brought him a bowl of stew and dug into his food sack for the remaining bread so Degan could dip it into the stew. She needed to go through Artemus's supplies to see if he had the fixings for more bread, or if he just existed on meat, fruit, and wild vegetables as she'd been doing. She'd seen a lot of mushrooms and dandelions in the woods. She could bring some of those back tomorrow.

Degan had managed to sit up a little to eat, leaning back against the wall behind the bed with just a pillow to cushion him. The bed had no headboard and just a box frame, but at least he had a mattress. It was better than the floor, which is where she would be sleeping. She had no idea how long it would take for him to recover and be able to ride again. But he was a strong, healthy man, so maybe no more than a week or two. Just seeing him sitting up holding a bowl of stew made her happy.

She got another bowl of stew for herself and dragged the one chair over to the bed so she could eat with Degan. At least he had an appetite. That was a good sign, she supposed.

“What did you put in this?”

She grinned. Conversation! “Plantain, mushrooms, and dried rabbit meat, so don't expect it to be tender. I'll take stock of what's here and make something fresher tomorrow. Already have quail soup planned for lunch.”

“You went hunting?”

“Not really. I was just scouting out the woods a little. But I surprised some quail. Got one before they all scattered.” Then she took a chance that his guard was down enough for him to talk about himself some. “You think your lady friend has given up on you and gone back home?”

“She's not a friend—anymore.”

“But she used to be?”

“My siblings and I grew up with her.”

His tone had turned frigid, so she steered away from his old friend Allison. “How many siblings do you have?”

“My sister died in her teens. It's just my brother, Flint, and me.”

“Is he anything like you?”

“No, we're nothing alike. We never were.”

“So Flint laughs, smiles, and doesn't end up killing folks in his line of work?”

She said it with a smile so he'd know she was just teasing, but he still gave her a nasty look. “He doesn't work.”

“Ah, that's right, your family lives in the big city and is rich. What does that make him, a pampered do-nothing?”

“Are you trying to rile me up by asking about my family?”

“No, I just have no idea what that sort of life is like. It sounds boring. Is it? Is that why you came West?”

He didn't answer that. She supposed he found his brother a more palatable subject because he said, “Flint is a charmer. He could survive on that alone, rich or not. He'd make an excellent politician if he had any ambition, but our father never pushed him in that direction.”

“So you were groomed to take over, as you said, but he wasn't?”

“He should have been, but, no, he wasn't. Which my father probably regrets now.”

“Tell me about your father and why you hate him?”

“I don't hate him.”

“You just don't care about him one way or the other?”

“We merely had a falling out.”

“About?”

He didn't answer, merely handed her his empty bowl. She headed to the door and the water barrel outside, so she barely heard him say, “He asked something of me that I wasn't willing to do. He was adamant, but so was I. That's why I left.”

Just like that? Max thought, perplexed. What kind of disagreement between a father and a son could be powerful enough to make a man turn his back on wealth and privilege—and everything
he'd
been groomed for?

D
EGAN WAS KISSING MAX,
but he knew he shouldn't be. He'd sworn he wouldn't do that again. He had better resolve than this. What had happened to change his mind? He couldn't think, didn't want to when she was clinging to him so sweetly. But then he smelled the roses mixed with the scent of hay. Max didn't smell of roses. . . .

He glanced up and saw the hay spread out around them and Allison lying beneath him. He shouldn't be making love to her in the stable, but she'd kissed him there and it was the happiest day of his life, the day she'd picked him, so he couldn't help himself.

She was his first love. She was his only love. Flint had loved her, too. Their competition had been fierce but friendly, but it had gone on too long, from the time they were children, when they'd started vying for her attention, to the present, when they both wanted to marry her. She'd encouraged their rivalry because she enjoyed having the two most eligible men in town pursuing her.

Degan and Flint had fought over Allison, even coming to blows a few times. But while they both wanted her, they were still brothers. Their bond was stronger. Degan would have been sorely disappointed but still glad for Flint if Allison had chosen him instead. And Flint had given in graciously when she'd finally chosen Degan to be her husband. Degan had expected no less.

Degan's happiness faded. Adelaide Miller was yelling at him, “If you can't hit it, you die. Pay attention, boy!”

He didn't like guns. The last one he'd held had been his father's dueling pistol. After what he'd done with it, he'd sworn never to touch another gun again. But it was in his hand now. And there it was again, the scream that had caused him to fetch it from the study. He ran upstairs to find out why she was screaming, up the curved stairs, the endless stairs. Why couldn't he get to the top of them? And the heat was everywhere. It felt as if the house were burning down it was so hot. Was that why she was screaming? But no smoke filled the air, just the smell of roses. Her smell. Leading him upstairs. Her scream, and he couldn't get to her no matter how fast he ran! But he had to save her. She meant everything to him, but the damn stairs wouldn't end. . . .

“I wasn't going to use it,” a female voice was saying. “Don't trust him farther than I can spit. It could have been poison. But I got desperate when your fever got worse instead of better. Can you hear me? Damnit, Degan, I thought you were waking up.”

It was Max's voice, and her endearing annoyance, which made him want to smile. Degan could feel her moving a cold, wet cloth over his chest. He didn't open his eyes. He wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. If he was, he'd rather continue with this dream than that nightmare.

“Don't trust who?”

“Oh, thank God!” Max gasped. “You need to eat this while you can.”

He opened his eyes to see her thrusting a bowl at him. “What is it?”

“Turkey and dandelion soup, with some nettle stalks.”

He carefully leaned on his side to eat her soup. He still wasn't sure if he was dreaming, and she still looked anxious. “Did something else happen?”

“You wouldn't wake up for two days, Degan,” she said accusingly. “Scared the bejesus out of me. Now drink the soup. You need to regain your strength. Having some food will help you to sleep normally.”

He did, and thankfully without any more dreams. When he woke again, the cabin was mostly dark, only a low light coming from the fireplace. Max was sleeping on the horse blankets laid out on the floor in the corner. She wasn't covered, for with the windows and door closed, the fire kept the room warm. She was fully dressed, curled on her side, using her coat for a pillow. She was probably worn-out, tending to him. One more thing he owed her for.