Winter's Touch (40 page)

“It’s a long way back to the ranch.” Carson knelt beside her and took her hand. “You’ll be better off without making that trip just yet.”

She looked into his eyes and saw fear there. Fear for her. “I’m going to be sick, aren’t I?”

He reached for her and pulled her from her father’s arms into his. “I’m afraid so, honey.”

“I might even die,” she admitted.

“No,” he said forcefully. “No.”

“Ach, so ye do care, then,” she teased.

“Care? I think the damn snake got you in the head. You know I care.”

“Then take me home, Carson.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she cut him off.

“Please. If I’m going to be sick, or…or die, I’d rather do it at home.”

Carson closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. For a long time, it seemed to her, he just held her and rocked her, as though she were a wee bairn.

“Innes,” he finally said. “Get the wagon. She wants to go home.”

“Remember awhile back when I said I didn’t trust love?” Carson shook his head in confusion. “I’m beginning to wonder if I knew what I was talking about. I’m not so sure now that I’ve ever been in love.”

He smoothed a strand of hair from Winter Fawn’s cheek. Her skin was still too hot. “Compared to what I feel for you…this is so much stronger. It fills me up until I think I’ll burst with it. It devastates me. It terrifies me.”

He gave a short laugh. “There. I said it. What I feel for you is so damn strong it terrifies me. I can admit that now, because I’ve found something that terrifies me even more. Even more than having you walk away from me. And that’s having you not wake up.”

As was the case for the past three days, Winter Fawn made no response. She lay in his bed, and just now she was quiet. He didn’t know if he preferred that, or her thrashing and moaning when her fever rose. Watching her suffer tore him up inside, but seeing her lay there so still, eyes closed, chest barely moving, scared him. It looked too close to death. Too damn close.

“Please, God, don’t take her.”

If she wanted to leave him when she got well and return to the Arapaho, he wouldn’t try to talk her out of it. Would even help her go if he had too. If she really wanted to go.

“Just don’t go like this,” he whispered. “Not like this.” He could survive if she walked away from him. He had no choice. He had a daughter and young sister to raise, an aunt to care for. But if Winter Fawn died—

Don’t think it. Don’t even let the idea into this room.

“But I don’t think you have any excuses left for not marrying me.” Maybe if he said it aloud, she would somehow hear, and believe. “I can say the words now. I love you. As for your other excuse, about how people in town treat you and how that might affect the rest of us, you can forget that.”

He threaded his fingers through her limp ones and squeezed her hand.

“You pretty much took care of that problem Saturday when you went down that well after the little Vickers girl. You’re a hero now. Heroine, I guess. Three families have sent out food so Gussie wouldn’t have to cook while taking care of you, and Abe Vickers has ridden out once to see how you’re doing. He brought some new yellow gingham that Hernandez sent with him to replace the dress you ruined. Vickers is coming back in a day or two to check on you again. Said he’d bring his family. His wife wants to thank you again in person. No, I don’t think you have to worry about folks in town anymore.”

Carson laughed. “Except maybe Mrs. Linderman. I don’t think she’ll ever get over you threatening to cut out her tongue.”

He squeezed her hand again and lay his head down on the edge of the bed. “I think that’s when I finally realized I loved you.”

Innes entered the house quietly. Across the room, the door to Carson’s bedroom remained closed.

Gussie looked up from where she sat beside the window sewing on the new dress for Winter Fawn.

“Any change?” Innes asked.

Gussie read the pain and fear in his eyes. Her heart went out to him. She set aside her sewing and rose to place her hand on his arm. “Her fever is down some, and she’s resting quietly.”

“But she hasna awakened.”

“Not yet.”

Innes closed his eyes and took in a slow, deep breath.

“She’s going to make it Innes. You must believe that.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’re a good, kind woman, Augusta Winthrop, to take such good care of me lass like ye’re doin’.”

“If I’d been blessed with a daughter, I would have wanted her to be like Winter Fawn. She is a fine young woman, Innes.”

“Bless ye for saying that, Gussie. I’ll just stick my head in the door and see her for a minute. Is Carson still in there?”

“He won’t come out.”

Squaring his shoulders against finding his daughter still in a coma, Innes crossed the room.

Hunter knew his father had gone to the house to see about Winter Fawn. It shook him to think of her lying in there, sick and helpless and maybe dying. Winter Fawn could not die. It seemed impossible to him. She was always there for him, had always been there.

He’d been only seven when their mother had died and their father left them. Seven and frightened. But Winter Fawn had been there, and he had clung to her. She had never left him. She sang to him, played games with him, tended his scrapes and bruises. She had made sure he never forgot the English their father had taught them. And when he discovered he had a gift with horses, she had encouraged him.

To think of losing her was not possible. He had complete faith in her strength. She would recover and be fine. She had to, because he could not imagine life without her. He would be lost not knowing she was somewhere near, not being able to count on her when he needed her.

But he
did
have faith in her strength. Deep inside, where all things important rested, he knew she would be fine. He would go to the house later and visit her.

First he wanted to see what Bess was doing. He’d spotted her down by the river an hour ago, and he could still see her there, sitting beneath a cottonwood on the grassy bank.

It was unusual for her to be idle for so long. Bess was always busy, and almost never alone.

He finished brushing down the gelding he’d been working with and turned the horse out into the corral.

It took him several minutes to walk the distance to the river. During that time he kept his gaze on the pale pink of Bess’s dress. It did not move.

Halfway there he stumbled to a stop. What if the dress didn’t move because Bess wasn’t in it? What if she was taking a swim? Maybe he should just go on back—

He’d been watching her dress through the trees for nearly an hour. She wouldn’t be swimming that long. The water in that river came directly from melting snow up in the mountains and was freezing cold. If she was in the water all this time, she would be a nice shade of blue.

He didn’t like it. Something could be wrong. If she wasn’t swimming, if that was her sitting there, she hadn’t moved in much too long. Sitting still was not like Bess.

In or out of her dress, she could be in trouble.

Hunter sprinted the rest of the way to the river. Before he got there he could see that it was her sitting there. He slowed for the last few yards.

“Bess?”

She was crying. Sitting there with her knees up, arms wrapped around them, and her face buried against them, crying softly.

Hunter dropped to his knees beside her. He knew she’d heard him, but she didn’t look up. What should he do? Should he leave her alone?

Then panic set in. Had his sister died and no one told him?

“Bess!”

She sniffed and rubbed her face against her dress. “I’m sorry.”

“Is it Winter Fawn? Has…has she—”

“No! Oh, Hunter, no. I’m sorry. I scared you and I didn’t mean to. She hasn’t…I mean, there’s no change. She seems a little better, but I’m afraid to hope.” She sniffed again and looked down at her knees. “I’m just plain afraid. That’s why I was crying.”

Her eyes and nose were all puffy and her hair was coming down from the pile of curls on top of her head. She was just about the prettiest thing Hunter had ever seen.

“Of what are you afraid?”

“I…Oh, I’m so ashamed.” She buried her face in her hands again and cried.

He wanted to touch her, to give her comfort. It was a new experience for him, and he wasn’t quiet sure what to do about it. “There is no shame in tears,” he told her.

“It’s n-not that,” she managed between sobs.

“Nor in fear,” he offered. “Everyone is afraid now and then. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Oh, Hunter, I’m so afraid for Winter Fawn. And Carson won’t leave her side, and he won’t eat or sleep, and Megan cries all the time and Aunt Gussie works so hard and worries, and your father is so sad, and if Winter Fawn doesn’t get better, I don’t know what we’ll do without her because we all love her and if she’s not here you might leave.” She turned and threw herself against his chest. “And I don’t want you to leave and that’s so selfish of me and I’m so ashamed of it but I can’t h-help it.”

As her hot tears soaked through his shirt to his skin, a new warmth began inside him. His chest swelled, and maybe his head, too, a little. She cried because she did not want him to leave. No one had ever cried over him before.

His arms came around her and pulled her closer. “I’ll not leave you, Bess.” And suddenly he knew it was true. Down in that secret place inside himself, he knew. He might come and go for a short time now and then, but his place was here, with these people. His father, Carson, Gussie, wee Megan, Frank and Beau, and this blue-eyed girl he felt closer to than anyone else, who tied his stomach in knots with her tears. “I won’t ever leave you.”

It was hot in the darkness. She didn’t like it there. But fighting to be free of it didn’t seem to help. She didn’t know which way to go to get back to the light.

Then she heard the voice. She couldn’t make out the words, but they seemed to call to her. Desperate to be free of the suffocating blackness, she struggled toward the voice. Who was it? What was he saying?

He?

Yes. A man’s voice.

Carson.

Carson. With his thick black hair and his brilliant blue eyes and his kisses that stole her breath.
I’m coming, Carson.

But the darkness was too thick, like stew. She slipped back down into it.

The next time she surfaced, she came all the way awake. It was dark, there, too, but there was a candle burning on the small bedside table.

What was she doing in Carson’s room? In his bed? Had they made love again? She ached all over.

Then she saw him. He had pulled a chair up next to the bed and leaned over with his face against her hip.

“Carson?” Why was her voice so weak? She wet her lips and tried again. “Carson?”

At the sound of her voice Carson jerked upright. Her eyes were open! “Winter Fawn?”

“Why do I hurt?”

She was lucid.
Thank you, God.
“You’ve been sick, honey, but you’re going to be fine now.” Relief weakened him, but he had to hold her, if only for a moment. He carefully slipped his arms around her and placed his head beside hers. “Thank God, you’re going to be just fine.”

Gussie could not wait until breakfast to tell Innes the good news.

She had awakened to the sound of voices from Carson’s room and had rushed in without even bothering with her robe.

Now that she was dressed, she rushed to the barn, where Innes was in the habit of sleeping. She didn’t know why he didn’t bunk with the other men, but she suspected, being a loner like he was, that he preferred his privacy.

With lantern in hand, for it was still dark out, she tugged open the big barn door and stepped inside. “Innes? Innes!”

Puzzled at getting no response when light was already glowing from the bunkhouse window, she started toward the last stall on the right. Maybe he was already up and out in the corral, but she would check here first.

At the stall, she raised her lantern and peered inside. Disappointment flooded her. Irritation stiffened her spine. He was drunk again, drunk as a skunk and talking to himself. She thought he’d been doing better about his drinking, but apparently she’d been mistaken.

“Poor lassie,” Innes muttered.

Ah. This was about Winter Fawn. Gussie was torn between anger and sympathy, but either way, she could alleviate his concern about his daughter. She reached for the stall door.

“What good is that bloody curse of healing,” he cried out, “if she canna even heal herself?”

Gussie froze. What in the world was he talking about? What was this bloody curse of healing?

“Heals the child, and this be her reward.”

Heals the child?

Gussie gasped. Could it be? She had peered down into that well herself and been certain the little girl’s leg was broken, yet when the child was pulled up, the leg was fine.

Heals the child?

She shook her head, sure that she was being fanciful. Innes was drunk and rambling, that was all.

Wasn’t it?

“Innes! Wake up. Do I need to get the slop bucket to wake you?”

“Huh? Wha—? Who’s there. Gussie?” Then his eyes flew open and he seemed to sober instantly. “What is it? Ma lass—”

“Is awake and hungry,” she said, unable to keep from smiling widely.

“Hallelujah. Thank ye, Lord.”

Winter Fawn recovered rapidly. Neither Carson nor Gussie would accept anything less. They cosseted her, babied her, would have spoon-fed her if she had allowed it. When she tried to get up the first day she awoke, Carson had threatened to tie her to the bed.

“You don’t know how sick you’ve been. You need to rest.”

It had been a wee bit humiliating to realize just how much rest she had need. Her weakness during those first few days had both alarmed and frustrated her.

But it had been three weeks now, and she was fine. Even Gussie had stopped hovering.

If Carson still watched every move she made whenever she happened to be within his eyesight—and if he happened to go out of his way to get her in his eyesight more often than not—she was not inclined to complain about it.