Wyoming Bride (28 page)

“Before you leave,” Flint said, “how about a little help righting Cookie’s wagon.”

Patton glanced at Emaline, scowled, then said, “Sure. Why not?”

Flint held his rifle in the crook of his arm while Patton, Tucker, and the two cowhands with them levered Cookie’s wagon back onto its wheels.

“Unsaddle two of your horses and harness them to the wagon,” Flint instructed. “Then empty out the back of that wagon and lift Ransom—carefully—into it.”

Flint knew the only thing keeping Patton compliant was Emaline’s presence. Patton needed her good opinion, because he hoped to convince her to marry him once Ransom was dead. He couldn’t afford to do anything that might cause her to reject him as a suitor.

While Patton didn’t do the work himself, he stood by without complaint as Tucker and his two henchmen emptied the wagon. He watched silently as Emaline arranged a pallet for Ransom inside. He stood aside as one of the cowboys slid his hands under Ransom’s arms and the other took his feet. They carried him over to the wagon and settled him on the pallet inside.

When they were done, one of the cowboys said plaintively, “What are we supposed to do now? Walk back?”

“That’s up to your boss,” Flint said. “You can ride double or hoof it home. I don’t give a damn, so long as you’re off my land by morning. If you’re still here, I’ll figure you’re trespassers here to rustle my cattle, and I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“Stealin’ horses is a hangin’ offense,” Tucker said with a sneer.

Flint met Patton’s eyes and said, “I’ll tell the members of the Association how you helped me out by loaning me a couple of horses when I needed them.” The threat was there, that if Patton didn’t agree to “loan” the horses, Flint would also pass along that message at the Association meeting next week.

“I’ll return your horses and saddles after I get Ransom home. Now get the hell off my land.”

“What about Miss Simmons?” Patton asked.

Emaline scooted off the tailgate of the cook wagon, faced Patton, and said, “I’m going with Flint and Ransom.”

“I’m sure your father will be interested to hear about this,” Patton said.

“Feel free to tell him,” Emaline replied scornfully. “I’m sure he’ll thank you for lending me assistance—after Flint held a rifle on you and forced you to help.”

Patton turned and mounted up. Tucker mounted his horse as well. For a moment, Flint thought Patton would make the two cowboys walk home. He must have thought better of it, because he held out a hand, and one of the cowboys put a foot in Patton’s empty stirrup and settled on the horse behind him. Tucker followed suit with the other cowboy.

Flint sat on Buck, rifle in hand, until their silhouettes passed over a rise in the distance and disappeared from sight. Then he nudged his horse into the firelight and dismounted.

A moment later, Emaline was in his arms.

She clutched his waist, sobbing. “I was so afraid he would make me go with him. I didn’t know what to do.”

Flint rocked her and crooned, “It’s all right, Emaline. Everything’s going to be all right.”

But so many things about this were all wrong.

When her sobs subsided, Flint caught her shoulders and pushed her away. “How is Ransom, really?”

“The wound in his chest is bad, but I sewed it up.”

“
You
sewed it up?”

“Of course!”

“I didn’t know you’d done any nursing.”

“I haven’t,” she admitted. “Those are the first stitches I’ve set in flesh. But it had to be done. So I did it.”

Flint stared at her. The “delicate” lady he couldn’t imagine spending a night on the prairie with a bunch of cowhands had not only been camped out here on her own, but her presence of mind and willingness to do the hard thing had probably saved his brother’s life.

“How is he?” Flint asked.

“There’s a shallow crease at his neck that bled a lot, but it’s nothing. The wound in his chest is bad. And the fever …” She met his gaze and said, “He’s so hot. I’ve been trying to cool him with a wet cloth, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.”

He watched her blink back the tears that brimmed in her eyes. She brushed at a strand of hair that had come out of her bun, and he realized it was the first time he’d seen her less than perfectly put together. It only made her more human. And his feelings more conflicted.

At least Ransom was still alive. But for how long?

“We’d better get started home,” he said.

“I’ll ride in back with Ransom.”

Flint tied Buck’s reins to the back of the cook wagon, made sure Emaline was settled comfortably, then climbed onto the bench, took up the reins, and set the horses in motion. Once they were moving, he asked, “How did you end up at the camp alone, Emaline? What happened to everyone?”

“I went looking for Ransom this morning, since he didn’t come home for supper last night,” she explained. “When I got here, everyone but Ransom was dead. He was conscious long enough to tell me they were attacked by renegade Indians with brand-new rifles.”

“Did he speculate on where they got them?” Flint asked.

“He thought Ashley Patton might be responsible. That he gave guns to the Indians so they could attack the smaller spreads.”

“It makes a crazy sort of sense. Patton’s enough of a greenhorn to think he can control a bunch of savages.”

“Then you think Patton’s responsible, too?” Emaline asked.

“Nobody else I know is greedy enough to do something that stupid.”

“What happens now?” Emaline said.

“You do your best to nurse Ransom back to health.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find a way to prove Ashley Patton sold guns to the Indians, and make sure the full force of the law comes down on his head.”

Hannah fell fast asleep after Flint put her back to bed, but woke up when the first gray light came through the bedroom window. She stretched like a cat, aware of her body in a way she never had been before. The sex had been surprising, fierce and frenzied. She still marveled at the raw intensity of what had passed between them.

She’d only gone downstairs hunting Flint because she’d felt guilty for falling asleep—again—as soon as her head hit the pillow, thereby avoiding her brand-new husband’s attentions.

It was the pregnancy, of course.

Hannah wasn’t as tired these days as she had been in the very beginning, but she had nowhere near the stamina she’d had before a life had begun growing inside her. When she’d woken up and found Flint gone from bed, she’d suspected he was going to the roundup camp to find his brother. And Emaline.

She despised herself for feeling jealous of the other woman, but that did nothing to make the feeling go away. She’d run downstairs hoping he hadn’t left yet and wishing there was something, anything, she could do to end her husband’s infatuation with his brother’s fiancée.

She’d buttoned Flint’s coat because it gave her an excuse to close the distance between them. She’d wanted to tell him that she was his wife now, that he had to forget about Emaline. But how could she accuse him of loving another woman, when she was guilty of hiding her pregnancy by another man?

She hadn’t expected what came next. The first kiss was hesitant and tender. The second sent the blood thrumming through her veins. By the time his coat came off, she was lost in a rush of sensations that left her reeling. Her breasts were exquisitely sensitive to his touch. His mouth and hands brought delightful torment wherever they roamed.

Hannah still couldn’t believe her wanton behavior. She’d shimmied out of her nightgown as Flint pulled it off over her head and stood proudly before her husband, not flinching as his gaze roamed her naked body. She forgot about everything except the heat in his eyes and the brush of his callused hands over her willing flesh.

Hannah shivered at the memory of how good it had felt to thrust her fingers through Flint’s hair and pull his head down to hers for a kiss. How salty the skin at his shoulder had tasted. How her body had moved with his once they were joined. How she’d exulted in his passion and felt exalted by his pleasure.

Hannah shivered. The gray light in the bedroom window was turning pink and yellow, telling her that dawn wasn’t far off. She should get up and get dressed. If Flint did find Ransom and Emaline, he would likely bring them home with him. If she was going to be compared to the other woman, she wanted to look her best.

Hannah wished she had something feminine to wear, but since that wasn’t an option, she settled for tying her hair away from her face with one of Emaline’s ribbons and letting the golden curls fall on her shoulders. She pulled on jeans and tucked in a borrowed blouse, then grabbed a shawl and tied it in a knot to hold it in place before heading downstairs.

Hannah had barely made it to the kitchen when she heard a wagon rolling up to the back of the house. She hurried to the kitchen door and opened it to find Flint pulling the cook wagon to a stop.

She ran outside and asked, “Where are Ransom and Emaline?”

“In the wagon,” he said tersely. “Ransom’s been shot.”

“Oh, no!” Hannah hurried to the back of the wagon and looked over the tailgate. She saw a bedraggled Emaline sitting beside Ransom, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. “How is he?” she asked.

“Burning up with fever,” Emaline replied.

Flint appeared at the back of the wagon, opened the tailgate, and said, “Come on out of there, Emaline.” He turned to Hannah and said, “I’ll need you to hold the kitchen door open for me.” He caught Emaline at the waist when she reached the back of the wagon and lifted her to the ground, then said, “Go upstairs and turn down Ransom’s bed.”

Flint used the pallet under Ransom’s body to pull him far enough out of the wagon that he could slide his arms under his brother’s shoulders and knees, then hefted him into his arms. Hannah found it ominous that Ransom didn’t move or make a sound when Flint picked him up.

She ran in front of Flint to open the kitchen door, then stood back as he carried Ransom over the threshold.

“Bring a pitcher of water upstairs,” he said. “Emaline will need it to sponge Ransom’s body. We have to get this fever down.”

Hannah saw the fear in his eyes as he walked past her with his brother’s lifeless body in his arms. Hannah closed the door, then filled a pitcher with water at the kitchen pump and hurried upstairs after him.

She found Emaline sitting on the bed beside Ransom weeping. Flint stood with his back to Hannah, his hands resting on Emaline’s shoulders, his face close to hers.

Hannah stopped by the door, telling herself to pull her claws back in, that Emaline probably needed comforting. She tamped down the savage jealousy she felt and asked, “Is he dead?”

Flint let go of Emaline’s shoulders as though he’d been caught embracing her, turned to Hannah and said, “No. I was just … offering comfort.”

Hannah felt a flare of fury. Emaline might have been seeking comfort, but Flint had wanted more than that. The look of regret in his eyes told Hannah how much he wished he hadn’t married her. He might not want his brother to die, but if he did, Flint was already saddled with an unwanted and unwelcome wife.

Hannah bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she would be sorry for later, swallowed over the knot of anger in her throat, and said, “Are you all right, Emaline? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Emaline swiped at her eyes with a lace hanky and said, “I’m fine. It’s silly to cry now. I’m just so relieved that we’re here, and that Ransom is still alive.”

Hannah set the pitcher of water on the table beside Emaline. She took a good look at Ransom and saw a man who had one foot in the grave. She placed her hand on his forehand and found it fiery hot. She’d dealt with fever at the orphanage in Chicago. It was relentless. And it killed without mercy.

“You should get him out of these filthy clothes,” she said to Emaline. “You can cool him down while you wash him up. I’ll be glad to help. In fact, I can take care of Ransom while you clean yourself up.”

Emaline looked down and seemed surprised to discover that her white blouse and tan riding skirt were stained with dirt and dried blood.

“Hannah’s right,” Flint said. “You need to take care of yourself first, Emaline. I’ll undress Ransom while you wash up.”

Hannah realized Flint had solved the problem of having either of the two women undress his brother. But he was only postponing the inevitable, unless he wanted to nurse Ransom himself.

“Come on, Emaline,” Hannah said, eyeing Flint over her shoulder as she helped the other woman to her feet. “You can dress in my room. It sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure. I want to hear all about it.”

Hannah found Emaline reticent about discussing the events of the previous evening. “You mean you stitched his wounds yourself?” she said, amazed at Emaline’s courage in the face of such adversity. “Where did you find the nerve?”

“It was either that or watch him bleed to death,” Emaline replied as she scrubbed at her face and arms with a wet washcloth. “You would have done the same thing.”

“I can barely mend clothes,” Hannah said. “I can’t imagine sticking a needle through someone’s flesh.”