Chasing the Sun (36 page)

Then promptly dissolved in tears.

HAULING JACK OUT WAS MORE COMPLICATED THAN HANK had expected.

Getting him across the creek was easy enough, although judging by the amount of coughing and cursing from Jack, being towed across the current with two ropes tied around his chest was hard on his bruised ribs.

Then once they got him across and pushed the water out of him, they found getting him out of the canyon wouldn’t be any easier, since Jack was adamantly opposed to hiking out, citing his injured leg as the reason.

An understandable concern, Hank supposed, but it posed the new problem of how they were going to get him up to the wagon on top.

Luckily they had plenty of rope. And after a careful study of the situation, and a bit of rummaging through the spare harness parts and hardware he’d had the foresight to add to the sundry supplies in the wagon, Hank was able to rig a sling apparatus to haul Jack straight up the rock wall.

Well, mostly straight. There were a few jut-outs here and there, and a cluster of prickly pear cactus they probably should have avoided, but Jack made it to the top in better shape than he would have if he’d had to walk out. Although his little brother had some harsh opinions about that too.

Kind of a baby, Jack could be. But then, he had had a rough couple of days.

When they finally got him settled down enough so they could tend him, they plucked out the remaining cactus spines, then Brady held him still while Hank doctored the cut on his leg. After cleaning it as best he could with Jack thrashing around, he slapped on some of Molly’s carbolic salve, wrapped the leg tight and tidy, and tossed him in the back of the wagon.

Hank figured if they hurried, they could make it home in time for supper.

JACK PRAYED FOR DEATH.

His or his brothers’.

He didn’t care which.

He just wanted them to either finish killing him, or take him home so he could see for himself that Daisy and Kate were all right. Then once he was assured of that, he would commence killing them.

What a pair of peckerheads. They’d damn near crippled him for life in their zeal to rescue him. Biting back a groan, Jack pulled the blankets closer around his shivering body and tried to ignore the jostling of the wagon over rocks and ruts. And they wondered why he was always so anxious to get away from them. Still, once he recovered, if he hadn’t done them in by then, he would probably be grateful they had come to rescue him. Maybe.

But for now at least his belly was full of water and dried meat—and getting fuller by the minute it seemed, almost as if an entire cow was rehydrating inside him—and the blankets were keeping him mostly warm and soaking up the lingering dampness in his clothes—and he knew Daisy and Kate were safe. So despite the shivering and exhaustion and the gut ache and soreness and constant throbbing in his leg, it was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

The ride home seemed to take forever, although it was still light when they rolled up to the house. By the time his brothers dragged him out of the wagon, people were swarming down the porch steps like ants from a burning anthill.

Jack couldn’t help but be touched that they’d been that concerned about him. But the two faces he was most anxious to see were absent. Then he saw Daisy running around the corner of the house from the garden with Kate on her hip.

Daisy was grinning. Kate just looked bewildered. Then she saw him and her face split in a toothless giggle and she started bouncing on her mother’s hip the way she did when she was impatient and excited.

And suddenly all his aches and pains and worries faded away.

He wanted to laugh out loud, scoop them up in his arms and dance them across the yard.

But he was too dirty and sore, and he was afraid his leg would give out and they’d all topple into the dirt. So he just watched them come, filling his mind with the sight of them while something almost like pain moved through his chest and up into his throat.

By God, he needed this woman. Maybe he even loved her. He wasn’t sure if he knew what love was, but the feeling that gripped him now as he watched her come toward him was the most powerful, consuming, undeniable emotion he’d ever experienced. He’d certainly never felt that way about Elena. About anything.

It felt bigger than his mind could encompass.

It felt right and strong and true.

It felt like ... flying.

By the time they reached him, Kate was holding a little tighter to her mother and acting shy again, probably not fully sure who he was under the whiskers and bruises and matted hair.

But Daisy knew him, and her smiling face was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. “Jack,” she said with a catch in her breath. “Oh, Jack,” she said again, and burst into tears.

He almost did, too, but masked it with a broad grin that felt as wobbly as his balance on his makeshift crutch. Then he saw the cuts and bruises on the arm holding Kate, and his grin faltered. Reaching out a grimy hand, he cupped her wet cheek. “Are you all right?”

Smiling through her tears, she nodded. “We’re all right. How about you?”

Before he could answer, Kate poked a finger against a tender lump on his forehead. “Jack alwight?”

He tried not to flinch. “I’m all right, Katie-girl. Just dirty.”

“Bad water take Jack gone. Make Mama cry. Katie too.”

Blinking hard, he forced a smile. “Well, I’m back. And look who I brought with me.” Reaching into the waistband of his denims, he pulled out the battered toy he’d guarded like gold over the last days.

“Titty!” Kate shrieked. “Titty come back!” Then before Daisy could stop her, she threw herself at Jack and her toy.

Laughing, Jack caught her. Ignoring his filth and the ache in his ribs, he pinned her tight against his chest with his free arm. She smelled like flowers and sunshine and berry jelly, and the feel of those little arms going around his neck was the sweetest welcome he had ever known. That unnamed emotion rose again and pressed against his throat so hard he could scarcely breathe. “Katie-girl,” he whispered. And closing his eyes against a sudden sting of tears, he breathed in the clean baby scent of his beautiful daughter, and lost his heart forever.

Something that sounded like a collective sigh penetrated his brain, and he opened his eyes to find a crowd of grinning people standing around them.

Embarrassed, he tried to cover his unmanly display of emotion with another big grin. “So what’s for supper?”

THE HOUSE HAD FINALLY SETTLED DOWN FOR THE NIGHT.

It had been an emotional evening—for everyone but Jack, that is, since Molly had given him enough laudanum to put him out while she tended his injuries. She was still working on him an hour later when the rest of the family sat down to a late supper. The children had all been fed, read, and put to bed, so only the adults sat around the big kitchen table.

Daisy felt so emotionally and physically drained she could barely lift a fork. But the others were in high spirits, and soon the meal became another of those everybody-talking-at-once gatherings that seemed to be the normal routine for this boisterous family. Brady and Hank took great delight in recounting Jack’s epic battle with the bear and his rescue across the flooded creek and out of the canyon. And although they made it sound comical and had them all laughing, Daisy could see the lines of weariness and strain on their faces, and knew Jack’s ordeal had taken its toll on his brothers as well.

No one actually put it into words, but she sensed each of them was thinking the same thing. They’d come within a hair’s breadth of losing Jack, and they were all immensely thankful he had survived. Daisy sent Elena a silent look of gratitude, certain that her prayers had had a big part in bringing Jack back to them.

When Molly joined them, leaving Jack doctored and dozing peacefully, they were relieved to hear that after some fancy stitching on his leg, the removal of a stray cactus spine or two, and some ointment spread on various cuts and scrapes, he was doing remarkably well for all he’d gone through.

“Other than a lingering soreness from his bruised ribs and having to be careful of his leg, he should be feeling up to his old self within a couple or three days,” she announced.

Daisy felt a tightening in her stomach. Three days. During their talk in the garden earlier that afternoon, despite their loudly voiced doubts that Daisy was doing the right thing in leaving Jack, Molly and Jessica had decided that if she was determined to leave, she should do so as soon as they were certain Jack was on the road to recovery. Daisy had agreed, stipulating only that Jack not be told about her impending departure; she knew if given the opportunity, he would probably talk her into forgoing the dream of singing and staying with him ... which she was certain would last only until the lure of the wandering life drew him away from her again.

But three days. That hardly seemed any time at all.

And now, with supper over and the house quiet, the hollow echoes of her footfalls as she moved down the hall seemed to Daisy like a bleak foreshadowing of the lonely days to come. She would miss this family. She would miss the chaos, the banter and teasing, the laughter and energy. It had been nice feeling like part of a family again and having women around her she could talk to and trust.

And then there was Jack. All those wonderful hours with Jack.

She would miss those most of all.

As she passed Jack’s door, she heard movement within, and paused to listen. Was he up? He should be sleeping. Seeing that the door was ajar, she gently pushed it open.

Molly was bent beside the bed, smoothing sticking plaster over a thick bandage on Jack’s leg. He appeared to be asleep, although he flinched when Molly pressed against the bandage, and Daisy could see small restless movements in his hands and legs.

“Is everything all right?” she asked from the doorway.

Molly looked over with a reassuring smile. “I’m just checking his bandage. He’s doing well.”

“Anything I can do?”

Molly straightened, studied her patient for a moment, then nodded. “You can sit with him while I get the laudanum and some food. He’s starting to wake up, and I’m afraid he may try to get out of bed. I hate giving him so much opiate, but if we can keep him down for another day and night, he’ll heal much faster.”

“Of course.” Stepping aside as Molly left the room, Daisy studied Jack’s long form. It was odd seeing him so still. Usually his energy and vitality seemed to fill the air around him. She remembered how restive he had always been even when he was drunk or asleep, as if his mind had begrudged even those few hours of inactivity.

Sinking into the chair beside the bed, she took his big hand in hers. It was scratched, the knuckles scraped and bruised. Now that he was clean, she could see his poor face had fared no better. What must he have suffered? Tears burned in her eyes when she thought of how close she had come to losing him. The world wouldn’t have been the same without Jack Wilkins wandering through it, so full of life and laughter and boyish dreams.

She
wouldn’t have been the same.

“You wretch,” she whispered, smiling as she wiped away a tear with her fingertips. “You’ve made me love you again, haven’t you?”

The restless movements accelerated. He sighed. His dark lashes fluttered, and beneath his closed lids his eyes jerked and darted.

Daisy watched, entranced. She could almost feel awareness flow through him, as if a beautiful statue were slowly coming to life.

He took another deep breath, frowned, then opened his eyes.

Daisy waited for that smoky gaze to find her. When it did, she smiled. “Hello.”

He blinked groggily, then his brow cleared and he smiled back. “Daisy,” he said in a rusty voice. “You’re all right.”

“Thanks to you, I am.”

He tried to roll over, then winced and looked down at his leg. “Am I?”

“You are. Bruised and battered is all. Nothing cracked or broken. Molly stitched your leg and wants you to stay off of it for another day or so, then you should be up to your old shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans?” That crooked smile. “You mean courting?”

Brady was right to call him One-Track-Jack. The man could be half-dead and still try to flirt.

“What’s that smell?” He looked clean, so she knew it wasn’t him.

“Stinky. Behind you.”

Daisy turned to see a huge form in a shadowed corner. She reared back in disbelief. “Is that a buffalo?”

“It is. And don’t ask.”

Before she could, Molly returned, carrying a tray loaded with thin-sliced roast beef, cheese, bread, a cup of applesauce, a pitcher of water, and a brown medicine bottle of laudanum.

After helping him sit up, Molly and Daisy watched in amazement as he drank three big cups of water, then gobbled down everything on the tray but the laudanum. When Molly tried to administer it, he shook his head.

“It makes me feel strange,” he complained, pushing aside the brown bottle.

Molly pushed it back. “One more day. That’s all.”

He looked to Daisy for help.

“Just one more,” she seconded.

With a great deal of shuddering and gagging, he took his dose. “I suppose now you’ll want to carry me into the water closet and help me relieve myself too,” he said petulantly as he tossed the empty spoon onto the bedside table.

“It’s been my fondest dream,” Molly said sweetly.

He shot Daisy a crafty look. “I’d rather she do it.”

Instead, both women helped him into the water closet, and once they had him balanced before the stool, they promptly deserted him with instructions to call when he was ready to come back into the bedroom.

By the time he was back in bed, his face was pale and it was apparent the opiate was starting to take effect. Satisfied, Molly scooped up the tray and headed toward the door, saying she would be back in the morning.

When Daisy started to follow her out, Jack grabbed her hand. “Stay,” he said sleepily. “Just for a while.”

“A while” lasted no more than five minutes before he was snoring softly and his big body was completely relaxed. Daisy watched him a minute more, then exhaustion overcame her, too, and she left.