Heartstrings (26 page)

She couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes. Lying in the dark, she tried to understand what had happened and who was holding her. She remembered the sound of gunfire and feeling afraid and disoriented. Someone…a man had shouted her name. Beyond that, she couldn’t remember anything.

The beat next to her ear increased in tempo, sounding through her mind almost like a drum roll. The deep voice came to her again. Strong, long arms tightened around her.

“Roman.”

She’d yet to open her eyes, but when she whispered his name, Roman knew she was coming around. He continued to pat her cheek. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

The endearment escaped before he thought to say it.
Sweetheart?
he repeated silently. He’d never called a woman by that name in all his life! “All right,” he barked down at her, “enough is enough. Wake up!”

She opened her eyes and saw two Romans staring down at her. Blinking, she tried to adjust her vision, but a long moment passed before she could see clearly.

Roman’s eyes were the first part of him she saw. Chips of clear blue sky, she thought, managing a small smile and then looking at his mouth.

Her smile faded. If his lips were any indication, he was in a terrible frame of mind. “Roman? What hap—”

“Just be still,” he gritted out. “Don’t talk.”

“But I only want to—”

“You knocked yourself unconscious.” Now that he had proof that she would be all right, anger began to take the place of apprehension. “But first you left your bodyguard asleep in Singing Creek. Then you traveled alone all night. Of course, you had to pick a
moonless
night, so that your trail would be next to impossible to find. Then you tied your horse to a sapling as round as my toe and didn’t unhitch him from the wagon. You then went to sleep under the buckboard without bothering to make a campfire. After all that, you almost became breakfast for a damned pack of wolves, which had no reason to fear coming near to you because you didn’t make a fire. That’s when you finally knocked yourself unconscious. Best as I can figure, you sat up while you were under the wagon and hit your head.”

Her head reeling, she needed almost five whole minutes to understand completely. “But you called me sweetheart.”

He frowned. So she’d heard that, had she? Damn her! “What’s that got to do with—”

“How is it possible for you to think of me as a sweetheart and then be so angry with me?”

Gently, he laid her on the ground and rose to his feet. “I didn’t mean to call you sweetheart, got that? It—it’s one of those worried words. Those stupid words people say when they’re nervous. Well, hell, Theodosia, you had passed out, and you wouldn’t wake up! The word just slipped out. That’s all there is to it, so forget I ever said it.”

A shiver passed through her, causing her to realize she was wet and partially unclothed. Indeed, her bosom was clearly visible through the clinging chemise. “You pulled my dress down.”

He saw suspicion floating in her huge brown eyes. “Yeah, and then I ravished you. I’m wanted in five states for violating unconscious women.” He stalked toward the wagon to retrieve the Colt he’d thrown at the wolf. God, to think he’d thrown one of his precious weapons at a damned wolf! He’d never committed such an atrocity in all his days of carrying a gun.

And all because of a woman.
A woman!
Mumbling profanities, he reloaded both weapons and took one to Theodosia. “The last time you ate was yesterday at the fair. You need something in your stomach, or you’re going to get dizzier. I’m going hunting. I won’t be far, and while I’m gone, stay exactly where you are. If anything happens, fire two shots into the air. You do know how to shoot a gun, don’t you?”

She cocked the revolver, pointed the gun toward the sky, and pulled the trigger.

In the next moment, a slender branch fell on top of her, causing her to shriek with surprise.

Shaking his head, Roman left to find breakfast.

W
hen he returned a short
while later, Theodosia was fast asleep. Her hand on her chest, she still held the gun, pointing it directly at her face.

“Oh, of all the…” Roman muttered, taking the gun and stuffing it back into his belt. “You don’t have the sense God gave a hammer.”

The smell of food soon awakened Theodosia. Opening her eyes, she saw Roman stirring a pot over the fire. “What are you making?”

“Soup. We’ve got provisions in the wagon, but nothing I can make fresh soup out of. I doubt you can keep down much more than this.”

Holding the side of her head, Theodosia sat up. A moment passed before the pain subsided sufficiently for her to speak. “What kind of soup is it?”

“Prairie chicken. I got three.”

“Prairie chicken?”

He threw some salt into the soup. “I’ve also heard them called grouse, but the name never stuck with me.”

“I’ve never eaten a decoction of
Tympanuchus cupido pinnatus
for breakfast.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Is that scientificaneeze for prairie chicken soup?”

“Scientificaneeze?”

“That’s the name of the language you speak when you’re off on one of your genius runs.”

She ignored his barb. “A decoction of
Tympanuchus cupido pinnatus
is indeed prairie chicken soup.”

The bump to her head obviously hadn’t done anything to her brain, he mused. “How’s it possible for you to think of anything intellectual about three buck-naked, simmering prairie chickens?”

“I—”

“Never mind. Here.” He dished out a bowl of the broth and handed it to her. For himself, he made a plate of the meat.

“I thought I’d done well,” Theodosia said after finishing the soup. “After I left Singing Creek, I tried to do everything I thought you would do.”

He tossed a prairie chicken leg into the fire. “Yeah? Well, I never would have laid myself out like a damned banquet and invited wolves to come eat me.”

Gingerly, she lay back down on the leaves. “I would not have placed myself in such a predicament had you not infuriated me with your temulency yesterday. You—”

“I might have gotten drunk yesterday, but I did not temulent you!” He wasn’t exactly sure what
temulency
meant, but it sounded like something sexual.

“
Temulency
means drunkenness, Roman. After Miss Fowler left the room, I told you I was leaving Singing Creek. But due to your state of inebriation, you possessed neither the will nor the ability to accompany me. Did you really expect to find me in the room when you awakened?”

“I sure as hell didn’t expect to find you out here in wolf kingdom! Where did you think you were going, anyway?”

She picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers. “To a town.”

“
What
town?”

“The first one I came to.”

He stood. “You were heading southwest, Theodosia. In four or five days time you would have been in the damned desert, with nothing but cacti, mesquite, and rattlesnakes for company.” He crossed to the wagon and began scrounging through Theodosia’s bags.

When he brought her the nightgown, she frowned. “What—”

“Put it on. You’re not going anywhere today, tomorrow, or the day after that. In fact, you’re staying put until I think you’re fit to travel, and you might as well be comfortable while you’re at it.”

She drew the gown over her head, pulled it down, then removed her clothes from beneath it. “You are wrong about my not having company while I journey,” she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her nightgown. “I have John the Baptist, who is superb company.
He
does not belittle me, nor does he shout at me. Would you bring him to me, please?”

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Roman swiped her clothes off the ground, threw them into the wagon bed, then bent to get the cage out from beneath the vehicle. As he straightened, the cage door swung open.

John the Baptist was not inside.

“Roman? Will you bring him to me, please?” Theodosia asked again, wondering why he was standing so still.

His back to her, Roman held the cage to his chest and frantically tried to decide what to do. If he told her the bird was gone, she’d make him go look for it. She’d want to go with him, of course. She’d have to go, since there was no way in hell he’d leave her here unprotected.

But what about her head injury? She couldn’t travel.

He wouldn’t tell her that her bird was gone.

But if he didn’t tell her, the parrot would wander farther away. Theodosia would never forgive him if something happened to her pet.

Dammit!

“Roman?”

“Uh…he’s asleep.” Roman placed the cage on the wagon bed so Theodosia couldn’t see it. “Dead to the world. He—didn’t I just tell you that you had to rest today? Go to sleep!” Still refusing to look at her, he walked around the buckboard, his gaze sweeping over every inch of dirt he passed as he looked for signs of John the Baptist.

Theodosia didn’t care for the distress she heard in his voice. Something was wrong. Determined to find out what it was, she struggled to her feet, resisting the wave of weakness that passed through her. One slow step at a time, she approached the wagon.

“John,” she whispered upon seeing the empty cage. Clutching the side of the buckboard for support, she picked up the cage.

When Roman turned around, the first thing he saw was the telltale shine in her eyes. “Don’t cry. I’ll find him. God, just don’t cry.”

She nodded mutely, then began to sway. The cage crashed to the ground.

In an instant, Roman swept her into his arms. “I swear I’ll find him, Theodosia, but I won’t go out looking for him right now. I can’t leave you here, and I can’t take you with me. You’re about to pass out again, and I—”

“The wolves,” she whispered. “What if the wolves got him?”

“They didn’t. They didn’t get him. Got that?” God, he hoped the wolves hadn’t gotten the parrot.

“Please find him, Roman.”

Her voice shook. With pain or fear, Roman didn’t know. “I will, but—”

“I’ll be fine. I can drive the wagon while you ride Secret. I’ll follow you.”

“The hell you will!” He regretted shouting the second he saw more tears fill her eyes. “I told you not to—”

“I cannot stem my tears,” she whimpered, feeling several tears trickle over her lips. “John the Baptist is more than a pet to me, Roman. He’s—well, how would you feel if Secret were lost, and the only person who could find him refused to cooperate?”

The moment the question was out of her mouth, Roman knew he was defeated. Truth was, if Secret were ever lost, he’d scour every inch of the earth until he found the stallion.

And the parrot
had
played a part in keeping Theodosia safe from those Bandana Brothers, he recalled.

Roman gave a great sigh. He was going to track an African parrot through the Texas wilds while tending to an injured genius from Boston who was wearing nothing but a flannel nightgown.

This was the stupidest thing he’d ever been forced to do.

Without another word of argument, he placed Theodosia into the back of the wagon and made a bed for her. “I’ll lead your mustang. You stay here on the pallet. I know you don’t have a lot of room, but you can curl up or something.” He stared at her until she crawled into the bed.

After kicking dirt over the campfire and tying Secret to the back of the buckboard, he resumed his search for clues as to which direction the parrot had taken.

“You aren’t going to ride?” Theodosia asked, watching him examine the ground all around the wagon.

“The parrot isn’t heavy enough to make tracks I can see while mounted. I’ve got to be close to the ground. He can’t fly, right?”

“Only for short distances.” She grimaced as pain shot through her head. “His wings are clipped.”

“You sliced his wings?” Roman asked disbelievingly. There was no love lost between him and the bird, but he didn’t like thinking about the parrot being cut into.

“I only snipped a few of his feathers off. The ones he needs to fly. He experienced no pain during the procedure.” With a will so strong that it surprised her, she fought and conquered the terrible weakness that continued to seep through her limbs. “How long do you think he’s been gone?”

Roman remembered knocking the cage over when he’d dragged Theodosia out from beneath the wagon. “About three hours.”

“Three hours? Oh, Roman—”

“He’s a parrot, for God’s sake, not a roadrunner! He couldn’t have gotten very far, especially since he can’t fly.”

She forced herself to remain calm.

“Here’s a bird footprint,” Roman muttered, his eyes following the prints until they stopped at a patch of grass. “Sand,” he said, bending over the grass. “There’s sand stuck to this grass.” Rising, he looked out over the distance. “He went that way.”