Pete (The Cowboys)
Read Pete (The Cowboys) Online
Authors: Leigh Greenwood
A PROPER BATH
“We’re married,” Pete said. “It wouldn’t be improper. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
He couldn’t imagine why he was doing this. He’d never washed a woman’s back before. Well, not a
nice
woman’s back. He had no intention of letting any kind of feeling warmer than friendship develop between them. She was married to someone else. He was crazy to be standing in the bathroom, staring at her. He was insane even to think about washing her back, much less offer to do it.
What did he think he was going to do, wash her back, get himself completely stirred up, then go quietly to bed
with her lying only inches from him?
That bullet must have addled his brain. He would back out of here as fast as he could. Forget how adorable she looked, her big black eyes wide with shock, wonder, and … he was certain of it now, expectation.
“Okay.”
Too late! One word, and he was lost.
The Cowboys
series by Leigh Greenwood:JAKE
WARD
BUCK
CHET
SEAN
The
Seven Brides
series:ROSE
FERN
IRIS
LAUREL
DAISY
VIOLET
LILY
For Anne, who always wanted to be a heroine, this one is for you.
Copyright © 1999, 2011 Leigh Greenwood
Contents
Pete Jernigan became aware of something wet and soft against his cheek. A puff of warm, moist air directly in his face aggravated him. Then a pain somewhere in his head crashed down on him like rocks in a landslide. If his eyes hadn’t already been closed, the pain would have blinded him. He tried to move but couldn’t. Despite the wall of pain, he was keenly aware of the ground. He felt its roughness in piercing detail—the prick of stubby grass against the tender inside of his thigh, the bite of a sharp-cornered rock against his shinbone, the abrasiveness of dried seedpods against his chest, the smart of coarse gravel against his—
Good God, he was naked!
The pain made it nearly impossible to think, but he rummaged through his memory for a reason he should be lying on the ground without a stitch of clothes on. He couldn’t find one.
His horse nuzzled him. Again. That was what had awakened him. At least he hoped it was his horse. The Big Horn Mountains were only a few miles to the west. If it was a grizzly or a cougar, there was nothing Pete could do to stop it from making a meal of him.
He managed to open one eye. The fuzzy image of a horse’s hoof a few inches from his nose reassured him. He tried to lift his head, but the pain grew worse. He pulled his arms up on either side of him and tried to lift himself, but failed. He waited a few moments. He tried and failed again. Accepting temporary defeat, he rolled onto his back. The pain nearly caused him to black out.
His horse threw up his head and snorted. Pete feared something had spooked him, that he would run away, but he soon lowered his muzzle to graze. While Pete lay there gathering his strength for another attempt at sitting up, he tried to remember where he was, what he’d been doing. He’d been in the Montana goldfields, but the wanderlust had struck again, so he’d packed up and headed south. The last thing he could remember was making his first camp in the Wyoming Territory.
Then he noticed blood on the ground. He knew immediately it was his. He put his hand to his head, felt the raw wound that went from front to back of his scalp. He’d been shot in the head. Fortunately, it was only a deep graze. But who had shot him? Except for the two men who had ridden up to his camp last night, he hadn’t seen anyone for days. They’d asked if they could join him. He’d said yes and they’d started to dismount. That was the last he remembered. They must have shot him. Left him for dead. But why?
His money!
They couldn’t have known he had more than seventy thousand dollars sewn into the linings of his saddlebags.
Despite the pain, Pete forced himself to sit up. He had to know. It took a few minutes for his vision to clear, for the pain to subside enough for him to open his eyes to the bright sunshine of a chilly autumn day. It took only another minute to know robbery had been the motive. The camp had been picked clean. Everything was gone—saddle, saddlebags, bedroll, clothes. They’d even taken his coffeepot.
Pete couldn’t understand why they hadn’t taken his horse, then realized they probably had. Sawbones, named in honor of the doctor who’d fixed Pete’s broken limbs during childhood, had come from Texas with him ten years earlier. He’d probably broken his picket, for which Pete was now profoundly grateful. He’d been left naked with no food and water and Sawbones was his only chance for survival.
He had to get on his horse. And stay on. Without a saddle, that wouldn’t be easy. Unless he could stand up, it would be impossible. If Sawbones would he down, it would be easier. Pete used to think Hawk was wasting his time when he taught his horse tricks. Now he wished he’d taught Sawbones to lie down on command.
He tried lifting Sawbones’s hoof, but that didn’t work. The horse stood patiently on three legs, expecting Pete to change his shoe or clean his foot with a pick. Pete tried pulling Sawbones’s head down, but that didn’t work either. He tried getting Sawbones to bend both front knees, but the horse didn’t understand and moved away. Finally, exhausted and dizzy, Pete fell back. He would try again in a little while. He had to sleep. He was sure he had a concussion. Maybe someone would come along. He hated the idea of being found naked, but given the choice of being found naked alive and being found naked dead, he preferred alive.
He woke up after dark. The chill in the night air caused his teeth to chatter. His skin felt as if it were on fire. He was going to have one helluva sunburn.
He rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. He froze. Sawbones was lying down. If he would just stay down for a few more minutes … Moving was agony. Between the sunburn and his wound, Pete wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to die. A man could only stand so much pain. Getting to his hands and knees, he started toward Sawbones. The horse heard his movement and turned in his direction. Pete talked soothingly to him, murmuring any words that came to mind, hoping the sound of his voice would keep the horse from getting to his feet.
By the time he reached his horse, he was so weak, he sank to the ground. He continued talking to Sawbones, occasionally stroking his withers. The animal had to stay down long enough for Pete to throw his leg over his back.
Pete knew it was going to hurt. It would probably cause him more pain than any of his broken limbs. But getting on Sawbones could be the difference between living to find the bastards who’d done this to him and dying in the wilds of the Wyoming Territory, his bones picked clean by wild animals. With that thought in mind, Pete rose to his knees, threw his leg across Sawbones’s back, grabbed hold of his mane with both hands, and held on for dear life.
For a moment he thought it wouldn’t be enough. Sawbones lurched to his feet, throwing Pete forward, then back. Pete held on to the mane with all his strength. He knew if he fell off now, he’d never get on the horse again. Once on his feet, Sawbones stood still, waiting for Pete to tell him what to do.
After the waves of pain had subsided, Pete muttered, “Go home.”
They’d had no regular home in more than ten years, but anywhere would do. He used the last of his strength to squeeze with his legs. Sawbones started walking.
Through the endless night, Pete hung on. He had no idea how far they had traveled when the sun rose to reveal that Sawbones had come to a stop near a wagon.
“Anybody there?” Pete called. His voice sounded weak and far away in the vastness of the open plain. He got no answer. They probably couldn’t hear him. He called again but still received no answer. Digging his heels into Sawbones’s sides, he rode up to the back of the wagon. He looked inside but didn’t see anyone.