The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances (13 page)

Chapter 13

T
he Carriage came into view.  It was Sally Reynold and her brother, Thomas. Thomas pulled up next to the barn, nodding to her and Brock as he went to help his sister down.  Sally smiled and waved at Brock as she turned to get a basket of food from the back of the carriage.

“I hope you don’t mind us dropping by. Thomas was concerned about young Will so I decided to ride along,” Sally said gaily.

“We appreciate your concern but it’s not necessary,” Brock said. He frowned; he did not like Thomas popping up to visit Sabrina. He was taking care of her just fine.

Thomas spoke then, “I brought your shares of the reward money and I just wanted to check out Will’s hand and make sure it was on the mend. I finished medical school last fall and have been helping my father tend to his patients.”

“It was good of you to volunteer yesterday,” Sabrina said honestly. He was much nicer than his arrogant sister. Thomas blushed and muttered his thanks. 

He handed Brock the reward money that was left and Brock excused himself to take the food basket into the house.  Sally followed him, chatting away, as Sabrina glared after her. Thomas led Will to the back of the wagon where he’d laid some medical supplies. 

She jumped up onto the wagon bed, letting her feet dangle. Thomas was very close to her. Her knees were brushing against his thigh.  He gently lifted her chin, first examining the nick underneath. He softly traced his finger around the area. “Checking to see if the skin is warm; that’s the first sign of infection,” he said softly. Satisfied, he moved down to her hand.

Glad to see that no blood was showing through the bandage, he slowly unwrapped it. He leaned so close over her hand his wispy blonde hair was tickling her chest as the wind blew it.
Apparently, they did not teach him about personal space in medical school.

By this time Brock had come out to observe, and Sally even feigned interest as she stood next to Brock. Thomas looked over at him.  “You did the stitching?”

Brock nodded.

“Good move, very nice work.  I guess you have experience?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Brock murmured.

“Doesn’t look infected.  It’s deep, though. Do you have full use?”  he asked, looking up at Will.

Sabrina shrugged. “I don’t know; it hurts like hell whenever I move it so I really haven’t tried.”

Thomas gently held his hand under her’s, giving support as he used his other hand to support her wrist. “Try to straighten it out,” he directed.

She did as she was told, cringing a bit as the swollen skin was stretched tight causing the wound to open up a little. Brock moved closer in concern.

“Good,” Thomas said. “Now try to touch your thumb to your fingers one at a time.” He held up his own hand to demonstrate.

That was an easier task and Sabrina obeyed, proud of her success. “No permanent damage; you are very lucky. I’ll just clean the wound and redress it.  Keep moving it like I asked so it won’t stiffen up on you.”   He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and for a second she thought he was going to drink it. Then Brock moved forward suddenly, grabbing her good hand in his, and Thomas’ intentions sunk in. Sabrina cursed like a sailor as Thomas poured the liquid over the still raw and open wound. Brock’s grip was like iron as she squeezed his hand. Dabbing the wound dry, Thomas expertly wrapped it back up in new bandages.

“
I’m sorry Will, Try to limit the use of your hand for the next week or so until the wound is closed.”

Sabrina jumped down to the ground and only wobbled a bit as Brock clutched her arm to steady her. “Thanks, Thomas.  You’re a good doctor,
” Sabrina told him sincerely.

Sally, upset that she didn’t get any attention, went back to climb into the buggy.  She gushed her thanks to Brock as he helped her into her seat while Thomas put away his bag.

With a click of his tongue to the horses, they were off.

“Well, that was awfully nice of them,
” Brock said to break the silence.

Sabrina glared at him. “For you maybe; you’re not the one who was being tortured.”

“Well, if you would have listened to me and kept your butt in town you wouldn’t have gotten hurt,” Brock reminded her.

Ignoring him Sabrina went inside to take a nap. It was funny how healing can make you so tired.  Smirking, she climbed onto Brock’s bed to lay down. She loved Brock’s bed; not only was it comfortable but it also had his woodsy smell about it. Closing her eyes, she soon fell asleep. 

For the fifth time in about an hour, he placed his hand on her forehead while she slept. He was grateful there was still no fever. Thomas told him to check her often for the next couple of days. He probably didn’t need to check as often as he had been, but he liked to touch her. It was almost a way to make sure that she was real and not a figment of his imagination. Her skin was very soft and smooth as he trailed his finger along her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open and he pulled his hand back reluctantly. “You need to eat to keep your strength up. The Reynolds brought you over that basket of fried chicken, potato salad and cornbread.”

“Yes, I’m sure Sally was concerned about feeding
me
.”

“Well, it sure did look like Thomas was concerned about you. By the way, here is your reward money,” he said, holding out a handful of bills. She refused to take it.

“I still owe you for the clothes you bought me, not to mention my room and board. The rest I’ll put toward my horse.”

Brock frowned; he had forgotten about getting her a new horse. Now that he knew she was a girl he didn’t mind getting excited when he rode with her.  “You heard
Thomas;
you need to rest. I don’t call galloping around on a horse resting.”

“What are you going to do? Keep me tied down?”  She would be stir crazy in a week if he kept her cooped up that long. Brock was about to answer but let it slide.

“You need to eat.” He went over and grabbed the basket, setting it on the bed as he helped her sit up with her back against the wall. He sat on the edge of the bed and unpacked the food. It was like an indoor picnic.

Still angry, she thought about refusing Sally’s food but her grumbling stomach vetoed that option. Using her good hand, she
tried to pull a piece of meat off of the breast in front of her. Seeing her fumbling, Brock tore off a chunk and held it up to her mouth. Ready to refuse at first, a gleam stole into her eyes and she leaned over, taking the bite of chicken from his fingers with her mouth. She intentionally caressed his finger tips with her lips and tongue; he pulled his hand back as if he’d been scalded. She almost choked on the meat as she tried to keep from laughing. The look on his face was priceless; it was a mix of shock and lust. 

“Mmmm, that was good. Are you going to feed me the rest?” she asked brazenly, as she tried out her new found power.

“I think you can handle it yourself. You’re a big
girl.
How old are you exactly?” he asked cautiously.

“Old enough.”

She took another bite of chicken a bit awkwardly. She realized that she was even eating like a girl now. Will would have just picked up the whole piece and gnawed the meat off it. She giggled at the picture in her mind. Brock gave her an odd stare and checked her forehead for fever.

Eating her fill, she watched as Brock cleaned up. The sun had set and long dark shadows trailed across the room. Brock had not talked to her since the question. She really didn’t know why she answered so off handedly; maybe she was getting a fever. Didn’t fever make you say crazy things? She remembered the feel of his fingers on her tongue and licked her lips. She knew he was still angry with her and she wanted things to be right between them. She owed him that.

“I’m sorry.”

Turning from the lantern he just lit, he looked at her, not sure if he’d heard her correctly.

Taking a deep breath, she repeated herself. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to trick anyone. I just didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.”

She looked up at Brock as he sat down on the side of the bed. “Sometimes it helps to talk,” he offered, holding his hand out to her as she grasped it with her good hand.

“As you can probably tell, I’m the youngest child. My parents were very loving and doting. My older brother was the scholar, my sister, Lydia, was the perfect daughter and then there was me. The baby. I loved animals; I was always bringing home strays. We had sharecroppers on part of our land. Choctaws. I would sneak through the woods and run around with them. They taught me how to track and hunt. My pa taught me how to shoot, my mother taught me about music and my school work. And Samuel taught me how to fish. Samuel was one of the strays I brought home,” Sabrina said, smiling sadly as she looked at Brock. He was listening intently, waiting for her to go on.

“Warren, my brother, was in Boston when I lost my family. I was sixteen when they died. Since I was the only one around, I had to make all of the arrangements for the funeral. I had to get the house rebuilt. It was a complete loss. Everything inside was gone.  I stayed with Samuel and his mother until Warren came home. It took him four months to return. All that time, I was in charge of the ranch, the hands, the workers who were rebuilding the house. I didn’t have time to mourn or be sad; there was too much work to do. Moreover, I was doing what I loved. Then Warren appeared one day in his fancy suit. All
worried
about me.

“He wanted to sell the ranch and take me back to Boston with him so I could go to a real school: a boarding school where they would teach me to act like a lady, so I could meet some rich man to marry and Warren could wash his hands of me for good. “

Brock was frowning, thinking back to the reward poster. “Did he actually say that?”

“Well no, not the marrying part but the boarding school and selling the ranch was in his plans. He had already drawn up the papers. Nice having an attorney in the family. So he packed up what little I had and put me on a train for Boston. I hopped off at the first chance
I got and caught the next train west. I didn’t have much money on me so Tulsey Town was as far as I could go. That was three years ago.”

“Does Warren even know you’re alive? He’s obviously worried if he’s offering that much money to find you.”

Sabrina snorted. “I sent a letter to my aunt in Boston telling her I was safe. I’m sure she informed him. Thanks to my brother, I have had every two-bit bounty hunter looking for me for years. That’s why I’ve been dressing like a boy…so Warren can’t find me. Also, it is much safer for a boy to be on his own than a woman.”

He nodded in agreement. “Ted Roberts: you recognized him. Was he a bounty hunter?”

Sabrina shivered. “No, he used to work for us. He used to watch me and ‘accidentally’ bump into me all the time. It was creepy. My dad finally let him go. I think he may have killed my family. Because of me.” She added the last so softly that Brock thought he may have misunderstood her. Her body shook with silent grief and he pulled her onto his lap. His heart wrenched for her. He wanted to be there to protect her from now on. He only wished he could protect her from her past. She was nineteen, about seven years younger than he. His parents were ten years apart. He shook his head. He was already contemplating spending the rest of his life with her.

He held her tightly in his arms
until her sobs quieted. She let out a low sigh and he looked down at her. She was asleep. Shifting slightly, he lay down on the bed holding her close.

Sabrina slept fitfully. Even though Brock was close by, her dreams were filled with horror. Ted had cornered her in the barn and she couldn’t get out. She could see the flames licking about her and the light gave him a devilish glow. She had to choose death or him. The flames were getting closer and she could feel the searing heat. She was so hot. She could hear Ted calling her: Sabrina, Sabrina.

“Sabrina!”

Her eyes popped open, and she was surprised to see Brock’s anxious face above her. He had a wet rag in his hand and placed it on her forehead. It was getting her hair wet. Confused she reached up to try to push it away. He gently grasped her hand and held it.

“My hair’s wet,” she said dully, her mind still fuddled.

Brock smiled at that. “I’m sorry, you have a fever. I’m just trying to cool you down.”

A fever, she thought. Samuel had a bad fever and almost died. She had saved him. Her hand itched and she tried to scratch it with her other hand but realized that Brock was still holding it. She was awfully tired. She closed her eyes again.

She was back in the barn. The fire still raged but Ted was gone. Brock was with her. She looked up at him and he whispered to her…

“You’re gonna be okay.”

This time she felt wet all over. Brock was still by her side but he didn’t look like Brock. His hair was disheveled and he had beard stubble.

“Did you pour water on me? I’m wet.” She frowned as he chuckled.

“No, you’re sweating. Your fever broke.” He smiled at her as she lifted her good hand to feel his scratchy face.

“You look horrible,” she said.

Brock took her hand and kissed
the palm. “Sorry, I haven’t gotten much sleep the past couple of days.”