Wildflower (20 page)

Wild-eyed, the cattle jostled each other. In a matter of seconds the herd would become a frightening frenzy of deadly hooves. He spurred Sergeant into a full sprint around the peripheral of the beeves toward Matt. More booms resounded in the air.

Fear knotted his stomach. Squeezed the air from his lungs. If those animals started to stampede…

Then, like brown water pouring from a pump, the longhorns raced in a single column toward the east and, thankfully, away from where his wife lay on the ground.

Not moving.

Matt!

He jumped from Sergeant’s back and scrambled to her side. He lifted her into his arms. Blood smeared her face. Terror seized his chest. His heart.

She wasn’t…Couldn’t be…From a fall off her horse?

She moaned—the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard—and he clasped her to his body, rocking her, tears of gratitude in his eyes. Never mind he’d been angry enough to whale on her just minutes before.

She struggled against his tight embrace and he reluctantly eased his hold. He brushed dirt and hair from her face. Blood ran from an angry red scrape just above her temple. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Emotion shook his voice.

She gave a wobbly nod. “What happened?”

He then heard gunshots and the shouts of the other drovers. He looked up to see two hundred head of powerful longhorns bearing down on them. Very quickly.

The men were turning the herd on itself, hoping the animals would stop running. If it worked, they’d still have a herd to drive north. If not, they’d have a bunch of dead beeves.

With him and Matt in the middle. Also dead.

An outcropping of boulders stood some thirty feet to the left. The ground was a muddy mess of dirt and melted snow. By himself, Logan would have had a fifty-fifty chance of making the safety of the boulders before the stampede was upon him. But having to carry Matt as well...

He didn’t finish the thought, but hauled her into his arms and took off on a flat run. The thundering approach of hooves goaded him into running faster than he believed possible. She clung to him. He hoped she wasn’t aware of their tenuous predicament. One of them knowing how slim their chances were was enough.

The protection of the rocks disappeared in a fog of flying grime and muck. He stumbled, his feet sticking in the mud. His knees gave out. By sheer force of will, he remained upright until the very last moment where he heaved himself and Matt behind the outcropping.

He gathered her beneath his body, his legs tucked up to his chest just as the first of the stampede reached them. The earth trembled with cataclysmic power. The deafening roar of hooves split his eardrums. Soil choked his lungs.

Forever passed before the ground stopped its violent shaking and the clamoring sound faded to a din. He lifted his head.

Nothing was visible through the dense curtain of debris. Shouts and gunshots of the men could be heard as they battled to bring the herd under control. He looked down at Matt.

Her eyes were closed, her face covered by mud and blood.

“Matt?”

No response.

He lightly slapped her cheek and her head lolled to one side. Panic stole what little breath he had. “Matt? Sweetheart?”

Her eyelids fluttered before slowly opening. He wanted to weep when two meadow green eyes focused on him.

“What happened?” she repeated in a raw voice.

He tenderly cupped the back of her head. “Stampede.”

She gave a weak nod and sat up.

“Easy,” he cautioned. “You’ve got quite a bump on your head from being thrown off your horse.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I wasn’t thrown.” She touched a tentative hand to her temple. “I was shot.”

A brawny fist landed in his middle. “
What
?”

Another small nod. “That first shot, or maybe it was the second one, hit me.”

Anger boiled his blood. He’d been so concerned with keeping Matt and himself alive, he hadn’t considered
how
the stampede started. Now he did.

Not a cloud graced the sky so it hadn’t been thunder he’d first heard. He studied her wound. It was indeed a bullet graze. Someone had intentionally shot his wife. Had intentionally stampeded their herd. Rage blackened his vision. He helped Matt to her feet only to have her crumble. He swept her into his arms.

She squirmed. “I can walk.”

“Maybe.” He whistled once and Sergeant trotted to them. Fortunately the seasoned cow pony had stayed clear of the charging longhorns. “But until the doc checks you out, you’re not doing anything.” In a single move, he mounted the gelding then nestled Matt across his lap, his arms holding her secure.

“But my horse—”

“Is right over there.” He clucked his tongue and Sergeant moved forward. Logan snagged Turk’s reins.

“We need to round up the beeves.” Her objection would have sounded better had her voice not been so weak.

“The men are handling that. I’m taking you back to the ranch so you can get tended to.”

She resisted his grasp. “Don’t be ridiculous. There isn’t time for this. The herd’ll be all the way to Abilene.”

He pulled Sergeant to a hard stop and tipped up her face so their gazes met. “I don’t care. Those blasted cows can be in Timbuktu for all I do care. I only care about you. You were shot and damn near trampled to death. I won’t risk you getting hurt worse.” He urged Sergeant forward again, her head tucked under his chin, ending the conversation.

~
~
~

For all his high-mindedness, Matt was grateful Logan had insisted he take her back to the ranch. Pain ricocheted throughout her head and her stomach threatened to heave its contents.

And she was cold. So cold, her teeth chattered and shivers wracked her body. Her husband’s arms tightened protectively around her. Keeping her safe. Every time she thought about how close they’d come to dying, bile thumped the back of her throat.

She concentrated on the steady beat of Logan’s heart against her ear. It helped to soothe her misery and lulled her into a fitful sleep. The next thing she knew, she was being handed down into Chuck’s outstretched arms.

Tender fret softened the cynical cook’s expression as he held her, waiting for Logan to dismount. The last time Chuck had looked so concerned, she’d fallen off Turk while breaking him to the saddle, busting her arm in two places. She wanted to say she was fine, but the words didn’t form. Her mouth was drier than dirt.

Logan gathered her back into his arms then strode up the porch steps and into the main house. He carried her straight to their bedroom and laid her out on the bed. He removed her boots then pulled the quilt up to her chin. The mattress dipped as he sat beside her, his gray eyes filled with worry. She turned her lips up into a feeble smile.

“I’m gonna head for the Applegate place,” he said. “Have Sam ride to town for the doc. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“I’ll be fine,” she stated on a frail whisper. “Can’t be lazing in bed anyway. There’re chores to be done and you need to check on the herd.”

“The herd isn’t important.”

“Not important?” She sat up and the room spun. With a moan, she crumpled back onto the mattress.

He stroked her cheek. “No arguing. And no getting out of bed. You stay put or I’ll have Chuck hogtie you to the bed posts.”

“Promises, promises,” she muttered, struggling to keep her eyes open. She finally gave up the battle. The last thing she remembered was the warm press of Logan’s lips on hers.

~
~
~

As fast as he could, Logan rode to the neighboring ranch and back. It was mid-afternoon when he returned to find Chuck sitting at Matt’s bedside.

Red-rimmed eyes looked up at him. “When’s the doc gonna
git
here?”

Logan carefully sat on the bed, his gaze never leaving his wife. Chuck had cleaned and bandaged her head wound, but the ghastly pallor to her face sent a knife through his chest. “Soon as he can, I suspect. Sam rode out like the wind itself. She been asleep all this time?”

With a sniffle, Chuck nodded and went back to staring at Matt. Logan knew the old geezer felt lost. Hell, he felt lost himself.

No, he felt beyond lost. Helpless and powerless. He cleared the rock from his throat. “You best get started on supper. I reckon the boys will be coming in soon wanting some decent food.”

Wordlessly, Chuck stood and left. He knew, as did Logan, that the men wouldn’t be coming in for supper tonight. Once the longhorns calmed down, they had to gather what critters they could find and take them back to the east pasture.

Logan moved from the bed to sit in the chair. He took up where the old cook had left off. Staring at Matt. Willing her to wake.

A nasty blow to the head caused a person to sleep. A sleep they might not ever wake up from.

He cradled her hand with both of his and ran his thumbs across the palm. For some reason, her palms were a ticklish spot. One he exploited as best he could over the past two weeks.

Had they only been married two weeks? Didn’t seem possible. As far as he was concerned, they’d been married forever. But they weren’t destined to stay together. He realized that now.

Someone had deliberately shot her. She’d almost been trampled by the stampede. She wasn’t safe here. He couldn’t keep her safe. The agony of that fact seared his soul and made his heart bleed.

Digging his elbows into the mattress, her brought her hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. As soon as she was recovered, he’d scrape together the money needed so she could go to Kansas City. He could face a life without her, but he couldn’t face having her dead.

He looked at her ashen features. “You need to wake up, sweetheart. Snow’s nearly gone. It’s almost time for you to pack your bags and go to Kansas City.” He coughed the lump of pain from his voice. “I’ve never been there, but I bet it’s nice. Bet you’ll meet plenty of new people. You’ll take their breath away in that new dress of yours. Elisabeth said it right, you will be the belle of all the balls.”

He didn’t notice the room growing steadily darker with the fading sunlight. He just kept talking in low tones to his wife about anything. Everything. He didn’t know what time it was when Bingham finally marched into the room. Late. A fire had been lit in the other room and Chuck followed behind the doctor, a lamp in each hand.

“What happened?” Bingham asked in a brisk voice. He set his bag on the dresser, shed his coat and proceeded to roll up his sleeves.

Logan stretched the kinks from his back as he stood. “Someone stampeded our herd. A bullet grazed her temple.”

“All right. Let me take a look.”

Logan took a lamp from Chuck and held it high so Bingham could see what he was doing. The doctor peeled off the bandage then prodded the injury and lifted each of her eyelids. He pulled a flexible tube from his bag, placing one end on her chest and the other in his ear.

Impatience and worry stewed within Logan. But he held his tongue until the good doctor had finished his rewrapping his wife’s wound. “Well?”

“She’s fine, except for the bump on her head.”

“Will she wake up?”

Bingham rolled down his sleeves. “I don’t know.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“An honest one,” Bingham retorted with a scowl. “You know, just like I do, sometimes people recover from head wounds and sometimes they don’t.” He snapped his bag closed and shrugged on his coat. “Keep her comfortable. Nothing else we can do.” With that, he left.