“Nothing much.” He grimaced with pain when she picked it up.
“Your wrist could be broken.”
“No, it’s not. I can move my fingers, see.” He groaned out loud.
“Your hand and wrist are swelling up. At the very least, you’ve badly strained it.”
“I must have instinctively put my hand out to save myself.” He cursed again. “I’m too busy to be injured.”
“Stop cursing, it won’t do you any good. I’ll help you into a chair, then I’ll put a damp cloth on to help with the swelling.”
After helping him into a chair, she dashed over to the washing up dish and filled it with water, then grabbed up a rag. Soaking it with water, she rung it out and raced back to him and gently wrapped it around his hand. She had never seen swelling come up so quickly.
“Luckily, it’s not my right hand.”
“You were fortunate you didn’t break your back or even worse – kill yourself.”
“I’ve got a shocking headache.”
“Do you have any laudanum?”
“No.” He snapped the word out. “I never touch the stuff.”
“You should always keep some on hand.”
“Never. During the war I saw men addicted to it, wanting it so badly they went crazy in the head.”
She kept on applying the damp rag to his hand. It did seem to be helping a little, although his fingers were so swollen, they became immovable. “This isn’t good, Zane, maybe I should ride for the doctor.”
“Don’t be foolish, it’s pitch-black outside. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Maybe if you rest your arm in a sling.”
“Okay, we can do that.”
“I’ll get the scissors.”
“What!”
“I need to cut up….”
“You’re not cutting up those bed sheets. I paid good money for them.”
“No, I won’t. I still have material left from my petticoat.” She dashed over to the drawer and retrieved the scissors. The dim lamp light cast shadows on the wall. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
In the bedroom, she snatched up the neatly folded remnant of petticoat, and laid it on the floor. Although the light was dim in here, she cut out a square. On the one hand, it was criminal to have destroyed the garment. On the other hand, what choice had there been? Zane had nothing suitable, and it was not as if she had not already destroyed it. She folded it ready for use and headed out to the sitting room.
His face was white, and he grimaced with pain.
“Right, can you lift your arm up?”
Using his uninjured hand, he held the injured one up so she could slide the material under it. Once she was satisfied the arm was resting in a comfortable position, she tied the ends together at the back of his neck. “Better?”
“Thanks, it seems to have taken the dragging pressure off.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to help you into bed and no arguments. We can share.” No way was she sleeping in that dangerous loft area.
“Okay, I’m in far too much pain to misbehave.”
***
Zane could not believe how stupid and careless he had been. Jasmine crying out in her sleep had shocked him so much he had sprung up, completely forgetting his height and the lowness of the large beam just above his head. He had hit it so hard it virtually catapulted him over the edge of the loft. Endeavoring to save himself by putting out his hand had caused him to injure it. He did not think it was broken, as he could move his fingers before they swelled up.
Meekly, he let her help him out of the chair where he was slumped. In fact, he quite liked having a woman fussing over him, something that had never happened before.
She sure was pretty, with her long hair streaming down her back, her pale green eyes darkening to emerald because of worry over him. No one had cared about him in years.
The white nightgown she wore left little to his imagination. He was almost glad he was in such pain. It would stop him from having any carnal thoughts. Well, he still had them, but was unable to act on them. He had been fighting his desire from the moment he brought her here.
“Can you get yourself into bed?”
“I think so.” He sat on the side of the bed she had obviously slept on, and swung his legs up. When he tried to lay down, he yelped with pain.
“Here, I’ll help you, slowly.” As she leaned over him, he smelled her womanly scent. Those soft, sweet lips were so close, and her warm breath caressed his bare chest as she eased him back on to the pillow.
Rusty had been right. What a fool he had been to stipulate it be a marriage in name only. He would give up twenty years of his life to take the words back now. He had given his word and would stick to it, even though it nearly killed him. For years, his word had been the only thing of value he had. He was not prepared to compromise it now, no matter how much he wanted to.
He closed his eyes. Hopefully, the land agency people would stay away for another week or so. The lamp went out, then the bed moved slightly as Jasmine slid in beside him.
“Goodnight, Zane. Sleep tight. If you need me, don’t be afraid to ask.”
Oh, he needed her all right, although not in the way she meant. She wriggled a couple of times, then lay still.
***
Zane woke up, although his arm throbbed, thankfully, his headache had disappeared. Sunlight streamed through the curtains. He must have slept in, something he never did. Moving his leg, he discovered the other side of the bed was empty and cold. Using his good hand, he gritted his teeth and sat up. It was easy enough to swing his legs out of bed and stand.
The house was silent. He padded out to the kitchen and noticed the fire had burned down in the stove. Picking up a log he threw it on the glowing embers. Where was Jasmine? Surely, she had not run out on him after fourteen days of marriage. His heart sank. Rusty maintained she had integrity, but look at what Betsy Raynor had done to him.
Even after knowing her for such a short time, he was sure Jasmine was not like that. He dampened down on his panic. As it turned out, Betsy had done him a favor by not turning up, because he would never have met Jasmine and she was the woman he wanted.
Fortunately, he had left his pants and shirt from yesterday hanging on one of the chairs in the sitting room. Getting into them was going to be a problem. No way would he be letting her help him into them, wife or no wife. Even if it killed him, he would do it on his own.
Gingerly, he slipped his arm out of the sling and reached for his pants. It was not as easy as he had thought trying to wriggle into them. Doing up the buttons was the next hurdle to get over. He was sweating by the time he had finished. Now the shirt. He picked it up and debated about which way to get into it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A sudden knock on the front door startled Zane. “Is that you, Jasmine?” he called out, wondering why she had not come through the kitchen like she always did. Maybe she had been working in the garden.
“No, it’s not.”
The male voice had him rocking back on his heels.
“I’m McTavish from the Land Agency.”
“Just a minute.” Still struggling into his shirt, Zane stepped over to the door. “I’m coming.” He dared not fall foul of this man, especially not now. Of all the bad luck.
He swung the door open and the middle-aged man had his hand raised to knock again. Annoyance was etched on his face.
“Sorry, I had an accident last night.” He had one arm in the shirt, the sling dangled against his chest as he struggled to get his injured hand through the empty sleeve.
The man leaned over and held the shirt so he could slip his arm through.
“Are you sure it’s not broken?” McTavish asked.
“I don’t think so, I could move my fingers before it swelled up. Thanks for the help.”
“How did it happen?”
“Um, I fell out of the loft.” He prayed desperately for the blanket and pillow to be hidden. Glancing upward he could have cried wit
h relief. Jasmine must have put them away like she always did.
“You live here alone?”
“No, I’m married.”
McTavish looked enquiringly at him.
“My wife is outside somewhere. After what happened last night, I must have slept in. I can’t remember ever having done that before.”
Zane was glad he had left the bedroom door open so McTavish could see the rumpled bedclothes on the double bed. “She should have woken me.”
“Tell me, what have you done to improve the place?”
With a pride he could not hide, he told the man what he had down, and how well he thought he was doing.
“You haven’t finished the house.”
His heart dropped to his boots. “No, it’s not finished yet. I plan on building two bedrooms up in the loft area. I thought it more important to get the fencing and outbuildings done to start earning an income. I don’t know where Jasmine is, she could make us coffee. I’m not confident of my ability not to scald myself.” He eased his arm back into the sling.
“What are you doing up?” Jasmine asked as she came into the kitchen carrying a bucket of milk.
“Mr. McTavish from the Land Agency is here.”
“Oh. Well, darling, I’m glad you didn’t risk scalding yourself trying to make him coffee. Could we offer you a drink, Mr. McTavish?”
“No, thanks. I’m interested in seeing the improvements outside, Mrs. McIvor.”
“Of course, you are. Do you feel up to showing him around or shall I?”
“I’m not a cripple, darlin’. There is nothing wrong with my legs.”
“Okay. I mixed up the mush for the pigs. I gave them most of the milk I got from that cantankerous cow of yours.”
“It’s nice to meet a capable woman,” McTavish said. “A lot of ranchers choose women who are completely unsuited to this kind of life.”
“Yes, well, I’m not like them. Pa was a military man and he made sure I could look after myself.”
“Let’s see what you’ve done outside, McIvor.”
“Is that a Scottish accent I detect, Mr. McTavish?”
“Yes, it is. I thought after all these years living out here, I might have lost it.”
“Pa was English, and even though he spent years out here, you could still tell he was English.”
All three of them walked outside.
“Fine looking barn,” McTavish said.
“You should see how Zane has separated it into different sections.”
McTavish said nothing as they showed him around the barn. He did show more interest in the smokehouse. “This is good, quite innovative.”
“I thought breeding hogs were a good sideline. I’m more interested in cattle.”
“But as you keep telling me, darling, diversity makes sure we have a steady income, even if cattle prices fall. Do you know he has a permanent order at the mercantile in Laramie for his smoked ham?”
McTavish looked impressed.
Zane could only marvel at the way Jasmine worked on the man. She had him eating out of her hand. His wife was smart as well as pretty.
“I suppose my silly husband told you how he tumbled out of the loft. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.” She smiled so sweetly at him his legs came close to buckling. “What else would you like to see? Zane has the ugliest brute of a pig you could ever come across.”
“He’s a good sire, and boars don’t need to be pretty.”
“I think you’ve shown me enough. I can see you’ve put a lot of work and thought into this place. With such a charming and capable wife, I know you will be one of our success stories.”
“Thanks. She’s been a great help to me.”
After McTavish left with all the papers signed, they shared a coffee. “You had that man eating out of your hand, Jasmine.”
“I thought he was quite nice, if a little dour. Now you have your land, where does that leave me?” she asked, fearfully waiting for his answer. What would she do if he asked her to go?
“What do you mean?” He stared at her with a puzzled expression in his eyes.
“Do you want me to go?”
His face turned white. “I made a mistake, Jasmine.”
“I’ll pack my bags and leave. If you could drive me….”
“I made a mistake insisting on this being a marriage in name only. Rusty said I was crazy, and I was.” He took a deep breath. “I have strong feelings for you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I want us to have a real marriage.”
She jumped up from the chair and went to throw her arms around him, only stopping on remembering his injury.
“So, do I. I mean I have strong feelings for you as well.” She blinked back happy tears. “I was hoping and praying you would want me to stay. I’ve wanted to be a real wife to you since I arrived here.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought you didn’t want me.”
“Want you? Darlin’, I’ve been out of my mind with wanting you. You can’t know what your being here has done to me.”
She hovered near him. He reached over with his uninjured hand and pulled her on to his lap. “You made my rough little cabin a home, something I’ve never had before, yet always wanted.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “Petticoat curtains and all.”
“Next time we go into town, you can buy some material and make proper ones.”
“Zane McIvor, they are proper ones to me. I think they look good.”
“If you like them, maybe you could only make new curtains for the other windows.”
“Yes, I would be happy to do that. I’m so glad Mrs. Crenshaw suggested we get married.”
“Yeah, she’s a mighty fine woman.”
“I’ll have to write to Rusty and let him know. He was the one who vouched for me.”
“I’ll take you into town next week, darlin’.” He kissed her on the mouth, once, twice. When she returned his caress, he deepened the kiss, then groaned.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” she asked frantically.
“Wretched arm. I desperately want to make love to you tonight, Jasmine, but I don’t think I will be able to. Tomorrow, no matter what, we will be man and wife, even if it kills me.”
“Zane!”
“You know what I mean.”
“We could still have an early night,” she said, wondering why she was suddenly acting so brazenly.
“What a good idea. How about you make your poor, old injured husband a cup of coffee?”
“I suppose I could.” She cupped her hands around his face, and staring unblinkingly into his eyes, kissed him on the mouth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jasmine had been Zane’s wife, in every sense of the word, for two weeks now and had never known such happiness. She had sent Rusty a long letter telling him how well the marriage was going and asking him to pass the news on to Mrs. Crenshaw.
Olive at the mercantile had promised to see the letter caught the earliest mail coach. As well as buying extra supplies she now knew they needed, the kindly woman had given her more plants, including a few herbs.
Life was good. Zane would not be home until after dark, as he was going out with a couple of small ranchers looking for wild horses spotted in one of the valleys. She hoped they would be able to round them up. It would be a nice addition to the few horses he already had.
She had milked the cows, fed the chickens and seen to the pigs, and now she was going to have a cup of coffee and a ginger cookie. She certainly felt like she had earned it. Maybe she would spoil herself and have two cookies.
Her back was turned when the kitchen door swung open. Spinning around, her heart turned to stone. Standing in the doorway was a dusty, disheveled looking Cedric. His hair was overlong, and he looked like he had not shaved in days. In his hand he held a gun. On his lips was a menacing smile.
“Ah, Jasmine. I’ve finally caught up with you.” There was a wild look in h
is eyes, a frightening madness. “Thought you were so smart, didn’t you?” His maniacal laugh made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
She knew without a doubt the madness was upon him, and if she failed to use her wits, he would kill her. Sweat broke out on her body. She could feel it running between her breasts.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just about to have one.”
“Yes, why not.”
Could she arm herself with a kitchen knife, perhaps? What good would that be against a gun? He sat in one of the kitchen chairs and stared at her.
“Why don’t you go and sit on one of the comfortable armchairs and we can have a nice chat.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“Of course not. How’s your mother doing?” She forced herself to ask.
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry. How?” She was not sorry at all yet had to keep up this friendly charade or die.
“When we lost the business and the house, her nerves broke down. She was taken to an insane asylum and one of the inmates killed her. It was your fault. If you had married me like mother planned, we would have gone to England and….”
“There was no land or titles in England, and even if….”
“There was. Mother said so.”
“She was mistaken. My father had two older brothers who would have inherited before him.”
“Liar,” he snarled.
“Do you take cream in your coffee? I can’t remember.”
“Black.”
“Yes, I remember now, and no sugar.” Keep him talking, she instructed herself and act like nothing has happened. Her head started aching with the strain. Her hands shook so much she could scarcely pour the coffee. Her small handgun was in the dresser in the sitting room. She had to get it somehow.
“I thought you would have married Sally-Anne by now.”
He scowled. “She married someone else when we lost our money.”
“That means she wasn’t worthy of you.”
He gave her a hard stare. “The law is after me for embezzlement, thanks to you.”
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