Wyoming Heather

by DeAnn Smallwood

  “I won’t let myself love again. I can’t. I won’t.”

  He didn’t tell her that the memories that had kept him sleepless since his return were still there waiting for him as soon as the Greek God Morpheus claimed him.

  Heather felt as if she couldn’t breathe. A band had tightened around her heart. She who could heal wounded animals had no knowledge, no insight, as to how to heal this wounded man.

  Whip walked a few feet away from her, his eyes downcast.

  It was then he saw them. Footprints. Frozen in place by the wet sand. He wanted to kneel down and study them. But he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to frighten Heather. There was no doubt they were made by a man’s boot. From the depth of the indentation, he knew the man making them, in all likelihood, was large and stocky. He felt a chill run up his spine. Then he chided himself. There were hundreds of reasons why a man would be walking the river. Hundreds. But he couldn’t think of one good one.

  He walked back to Heather, and if she sensed his concern, she gave no indication.

  “Heather, how about we call it a day? I’ve said my piece.” He hurried the words, wanting the two of them out of there. Wanting to get this woman to safety so he could circle back and hopefully track the prints to their source.

  She nodded. She sensed his need to leave and contributed it to the story he’d shared.

  “Just one last thing.” Whip’s hand reached into his pocket. “These are for you. Alice said they’re the finest chocolates, all the way from Europe. I bought them on my last trip to town. I knew it then, but I wouldn’t admit it, I bought them for the woman I love.”

  She closed her trembling fingers around the tin and forced a smile to her lips.

  “Whip,” she faltered. “Whip, take all the time you need. All the time you need to free yourself.” Then even more softly, her eyes moist with love, she whispered, “I’ll wait.”

  Chapter 35

  The footprints led to the river then disappeared. Whip searched, then went back to the Powder River Ranch and enlisted Buster’s help.

  “Someone didn’t want to be tracked. He knew what he was doing,” Buster commented, kneeling by the final imprint before the river washed away any and all signs.

  “That’s how I read it. Why would anyone go to such lengths to hide their tracks unless they were up to no good?” Whip crouched beside Buster, his finger tracing the sharp indention of the boot’s heel. He slowly rose to his feet and scanned the area, his eyes missing nothing.

  “I don’t see anything, Buster, but darned if I don’t feel as though we’re being watched.”

  Buster Walking Tall kept his head down, his lips moving slowly, the words low. “We are.”

  “Thought so. He’s somewhere across the river. The willows are thick enough, he’d be hard to spot. I don’t like standing here making ourselves easy targets. Let’s mount up and put some distance between us and him. We’ll go back, gather up some hands and cross down river. See if we pick up his trail. I’m curious now.”

  Buster nodded. “Only problem, I promised Toby I’d come get him. We were going to do some riding, maybe shoot a couple sage hens for supper. He’ll be ready and waiting. I need to tell him plans have changed.”

  “Yeah, and he’s none too patient. You go ahead, you can catch up with us. Won’t hurt to have you watching our backs anyway.”

  Both men parted ways, one headed to the Powder River Ranch, and the other angling toward the stage road leading to the Circle C.

  Buster spurred his horse on, anxious to take care of this one small detail so he could join Whip and the hands. At the top of a small knoll he looked down on the rough road below, pulling up to give his horse a chance to rest and blow. Dust whirled in the distance. Someone was up ahead and, from the looks of the dust, they were moving fast. He put his hand to his eyes, shading his face from the relentless sun. He peered through the cloud of red dust and made out the dim shape of a wagon bouncing from one side to another in the boulder-strewn road.

  He made a clicking sound with his tongue. His knees tightened and communicated urgency to the spirited horse. He leaned across the animal’s neck, his mouth near the horse’s ears, whispering commands and encouragement.

  The horse laid back his ears and reached out, his body elongated as the ground flew under his hooves. He and the rider were one, moving in fluid unison.

  In minutes, Buster was able to make out the wagon and its lone occupant, a woman. Her blond hair whipped behind her, her body rigid as she pulled and sawed the reins in her hands. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was frightened. The horses were spooked and running as if their lives depended on it. They may be surefooted, but the wagon was not and it hit and bounced from one large rock or rut to another. The horses’ tails were flags flying stiffly behind them, their necks rigid as they took the bits in their mouths and, with flattened ears, ran as if they were being chased by the lunging wagon.

  He urged his horse faster, knowing that any moment the wagon would hit the one rock that would either tip it over or throw the woman out. He was gaining ground and heard the blowing and snorts of the horses as they continued their headlong rush. Their hooves thundered as they pummeled the hard packed ground, a rumbling of impending doom and danger.

  Buster was gaining ground when the wagon bounced, hit hard, sending a wheel flying across the cactus kissed ground. He heard the woman’s scream as she fought for control and then, as if an invisible hand reached down and plucked her off the plank seat, she flew up and over the side of the careening wagon. Her petite body hit a large sagebrush, then came to rest, still and unmoving on the ground. She landed face down with one arm bent in under her.

  The wagon turned on its side and was dragged down the road until, acting as a brake, it slowed, then brought the two horses to a standstill, their eyes rolling as their sides heaved, gasping for air.

  Buster saw all this in the split second it took him to act. He pulled his horse to a skidding stop and jumped from its back and ran to the woman. He feared what he would find. She appeared so frail lying there in the dust, her dainty hat inches from her head, her blond hair the only sign of life as it reflected back the sun’s rays.

  Kneeling down beside her, he gently rolled her over. There was a rapidly swelling bump on her forehead and her arm was bent at an angle that needed only a glance to tell him it was broken.

  He put his cheek close to her mouth, then smiled with relief as he felt her soft breath, a sweet puff of life. Gently he gathered her in his arms with ease and command of muscle. He swung both of them onto his horse’s back. He held the woman tight against his chest, using his body as a brace, cushioning her against jarring movement. She gave no sign she was aware of being moved. His only comfort was her breathing, soft and regular.

  Buster knew she was Alice Anderson. He’d seen her from afar sweeping the walk in front of the general store. There was no mistaking her golden hair and her smile given freely to everyone, Indian or white. He also knew she was Heather’s friend and, judging from the direction she’d been traveling, he surmised she was on her way to the Circle C when something must have spooked her horses and set to motion the horrific chain of events.

  He wanted to kick his horse in the flanks and urge him to speed, but he kept the motion slow and as even as possible, not wanting to cause her pain should she awaken.

  He glanced down at her, wishing for a sign that she was returning to life from the unhealthy sleep, yet a part of him hoping she wouldn’t stir until he had placed her in Heather’s capable care.

  The woman was beautiful, her lashes long and dark against her pale skin. His heart crept toward his throat. He narrowed his eyes and refused to give credence to his unfamiliar emotions. His face had returned to his normal stoic expression when he rode into Heather’s yard, stopping at her porch.

  Her kitchen door banged open and out flew Toby, a smile on his face. His feet skidded to a stop, the smile faded, when he realized Buster wasn’t moving but had a woman folded
against him.

  “Buster,” he said timidly.

  “Toby, go get Heather and Molly. Hurry.”

  The boy turned and ran back into the house. Buster could hear him calling first Heather’s name, then Molly’s. Sounds of feet running and doors slamming filled the air as both women burst through the door. Heather reached him first.

  She stopped at the horse’s side, her hand reaching up to touch Alice’s skirt, her face raised and questioning.

  “Thrown from her wagon. I found her along the road. I couldn’t reach her in time to stop, to help.” He finished lamely in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

  Heather nodded.

  They both turned as Molly joined them, her face flushed from hurrying, her breath loud.

  “Lord love a duck, it’s our sweet Alice.” Then in a softer, fearful whisper asked, “Is she dead?”

  “No!” they both answered together.

  “Buster, can you hand her to Molly and me? We’ll put our arms together and between the two of us lift her down.”

  “No.” The word was flat, leaving no room for argument. He gracefully slid from the horse’s back, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, his cargo safe and unmoving in his arms.

  As though carrying something precious, he followed Molly inside the house.

  “Put her in my bedroom,” Heather ordered. “I’ll gather up what I think I’ll need and join you in a second. Molly, please see that we have hot water ready. We’ll have to set that arm and its best done while she’s still unconscious.” Heather was in charge and there was no doubting her ability.

  Buster breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how worried he was and how good it felt to give Alice up to Heather’s knowledgeable care.

  He gently laid her on the bed and winced as her arm dangled helplessly. With fingers as light as a summer breeze, he placed them around the slender arm and tenderly laid it across her chest.

  Heather came quietly into the room, her arms full. She saw something unreadable whisper across the strong man’s face as he leaned over the still form. In a second it was gone and could have been imagined. This was something to think about, but not now. Now Alice needed her help and every ounce of her skill.

  Chapter 36

  Heather had no doubt about her skill to set broken bones. She’d done it many times on animals. But never on a human, and never on a friend. Heather did what she had always done; she rose to the challenge. She was thankful Alice was unconscious. Still, she kept the bottle of chloroform near at hand. But Alice only cried out once, when the arm was straightened and the bone aligned. Heather applied a splint and immobilized the break. It was a clean break and should heal with no complications. Had there been an open wound with the bone protruding, there would have been the risk of infection. Now, all she had to do was wait until Alice regained consciousness.

  As it turned out, she wasn’t the only one waiting. Through the afternoon while the sun reached its zenith and then waned, she and Buster Walking Tall watched over the pale woman, her slight figure swallowed up by the large bed.

  Whip was worried when Buster didn’t show. He doubled back, found the overturned wagon and the two miserable horses. After unhitching them and fearing what he’d find, Whip delivered them to Heather’s barn. He was relieved to see Buster, but relief soon gave way to concern as he stood in the bedroom door, observing Alice’s still form, the splinted arm by her side.

  He freed Heather by doing her chores. Then, at Molly’s urging, he sat down at the table while she set down a plate from the warming oven.

  “Can’t get Heather to eat a bite. But then, that Mr. Walking Tall won’t touch a bite either. Hmmpf, you’d think he was doing all the doctoring, leaning against the wall, never taking his eyes off Miss Alice.” Molly was fit to be tied. She had no patience for people who didn’t appreciate one of her meals.

  Whip had no response and, knowing when to eat and when to talk, he dug into the plate before him.

  Jesse and Toby were thrilled to have Whip there, and amid cautions by both Molly and Whip, knew not to disturb the patient in the other room. They regaled him with the antics of the two pups. Jesse never said a word, but if dancing eyes could talk, she spoke every bit as eloquently of her four-footed friend still going by the name, Pup.

  Toby displayed a mangled sock and whispered in Whip’s ear that Bear had made the holes all by himself during a fierce tug-of-war, a fact he hoped would miss Molly’s scrutiny. From listening to Toby brag about their adventures, Whip wondered which one was the instigator.

  Whip raised his head as Heather came into the homey kitchen and gratefully took the cup of coffee from Molly.

  He asked, “How’s she doing, Heather?”

  “I don’t know, Whip.” She sighed. “I’m good with animals, but people— I just don’t know.”

  He wanted to take her hand in his, to warm her with his touch and offer what comfort he could. He couldn’t and didn’t.

  “Don’t doubt yourself, Heather.”

  Surprised, yet pleased, at his intuitiveness, she gave him a weak smile. “But, I do, Whip. I’m not a doctor. Her arm will be okay, but the bump on her head.” She raised her eyes to his, liquid pools of worry. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. She still hasn’t regained consciousness. She makes sounds and her eyelids flutter like she’s going to open them any second, but she doesn’t.”

  “Have you eaten anything this afternoon?” he asked.

  “No. And neither has Buster. Molly has tried, but he just shakes his head.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Buster.” Whip’s mouth drew back in a secretive smile. He raised the coffee cup to his mouth, took a sip, then slowly put the cup down, stopped by the look on Heather’s face.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “Oh, nothing, just thinking how that big, strong man in there has been made mighty humble by the woman he carried in his arms. He won’t leave her side.”

  “That a fact.” It was a statement more than a question. He reached down and gave Violet a scratch on her head. “This little girl’s taken you over, hasn’t she?”

  Heather smiled down at the pup, glad to have a moment’s reprieve.

  Violet cocked her head from one side to another, her brown eyes liquid pools of love as she looked at her mistress. When you mixed Heather and animals, you came out with magic. Violet was under Heather’s spell. Or was it the other way around?

  Heather bent down and scooped the pup into her arms. She buried her face in the dog’s furry neck and inhaled. She felt her round, warm stomach and gave her a quick squeeze. The dog nestled deeper in her arms and, turning its small head, gave Heather several quick licks before she could move her mouth away from the tiny tongue and sweet puppy breath.

  Whip chuckled. “She likes kissing you, too.”

  Heather raised her eyes. Whip was sprawled at her table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, appearing as if he belonged in her home.

  “Too?” she asked.

  A wicked grin lit his face. “Sure. Too. Your dog likes you, the kids like you, your horse likes you. Why, I bet you’ve even had a smooch or two from one of the barnyard animals.” His eyes twinkled.

  For a moment, the woman in the bedroom was forgotten as Whip’s teasing raised the veil of fear and disparagement. For a moment, Heather was able to forget the responsibility she shouldered.

  Only for a moment.

  “Heather.” Buster’s voice. “Heather, come in here.” His command put a chill in the room.

  Heather and Whip sprang to action. She moved with haste and panic, Whip only feet behind her. Molly reached out a hand and stopped Jesse and Toby from following. She pulled the children to her, giving them the security of her large body and big heart.

  Heather paused in the doorway and absently lowered Violet to the floor. Her heart pummeled her chest with each beat. Then she closed her eyes and a sigh of relief escaped.

  Alice was trying to sit up as Buster reached for a p
illow. She lay there, not able to fully move, the splinted arm acting as an anchor.

  Typically, Buster’s words were brief, but they were all that was needed. “She’s awake.”

  Heather smiled. She went to the bed and gently helped him arrange the pillow behind Alice’s back. Then, she took a second pillow and, with great care, slid it under her arm. Alice’s quick intake of breath told of the pain before her face reflected it.

  “I’m sorry, Alice. Is it hurting bad?” Heather touched her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so glad to see your eyes open. You had me worried.” Heather didn’t voice her worries. There was no need. She could feel Whip’s presence behind her, and gratitude filled her for the strength of this man.

  “It hurts some, but so does my head.” Alice raised her free arm, her fingers tenderly tracing the bump on her forehead.

  With a blur of movement, Buster took her hand, holding it for the briefest moment before laying it back on the blanket. “Don’t. You’ll only make it hurt more.”

  Alice stared up at him, his features strong and unreadable. She saw him for the first time, yet, she recognized a familiar, comforting presence. She smiled and let her hand lay where he had placed it.

  “Buster found you, Alice. Do you remember anything?” Heather asked.

  “Yes,” she said weakly. “I remember.” She closed her eyes. “It was warm and the sun was shining so bright. I-I wasn’t paying attention. The horses were skittish and I should have been more alert. Instead, I thought more of the day and our visit. The reins were loose in my hands. A bird flew up from its nest by the side of the road, its wings whirring. That’s all it took to set the horses off. One of them reared, coming down hard, ready to run. I tried to control them, Heather, I really did. But I couldn’t. The next thing I knew I was flying through the air. I remember hitting the ground, then nothing until this moment. My arm is broken, isn’t it?”