Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

by Emma Lang

  Although she wouldn’t admit it, Lettie wanted to sit there for as long as she could. Common sense told her that wasn’t possible and she really needed to stop sitting on his lap. Marta would chastise her while Pieter would likely box Shane’s ears for touching her.

  Without a word, she finally moved, rolling to her knees. He steadied her as she rose and straightened her skirt. There were smears of dirt on the brown fabric, not that it made much difference. She didn’t dress to be pretty, and most days the brown she owned suited her fine. Her heart might not bear it if she did wear a bright blue dress like Angeline.

  The sound of a creek or stream nearby reminded her she needed to wash her face. It felt tight and sticky after her stupid crying. She walked on stiff legs toward the water, leaving Shane behind.

  The peaceful-looking stream was a welcome sight. She knelt and cupped the water in her hands. First to splash on her face, then to take a long drink. The cool water tasted wonderful and felt even better. She sat there, listening to the gurgle of the stream, and wished she could find the same calmness nature had given the little oasis. She was more like a raging storm, wreaking havoc and tossing everything about. The fit she’d pitched made her sick. Knowing Shane had witnessed it was worse.

  “We should get going.” His voice made her start. “We still have at least three hours to go.”

  She accepted his help again getting to her feet, and they walked back to the wagon together. The water had given her the calming moment she needed. The rest of the trip had to be better than the first part. She wouldn’t be counting hoofbeats this time either.

  When she took Shane’s hand to step up into the wagon, Lettie realized she had never felt so out of character. He turned her into a lady, strange as that was. When he sat beside her, she didn’t shy away from him. Theirs was a comfortable distance, yet not close enough to touch.

  The next hour passed quickly. Lettie watched Shane out of the corner of her eye, impressed by how well he handled the team. His hands fascinated her, ever since she’d dreamed of how they felt on her body.

  Lettie wondered if she would feel the same pleasure in reality, if those hands were as skilled. Her stomach fluttered at the thought. And then it lurched in surprise when she flew through the air, thrown from the wagon, and landed in the dirt with a bone-jarring thud. The horses let loose horrible pained whinnies, and a series of cracks echoed across the ground. Lettie couldn’t get her breath in or move.

  Then the wagon landed on her legs and she screamed.

  Chapter Five

  Shane rolled when he hit the ground, and the hard, pebble-strewn prairie tore into his knees and hips. Pain roared through him as the borrowed trousers ripped. Warm blood trickled down his skin as he tried to catch his breath.

  He knew something had gone horribly wrong with the wagon. The horses were making a god-awful noise, and the wagon creaked and cracked like an old man’s back. Over the whinnies, he heard another sound, one that made his blood run cold.

  Lettie was screaming.

  Regardless that he was hurt and the fact he couldn’t breathe, Shane scrambled to his feet and turned to see a horror. The wheel had splintered, sending the entire wagon careening forward until the corner hit the ground and it flipped. The back end had twisted sideways and landed on Lettie, who lay prone beneath it.

  He ignored the horses and their sharp hooves, maneuvering around them until he reached Lettie. His heart pounded so hard, it damn near broke his ribs. Blood decorated her face and neck, the bun at the back of her hair nearly undone by the force of her fall.

  “Jesus Christ.” He dropped to his knees. His own injuries made him grimace, but he didn’t care one whit. The wagon had her pinned beneath it. He tried to lift it up, but it didn’t budge an inch. The horses yanked and tugged in their desperate attempt to escape. When they dragged the broken mess a few inches in their struggle, Lettie screamed again.

  He touched her shoulder, afraid to cause her any more pain than she was already in. “I’ve got to get the horses loose.”

  “Hurry the hell up.” Her voice was rough and breathless, but he was glad to hear her speak.

  Shane scrambled toward the horses to find them caught up in the traces. One of them had a broken leg, the shiny, bloody bone poking through the dark brown pelt. He wished he had a gun—he had nothing but his hands. Shane attacked the harnesses, yanking on them until his hands bled. The leather was old and cracked, but it would not give way.

  He resorted to using his teeth, tearing at the foul-tasting traces until they started to loosen. Inch by painful inch, Lettie’s screams echoing in his ears, he freed one horse, then the other. Using strength he couldn’t possibly have, he heaved and tugged at the horses’ bits until they stood, completely free from the wagon’s snare. The one with the broken leg fell almost instantly, its pitiful cry sounding more like a wounded child’s. He had to ignore any pity for the animal and think about Lettie.

  “Shane!” Her voice was full of agony, sending shards of panic into his heart.

  He got back up and surveyed the wreck for a lever. Something to help him lift the wagon and release Lettie. One large piece had almost snapped free from the side of the wagon. He bent it back and forth until it came completely off. It wasn’t as thick as he would have liked, but it was all he had unless he figured out a way to chop down a tree with his bare hands.

  Shane dug under the side of the wagon until he thought the lever was positioned well enough to leverage it up. Sweat ran down his back in a river. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his hat, and he tasted blood on his tongue. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, making his eyes sting more.

  Her screams had stopped, and he assumed she had passed out, which was a good thing because she couldn’t feel the pain. She might be dead. Fear made his stomach ball up into a knot, leaving behind an icy panic.

  She is not dead. Not dead.

  “Hold fast, Lettie. I’m almost there.” His voice was as rough as the rest of him, raw and pained.

  He maneuvered the wood under the wagon and slowly pushed. The wagon creaked and groaned, and it moved a few inches up. He glanced at Lettie, but she was still. There wasn’t enough room for him to reach down and pull her legs out. He had to lever it up higher.

  Shane wiggled the wood farther in, until it was nearly halfway under. This time, he heaved with all his might. The wagon rose half a foot. He squatted, bracing the wood with his back, using every ounce of strength he had to keep the wagon up. Splinters dug into his shoulder as he stretched out and snagged her skirt, pulling as hard as he could. All but her left foot was clear.

  He was fairly certain she’d want to keep that foot so he pulled harder, but his own foot blocked hers.

  “Goddammit!” He had no choice but to raise the wagon up farther and move farther under. He scooted backwards and pushed again, his muscles screaming in agony. He shook with exhaustion, holding the weight of the entire wagon on his back. Closer to Lettie, he caught her shoelace with one finger and yanked until she was finally free of the wagon.

  With a ragged breath he set the ruined wagon on the ground then collapsed beside it. His breath came out in gusts as he tried to get his wind back. After a few moments, he rolled to his knees and crawled over to Lettie.

  She was on her belly, her face turned to the left, and blood ran down her forehead and cheek. Shane leaned in close and felt the warm gust of her breath. A relieved lungful of air whooshed out of him—he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it in.

  “I’ve got to check you for broken bones. Don’t get fired up at me because I’m touching you.” Keeping a stream of chatter helped him focus on what he needed to do and not on the fact she was unconscious and bleeding.

  He started with her head and neck, then moved his way down her shoulders and arms to her back. As he touched her body, the shape of her curves and the sweet dip at the small of her back were so familiar, he was momentarily stunned. His dreams had been real enough that he knew exactly how he
r hip flared out and that she had a mole on her back the size of a button.

  Shane beat back the strangeness that lurked in his mind of why he knew. Dreams weren’t real, and these sure as hell weren’t memories, so how did he know her body so well?

  By the time he reached her legs, he was surprised to find a sheath strapped to her thigh. Lettie carried a knife? That was one question he would ask her, even if he couldn’t tell her about his dreams.

  He’d pulled up her skirt to check for bruising and cuts when she startled him by speaking.

  “If you pull that up any farther, I will have to stab you.”

  His gaze snapped to her face as joy swept through him. Her eyes were barely open to slits.

  “Lettie. Jesus, I thought you were still out.” He gently moved the hair back out of her face. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a wagon landed on me. How do you think I feel?” She groaned and tried to push herself up.

  “Easy. I haven’t checked your legs yet. I need to see if anything is broken. Please.” He didn’t want her to make it worse by moving too soon. Field dressings could be applied using whatever he could find. Being in the war had taught him how to render first aid, amongst other things.

  She sighed, sending a puff of dust in front of her face, which then made her cough. “Fine but make it fast. I’m tired of eating dirt.”

  He spotted a canteen lying nearby and snagged it. He would need water to clean the wounds and was glad to find he wouldn’t have to go looking for it. Shane moved back to her legs and slowly lifted her skirt. She wore stockings and drawers, which were ripped and bloody. He would either need to cut them open to see the damage or take them off. Either way, Lettie was not going to be happy.

  “I need to get your drawers off to tend to the wounds. Do you want me to cut them or take them off?”

  There were a few beats of silence before she answered. “If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would likely slap you for asking me that question. Try to cut them at the seam that way I can sew them back up and keep my dignity.”

  He wouldn’t expect any less from her, and although the situation was far from comical, it did make his mouth kick up in a small grin. “Can I use your knife?”

  She snorted. “Did you make this trip without a weapon?”

  “I don’t have anything, Lettie. Hell, I don’t even have a pair of drawers that I own.” Sadly, he didn’t own the clothes on his back. The only thing he owned was his misery and his bad habits.

  “Oh, that’s true. Sorry. I just… Damn, yes, use the knife.” Her voice told him the pain was getting worse with each passing moment.

  As he took the knife from its sheath, he was glad to find it sharpened and well taken care of. She was prepared for whatever or whoever threatened her. He started to cut the delicate stitching on the plain cotton drawers when a noise drew his attention. He’d nearly forgotten about the horses. Twenty feet away, the gelding with the broken leg whinnied feebly, waiting for relief from his agony.

  “Is that one of the horses?”

  He grimaced. “Yes, one of them snapped his foreleg. I need to take care of him after I take care of you.”

  Touching her was both a pleasure and a torture. She was as soft yet firmly muscled as he imagined. He ran his hands down her lower leg first, checking for breaks, then started on the other. By the time he reached her knee, she spoke again. This time her voice was softer, thick with emotion.

  “He’s in pain.”

  “So are you. And you are more important to me than him.” Well he hadn’t meant to let that little bit of information slip out.

  “I’m important to you?” She sounded full of surprise.

  “You are my dark angel, Lettie. You brought me back from the dead whether or not I deserved it. There isn’t anyone in this world who cared about me, or whether I lived or died.” He set the knife down and rolled up the cotton to get a look at her leg. “Right now you are the only important person to me.”

  “Get on with it then. My teeth are getting gritty down here.” She tried to sound grumpy, but he heard the underlying current of pain in her voice.

  The knife cut through the stitching quickly, and he was checking her legs in minutes. The skin was abraded and peeled back in several places where the wagon had dragged across her legs. Dark, ugly bruises had already formed. He carefully finished checking her legs for breaks. Thank God there were none since they had no supplies and were nowhere near a doctor. He had to find a way to bandage the wounds.

  He pulled off his shirt and tore off the sleeve. Someday he would pay the Gundersons back for their generosity.

  Blood welled in the wounds, but not at an alarming rate. He could use the sleeve as a bandage without worrying it would soak through.

  “No breaks, but there is bleeding and nasty bruises. I think you’re going to be in pain for a while, but I can stop the bleeding. I’m going to clean and bandage the right leg now.” He poured water on the wounds and dabbed at the skin, cleaning out the dirt and pebbles that had been ground in.

  She hissed in a breath. “Shit that hurts.”

  Unsurprised to hear her cuss, he continued on his task. “Sorry, I’ll try to be quick.” He cleaned it as best he could, enduring each little noise she made as he worked. After ripping the other sleeve from the shirt, he placed one hand beneath her knee and lifted it up enough to slide the cloth beneath.

  He positioned the sleeve to cover most of the wound and tied it tight enough to stay put but not too tight as to make the pain worse. Sweat stung his eyes, but he blinked it away.

  God must’ve been watching out for this woman. The wagon should have crushed her legs. He had no explanation as to why she suffered only bruising and cuts.

  The horse’s cries echoed around them, cutting through Shane as he worked on Lettie. He had to stay focused, had to make sure his woman was taken care of.

  His woman.

  Was Lettie his? Would she ever be his? Unlikely, but it made him feel better to think of her as his woman while he worked. She was too strong to be anyone’s woman, truth be told. Lettie was unique amongst women, tough as steel on the outside and prickly as hell. Inside, well, he only dreamed of how soft she was inside. Perhaps it was true. At least he could keep that illusion in his dreams.

  He forced himself to work faster. The wounds on the left leg weren’t as bad as they were on the right. He used the sleeve to clean her then cut off a strip from the remaining shirt to bandage her with. She sighed when he pulled the cotton back over her legs and positioned her skirt more modestly. He wouldn’t tell her how much he admired her beautiful legs, the creamy skin softer than flower petals but firm from hard work. They would be perfect if they hadn’t been marred by the wagon.

  Now he had to make sure she was at a safe distance before he took care of the wounded gelding. The other horse kept coming over and nudging the gelding with her great nose, trying to make her partner rise. They were a matched pair, likely from the same dam, perhaps brother and sister. Same coloring and the mare was only slightly smaller than the gelding. Both of them were in distress, and he had to take care of them.

  “I’m going to pick you up and set you over in the shade by those trees over there.”

  “Why?”

  He frowned. “I need to take care of the horse, and without a gun, I’m going to have to use the knife.”

  “No, I won’t go sit in the corner while you do the man’s work. Let me help.” She struggled to flip over and slapped away his hands when he tried to help. Finally she landed on her back with a grunt. “Not ideal but I can deal with the pain.” She speared him with a glance, the blood drying on her cheek from cuts on her forehead. “Now give me the knife and help me over to the horse.”

  Shane should have argued with her, told her it was not a woman’s place to be there for blood and death. He didn’t. As she was different from most women in her view of life, she was different in her view of death. She was stronger than anyone he’d ever met. He’d bet his life on that
. He tucked the knife into the sheath in her thigh since he couldn’t carry it and her at the same time.

  “This is going to hurt.” He positioned his arm beneath hers and his other arm under her knees. The worst of the injuries were to her thighs, but it was going to be painful just the same.

  Slowly he lifted her, his back and knees throbbing from his own injuries. She sucked in a breath but otherwise did not complain. He got to his feet and managed not to fall on his head, but he did let out a groan.

  “Am I that heavy?” Her voice was strained.

  “No, but I got thrown out of the wagon too.” He left it at that, not explaining that his own injuries were paltry compared to hers.

  They made their way to the wounded horse. His eyes were rolling in their sockets, full of confusion and agony.

  “Set me down by his head.”

  Shane did as she bade, positioning her so she could reach the horse. He held out his hand, and she pulled the knife from the sheath. Raw emotion showed in her expression as she put the knife in his care. He glimpsed the real Lettie behind the angry mask. She obviously felt things deeply but kept them hidden from view.

  “Be as quick as you can.” Her voice shook, and he didn’t know if it was from physical pain or emotional.

  He knelt beside the horse’s head, spotting the throbbing artery at the base of his neck. It would hurt momentarily, but the horse would bleed out in minutes. Certainly wasn’t as swift as a bullet to the brain but more humane than letting the horse lie there and suffer.

  The mare paced around them, shaking her head and whinnying a keening cry that raised goose bumps on his arms. He glanced at Lettie and nodded. She started rubbing the horse’s head and speaking softly into his ear. He calmed at her crooning. Shane positioned the knife and dug in deep and quick. Blood spurted from the wound, spattering him in a hot shower of death.

  Tears rolled down Lettie’s face, not from her injuries, but for the struggling horse that lay dying in her arms. Shane had vowed never to cry again, but his eyes stung with unshed tears for the brave animal. The gelding struggled briefly, but as the blood flowed from the wound, he quieted. The spurts slowed along with the horse’s great heart, then the blood only trickled out as death laid its cloak over the magnificent animal.