The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances

by Hubbard, Lynn

  “I take it Will isn’t your real name?” Brock said after a while.

  “My middle name,” she said wearily. She really didn’t feel well and told him so.

  Brock sighed. Women were so difficult. He sat for a while next to her. Soon she was sighing in her sleep. Shaking his head, Brock settled down for a few winks too.

  Sabrina was having a good dream; she was on a picnic with her family. They were sitting on the hill above her house, and she had just taken a big bite out of her slice of watermelon. She could feel the juice running down her chin. Her nose twitched as she picked up an unusual scent, and she turned toward her father to ask him what that smell was. A shadow loomed from above, and, when she looked up, she saw her father hanging from a tree branch, swaying in the breeze. She looked around to find that her sister and mother were also dead, lying motionless on the ground. Warren sat across from her, glaring. He handed her his hankie and commanded her to wipe her face off. When she looked down at the now damp handkerchief, it was covered in blood.

  She sat up screaming.

  Brock ran into the house as Sabrina became fully awake. The nightmares were one of the reasons why she didn’t want to stay in Mr. Swanson’s home. She didn’t want him to know that she was a freak. The nightmares stopped for the most part when she’d moved in with Brock. Perhaps deep down inside she felt she was safe with him or maybe that she could trust him.

  He knelt down by the bed and was surprised when she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Not knowing what to do, he patted her back awkwardly. She pulled back, an apologetic look on her face.

  “I have bad memories,” she whispered.

  Brock nodded understandingly. He went outside and came back a few seconds later with a basket of biscuits. He set it on the bed next to her and brought her over a cup of water. Sabrina ate greedily. She was so hungry. Without asking, she knew that the basket was from Mac. She would know his biscuits anywhere. He always put butter on top when he baked them. He had also sent a couple slabs of country ham to go with it. After eating her fill, she sat back, leaning against the wall.

  “Thanks, I guess you’re pretty mad at me, huh?”

  Brock barked out a laugh. “Why would you think that? Maybe because you have lied to me all this time. You have lied to the town. You disobeyed me and followed me when I told you not to…”

  “What?” Sabrina yelled, hopping to her feet. “You have no right to intrude into my life and order me around. I can take care of myself. In fact, I saved your ass yesterday if I remember correctly. Leading a bunch of untrained men into a battle. What were you thinking?”

  She was still dizzy and she felt a draft across her legs. Glancing down, she realized she didn’t have any pants on. She shrieked and grabbed the blanket from the bed and covered herself.

  “Where are my pants?”

  Brock tried not to grin. She was really pissed. Her hair was in disarray and her green eyes were throwing off sparks as she confronted him.

  “Forgive me, I thought you would be more comfortable while you slept.”

  Sabrina growled as she stomped over to the ladder leading to the loft. Brock was about to object but closed his mouth as she anticipated his rebuke and shot daggers at him with her eyes.

  She awkwardly climbed to the top and pulled out a fresh pair of pants. Struggling into the pants with one hand, she sat down on her pallet, surprised at her exhaustion from those simple tasks. She still needed to change her shirt since she was wearing Brock’s from yesterday. She wearily crawled over and looked around in her meager supplies for her extra binding material. It was gone. She looked down at her injured hand and noticed the fresh clean bandage. Bastard.

  Gritting her teeth, she switched shirts anyway, throwing his over the edge and onto the floor below. She couldn’t locate her vest and, sighing, she made her way slowly back down the ladder. Spotting her vest thrown over a chair, she grabbed it and threw it on. Slapping her hat on her head she headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “You don’t have a horse,” Brock reminded her.

  “I’ll walk,” she muttered, opening the door and slamming it shut behind her. Brock wondered about his sanity as he, too, went out the door. She had taken two steps into the yard when Brock’s voice stopped her.

  “We need to talk, Sabrina.”

  She stopped, closing her eyes tightly. The reward poster. She had forgotten. Turning slowly, she confronted him.

  “What do you want from me? Do you want the stupid reward?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Brock could not answer her. He did not know the answer. Something about her essence begged for him to protect her, to take care of her. He had felt it even before he knew she was a female. The urge was ten times stronger now. He had sat next to her while she slept and made sure she was comfortable. It was as if life did not exist for him before he met her. It hurt him to no end that, even now, she did not trust him with the truth.

  As if all the energy had been drained from her body, she sank to the dirt in despair. She did not know what to do next. She always had a plan, always had a goal. Uncertainty was new to her and she did not like it. She was not in control of the situation and she was worried about the outcome. Brock held all the cards.

  Brock came up and stood in front of her. He held out his hand and she took it reluctantly as he pulled her to her feet. He took it as a slight sign of trust, and he guided her toward the barn. It was more airy in the barn than the house and she always felt more comfortable there.

  Sitting down on a hay bale Sabrina nervously picked at the loose threads on her bandage, not wanting to look at him. Brock sat on the ground in front of her. “You’re Sabrina Lovett?”

  Sabrina glared at him defiantly as she lifted her chin and stared at him head on. “I am Sabrina Willodene Montgomery Lovett. I am of age; Warren has no authority over me. I can do as I wish.”

  Brock raised an eyebrow. “And you wish to be here working like an animal in a livery when you have a great deal of money in your name.”

  “It’s not my money; it is my parent’s money and they were killed for it. Working in the stables was an honest living. I told Mac I’d help him today,” she reminded him angrily. “I need to go.”

  “You are injured; you need to rest.”

  “I have two hands,” she reminded him.

  Brock laughed, “You are the most ornery woman I’ve ever met. You just expect to go back and work like nothing has happened.”

  “Nothing has happened,” she retorted. “I’m the same person I was yesterday morning. You’re the one who changed, not me.”

  “You lied to me and to the town. You said you were a boy. I don’t think Mr. Swanson would be too pleased to find out he had a girl working for him.”

  Sabrina snorted, “I never told anyone I was a boy. They just assumed and were too dense to notice any difference. Don’t blame me for your own ignorance.”

  Brock’s eyes flashed as he grabbed her and pulled her close. “Yes, I was blind but now I see. And I cannot and will not go back to pretending to be blind. You are an amazingly beautiful woman. You deserve so much better than cleaning up horse crap.”

  Sabrina laughed aloud and he released her in surprise. “I’m supposed to do what? Dress up in pretty gowns and paste a fake smile on my face and walk down the street like I own it–because I can? No, that is not me; it never was. That’s why I’m still alive,” Sabrina said softly, tears coming to her eyes.

  “I survived the attack because I wasn’t there. I snuck off early that morning and went fishing with my friend, Samuel. By the time we got back it was too late. My mother was lying dead in the yard, my father was hanging from a tree and my sister, Lydia…” Sabrina stopped as a sob escaped her throat. “Lydia was shot in the back and then raped by two men till she was cold–while I watched. Samuel saved my life that day. He saved my life, but a piece of me died. It was as if I wasn’t whole anymore. I don’t k
now if I’ll ever be whole again.” She looked up at him, her bright green eyes darkened with despair.

  Brock pulled her into his arms and held her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. It felt so good being held like that. Yes, she had hugged her family and Samuel lots of times but this was…different. It felt like she was adrift in the sea and he was a rope. A strong rope keeping her tethered to land when all else would be lost.

  She pulled away embarrassed, as she wiped her wet face and sniffed. “Thanks,” she said smiling wryly.

  Brock sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll see if Widow Hawkins still has a room available. And if so, one of us can move into it.”

  She hit him on the arm with her good hand. “I can’t afford a room at the Widow Hawkins and I sure can’t afford the rent on the house. I’m not moving.”

  “One of us has to move. If anyone else finds out you’re a girl it would ruin your reputation,” Brock said, aghast.

  Sabrina laughed again. “If you haven’t noticed, I don’t care about my reputation. It’s not like it can get any worse. ‘Sides I’ve gotten used to the fact that you snore. Now it’s kinda soothing to me. ”

  It was Brock’s turn to blanch. “I don’t snore.”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Brock, why did you ask me to move in with you in the first place?”

  Brock shrugged, “You were down and out and had no place to go. For some reason I felt obligated to care for you.”

  “And now that you’ve found out I’m a woman, don’t you think I need more care?” She leaned close to him and looked into his eyes. He reached up, gently grasping her face with his hands, as he drew her closer.

  They both heard the carriage at the same time and pulled away guiltily. Brock hopped up and went out to see who had ridden into the yard.

  Chapter 13

  The 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 t
ried 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.