by Devine,Carol
Lord, he was heavy.
She got her legs under her, hooked her hands under his arms. Gritting her teeth, she hoisted him into a sitting position.
His head lolled, sending blood-tinged water running down her arms. Bending her knees for maximum leverage, she gasped at the drenching her legs received and pulled backward, fighting for purchase on the wet rocks.
He slid a couple of inches. At most. She looked skyward, closed her eyes and threw all her weight back, using every muscle she possessed. Her feet scraped more rock, making them bleed from the contact. Another couple of inches. At this rate, it would take forever.
"Butcher!" she cried.
The dog bounded forward.
"Pull!"
To show him what she wanted, she held onto Zach, jammed her feet into the creek bed and strained back with such ferocity, sweat sprang out on her forehead. One step, torturous and slow. Two. How much time had passed since he had fallen in? Fifty heartbeats? A hundred?
"Help!" she shouted, kicking rocks for better footing.
Butcher grabbed a mouthful of material at Zach's hip. Following her lead, he tugged with his massive jaws. Together, they pulled. Her arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Stones bit between her churning feet. Afraid to stop and lose momentum, she blocked out the pain by counting her steps.
"Three… four… five… six…" she gasped.
The back of her heels collided with solid mud. Staggering, she glanced sideways and saw she'd reached the overhang that marked the shore. She heaved one last time and laid his head and shoulders on the grassy bank. For all intents and purposes, he was half in the water and half out, but the positioning would have to do. At least most of him was on dry ground.
Blood ran freely across his forehead but she couldn't worry about that now. She crouched by his side and pressed her ear to his chest. His heartbeat was strong, thank the Lord. Energized by that knowledge, she forced a hand behind his neck and checked his mouth for debris, recalling the steps Papa had taught her long ago. Resuscitation, he'd called it. Something she should learn, since she loved to swim with her friends in Birch Pond.
She pinched Zach's nose with her fingers, took a steadying breath, bent over him and fit her mouth around his. His lips were cold, his whiskers like sandpaper. Exhaling into his mouth, she lifted her head and gulped more air. A minute ago those lips had been smiling at her, joshing with her. Surely a man so full of life could not be so easily erased from existence.
Help me, Lord. He's too young to die.
Using what she hoped was a natural rhythm, Sarah bent over him again and again, breathing for him, keeping a sharp eye on the rise and fall of his chest.
Butcher hovered nearby, pacing and growling. He did not take kindly to strangers, especially when they got close to her. Between breaths, Sarah called him off and he slunk away to stand guard by the nearest tree. She fingered the pulse on Zach's neck. Was it her imagination or had his heartbeat slowed?
Afraid she had been too timid before, she thrust his chin higher and forced in a great lungful of air. Beneath her fingers, the corded muscles of his throat tightened. Sarah pulled back, but nothing happened.
"Breathe!" She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, desperate for some sign of life. To her profound relief, he coughed.
Quickly she shoved him onto his side and pounded between his shoulder blades. He curled up in a fetal position and coughed again, hacking out mucus. Muddy water flooded from his lungs, mixing with blood from his wound, her next concern.
Sarah scanned the lush weeds that grew along the creek. Spotting what she was looking for, she rose, grabbed a handful of bright green yarrow and stuffed it into her mouth.
Zach groaned and rolled onto his back, choking and wheezing. Entangled in his belt was her discarded chemise. She knelt beside him, pushed him onto his side so he faced away from her, and forced him to stay that way by placing her knees along his spine. Spitting the chewed yarrow into her hand, she reached over his shoulder and groped again along his hairline, blindly looking for the wound. When she felt it, she packed the yarrow into the wound, ripped her chemise from his belt, wrung out the cotton as best she could and covered the wound with the chemise, using the short sleeves to tie it like a pressure bandage. He'd need stitching but the bleeding had to be stopped first.
He tensed and gagged, spitting out a mouthful of water tinged by blood. "Jesus," he said.
Surprised by the evocation of His name, Sarah leaned forward to better see Zach's face. His previous manner did not bespeak a God-fearing man. Tension ridged his long jaw. He must be in considerable pain.
"Shhh," she said, decreasing the pressure on the makeshift bandage to test if the bleeding had stopped. "You'll be alright now."
Zach barely heard her. The pounding of his heart filled not only his ears but his vision, making him feel as if he were swirling madly in a red pulsing vortex. Words were nothing but bits of flotsam floating on the surface but he grabbed for them anyway, propelled by the fear of being swept down under. He tried to speak. What came out was a guttural groan even he didn't recognize.
"You coughed up a lot of water." A woman's voice. "Try swallowing and see if that helps your throat."
He obeyed and gagged on his own tongue. "Hurts," he managed.
"Where does it hurt?"
Where didn't it? He couldn't get his eyes open. Mists cleared from his mind, leaving him aware of his surroundings. He was lying on hard ground, curled on his right side. Someone leaned over him from behind. He could feel the knees pressed up against his back to keep him from rolling backwards.
"Sarah?"
"You remember my name. That's a good sign."
Why her name popped into his mind he didn't know. But her voice was calm and overrode the powerless feeling of being in a nightmare. He fought his way into full consciousness and opened his eyes. Matted grass along the creek bed came into focus. Beyond that he saw the swirling whitewater studded by rocks. Something tight was wrapped around his head, held in place by a dripping weight she held in her hands. The heat generated by it made him realize how cold he was everywhere else. "Cold," he said.
Sarah draped her bare torso over his upper body, giving him what little body heat she had. His damp skin was icy cold, robbing her of breath. Gooseflesh sprang up on her upper arms and her nipples hardened even more than they already were, like beads pressing along his muscles. She bit her lip and hoped he wouldn't notice.
Zach discovered if he moved his eyes to the left, he could look far enough sideways to make out a female face hovering above him. "Sarah," he said, needing her to understand. "Too cold."
She nodded. "I know. I'll get you my blanket as soon as I stop the bleeding."
He relaxed at the news, thankful she knew something about the dangers of hypothermia. He was so cold he'd stopped shivering. "What happened?" he asked, forcing his sluggish mind to keep working.
"You fell into the creek."
Her words conjured up fragmented pictures of water and rocks and an overwhelming sense of nausea. He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I need to get up."
"Not yet. You're still bleeding."
"I need to. Right now." He tried to lever himself into a sitting position.
"No!"
She rocked forward, pinning him down with as much body weight as she could. Zach struggled but couldn't get her to budge. Disgusted by his weakness, he pushed at her anyway. He needed the distraction. If he wasn't careful, he was going to be violently ill.
"Stop moving! You're making the bleeding worse."
"Damn you," he said and gave in, swallowing sickly.
"Here." Keeping pressure on his head, she shifted and he heard a tearing sound of leaves being stripped from their stems. "Chew on this," she said. "It will help the nausea pass."
When he opened his mouth to ask what it was, she stuffed the leaves inside. A fresh mint taste cut through his wooziness. He resisted the instinct to spit the stuff out and chewed. The taste and minty
smell woke his senses. The nausea subsided. After a few minutes he spit it out and felt considerably better. Aside from the heaviness of his head and bouts of shivering, he seemed to be in one piece.
"What was that you put in my mouth?"
"Catnip."
"You had me eating what?"
"It's a plant from the mint family. Not only does it soothe the stomach, it has a mild sedative effect."
"Don't tell me you're one of those granola heads from Boulder."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know. Dippy hippie type, living off the grid. New Age. Homeopath." When she didn't answer, he added, "Someone who gets cosmic meaning out of gathering herbs and making them into medicines and cleanses and stuff."
"It's true I have some knowledge of herbal remedies. Do you feel better?"
He did, amazingly so, but he wasn't ready to admit it, not when she was working so hard to make him feel better. Still draped over him, the warmth generated by the skin to skin contact was rather… invigorating. He was pretty sure his head had stopped bleeding but she seemed intent on blanketing him with her body and he wasn't going to argue when the blanket was as pretty and accommodating as Sarah.
Events were coming back to him now. He'd been making a move on her, ready to talk her into returning to the bunkhouse and filling her with food, hopefully tasty enough to entice her to stay awhile, maybe enough to persuade her into letting him taste her in return. Seeing her big mild eyes and lush lips, he decided to milk her sympathy for all it was worth. "I remember my horse got spooked. Is she all right?"
"She ran off before I could catch her. Butcher frightened her rather thoroughly I'm afraid."
"Butcher?"
"My dog."
"The animal that attacked me belongs to you?"
"He's not truly vicious. He was only trying to protect me."
"By going for my jugular? You have him tied up, I hope."
"I told him to stay by the tree and he will. He's highly trained."
"Trained for what? Combat?"
"He didn't cause your injuries. When you fell off your horse, you hit your head on a rock."
Zach gingerly raised his hand to investigate. Her slim fingers covered a warm wet cloth that was tied around his head like a vise. "How bad is it?"
"The cut is about the length of your index finger. It will need stitches but I can't get it to stop bleeding long enough to let you up."
"Did I pass out?"
"Out?"
"Unconscious?"
"Oh, yes."
"Bad enough I got bucked off my horse on my first ride out on the range. But knocked out, too? The boys at the bunkhouse will never let me live this one down."
So he felt well enough to joke about what had happened. Sarah craned her neck and checked his pupils, looking to see if they were the same size. They were, indicating bleeding inside his head was unlikely. That was the most dangerous injury of all.
Healthy color was returning to his cheeks. Awed by his recuperative powers, she peeked beneath the bandage. In spite of the yarrow poultice, blood still welled from the wound. She clamped down again, harder this time.
"Ow!"
"I'm sorry but the bleeding won't stop unless there is constant pressure."
"You a nurse?"
"Not a professional one."
"Where did you learn this stuff?"
She shrugged, scarcely knowing what to tell him. For years she'd nursed her mother and older members of the Community through various illnesses but she couldn't explain without raising further questions. Zach already knew far too much about her as it was. "Where I come from," she said, "everyone is taught the various properties of herbs."
"Where are you from?"
"A very small town. I'm sure you've never heard of it."
"Try me. I like to travel."
"It's many miles away."
"All the more reason for you to tell me. I've been to some pretty far places."
"You have?" she asked, determined to turn the subject. "I thought you said you owned this ranch."
"In a manner of speaking. Someone else manages it. I left home a long time ago."
"You left by choice?" Sarah asked, disbelieving. Where she came from, men never gave up their birthright.
"Why does that surprise you?"
"There are few possessions in this life more precious than land."
"You sound like my dad. When I was growing up, he mortgaged everything to keep hold of this place. You know what it got him? A belly full of ulcers and a fatal heart attack at the age of forty-nine. You think I want that for myself?"
"I'm sorry to hear of your father's death. Mine, too, died when I was young, before his time. But you were born of this land. It is in your blood."
"What a bunch of BS. I'm here only because I finally convinced the rest of the family to sell. I can't wait to get rid of it."
His vehemence surprised her, especially considering his cowboy aura of being one with the land. "But you ride as well as any man I've ever seen. You obviously have a way with horses."
"There's more to ranching than horses."
"It's in the way you hold yourself, the strength in your hands, your body, your eyes…"
"Now I know you're from Boulder. Next thing you know, you'll be telling me we've met in a former life when the land around here was being snatched up by frontier settlers."
"A former life?" She sounded bewildered. It triggered a sense of bewilderment in him, too, although for different reasons. Now that he had his wits about him, he was looking around, trying to remember how he got from the middle of the creek to the bank.
"Never mind about our former lives. I remember falling into the water but not much else. Who pulled me out?"
"I did."
He found it hard to believe, not when he weighed twice as much as she did. He felt along her wrists, measuring them between a long calloused forefinger and thumb. Sarah swallowed, more certain than ever he worked with his hands. They were the essence of strength.
"You couldn't have pulled me out by yourself," he said. "What do you weigh, a hundred pounds soaking wet? I'm six four and a solid two ten."
He was indeed solid. The powerful muscles against her bare breasts told her that. Shamed by her awareness, Sarah shifted her weight, trying to hide the fact that significant parts of her anatomy were quite naked. "Butcher helped."
"No wonder I feel chewed up. You weren't hurt yourself were you? My horse didn't run you down?"
"No, nothing like that," she said, unwilling to mention the cuts on her feet or her bruised, scraped knuckles. They were trivial hurts compared to what he'd been through.
"Then why are you shaking?"
A fine tremor, caused by the strain of holding the bandage in place for so long while her body was draped awkwardly over his torso, shook her arms. "I'm fine."
"Are you cold?"
"Not at all." It wasn't a lie. The heat created between them was keeping her very warm indeed. In spite of the injury, he radiated vitality. "My arms are tired is all."
"Move then. I'll hold the bandage for awhile."
"The pressure must be constant or the bleeding will worsen."
"Give yourself a break, Sarah. You can't be comfortable sitting behind me with your arms extended like that. You're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm fine."
"Move over here," he said, patting the trampled grass in front of him. "You'll cramp up for sure if you don't change your position."
Sarah scrunched down further to prove to him that she could rest comfortably. The palsy in her arms lessened but now there was considerable pressure on her spine which was forced to arch unnaturally to keep the upper half of her body hidden from his sight. "There. I feel much better."
"Yeah, right. I can feel your knees against my rear. You're all doubled over like a pretzel."
"I'm fine, truly."
"Damn it, Sarah. Get your butt in gear or I'll move you myself."
A jolt went through her as he
groped backward, brushing her underarm and the exposed side of her breast. His foul language also unnerved her, though she ought to be inured to hearing such things by now. Over the course of her journey, she'd worked among people who'd used far worse four-letter words in everyday conversation.
"Did you hear me?"
Blunt fingers grazed the waistband of her petticoat. She bit her lip, able to do little more than squirm as he explored her clothed hip and the bared stretch of skin covering her ribs. To her utter chagrin, he chuckled. When next he spoke, she could tell by his tone that he'd realized the extent of her predicament.
"I think I understand your problem. The bandage on my head used to be your top, right?"
Unable to see the humor in the situation, Sarah put even more pressure on her spine, trying to hide more of her body behind him and block his hand from further exploration. "I told you," she retorted. "I am quite fine."
"Me, too. In fact, I'm feeling better and better." In spite of the awkward angle, he groped with purpose, coming perilously close to her breasts.
"Stop rummaging around my… my bosom."
He burst out laughing. "Bosom? Where did you get a word like that?"
"It's a perfectly natural word," she said through gritted teeth.
"Natural, my eye. Who are you, Sarah? An uptight nun who's lost her way to the convent?"
His hand continued to explore. "Remove your hand immediately, sir, or I'll make you very sorry you survived your dunking in the creek," she grated, emphasizing each syllable.
"Not until you take my advice and move your nicely shaped rear over here." He caressed her hip in a most familiar gesture, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm waiting."
He'd certainly made a quick recovery, Sarah thought, grimacing. Not only was he built like the proverbial ox, he had the manners of one, too. Here she was trying to help him and he was taking advantage of it. She couldn't avoid disgracing herself unless she released her hold on the bandage. He might deserve such treatment but if his wound started gushing blood as it had been wont to do, she'd have a far more serious problem on her hands than mere embarrassment. "Very well," she said. "If you remove your hand, I will move my rear, as you so indelicately put it. But only if you close your eyes," she tacked on, wanting him to prove he was trustworthy.