As soon as he moved back, she pulled a knife from somewhere and had it unsteadily pointed at his chest. “If you’re thinking to rob me, mister, you should know I don’t have much worth stealing, but what’s mine is mine.”
The dog, alerted by her tone, stiffened and bared its teeth at him.
“Whoa, there.” Mitch threw his hands up, palms out, trying to assure her he wasn’t a threat. The knife, while not especially large, looked sharp enough to do some damage. And although he was quite certain he could take it from her with little effort, he didn’t want to do that unless he had to. “I just want to make certain you’re okay, nothing more.” She placed her free hand on the dog’s back, but he had no illusions she was restraining him.
“I’m talking about before that. Why were you sneaking up on me that way?”
“I didn’t sneak up on you. I happened on you while looking for the mulberry trees. My apologies if you were startled.”
She blinked those amazing eyes as if trying to clear her vision, and the trembling in her hand grew more pronounced. Was it due to pain? Or weakness?
“Are these trees on your place?” she asked. “’Cause I didn’t mean to trespass.”
Trespassing should be the least of her worries right now. He didn’t like the slur that had crept into her voice. Time to be firm, for her own good. “We can discuss all that later. Right now I need to know if you’re badly hurt.”
She still didn’t lower the knife, though the effort seemed to cost her. But her left hand moved from the dog to the back of her head. “I... My head—” She pulled her hand back and stared at it as if it belonged to someone else.
It was stained with blood.
Mitch bit off an oath. “You are hurt. Let me have a look.” He moved in closer, and she quickly raised the knife to block him, swaying slightly with the effort. Her dog let out a warning growl.
This girl had more spunk than sense. “I’m only trying to take a look at your injury—that’s all. You’re bleeding and it’s not something you can tend to yourself.”
Without a word, she nodded, her gaze never leaving his face.
Keeping his moves slow and smooth, he shifted to get a better look, ignoring the knife that unsteadily tracked his movements. A patch of blood on the back of her head stained her hair, matting it against her scalp. The wet, muddy ground she’d been lying on hadn’t helped matters any, either. He tried gently parting the hair but couldn’t see much beyond the blood.
He moved to face her again, and realized she’d closed her eyes. Had his ministrations hurt her?
But a moment later her eyes opened with obvious effort and her gaze held a question.
“I’m going to get my canteen so I can clean this up and get a better look. Try not to move.”
She nodded wearily, then winced. “There’s a shallow creek just beyond those trees.” Her voice sounded strained and pain shadowed her expression.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, crossed his fingers that she’d be all right until he returned, then sprinted back to Seeley.
Snatching up his canteen and the small cloth bag he’d intended to put the berries in, he quickly headed back, only detouring once when he saw her own canteen amongst her things.
Mitch pulled out his handkerchief as he knelt beside her again. Her hand was back on the dog’s neck, but now she seemed to be using it for support rather than restraint. Not a good sign. Still, her stoicism and ability to keep her wits under the circumstances was commendable.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said as he wet the cloth.
She tried to raise the knife again. With a sigh, he wrested it from her in one quick move, then set it carefully out of her reach.
He regretted the spark of fear he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry—” he kept his tone matter-of-fact “—but I can’t have you hurting either yourself or me while I’m focused on fixing you up.”
She watched his every move, and he saw the caution and uncertainty she was trying to hold at bay.
“I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”
“Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.
Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”
She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.
Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.
It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.
He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”
She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.
“That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?
“How bad is it?” Her wariness was still evident, but he thought he also sensed the beginnings of trust.
He chose his words carefully—he didn’t want to alarm her unduly. “You’ve lost some blood. I imagine you’re going to have a whopper of a headache for the next several days, but I’ve seen worse.” Much worse. “But right now we need to see about getting you someplace where you can rest and be tended to properly.” He strived to keep the worry from his tone. “Do you have friends nearby or a place I can take you around here?” Please let her say yes.
“No.” Her single-word answer offered no clue as to why she was out here on her own. And that disconcerting wariness was back in full force. He couldn’t really blame her for her caution—in fact he rather admired her for it. But she shouldn’t have been placed in the position of fending for herself this way.
He tried again. “Is anyone traveling with you?”
“Only Rufus and Jubal.”
Rufus was the dog, but who was Jubal? “Do you know where Jubal is?”
“Jubal is my mule—” Her face suddenly drained of any remaining color and her eyes fluttered closed.
Mitch managed to catch her before her head hit the ground again.
He quickly assured himself she was still breathing, and to his relief, her eyes fluttered open. As soon as she realized her position, she struggled to push him away. “What—”
He reached for her canteen and held it up to her. “You fainted. Here, drink this.”
She quieted and took the canteen, raising it to her lips. Her gaze never left his.
After a few sips, she handed the canteen back, but he shook his head. “You need to drink it all,” he said firmly.
She stiffened
at his tone, but after a heartbeat obediently drained the canteen.
What in the world was he going to do with her?
If he had a wagon, he’d transport her directly to Turnabout and hand her over to Doc Pratt. But there was no wagon, and in her current condition, she’d never be able to sit in the saddle for the four-hour ride to town. Even if she could, she probably shouldn’t.
That left him with only one option. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to temporarily abandon his plans for solitude. “I suppose you’d better come with me to my cabin, where you can rest until you’re feeling better.” He only hoped she could sit in the saddle long enough to get that far.
“Thank you,” she said, her suspicion obvious, “but that’s not necessary. Once I rest a bit I’ll be able to get on with my journey.”
He knew bluster when he heard it. But he tried to navigate around her caution carefully. “Nevertheless, I’m responsible for your fall and the least I can do is share my shelter and my food with you.”
She appeared to be wavering. Hoping to tip the scale in his favor, Mitch retrieved her knife.
She tensed as apprehension flared in her eyes.
He quickly held the knife out to her, hilt first. “You can hold on to this if it makes you more comfortable.”
He only hoped she didn’t decide to skewer him with it.
* * *
Ivy accepted the knife, wondering just how much she could trust this stranger. His size was certainly worrisome—he wasn’t just taller than Goliath. He also had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen.
Still, he’d been nothing but kind and helpful. Surely if he’d meant to harm her he’d have done so by now. And despite what she’d said, her inability to stop shaking or keep her thoughts focused was worrisome. Perhaps a hot meal and a dry place to rest would cure that. “I suppose I can rest at your cabin as well as I can here. But just for a little while.”
He smiled approvingly and she decided he looked much less intimidating when he smiled. In fact, you might say he looked downright handsome, in a bigger-than-life kind of way. It was mighty tempting to let go of her worries and let this man handle them. And right now she was having trouble remembering why she shouldn’t.
“Good.” He nodded to his left. “I’d like to move you to that tree over there so you have something to lean against while I gather your things.”
Move her? She wasn’t sure she could stand and make it more than a couple of steps right now, even if he helped her.
But before she could respond, he gave her a stern look. “You appear none too steady and I wouldn’t want to have to deal with you falling again.”
She could see where he might feel that way, and to be honest, he had good reason. But she had a better idea. “I’ll just lean against Rufus instead.” She gingerly rearranged herself to demonstrate. And loyal Rufus allowed her to prop herself against him, just as she’d known he would.
She wished he would just get on with gathering her things so she could close her eyes and relax for a minute or two. But she had the nagging feeling she’d forgotten something important.
He studied her a moment, then stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as he turned away, she closed her eyes. Then she suddenly remembered what it was she needed to tell him and her heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly. “Mr. Parker.”
He turned and took a step back toward her. “Yes? Is something wrong?”
“It’s about Jubal. You should know, he turned up lame yesterday. It’s why we’re camped here.” She hoped he’d show Jubal the same kindness he’d shown her.
His expression tightened, but he nodded and continued on his way.
Ivy watched as he made quick work of collecting her few items. For a big man, he moved with surprising grace.
She closed her eyes again. Sometime later she heard Mr. Parker talking, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. His tone was soothing and a bit distant.
Prying her eyes open, she watched him approach Jubal. The mule eyed him suspiciously, ears flicking forward. Gradually, though, the animal relaxed, and by the time Mr. Parker attempted to stroke his nose, Jubal seemed ready to eat from his hand.
Satisfied, Ivy let her lids fall shut again.
“Miss Feagan.”
The voice seemed much closer this time and when she opened her eyes he stood over her, a worried look on his face. His horse stood just behind him.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. “Just resting my eyes.”
If anything, the concern in his expression deepened. “This is Seeley. He’s a well-behaved horse with an easy gait. I know you’re probably not feeling up to a ride, but the cabin isn’t far and I don’t know of any better way to get you there.”
She tried to focus on the animal. He was big—probably had to be to carry such a rider. But how did the man expect her to mount? “I can ride, but getting into the saddle might be tricky.”
His lips quirked up at that but he nodded solemnly. “I think we’ll be able to work that out.” He offered his hand. “Do you think you can stand for just a moment if I help?”
“Of course.” At least she hoped so.
He placed his hand under her elbow and gently guided her into a shaky standing position. Unfortunately, her legs felt more like limp rope than bone and muscle. If he hadn’t been supporting her she probably would have toppled over. Still, if she could get a good grip on the saddle and he formed a stirrup with his hands, she might be able to—
Before she could complete the thought, he’d scooped her up in his arms.
Caught by surprise, her arms reflexively slid around his neck. “What in blue blazes do you think you’re doing?” The man, for all his well-meaning kindness, was much too high-handed for her liking.
He hefted her, pulling her unsettlingly closer against his chest. “I’m helping you into the saddle.”
The ease with which he lifted and held her was impressive. She wasn’t a petite woman, but he made her feel almost dainty. And the sensation of being held in such a way was unnerving. Though, strangely, she felt completely safe.
He looked down at her uncertainly. “It would be best if you rode astride rather than sidesaddle.”
Ivy shrugged, or at least what passed for a shrug in her current position. She shook off her irritation at the same time. This was merely an expedient way of getting her on the horse, nothing more personal. “It’s my preferred method of riding, anyway.”
He stared into her eyes, and she felt the full power of his gaze. He seemed to be gauging her strength and her resolve. Would he find her wanting?
As she stared back, the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes drew her in with surprising intensity.
She finally blinked and the connection—if it had ever been there—disappeared.
He cleared his throat. “Once I get you up there, do you think you can keep your seat?”
“Of course.” She’d have to, wouldn’t she?
Was he really planning to lift her bodily into the saddle?
As if in answer to her question, he did exactly that. Mr. Parker kept a supportive hand at her waist until she’d grasped the saddle horn and swung her leg over.
“How are you feeling?”
Was he concerned for her or just for the trouble her passing out would cause?
She’d felt dizzy for a moment, but that had settled into a merely foggy sensation. “I’m fine.” Then she frowned. “How are you planning to travel?” Would he try to climb up behind her? How did she feel about that?
“As I said, it’s not far. I’ll walk.”
He turned the horse and led it toward Jubal, but his gaze rarely left her. It was disconcerting to be the focus of those very direct brown eyes. He quickly tied Jubal’s lead to his horse�
�s saddle then moved to her left. She noticed Jubal only carried a saddle, and realized he’d loaded her things onto his own horse. It was more kindness for her animal than she’d expected.
“Still doing okay?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “I’m ready when you are.”
“I’ll be right here at your side. If you start feeling the least bit faint, let me know. Better to delay us than to risk your falling over.”
She nodded and he patted the horse’s side and clicked his tongue to set the animal in motion.
As they headed down the road, Ivy smiled drowsily at the thought of what an odd procession they made. She was in the lead on his horse, he walked on her left, Jubal followed on the right and Rufus alternately led and padded alongside.
The pounding in her head was amplified with each step the horse took, but she was determined not to worry her self-appointed caretaker more than necessary. She would remain conscious and she would stay in this saddle until they reached this cabin of his.
Because the alternative wasn’t only dangerous and inconvenient.
It would also be altogether mortifying.
Chapter Three
Mitch kept a close eye on his injured charge as they traveled back to the cabin. He hadn’t been fooled by her assurances that she was okay. He’d seen the tremble in her hands, the glaze of pain in her eyes, and the way she fought to maintain focus. The sooner he got her to the cabin, the better. But jarring her too much wouldn’t do, either. He only hoped she had enough sense to let him know if she needed to stop.
The trip, which had taken only twenty minutes on his way out, took nearly an hour on the return. He paused their little caravan a few times to give her a rest from the jarring movements and make her drink some water, but otherwise he kept them moving at a slow, steady pace. At least there was no sign of fresh blood seeping from underneath her bandage. Perhaps the worst really was over.
Throughout that endless trip he tried to keep her talking, to make certain she was both conscious and aware. Fortunately, talking seemed to be something she enjoyed. Not that they had a coherent conversation. She mostly rambled and his contribution was limited to an occasional question whenever the pauses drew out.
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