by Connie Mason
Dragging himself a few inches at a time, Rafe slithered down the hillside through the driving snowstorm. Pain so intense it stole his breath slowed his progress. The numbing cold that ate through his clothing into his bones was the least of his worries. The cold was a blessing in disguise for it dulled the pain caused by his broken leg.
What a helluva mess, he reflected as he rested against an ice-covered stump to catch his breath. A broken leg was the last thing he'd expected when he'd started down the hill toward the mine. He'd known something was terribly wrong when Angel and Dexter failed to leave the mine. Crouched above the mine's entrance, he had waited hours for the buckboard to appear, until blowing snow obscured his view. Fear for Angel brought him from his concealment and he'd started down the hillside on foot, slipping and sliding through snow and sleet.
His feet found an icy patch, sending him tumbling head over heels. He'd landed hard, with his leg twisted beneath him at a strange angle, and then everything had gone black. He'd awakened in excruciation pain, as certain as he was of breathing that his right leg was broken.
Crawling on his elbows, Rafe had found a sturdy tree branch and dragged it along with him until he located a spot where two young tree trunks grew close together. It had taken him long painful minutes to maneuver the foot of his broken leg between the two trunks and wedge it firmly. Lying flat on the ground, he had reached behind him and grasped another sturdy tree trunk. Then he pulled with all his strength, until he heard the bone snap into place. He remembered screaming before passing out.
When he had awakened he removed his belt and strapped his leg to the branch he'd dragged with him for that purpose. It wasn't as professional as Jess would have done but it would have to do.
Rafe crawled inch by painful inch through the snow, making slow but steady progress down the hill. Instinct told him that Angel needed him. She was alone with two vicious men who would do anything to get what they wanted. Why hadn't she and Dexter gone to town like they were supposed to? The question hung ominously in the air, reminding him of Angel's vulnerability.
Dulled by pain, Rafe's mind began to drift. He remembered those days after the war when he'd learned that both his brothers had survived. He recalled the sadness of their father's death and the loss of their mother shortly after they had returned home for a joyous reunion.
Wind howled overheard. Blasts of icy air slowly penetrated through the pain. He couldn't go on. He was going to freeze to death before he reached his love. Come spring they'd find his bones in the hills. Then he heard it. The lilting melody of a hymn. Angel's sweet voice floated to him through the fog of his mind. Whether real or imagined, it gave him the will to go on. Renewed strength flowed through him as he renewed his struggle toward the angelic voice calling to him.
Dragging his crudely splinted leg behind him, Rafe slithered down the hillside, aware of nothing but his grinding need to reach Angel. His elbows were scraped raw through his jacket as he used them to propel himself. Gripped in the throes of pain, Rafe focused on his goal with unswerving intensity.
Angel.
He was scarcely aware of the passage of time, it could have been hours or days when he finally reached the bottom of the hill. He stopped and rested, groaning in frustration when he realized he hadn't the energy to go on. Then, once again Angel's voice floated to him on a frigid wind. She was singing something he recalled from his childhood. The mesmerizing sweetness of her voice gave him the impetus to drag himself that extra distance to her back door. Slumping in total exhaustion, Rafe stared at the insurmountable obstacle the closed door presented and feared he'd freeze to death before he could muster the strength to make himself heard.
His last thought before he passed out was that he shouldn't have dragged himself to Angel's door. He didn't want Angel to be the one to find his stiff, frozen body.
Angela wouldn't allow herself to sleep. She sat up in a chair by the fire with the gun in her lap. Occasionally she went to the window and peered through a crack in the shutters to check on the weather. The snow seemed to be diminishing though the wind was still howling down the chimney. She prayed for the sun to appear tomorrow and melt the snow, opening the road to the mine would be negotiable.
Angela knew Mr. Goodman had understood her message and hoped he'd arrive soon with help. Meanwhile, she felt confident she could handle Anson, she had outsmarted him so far, hadn't she?
Angela rested her head against the back of the high-backed chair and began to sing softly. Singing during times of stress always soothed her. She kept singing to stay awake. She sang several hymns first, then a lullaby she recalled from her childhood. It reminded her of happier times, when her mother sang to her at bedtime, and somehow it eased her loneliness.
Angela sang until her throat became too dry to continue. She recalled the bucket of spring water she'd carried into the house earlier, before all the trouble had started, and went into the kitchen for a drink. The water was sweet and cool and it soothed her throat. She was about to return to the parlor and the beckoning fire when she stopped abruptly and stared at the back door. A frown darkened her brow.
The door was still latched but something...something she couldn't name drew her closer. Her first thought was that Anson was outside, waiting to pounce once she opened the door, but she quickly discounted that notion. She doubted Anson would stand overlong in the cold without his heavy jacket. No, it was something else. Then she heard it. A scratching sound, like fingernails scraping against wood.
She placed her ear against the door but all she heard was the wind whistling around a corner. Foolish, girl, she chided herself. It would be folly to open that door. Not only would she let in the cold but perhaps Anson as well. She turned away but was drawn back by a silent plea she heard only in her head, a sound that had nothing to do with the wind. She listened again but heard nothing further. You're being fanciful, she told herself as she returned to the parlor.
Angela's head began to nod, then suddenly she jerked upright. Her gaze returned to the kitchen. Something stronger than the life force inside propelled her to the back door. Her shaking hands moved unerringly toward the door, aware of the risk she was taking when she unlatched the door. Dragging in a sustaining breath, she cracked the door open. A cry of dismay ripped from her throat when the door was jerked from her hand and an inert body fell into the room.
The body was covered with snow, from the top of his hat to the soles of his boots. Ice rimmed his eyebrows and lashes and his mouth was twisted into a permanent grimace of pain.
Rafe! Oh God, was he dead?
He was lying unconscious, half in and half out of the door. She grasped his shoulders and tried to pull him all the way inside so she could shut and latch the door. Her first tug brought a unholy scream from his bloodless lips.
"Rafe, what's wrong?"
His head rolled from side to side, obviously beyond understanding. Then she spied the crude splint on his right leg and tears sprang to her eyes. The agony he must have suffered getting here was beyond comprehension. It took massive strength and courage.
"Rafe, I can't leave you like this. I'm sorry, my love, but I have to get you inside."
Grasping his shoulders again, she slowly and as carefully as she knew how, maneuvered him until his entire body was inside. She quickly shut and latched the door, then returned to Rafe. He was shivering uncontrollably. Since she couldn't move him by herself, she did the next best thing. She hurried into the bedroom and returned with pillows and all the blankets she had on hand. Once she'd made him comfortable, she sat back on her heels and brushed the snow from his face.
She was heartened when he opened his eyes and tried to smile.
"Am I in heaven?"
"You're too stubborn to die," Angel said, smiling through her tears.
"I see an angel, I must be in heaven," he said through chattering teeth. "I didn't realize it would be so cold in heaven."
"You must have been out in the cold a very long time," Angela said, pulling the blanket
up to his neck.
He tried to move and grimaced. "I hurt. What happened?"
"You tell me. I found you at my back door."
Rafe's brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly it cleared. "Are you all right? Why didn't you and Dexter go into town like you were supposed to? I feared something terrible happened to you. I waited as long as I could, then started down the hill to make sure you were all right. I reckon haste made me careless for I lost my footing and fell. The bone in my lower leg snapped but didn't break through the skin."
"Who set your leg?"
"I did."
Amazement colored her word. "You did! You need a doctor. As soon as the roads become passable, I'll put you in the buckboard and take you to town."
"Forget about that for now. Why didn't you and Dexter go to the sheriff as planned."
"Desmond left. Anson said he took Dexter to town last night to catch the early stage to Wichita. I don't know why he'd do a thing like that. It just isn't like him to turn down a large sum of money."
"I told you not to count on Dexter," Rafe reminded her.
"But I was so sure. I don't like this, Rafe. I was so sure. Something is desperately wrong."
She decided not to tell him about her problem with Anson for Rafe had enough on his plate right now.
Rafe frowned. "Why am I on the floor?"
"I couldn't carry you, and dragging you caused you too much pain. Your leg needs attention. A better splint might ease your pain some."
"I agree. Help me up. I can hobble on one leg to the bed while you find something more suitable for a splint than this tree branch, though it served its purpose."
Angela braced herself as Rafe used her shoulders to pull himself up. His face was ashen and she feared he would pass out, but he hung on tenaciously until he was balanced on one foot. Then she placed an arm around his waist and took his weight while he hobbled the short distance to the bedroom. When she eased him down and lifted his legs onto the mattress, he sighed drifted into unconsciousness.
Taking advantage of Rafe's senselessness, Angela lit several candles so she could properly inspect his injury. The first thing she had to do was replace the crude splint with something sturdier. She rummaged in the wood box and found several two foot lengths of aspen saplings she had chopped for the fireplace. She stripped the bark off of two of them and carried them into the bedroom. Rafe was still out as she unwound the belt and carefully removed the tree branch from his leg.
Using the knife she found in a sheath at his waist, she slit his trouser leg to his thigh and cut his boot away from his foot. Then she carefully ran her hands over the break area. Rafe had been right. The skin wasn't broken and the bone had been snapped back into place. With tender care she placed the splints she had prepared into position and began tearing strips from the top sheet. Rafe awoke while she was tying the last strip of cloth into place.
"I'm sorry," Rafe apologized.
"Why?"
"For passing out. I hate weakness."
"Weak? You call a man who sets his own broken leg weak? The fact that you made it down here at all proves you're made of strong stuff. Are you feeling any warmer now?"
"Not much." He patted the bed. "Lie with me, Angel. Keep me warm."
"How about some hot coffee first?"
"Body heat," Rafe said, shivering. "I need your body heat."
Angela couldn't refuse his plea, nor did she want to. "Let's get you out of your wet clothes."
She tugged off his soggy jacket, then his vest and shirt.
"I'm going to have to finish cutting your trousers away." She removed his gunbelt then picked up the knife and carefully sliced away the remnants of his trousers.
"You've cut off my boot," Rafe said when he noticed his bare right foot.
"I had no choice." She pulled off his other boot and dropped it beside the first. "I'm going to the kitchen for the blankets," she said, hurrying off.
Rafe was still shivering after Angela had tucked several blankets around him.
"B-B-Body heat, Angel," Rafe repeated. "It's the o-o-only way."
Without hesitation Angela quickly shed her clothing and climbed beneath the blankets with Rafe, careful not to disturb his injured leg. His arms came around her and she snuggled against him, feeling safe for the first time in a very long time.
Rafe felt heat from Angel's body seeping through his pores and warming his bones. If it weren't for the throbbing pain in his leg he would be a contented man. Though he was in no condition to make love, just holding Angel in his arms was better than any medicine a doctor could prescribe. He sighed, feeling himself being sucked down into a dreamless void. But something important kept tugging him back, some significant piece of information that was missing.
Forcing his mind to concentrate, he finally recalled what he'd wanted to ask Angel. "Are you asleep, Angel?"
"No. It's almost dawn."
"You haven't told me everything, have you?"
A long silence ensued.
"Angel, something is troubling you. Is it Chandler?"
"I didn't want to tell you yet. You're in no condition to do anything about Anson."
Rafe stiffened. "You may as well tell me what he's done."
"You're right about Anson. After Dexter left he told me he intended to share my...bed. He said I would have to marry him once my belly swelled with his child. He's desperate, Rafe. He said he's spent too much time and energy on me and the mine and he wasn't going to lose it because of a stubborn woman."
"Where's my gun! If he touched you, I'll kill him."
"He didn't get a chance. I had a gun, remember? I forced him to leave and locked him out. Mr. Goodman came up to the mine yesterday before it started to snow and I managed to get a message through to him. I expect him to bring help as soon as the roads are passable."
"What brought Goodman up here?"
"I had no one else to confide in so I told him about my plan to clear your name. Though he thought the plan dangerous, he allowed me five days to get Dexter to agree to testify against Anson. If my plan didn't work, I promised him I'd move to town for the winter.
"Mr. Goodman didn't wait five days, thank God. He turned up ahead of time. He feared the weather would take a turn for the worse and worried that I'd be snowed in. He intended to take me back to town with him. Anson was here when Mr. Goodman arrived and he had the gall to tell the lawyer we were going to be married."
"The bastard," Rafe hissed.
"Not only that," Angela continued, "Anson told Mr. Goodman we weren't going to wait for the wedding to start a child. I managed a moment alone with Mr. Goodman before he left He'd already suspected things weren't right here. I told him where to find you but obviously the snow hindered his search. I expect him to arrive tomorrow, weather permitting, with the sheriff."
"At times you're more a tiger than an angel," Rafe said, summoning a grin. "You'd probably find a way to conquer the devil himself if he challenged you. You look and sing like an angel but have a warrior's strength and courage. Did you know your singing gave me the strength to go on when I would have given up?"
Angela gave him a startled look. "You couldn't have heard me singing."
"You were singing, weren't you?"
She stared at him. "I...yes, I was singing, but no one outside this cabin could have heard me."
Rafe knew differently. Had he been halfway to hell he would have heard her calling him back.
"You saved my life, Angel. How many times is that now? I lost count long ago. Now it's my turn to help you. I won't let anything happen to you, love. A broken leg won't hamper my aim. I'll kill Chandler before I'd let him hurt you. Go to sleep. There's still a few hours left before dawn."
"Are you in pain? I believe I saw a bottle of laudanum in Father's medicine kit."
"I can stand the pain," Rafe said. "I don't want to take anything that will spoil my aim."
"No shooting, Rafe. You don't need another murder charge hanging over your head."
"Let me w
orry about that. Go to sleep."
Rafe waited until Angela fell asleep before scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for his guns. Sliding them out of his gunbelt, he placed them under his pillow. Only then did he allow himself to relax. Finally, he slept.
Rafe awakened first. Sunshine streamed through the shutters. It appeared as if the early storm had blown itself out, leaving clear blue skies and sunshine, which wasn't an unusual occurrence in Colorado. He shook Angela awake.
"Wake up, sweetheart. It's daylight."
Angela stretched, felt the warmth of Rafe's body beside her, and smiled.
"I hope that smile is for me."
She opened her eyes. "I thought I'd dreamed you."
"Like a bad penny, I keep turning up. Open the shutters."
Angela threw back the blanket and gasped as cold air hit her warm skin. "Oh, it's freezing." She drew on a warm robe and stepped into a pair of slippers. Then she went to the window and opened the shutters.
"Oh, look! The sun is shining and the snow is beginning to melt."
Rafe balanced himself on an elbow and gazed out the window. "Last night's storm was a freak of nature. I'll wager we'll have a few days of Indian summer before winter arrives for good."
"Do you think the road up to the mine will be open?"
"Muddy, perhaps, but negotiable. Are you sure Goodman will arrive the sheriff?"
"I'm as certain as I can be. They won't know you're here, though. No one does. You're safe as long as you remain in the bedroom."
"What are you going to tell the sheriff?"
"The truth as I know it about Brady's murder. He has to believe me. If only Desmond hadn't left. He seemed so anxious to get his hands on the money I offered him."