by Connie Mason
“Cole! How badly are you hurt?” She opened his shirt to find his wound. Her panic subsided somewhat when she saw that the bullet had entered his shoulder and exited without shattering bone. Blood was everywhere, but that in itself was good, for blood would cleanse the wound.
Cole groaned and opened his eyes. He tried to move, but an explosion of pain plunged him to the edge of darkness. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on Dawn. She had ripped the tail of his shirt, made a pad from the material and was pressing it to the wound. She appeared to know what she was doing, so Cole concentrated on controlling the pain.
“The bullet went clear through,” he said through gritted teeth. “Make sure there are no pieces of cloth in the wound.”
Dawn nodded. “Can you get to your feet if I help you? You need to be in bed. I’ve done this for Billy before. Do you have some whiskey? Billy always said whiskey was the best disinfectant.”
“In my saddlebag. If I hang on to your shoulder I think I can get up. Damn that bastard! Did you see who it was?”
Dawn bent and placed his arm over her shoulder. “It was Sam Pickens. He came for the money. I think you wounded him.”
Cole grimaced. “He’ll be back. So will Spider Lewis.”
“All right, easy does it. Up.”
Cole flexed his knees and lifted himself to his feet, trying not to put too much of a burden on Dawn. She was far too frail to bear his full weight. The pain was bearable, but nevertheless he was damn glad to reach the bed.
“I’ll remove your boots and get the whiskey,” Dawn said, concern coloring her words.
Cole thanked God he wasn’t badly injured but was upset at his carelessness. Now this pesky wound was going to put him out of commission for a day or two. He shifted against the cornhusk mattress and closed his eyes, willing away the pain.
Dawn returned with the whiskey and stopped short of the bed when she saw Cole lying so still with his eyes closed. Fear spiraled through her. Upon first glance she thought he was … No, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Cole’s wound wasn’t serious. He was a strong man. Billy had received wounds more serious than this and survived. So would Cole. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest and chided herself for a fool. Of course Cole would live.
Dawn approached the bed and set the whiskey bottle down on the floor. “I’m going to take off your shirt and cleanse the wound,” she said as Cole sensed her presence and opened his eyes.
Cole cooperated by lifting his torso so she could take his arms from the sleeves.
“This is going to hurt like the devil. Billy always had one of his men hold him down.”
He gritted his teeth. “Go ahead. I’m no stranger to pain.”
Dawn caught her lower lip between even white teeth and angled the whiskey bottle over Cole’s wound. He jerked at the first spill of the amber liquid against his raw flesh and then went utterly still.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” His taut voice and pain-darkened eyes betrayed his agony. “Just get it over with.”
Dawn continued to pour. “Turn over, I need to disinfect the exit wound.”
Beads of sweat gathered on Cole’s forehead as he slid to his side, then onto his stomach. “You … make … a … good nurse.”
“You’re a better patient than Billy. He didn’t dare go to a doctor and expected me to treat his wounds. I’ve dug a bullet or two out in my time.” She worked quickly and efficiently. Once the area was clean, she tore her only spare sheet into strips and bound his wound securely. When she finished, she raised the whiskey bottle, saw there was an inch or two remaining and said, “There’s some left, perhaps you could do with a healthy swallow.”
Cole tried to rise but couldn’t. “I’m going to need help.”
Dawn poured the whiskey into a battered tin cup, lifted Cole’s head and held it to his lips. He drank until the cup was empty. Then he lay back with a sigh and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he’d feel stronger. Tomorrow he’d be out of bed and able to resume his search for the money. He hoped to God that Sam and Spider wouldn’t show up until his strength returned.
Cole wanted to sleep but couldn’t. He knew there was something he was forgetting. Something he had to tell Dawn. With great effort he opened his eyes. Dawn was still there, out of focus, but still there. He remembered what he wanted to say.
“The gun. Get it.”
“If Sam or Spider show up while I’m still under the weather, take my guns and shoot to kill. They’re vicious men. They’ll stop at nothing to get that money.”
“I can take care of myself,” Dawn said. “Go to sleep. I don’t think Sam will be back any time soon. I don’t know how, but you managed to wound him.”
Cole tried to concentrate on Dawn’s words, but they seemed to be coming from a long way off. The whiskey was beginning to take effect, and he slipped into a fitful sleep.
Dawn sat on the edge of the bed a long time, staring at Cole’s bare chest. His body looked so fit, so hard. His upper torso was as tan as his arms and face. Few men removed their shirts long enough to tan that part of their bodies. But Cole was different from most men.
Dawn rose abruptly and began pacing the confines of the small cabin, her mind working furiously. Cole was unlikely to awaken for several hours. If she was going to leave, now was the time. She could remove the money from its hiding place, take one of Cole’s guns and light out of here for parts unknown. Cole’s wound wasn’t serious, he’d heal in time, so it wasn’t as if she’d be abandoning a helpless man. When he awakened he’d probably be well on his way to recovery.
Still she hesitated, recalling how kind he had been to her, how tenderly he’d cared for her when she’d been hurting. Go! a voice inside her urged. She looked longingly toward the door, but her feet refused to move. What was this strange feeling? Whatever it was, intuition told her to resist.
“This is ridiculous,” she chided herself. Forcing herself away from Cole, she started gathering up her meager belongings. Except for what she wore, she had few possessions and nothing of value. Deciding it wouldn’t be right to keep the things Cole had purchased for her in town today, she left them. She’d have money to buy her own clothes once she left this place.
She was ready to leave. The door beckoned to her. The money was close, so close. Then Cole moaned. Dawn froze, trying to block the sound from her mind. He moaned again. Dawn was torn. Her conscience demanded that she check on Cole one last time. It proved to be her undoing.
Cole’s face was bathed in shiny pearls of perspiration. His skin was flushed with fever and torrid to the touch. Dawn knew with grinding certainty, and no little amount of disappointment, that she couldn’t leave him. Not now. Only someone reprehensible would abandon a man too sick to help himself.
Sighing in resignation, Dawn shoved all thoughts of the money from her mind and set to work. She went to the river for a bucket of cool water and bathed Cole’s face and torso with endless patience. Again and again she ran the cloth over his heated flesh. His chest was furred with red curling hair, so soft Dawn felt a wicked desire to set the cloth aside and run her fingers through it. His skin was smooth and firm beneath her fingertips. She was startled to realize that touching him gave her pleasure.
Day turned into night. Dawn returned to the river several times for cool water. Exhaustion finally took its toll and she was forced to rest. Cole was cooler now, his skin no longer burned beneath her touch. Briefly she considered leaving now, as she had planned, but she wondered how Cole would cope if his fever returned. She tried to harden her heart against the railroad detective who had burst into her life without warning, but she could not. Knowing she’d regret her decision, Dawn spread Cole’s bedroll on the floor beside the bed and lay down. Sleep came almost instantly.
Cole reached across the bed for Morning Mist and wondered why she wasn’t lying beside him. He needed her. They were kindred spirits, meant to love one another into eternity. Why had she left their mat?
“Morning M
ist! Where are you, my love?”
Dawn heard Cole cry out in his sleep and came instantly awake. Had his fever returned? Worry gnawed at her. She had no medicine, nothing with which to ease his pain. She recalled her mother gathering herbs from the forest for medicinal purposes but had no idea what they were.
“Morning Mist! Come back to me.”
Dawn rose and went to Cole. She placed her hand on his forehead and found him hot to the touch. His fever had returned, just as she’d feared.
“Morning Mist.”
When he started to thrash about, Dawn feared he would hurt himself and tried to calm him. “I’m here, Cole. Your Morning Mist is here.”
Cole appeared to hear her and quieted immediately. He sighed and spoke to her in the Sioux tongue. Dawn understood some of the words, for her mother had taught her the language years ago. “Lie beside me, my love. It’s where you belong.”
Dawn was startled when Cole reached out and pulled her down to lie against his uninjured side. He stroked her long black hair and crooned love words to her. Dawn made no attempt to free herself, since it seemed to calm him. Warily she relaxed against him, stunned by her thoughts. She wondered what it would be like to sleep in Cole’s arms every night.
And she was a fool who dreamed impossible dreams.
Scant moments before Dawn fell asleep, she imagined she heard Cole whisper her name.
Cole stirred, cautiously testing his limbs. He felt stiff and sore throughout his entire body, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He wondered why his arms felt strangely empty. Then he remembered. He had awakened during the night and been pleasantly surprised to find Dawn nestled beside him. The warmth and scent of her still lingered.
Light flooded the cabin; he could feel it against his eyelids. He opened his eyes slowly. When the haze before them cleared, he saw her. She was standing by the stove, wearing a new yellow dress. She looked like a ray of sunshine, all bright and golden, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She’d been to the river to bathe, and her hair was still damp and curling around her face. She must have sensed his eyes upon her, for she turned to look at him. She smiled shyly.
“You’re awake! How do you feel?”
“Like hell, but tolerable. I can’t remember much after you bandaged my wound.”
“You slept. Fever set in, but I think the worst of it is over. I had no medicine to give you but I did what I could.”
“What was that?” Cole asked curiously.
“I sponged you with cool water until the fever subsided. Are you hungry?”
He grinned. “Matter of fact, I am.”
“Good. I found a rabbit in one of my traps. I skinned and cooked it while you were sleeping. The broth will give you strength. You lost a considerable amount of blood.”
She ladled out a portion of broth and set it on a small table next to the bed. When Cole reached for the spoon, his hand shook so badly he couldn’t bring the spoon to his mouth without spilling the liquid. Pushing his hand aside, Dawn sat on the edge of the bed and carefully spooned the broth into his mouth.
“That’s good,” Cole said, feeling stronger by the minute. “Once, a long time ago,” he reminisced, “when I was sick, my twin sister fed me broth just like you’re doing right now.”
“You have a twin sister?” Dawn asked eagerly. She was anxious to learn more about this man who had made such an impact upon her life in so short a time. “Where is she now?”
“Ashley and her husband Tanner are living in Oregon with their two children. I visited them in ’72 but haven’t seen them since. We correspond regularly. I’ve been wanting to pay them another visit but haven’t found the time. I have a nephew I’ve never seen.”
“Does Ashley look like you?”
“She’s much prettier,” Cole joked. “We both have green eyes, but her hair is redder than mine. She came West with a wagon train in ’66 to join me at Fort Bridger. I was in the army at the time. She asked Tanner to marry her because the wagon master wouldn’t allow a single woman to join his train. Tanner is from the South. He had a grudge against all Yankees, but my sister managed to tame him. Running Elk saw Ashley and stole her from the wagon train. Remind me to tell you the story sometime.”
“Running Elk,” she repeated. “Who is he?”
“He’s chief of a band of Sioux. I lived with the People for a time.”
“Is that where you met Morning Mist?”
Cole’s green eyes turned dark with remembrance. “Morning Mist was Running Elk’s half-sister. I think we loved one another from the first moment our eyes met. Unfortunately, our time together was brief. Circumstances forced me to leave the village shortly after our marriage. In my absence the village was attacked by Crow raiders. Morning Mist was among those slain.”
Dawn’s heart constricted with sympathy. The raw pain reflected in the green depths of Cole’s eyes told her that he still loved his dead wife. It must be wonderful to be loved like that, Dawn thought dreamily. She had never known love. Her mother had been afraid to show too much affection for her daughter. Dawn’s father had been a jealous man who demanded all of Winter Sky’s attention. To know, just once in her life, the kind of love Cole had felt for Morning Mist would be pure bliss. But Dawn knew better than to wish for things that could never be.
“I’m sorry.”
Cole shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. I stayed with Running Elk four years before realizing I could no longer shut myself off from the world. I don’t regret my years with the People. I learned to act, think and live like the Sioux. That knowledge has aided me in my work, and in many instances saved my life.”
“Why have you never remarried?” Dawn regretted the question the moment it left her mouth. It was none of her business. Once Cole left, she would never see him again.
Cole looked away, visualizing Morning Mist on the day they had parted. Her eyes had been misty with tears, but her smile had said she knew he would return to her. Their love had been preordained and would endure until the end of time.
“No one could ever replace Morning Mist in my heart,” Cole explained. “Someday you’ll love someone like that and understand.”
Dawn gazed at Cole and feared she already did understand. She was afraid of the things Cole made her feel. But rather than delve too deeply into her heart for an explanation, she rose abruptly. “Would you like some more broth?”
“Not right now. But I am feeling better. By tomorrow I should be fit enough to resume my search. I need to recover the money before Sam and Spider turn up.” He searched her face, waiting for her to say something, and was disappointed when she remained stubbornly mute.
Dawn turned away. She knew what Cole wanted from her. But she just couldn’t give him the money. It could mean the difference between life and death for her.
Cole watched Dawn as she went about her chores. She had changed since he’d first set eyes on her several days ago. Her eyes no longer had that haunted look, and the sharp edges of her facial features had eased. She appeared more sylphlike than gaunt now, and more in control of her life. Sometimes she seemed almost innocent and childlike. And vulnerable. It was difficult for him to believe she had been intimate with Cobb and his cohorts.
Cole wondered what Dawn would do when he left. It wasn’t difficult to imagine why she continued to deny knowledge of the train robbery money. Unfortunately, there were few options open to a woman with no money and no prospects. The stolen money would go a long way in securing a normal life for Dawn. In a way, he couldn’t blame her for denying knowledge of it. But he had a job to do; sentiments did not apply here.
By suppertime Cole felt strong enough to go outside to relieve himself and sit at the table to eat. He washed up in a bucket of water Dawn had placed outside the door for that purpose and took a seat at the rickety table. When Dawn set a bowl of savory rabbit stew and dumplings before him, he dug in with gusto. Tomorrow he hoped to continue his search for the money, and he needed to build his strength as quickly as possible.
“How is your shoulder?” Dawn asked conversationally.
“Hardly hurts at all,” Cole said, though in truth he felt more than a twinge of pain.
“You take the bed tonight. It’s more comfortable than the bedroll.”
“We could share the bed like we did last night.” His words told her he’d been more aware than she had given him credit for.
Dawn’s spoon clattered against her bowl. “I … that is, we … You couldn’t have remembered.”
“I remember,” Cole said huskily. “I remember how empty my arms felt when I awakened and you were gone.”
“You thought I was Morning Mist.”
“I knew exactly who you were, lady. Besides, what can it hurt if we share the bed? I’m too weak to do either of us any good.”
Dawn’s eyes slid over him assessingly. He didn’t look weak. He looked amazingly fit for a man who’d been shot and had survived a fever. He must have the constitution of an elephant.
“I’ll take my chances with the bedroll,” she replied shortly. Dawn trusted Cole more than she did any man but not enough to lie beside him all night. Or was it herself she didn’t trust?
“No! I’ll take the bedroll,” Cole said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Either we share the bed or I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s your choice.”
“Sleeping with a man is … It’s not—”
“I’m not Billy Cobb. I won’t hurt you. Unlike your husband and his men, I don’t take women unless they’re willing. All I’m suggesting is that we share the bed. Otherwise, I’ll make do on the floor.”
When Dawn remained silent, Cole rose somewhat stiffly. He’d been up too long, he thought as he staggered toward the corner to retrieve his bedroll. The dull ache in his shoulder was now a painful throbbing, and if he didn’t lie down soon he’d probably fall down.
Dawn watched Cole stagger across the room with a twinge of guilt. Sharing the bed was a logical solution, so why was she acting like a foolish child? Had he allowed her to use the bedroll, there would be no argument, but Cole was too much of a gentleman to take the bed while she slept on the floor.