Come Back

by Melissa Maygrove

  A tortured cry ripped from Seth’s throat through clenched teeth as flesh sizzled and smoke rose. Becca gagged as much from the act as the smell. She held the knife there—did what she had to do—but that didn’t stop her heart from breaking or tears from running down her face.

  By the time his groan quieted to a stifled sob, the bleeding had stopped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes and set the knife aside.

  Seth’s throat moved with a tight swallow, but his jaw stayed clenched and he didn’t speak. Sweat beaded his pale, lined brow.

  She rinsed the gash with some of his whiskey, eliciting another agonizing groan from him, and then patted it dry and readied her needle with thread she’d wet with spirits, too. After taking a breath and willing herself not to be sick, she positioned herself to sew up his wound. “Are you ready?”

  “Do it,” he ground out.

  Becca pierced the skin and drew the needle through the other side.

  Seth flinched. He exhaled as she tied the first knot.

  The gash deepened toward the center, and her next few stiches grew hesitant. Even though she warned him each time, she could tell her lingering was only hurting him more. She steeled herself and finished the rest with quicker, deliberate motions.

  He barely uttered a sound, but his jaw was stiff, his face was pale, and his fists were clenched tight enough to break bone. A shudder went through him when she finally called out, “Last one.”

  Becca put away her needle and pressed a cool rag to his face, wiping away the perspiration and smoothing back his hair. She rinsed it, wrung it out, and laid it on his brow, above his swollen eye. Switching to the pan that held warm water, she wrung out a fresh rag and began bathing him from the neck and shoulders down. She paused to cleanse his scrapes and cuts and took care to avoid his stiches. By the time she reached his fists, his hands had relaxed and his fingers lay open. One at a time, Becca lowered his hands into the water to loosen the caked-on blood. She gently bathed every crease and callus until the last trace of red was gone.

  His pants were another story. He’d bled so much, a soaking stain extended to the knee of his right leg. They would have to come off.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said as she rose to get fresh water and more supplies. “Don’t move.”

  Seth nodded without opening his eyes. He looked so exhausted, she didn’t fear any disobedience.

  Becca returned and knelt at his side, then folded a blanket in half and centered it lengthwise over his waist. Reaching underneath, she unfastened the buttons of his trousers and loosened the ties on his drawers. He was looking at her now with tired blue eyes.

  “Lift your hips,” she said, ignoring her discomfiture.

  He did so, groaning in pain with the effort.

  She slid his garments down, being careful not to dislodge the blanket. After removing his boots and sliding his pants and drawers the rest of the way off, Becca knelt at his hips and wrung out a warm rag. She started with his left leg since it was mostly clean. Then she switched to his right, alternately rinsing out the rag and wiping away the rusty, copper-smelling haze that coated his skin. She tried not to look at his body—to keep her eyes on her hands and her mind on her task—but his rippled stomach and his long, muscled legs were too striking to ignore. She slid the blanket over as far as she dared and removed the last traces of dried blood. Thankfully, it hadn’t seeped any farther.

  After she finished bathing his legs all the way to his feet, Becca set the bowl aside and gently blotted his skin dry with a towel. She positioned the clean brown trousers she’d brought from one of the trunks and worked them onto his ankles. They were two sizes too big, but that was probably for the best. He would be bedridden for a couple of days.

  “Lift up,” she said when she’d gotten them past his knees. He did so and groaned again. “I’m sorry I don’t have any drawers.”

  “‘t’s okay.”

  She reached under the cloth to fasten the fly, then removed it now that his body was properly covered. Well, almost. He still needed a shirt. He also needed a warm place to sleep, and moving him was going to be tricky.

  “Don’t move,” she instructed and went to get bedding.

  As soon as she’d spread his bedroll out in a covered, draft-free part of the room, she turned to find Seth trying to sit up. “Wait,” she called as she rushed back to his side. “You’ll pull your stitches loose.” Sure enough, he almost had. Three of them had torn the skin, and tiny trails of blood were trickling.

  “Damn.” Seth lay back with a moan as she held a cloth to his side. “Are you gonna have to redo them?”

  Becca lifted the cloth and looked them over. “No, but stay put while I find something to bandage this.”

  He nodded and held the cloth in place. “I still have the strips of fabric you bound my ribs with. Will that do?”

  “Yes. Where are they?”

  “In my room, in my bag.”

  “Are they clean?”

  “Yes.”

  Becca retrieved them. Rolling him slightly, she slid the long strip of cotton under his back and tied the ends to hold the folded cloth in place over the wound. He was shivering now, his flesh covered in tiny bumps. Taking care not to disturb the stitches, she helped him on with two shirts—first cotton, then flannel. She buttoned them both but left the tails loose.

  She frowned as she eyed the distance to his temporary bed. There was no other way to do it. She was going to have to drag him. And she couldn’t pull him by his arms because of the stitches. She went and got a tarp.

  Becca knelt next to him. “Roll to your good side,” she instructed, bunching the tarp along the entire length of his body.

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “Move you to your bed over there. You can’t walk, so I’m going to drag you.”

  “No. I’ll find another way to get there.”

  “You’ll pull your stitches out.”

  “Leave me here, then.”

  “I won’t be able to keep you sheltered here.” She pointed up at the holes.

  “I camp outdoors all the time. I’ll be fine. Just cover me—”

  “You’ve lost too much blood. You’re shivering already. I’ve got to keep you warm.”

  “No.” He glared at her. “I’m too heavy for you to be dragging—”

  “In case you forgot, I’ve done it before.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared back, daring him to refute her claim.

  He looked away in disgust.

  Becca cupped his cheek with her hand and turned his face until his brooding gaze met hers. “I know you don’t like this, but you’re injured, and you got that way protecting me. Taking care of you is the least I can do.”

  The lines around his eyes softened. “All right. But leave my feet free so I can push with my legs and help you.”

  She helped Seth roll to his side and stuffed the tarp beneath him, then spread it out when he rolled back. Standing at his head, she gathered the end in her hands and slid him across the floor, canvas scraping against stone with each push of his heels. Once he was fairly centered on his bed, she removed the tarp, placed a pillow under his head, and covered him with a quilt and two blankets.

  Becca stoked the fire and offered Seth a drink from his canteen. “Do you need anything else?”

  He blotted his mouth with his sleeve. “No, thank you.”

  As she capped the canteen and set it nearby, panic hit. “Where’s Cyrus?”

  “He’s okay. He’s outside.” Seth closed his eyes and groaned. “There’s a deer on his back, and he’s still saddled.”

  Becca stood and sheathed her knife. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Seth muttered a curse. “Just drag the deer a safe distance away and leave the saddle on. One night in it won’t kill him. I should be feeling well enough tomorrow to take it off myself.”

  Becca frowned at him. They both knew that wasn’t true. “I’m capable of removing a saddle, Seth. I’m also going to d
ress the deer.” She nearly gagged at the thought, but chose to ignore her revulsion and do it anyway. With Seth unable to hunt, they needed the meat.

  “Do you know how?”

  “Yes.” She’d helped her father several times on the trail.

  Becca glanced at the fading light as she pulled on her coat and gathered a few rags and some rope. She went to pick up the game bag and could barely lift it off the floor. “What’s in here?”

  “Three rabbits and two turkeys.”

  Great. At least they were already dead. She only had to stomach the butchering.

  Becca braced herself and hoisted the bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She peered down at Seth as she would a recalcitrant child. “You had better behave while I’m gone.”

  Becca trudged back to the cave with a bag full of rabbit and turkey slung over her shoulder. By the look of the sky, a winter storm was well on its way. The deer she’d hoisted into the tree would freeze tonight, and the smaller game she brought with her would stay plenty cold in a trunk toward the front of the cave.

  Before returning to unsaddle Cyrus, she checked on Seth, relieved to find him peacefully sleeping. He looked so boyish when he was at rest, such a contrast to the hardy man he was. Becca warmed herself by the fire, then gloved her raw hands and went back to care for the horse.

  Seth was awake when she carried the saddle inside, so she held it firm and tried not to stumble under its weight. She set it down and walked over to him. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m sore.”

  She could see in his eyes and the lines of his face he was more than sore. “Want some whiskey?”

  “Nah. Not yet.”

  “Let me check your wound.” She knelt by his side and removed her gloves.

  Seth grasped her hands and held them up, his brow creasing as he rubbed at the chafes and inspected the cuts. “I’m sorry you got stuck with all that. A woman shouldn’t have to do a man’s work.”

  She folded his blankets down. “I didn’t mind.” And truly, she didn’t. “Now Cyrus is happy, and we have enough meat to last for a while.”

  “Well, as long as Cyrus is happy,” he groused.

  Becca laughed and lifted the hems of his shirts. Small spots of blood stained one end of the bandage, but they were dry. “Looks good.” She smoothed his shirts back down and handed him his canteen. “Drink some water.” She was no expert at caring for the sick, but she knew frequent drinks of liquid were a must.

  “C’mon, drink,” she urged when he stopped after two small sips.

  He hesitated, then turned the canteen up and took several deep swallows.

  “That’s better.” She capped it and set it aside.

  A hint of pink crossed his pale cheeks. “You wouldn’t happen to have a chamber pot, would you?”

  “I do, but I doubt you could position yourself to use it.” Becca ignored her nerves and kept her voice even. “What’s the nature of your need?”

  “I, uh, need to relieve myself.”

  She retrieved a can much like the one he’d used at the hut. “Use this.”

  Seth took it from her without argument, but she could tell it cost him.

  “Do you need my help?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll step outside, then. Call for me when you’re done.”

  Once she’d stoked the fire and checked on Cyrus, Becca made herself a temporary bed along the same wall as Seth’s, to be nearby in case he needed something during the night. She removed her boots and sat near his head, watching the blankets covering his chest rise and fall with easy movements. He’d dozed the entire time she cooked supper, awoken long enough to drink some broth and a few sips of whiskey, and then he’d fallen back into a sound sleep again.

  Careful not to wake him, she smoothed the locks of hair covering his forehead back away from his face. Light brown lashes fanned out over his cheeks, and his mouth lay with lips slightly parted. His skin was still pale, but it was dry and cool; and it was smooth, which meant he was free of pain.

  She wrapped her knees with her arms and gazed at him. Who was this man? Where had he come from? She’d been so busy hiding her own identity that she hadn’t asked about his. She sighed and slid under her covers. Her musing was pointless. Once she nursed him back to health and sent him on his way, none of it would matter.

  Rebecca opened her eyes and stared into the dark. Someone had called her name.

  “Becca,” Seth said again.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m cold.” The flaming logs had dwindled to a clump of glowing embers.

  Becca hurried across the room and added some wood to the coals, all the while chiding herself for letting the fire burn down. She wasn’t used to keeping one going all night. She’d stayed warm under her blankets; having lost so much blood, he must not be able to.

  Once the logs caught and erupted into a blaze, she returned to check on Seth. She crouched down and tucked his covers snugly around him. “Do you need anything?”

  His eyes glittered with firelight as he peered up at her. “No. Sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to let the room get so cold.”

  She checked his blankets one more time, and then crawled back under her own. After a while, she drifted off to the sound of crackling wood and soft snores.

  “Becca.”

  “Hm.” Why was he calling her again so soon?

  “B-Becca.”

  She opened her eyes and pushed the quilt off her face. Pale winter light shone through the holes in the ceiling, filled with floating flakes of snow. Hours had passed. It was morning.

  “B-Becca, I’m c-cold.”

  After stoking the fire, she knelt at Seth’s side. Shivers racked his body, and his teeth chattered like an old wagon on a rough road. Brushing his hair aside, she placed her hand on his forehead. His skin was dry and hot—much too hot. He wasn’t shivering because he was cold, and now, neither was she. A fever probably meant infection. And infection often meant death.

  The burden fell like lead onto her shoulders. She didn’t know much about doctoring, and she held this man’s life in her hands.

  Seth looked at her with dull, listless eyes. “I’m s-sick, aren’t I?”

  “You’ve got a little fever. That’s all.” She lifted his head and held the canteen to his cracked lips. “Drink some water.”

  He took several swallows and laid his head back down. “You’re n-not a very g-good liar.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Becca fetched a clean rag and filled a bucket with a mixture of hot and cold water. She wrung the rag out and wiped his face, then folded the blankets back to check his wound.

  A wave of heat rose from him, and he shivered violently.

  Becca peeled back the dressing. The stitches were undisturbed and the edges were closed, but the skin was beginning to turn red in places. She lingered, buying herself time to think. What would her mother do?

  “You’ve been s-starin’ a long t-time. It mu-must be bad.”

  “No,” Becca said, replacing the bandage. “Not bad.” She managed a smile as she covered him back up. “I’m going to gather a few things. I’ll be back shortly.”

  After checking a book on herbs to reassure herself her memory was true, she donned her coat and went in search of what she would need. Her choices were limited by the season, but she found a willow growing near a stream. She scraped off some bark, then brushed aside the snow in a field nearby and began gathering handfuls of green.

  “I was-s beginning to g-get worried about you,” Seth said when she returned.

  Becca emptied the precious bounty from her apron into a shallow, wooden bowl. “It took me a while to find what I needed.”

  He eyed her harvest. “W-What’s that?”

  “Willow bark and chickweed. Willow bark for your fever, and chickweed for your wound.” Becca put some bark in a pot of water to simmer, then made a poultice with some of the chickweed and applied
it to his injury, securing it in place with the bandage. Once the bark had steeped long enough, she strained some of tea into a cup and added sugar.

  She helped Seth raise his head again. “Drink this.”

  He glanced at her, then took a tentative sip. “Ack. It’s bitter.”

  “I know. But it will bring down the fever and help with your pain.”

  He grudgingly took another sip and grimaced.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked when he finished the tea. “I could make some biscuits.”

  “No, but thanks.”

  She wrung out the rag and wiped his face again. “What about some soup?”

  Seth shook his head.

  She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “You need to eat something.”

  “Maybe some broth.”

  Becca checked the herb book again, and then gathered some edible greens from the woods. Determined to help Seth get well, she chopped them finely and added them to the rabbit soup she’d reheated from supper.

  Once she’d fed him plenty of broth and coaxed him to take a few bites of meat and potato, she settled back with a bowl of her own. “Feeling any better?”

  “Come to think of it, I am.” He’d moved his arms from underneath the blankets, and he wasn’t shivering anymore.

  She felt his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. “Your fever’s coming down.”

  Seth touched the area over his bandage.

  “Something wrong?”

  “It feels warm.”

  “It’s supposed to. The chickweed heats up as it draws the infection out.” She lifted her cup and took a sip of water. “Tell me when it gets hot, and I’ll put a fresh poultice on.”

  “Hot?” The look on his face was priceless.

  Becca spent the rest of the day caring for Seth, offering him water, broth, and willow bark tea, and changing his poultice. By the next morning, he was free of fever and the redness was gone from his wound. But he was growing restless.

  Once she’d cleaned up from breakfast, Becca chatted with him as she secured his bandage and helped him change shirts. It was obvious he appreciated the care, but she could see the toll this was taking on him. No one liked being an invalid, especially a man.