The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

  He laughed. “I did. Morrillton will probably be at the ranch within an hour.”

  “If he does, you hide in Pa’s study. If you leave the window open, you can hear everything that is said on the veranda. If he acts unseemly, you’ll be there to save me. Although, I will have the pistol in my pocket.” With a click of her tongue, she set her horse into motion.

  He should have known she’d step into the role with everything in her. Hopefully, she could keep a civil tongue with Morrillton until he believed her helpless act. “I need to go back and send a telegram to my friend. Please, go straight home.”

  “Wyatt, I managed perfectly well going back and forth to town on my own before you arrived. I’ll see you when you return.” She trotted off, leaving him feeling like a fool.

  Once she was out of sight, he headed to the telegraph office. After sending his message, he waited for a reply. One came within half an hour. His friend would arrive in the morning. Good. They needed to end this threat to the ranch and focus on building the Rocking W into the ranch it held promise it could be.

  “We got problems, Mr. Jamison.” Lincoln caught up with Wyatt in the barn. “We got a mare foaling and a cow broke through. We suspect she’s gone off to have a calf on her own.”

  “They do that.” Wyatt didn’t see a lot of reason for concern. “She’ll come back at feeding time.”

  “We saw signs of a cougar, sir, just this morning.”

  That changed things. “Let’s go find us a cow. Is the mare having trouble?”

  “She’s in the beginning stages. Lee is with her.”

  Why did trouble come on top of trouble? Wyatt pulled his rifle from the scabbard and headed for the woods. He really wanted to be back before Morrillton showed his face. As they searched for the cow, he explained the latest plan to Lincoln, who promised to let Lee in on the news.

  They found the cow and newborn calf bedded down in a pile of decaying leaves a few yards into the woods. Wyatt checked over mother and baby. Everything looked fine. He slipped a rope around the cow’s head. Baby would follow without a problem.

  Something screamed. Wyatt whirled. Lincoln shouted.

  Wyatt found himself slammed to the ground by an animal weighing almost as much as he did with sharp teeth and claws. “Shoot it! Ahh!” The cougar bit down on his shoulder. “Lincoln, shoot it!”

  “I’ll hit you!”

  Wyatt wrapped his hands around the animal’s throat and pushed. His muscles strained as he fought to keep the teeth away from his neck. “Do something!” Another bite and Wyatt feared he’d lose the fight. Pain racked his body.

  The cow hurtled down the path, baby following.

  The cougar grunted as Lincoln slammed a thick branch across its back. It turned.

  Wyatt grabbed his pistol and fired. The animal fell. Wyatt’s eyes closed and the world went black. The last thing he thought of was that if he died, Savannah would be alone to fight against Morrillton.

  When he came to, his good arm was slung over Lincoln’s shoulder and the man was doing his best to drag Wyatt down the path. He glanced back at the dead cat that had attacked. Close call. He might be bleeding and half-conscious, but he was alive. For now.

  Lincoln had torn the sleeve from his own shirt and bound Wyatt’s wounds. “You need a doctor, Boss.”

  “I reckon I do.” He shook his head to clear it. “I counted two bites. Anything else?”

  “You’ve a deep scratch in your side and a graze on your head. You put up a good fight, but the cat was stronger.”

  “Until I shot it. I want its hide, Lincoln.”

  “I’ll come back for it. You hush now.” Lincoln shook his head. “You’re going to scare the dickens out of Miss Worthington.”

  “It’s best you take me through the back way, then. Irma will patch me up. Better yet, go straight for the bunkhouse.”

  “No sir, the first idea was better. My Irma is good with a needle and nursing. We’ll patch you up.”

  Wyatt stared at the man’s solemn face. “First thing when I’m on my feet is teaching you how to shoot.”

  “I can shoot, just not very good.”

  “You’ll be good when I finish with you.” They stopped at the edge of the property.

  Morrillton’s wagon was parked in front of the house.

  Chapter 7

  Savannah was prepared to do battle by acting helpless. She pasted on a smile as Mr. Morrillton climbed from his buggy. That is, until she spotted a weary Lincoln helping a blood-covered Wyatt toward the house.

  “Wyatt!” She leaped from the veranda and sprinted toward them. “What happened?”

  “We were searching for a cow and her newborn calf when a cougar jumped Mr. Jamison. We need to get him into the house.”

  “Of course.” Unmindful of the blood, she propped her shoulder under Wyatt’s other arm. “Irma! Spread a blanket on the sofa. Hot water.” What was she forgetting? If Wyatt died … well, she wouldn’t think about that. With her heart in her throat, they passed a very confounded-looking banker.

  “What’s going on here?” He propped fists on his suited hips. “I thought this man was gone.”

  “Chew on your hat, Mr. Morrillton, and go back to town.” Savannah stepped onto the first step. “We’ve got you, Wyatt. We’re almost there.”

  “I don’t play games, Miss Worthington. You’ll regret this little charade.” He turned and climbed back into his buggy. “Mark my words.”

  She’d like to mark him with a riding crop. “Good day, sir.”

  They entered the house with Mama and Irma both scurrying to get the needed medical items.

  “Not the sofa!” Mama pointed to the kitchen. “The table, please.”

  They half carried, half dragged Wyatt to the kitchen and, with the four of them working together, got him on the table. The pallor of his skin made Savannah’s knees weak, and she sagged into a chair.

  “Go change, honey. You’re covered in blood.” Mama patted her shoulder on her way past. “Irma and I will patch up Wyatt. We’re going to be removing … some articles of clothing. As an unmarried woman, you don’t need to see.”

  Gracious. She’d change, but she’d return pronto. Modesty had no place when the man she loved could be dying. Loved. She never expected that emotion to have a place in her life.

  With one last glance at Wyatt’s face, she headed upstairs, hoping, praying, it wasn’t her last look at a living Wyatt. Shedding her stained clothing, she kicked them into a corner of her room and grabbed her plainest housedress. Whether Mama liked it or not, Savannah had every intention of helping nurse Wyatt back to health.

  Using what water was left in the basin on her bureau, she cleaned up the best she could, got dressed, and hurried back to the kitchen. The moment she arrived, Mama tossed a towel across certain parts of Wyatt’s anatomy.

  “Avert your eyes!”

  “Mama, please. I’m no shrinking violet.” Although the heat rushing to her face at the sight of Wyatt’s strong limbs and chest might just kill her. For her sake, and her mother’s, she draped a small blanket over the patient. “There. We’re all safe.”

  Irma giggled. “You white people are the strangest things. The trick is not to look at Mr. Jamison as a handsome man right now. He’s a body, something that needs caring for.”

  Maybe she could look at him that way, but Savannah sure couldn’t. She wouldn’t see him as anything other than the handsome, viral man he was.

  “You … think … I’m handsome … Irma?” Wyatt asked, not opening his eyes.

  “I may have jumped the broom with Lincoln, but I’m not blind. Hush, now. We got to stitch you up and it’s going to hurt. Miss Savannah, fetch me the medicinal whiskey, then help hold him down.”

  Heavens to Betsy, she was going to have to touch him. Her gaze met Mama’s startled one. Then, Savannah grinned. Mama couldn’t say no when Irma needed her help. Oh, how scandalous, how glorious, how utterly naughty. She knew she would be consumed with embarrassment once Wyatt was on
his feet, but that was another day.

  During all this, Lincoln had remained quiet. His stoic expression belied nothing other than weariness.

  “Lincoln, would you fetch the whiskey from the top shelf?” Savannah asked. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee. You look as if you desperately need a cup. Then, you sit in that chair over there. We’ll fuss over you in a bit.”

  “I ain’t never sat down in a white person’s kitchen before.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re all family here.” She patted his arm as he passed. “You very well may have saved Wyatt’s life.”

  “If you’re finished making my man uncomfortable, Miss Savannah, I need your help. Sit on his legs. Lincoln, you can’t rest yet. Hand me the whiskey and hold down his shoulders. Mrs. Worthington, you hand me what I need when I need it.” Irma barked orders like an army sergeant.

  Mama’s eyes widened, but she stepped closer to the black woman. There were a lot of firsts happening in the Worthington household that morning.

  “First we pray.” Irma led them in a simple prayer for God to guide her hands and heal Wyatt. Then she held out her hand for the whiskey. “Open your mouth, Mr. Jamison.”

  “You’ve seen me without clothes, Irma. Call me Wyatt. I don’t drink.” He opened one eye.

  “Open. Your. Mouth.”

  Savannah giggled as he obeyed. Maybe Irma should be the ranch foreman with the way she handed out orders. If Wyatt could argue with her, then he was going to be just fine. She caught sight of the needle in Irma’s hand and grew dizzy. She could not faint! She busied herself with the coffee.

  “Child, get back over her.” Irma’s voice cut through her busyness. “Ain’t nobody got time for that. Coffee can wait. Mr. Jamison is losing blood all over the kitchen floor.”

  Mercy. Savannah leaned on the counter and focused on her breathing.

  “Now, Miss Savannah.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. She climbed onto the table, got a glimpse of the whiskey being poured over Wyatt’s open wounds, and collapsed across his legs. The last thing she heard was Lincoln laughing and saying, “I guess that’ll work for holding his legs.”

  Wyatt almost screamed as the whiskey poured over him. He thought he preferred the cat’s bites to the fire burning through him. “Stop, please.”

  “Can’t.” Irma continued to pour. “Not going to allow any infection, Mr. Jamison.”

  “I can’t move my legs.”

  “That’s because Miss Savannah fainted over them.”

  “What?” He opened his eyes.

  “She’ll be fine. Let’s get you sewed up. Here.” She shoved a leather strap in his mouth. “Should have used this from the beginning.”

  The woman was going to kill him. He bit down on the strap and groaned as the needle punctured his skin.

  Warmth coursed through him at the thought of Savannah caring so much she would faint to see him in pain. Or maybe it was the whiskey. Either way, he hadn’t taken her for the fainting kind. Maybe he was going to die. He hated Irma to work so hard on saving him if he was going to die anyway.

  Irma hadn’t finished stitching the first bite when Wyatt passed out. He woke to find himself on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. A cool sheet covered his body. A body that still didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. Why in tarnation had they stripped him? The cougar bit his shoulder and arm, right? He turned his head to see Irma asleep in a chair.

  He cleared his throat. “Irma.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Yes sir. You feverish?”

  “I’m a bit hot, but not too bad. I, uh … why am I naked?”

  “That cat got you in the shoulder, the arm, across the rib cage, and scratched up your thigh real good. It took a while to get you cleaned up.”

  “Can I have my clothes now? I’d like to speak to Savannah.” Lord have mercy, she’d been in the kitchen while they’d worked on him. How was he ever going to face her again? “Never mind. I can’t.”

  “Pshaw. I’ll get you some tea and company.” She sauntered from the room, muttering about crazy white people.

  He must have fallen asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, night had fallen. The only light in the room was a low-burning lamp lighting Savannah’s sleeping face.

  He lay there, content to watch her, even though his throat burned with thirst. He’d ruined the plan to get a confession out of Morrillton. What had happened with him, anyway? He vaguely remembered a thinly veiled threat. Well, Wyatt wouldn’t be lying in bed for long. He’d be back out there protecting the people he cared about, especially the woman who had stolen his heart.

  Sighing, he stared at the ceiling. Why was he bothering to contemplate a relationship? He had nothing to offer. Just some half-bright ideas to keep the ranch running. What she really needed was money. He lay there like a trussed-up turkey, unable to do a thing. The realization of what couldn’t be weighed on his heart. He would help her get the taxes paid then look for his replacement. Savannah needed a husband. One as good at running a ranch as he was, but one who could offer her financial freedom. He turned his head away from her and went back to sleep.

  The next time he woke, Mrs. Worthington sat in the chair. “It’s about time,” she said. “Soup is growing cold.” She shoved a couple of pillows behind his back. “While I feed you, we need to talk.”

  “All right.” He grimaced against the pulling of his stitches as he struggled to sit upright. “I can feed myself. It isn’t my right arm that’s in a sling.”

  “Very well.” She handed him the tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of soup. “I tasted the tea. It’s vile, but Irma swears it will help you, so drink up or she’ll have my head. She’s a very bossy woman.” She pulled the chair closer to the bed.

  “This is a delicate subject.” She twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “But, since my daughter has seen you without apparel, I feel it necessary to save her reputation by the two of you getting married.”

  He spit soup down the front of him. “Excuse me? There were no other people there, Mrs. Worthington. Only us and the workers. Who was there to form any opinions?”

  “Word gets around. I won’t have my daughter sullied.” She lifted her chin. “Are you adverse to marrying Savannah, or only to marriage in particular?”

  A proposition of this sort was the last thing Wyatt expected to hear upon waking. “This is a lot to throw at a man lying in bed, Mrs. Worthington.”

  “You are still without apparel, Mr. Jamison. Savannah spent the night in your room!”

  “Watching over me as I slept!” Of all the ridiculous—

  “Others do not know that.” She crossed her arms. “I have tried to do right by my daughter. I will not stand down now.”

  He shoved the tray to the side, spilling some of the soup. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “The idea of marrying my Savannah curdles your stomach?”

  “No ma’am. She would make any man very lucky to have her as his wife. My reluctance has nothing to do with her personally.” He met her steely gaze with one of his own. “I have nothing to offer your daughter.”

  “Except your name. That alone will keep her reputation intact.”

  He exhaled heavily. The woman would not listen to reason. “Mrs. Worthington. Please. I plan on leaving the Rocking W as soon as the taxes are paid. I’m not the type of man to stay in one place. I’ve always compared myself to a tumbleweed, going where the wind blows.”

  “Balderdash. I had someone look into your background before I hired you. You may have lost everything in the war, but you come from good lineage.”

  Savannah stepped through the door, face pale, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re leaving me?”

  Chapter 8

  She couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He’d said he would never leave. What kind of man goes back on his word? With a sob, she whirled and fled his room. She wouldn’t marry him now if he were the last man on earth.

  “Savannah!” His cry followed her down the hall.
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  She barged through the kitchen and out the back door, letting it slam behind her. Running in the house and slamming doors was something a lady never did, according to Mama. Well, Savannah didn’t care. She needed to get away.

  “I don’t think you should ride in your state of mind.” Lincoln stepped around the stall next to where Bullet was stabled.

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” She grabbed a bridle.

  “Miss Savannah.” He gave her a sad look. “That man is hurting. He don’t mean nothing by what he said.”

  “You heard?” How did he beat her here?

  “Irma told me. That woman’s ears can catch a mouse scurrying across the floor. She hears a lot listening through the back window while she tends the herbs. Mr. Jamison will marry you without hesitation.”

  “Marry me?” She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Ah. You didn’t hear the entire conversation.” He scuffed the toe of his worn boot in the dirt. “Your Mama is insisting he marry you to save your reputation. Because, well, uh …”

  “Because he was covered with only a blanket?” Of all the outlandish … “I need to speak with her right now before she continues this absurd idea.” She marched back to the house, blood boiling. Mama’s outdated notions needed to stop before something was done that couldn’t be undone.

  Ignoring Wyatt, who still sat up in bed rather than lying down as an invalid should, she approached Mama and planted her fists on her hips. “What crazy thing are you trying to do now?”

  “I have no idea what you mean.” Mama stood and picked up Wyatt’s tray. “Now that you are here, the two of you need to talk, and I’ve work to do.”

  “I will no longer play nursemaid to this … this … man!”

  “At least now you acknowledge that I’m a man,” Wyatt said.

  “Hush.” She huffed and plopped into the seat Mama had vacated. “I suppose we do have some things to talk over. I won’t hold you to your promise to stay and help me. That was said under the emotion of the moment.” She stared at a loose thread on her cuff. “I will also not marry you because Mama thinks I saw something … improper.”