Falling for the Rancher Father

by Linda Ford

  His mind clouded over and he dreamed. In his reverie Mercy stood at his side, a plate of cookies in her hand. Behind her the children beckoned for him to come. He hesitated, wanting Mercy to go with him.

  “Mercy.” His cry jerked him awake. He shivered. “Mercy,” he called again in desperation.

  Off to the side, he saw and heard the tall bushes being crushed to one side. He closed his eyes. If a wild animal meant to eat him, he prayed it would be swift.

  “Abel?”

  Wild animals didn’t say his name in Mercy’s voice. He looked up. “Mercy?”

  “There you are.” She broke through the trees. “I would have gone right by you if you hadn’t called.”

  “I’m pinned.”

  “Let’s have a look.” She held a lantern up and made her way around him. “Yup. You’re pinned. Where’s Sam?”

  “Haven’t seen him since the log broke away. How bad is it?”

  She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Mercy, is it real bad?”

  She squatted by his head. “Truthfully I can’t tell. Won’t be able to until I pull the log off you.” She didn’t move. “It’s likely going to hurt some.”

  “Just do it.”

  Still she didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong?” He squeezed the words past his shivers.

  “I’m afraid of what I might find when I pull the log off.”

  He struggled to suck in air. “Me, too, but I don’t intend to lie here forever.”

  She chuckled though he thought the sound rather strained. Then she touched his brow. “Then let’s do it.” She rose. “I need to find Sam. Nugget isn’t strong enough to move this log. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He clamped his teeth together to stop shivering. And to stop himself from calling at her not to leave. He unclenched them long enough to say, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  “Sam, Sam.” She whistled and called, beat her way through the underbrush.

  He strained to hear her, and caught enough rustling and grunts to be comforted that she hadn’t left him. A few minutes later—or what seemed so, but his mind faded in and out so he couldn’t be sure—he heard the rattle of a chain. She’d found Sam.

  Then the light of her lantern flickered. “You’re back.” He couldn’t say for certain if he spoke the words aloud or only in his mind. It didn’t matter. She’d returned. She’d get him out of this predicament.

  She returned to his side, tucked two blankets in around his body. “As soon as I get you home, I’ll get you warm.”

  “Where are the twins?”

  “I took them to the ranch. Linette is watching them.”

  He wanted to ask why she hadn’t gotten Eddie or one of the cowboys to look for him, but he couldn’t quell the relief he felt as seeing her. He would trust his life to her hands.

  She led Sam to the butt end of the log and hooked the chain around it. She picked up a smaller log and wedged it under the downward side of the one pinning him to the ground. “I don’t want it to roll back on you if Sam slips or something.”

  Good to know.

  “I’m going to put a log on this side, too. I want the one on your legs to roll off without doing more damage.” She adjusted the chain, checked the wedge, then squatted at his side. “It could hurt.”

  “Just do it.”

  She brushed her knuckles across his cheek. He caught her hand and pressed it to his face. Brought it to his mouth and kissed the palm. She wore gloves so he was unable to feel her flesh. Nevertheless, he found strength and courage in holding her hand close for a moment.

  She withdrew, leaving him cold and alone. “I’ll holler when I start to pull.”

  He grunted a reply, not trusting himself to speak calmly.

  She skirted around the log. “Ready? Here we go.” She guided Sam forward. The chain snapped into place. He could imagine Sam leaning into the harness. The log pressed harder into his legs. He stifled a moan. And then it eased off as it rode up on the logs she’d put in place.

  And as the pressure eased, the pain began, sharp as a deep knife cut, digging into his shin until he wished she’d put the log back in place.

  The pain grew, swelled, until it consumed him. He squeezed his lips tight, determined not to cry out, but a moan welled up from someplace deep inside, a reservoir of pain he’d never before uncovered. It escaped past his clamped teeth and rent the air.

  “Almost done,” she called.

  A moment later she hurried back to his side. “I have to look at your legs and see what kind of damage you’ve done.”

  He grabbed her hand and held on like a drowning man.

  She seemed to know what he needed and squeezed back, stroked his forehead and made comforting noises. “I need to check your legs in case you’re bleeding.”

  He forced his hands to release her.

  She moved to his feet. Cold touched his flesh as she exposed his legs. But he felt the cold, which surely was a good sign.

  She grunted. “No bleeding.” She straightened and looked about. “I have to get you out of here. I’ll get Nugget.”

  “I’ll ride Sam.” His voice squeaked, giving away the depth of his pain.

  She stood over him. “I don’t know how you’ll get on his back.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Very well.” She brought Sam forward, then leaned down to offer him a hand.

  He wanted to refuse. To do it himself. He managed to sit up fine despite the pain clawing at his brain. “My head.” He would have pressed his hands to the back of his head but needed them to keep himself upright.

  “Let’s have a look.” She held the lantern behind him and ran gentle fingers against his scalp.

  He grunted when she touched the bruise.

  “There’s a nasty lump here but no bleeding. You must have banged your head.”

  He heard the worry in her voice and could offer little in the way of assurance. Truth be told, his head felt like someone had attacked him with an ax handle.

  Her soft touch lingered a moment more, smoothed his hair, then left him hurting more than he had before.

  He pulled his blurry thoughts back to the need to get home. Which meant getting to Sam’s back. He tried to put his feet under him, but his muscles turned to pudding.

  “Put your arms around my neck and I’ll pull you to your feet.”

  With little option except to obey, he put his arms about her, breathing in her comforting warmth. To his embarrassment, he clung to her like a baby.

  She wrapped her arms about his waist. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” She leaned back and he did what he could to help. Somehow she managed to right herself despite his weight, and steady him. “Grab the horse.”

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to release her even though he wanted nothing more than to hold her tight and feel her strength and determination. But he must get home.

  Gathering together every remaining ounce of his waning strength, he pulled himself upward, clawing his way to Sam’s back while she lifted his legs. Somehow they managed to get him on the horse. The exertion was so intense he swayed.

  She grabbed him and steadied him. “Can you stay there?”

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “Then let’s go.” She led him through the trees back to the trail, where Nugget waited patiently. She called him to follow, then swung up behind Abel. “I’ll hold you.” Her arms came around him and took the reins. He buried his fingers in Sam’s mane and hung on.

  “We’ll soon be home.” Her voice carried a sharpness that jerked his head up. Had he fallen asleep? Passed out? He righted himself and blinked his eyes hard.

  “I’ll be okay.” How far did they have to go? He didn’t recall having gone such a distance from the cabin.

  The trail was dark. He shivered and not just from being cold. A thousand dangers hovered in the dark trees. Like that crazy mountain man. “I hope you’re praying,” he croaked.

  “I have been since I set
out to find you.”

  “Guess God answered your prayers.”

  “Yup. I have to say I am as surprised as you.”

  “Who said I was surprised?” Talking helped keep him alert.

  She chuckled, the sound reverberating up his spine. “You didn’t have to say it.”

  “Are we almost there?” He didn’t care that he sounded like Ladd.

  “We’re here.” She guided Sam to the door and slipped to the ground. “Let’s get you inside.”

  How did she figure to do that? He doubted he could stand and she couldn’t carry him.

  She helped him swing one leg over the horse until he sat sideways. “I’m braced against the door,” she said. “I can hold you. Come on, get down.”

  Knowing he would crash to the ground but not seeing any alternative, he reached for the door frame, held it as tight as he could and launched himself off Sam.

  He fell into her with a barely muffed groan.

  Grunting under his weight, she grabbed him about the waist and steadied him. Once she had him fairly well balanced, she reached for the doorknob and they staggered inside.

  The narrow space of the cabin seemed to yawn before him. But somehow, between the two of them, he dragged himself across the room and fell on the bed.

  Home sweet home.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mercy tucked blankets around Abel, who shivered like a wind-struck leaf. His skin was icy. She hurried to add wood to the fire and to fill the kettle, then turned back to Abel. His boots needed to come off.

  Explaining what she meant to do, she began to ease off the first boot. His groan shivered up her spine. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and would not allow herself to look at him as she removed one boot and then the other and dropped them to the floor. “Done.” She breathed hard, swiped at beads of sweat on her brow. She set the lamp on a shelf above the bed. “I want to have a better look at your legs.” In the woods, she’d worried about bleeding and how she’d stop it. Now she meant to check for broken bones. She picked up the edge of the blanket and bent closer, touching each shinbone, moving each foot. Her guess was his legs were badly bruised but not broken. “God watched over you.”

  She recalled a verse Bertie had recited the day before…was it only a day ago? She felt she’d lived several days in the past few hours. He’d said it was Psalm 147. God delights not in the strength of the horse, nor is His pleasure in the legs of a man. She repeated the words to Abel. “Seems God cared enough about your legs to keep you safe.”

  Abel grunted.

  Mercy moved closer to his head. His eyes were dark with pain. “Where do you hurt most?”

  “My head.” His words were thick, almost garbled.

  She tried to remember what Linette had said about the time Eddie had been unconscious with a head wound. Was there anything special she did? Or—her brain froze—had she said all they could do was wait and see?

  Abel’s eyes closed.

  “Abel? Are you okay?”

  He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t respond.

  “Abel.” She shook him a little.

  His eyes cracked open so briefly she would have missed it if she hadn’t been straining to see some response. After that he slept. Or was he unconscious? She couldn’t tell.

  What if something happened to him?

  She fell on her knees beside the bed. “Abel, don’t you die. You’ve got Allie and Ladd to think about.” Why had she thought adventure was so important? All she wanted now fit into this small cabin. Abel alive and standing on his feet, the twins clinging to his hands as the three of them smiled at her.

  “Lord God, I’ve never been one to call on You much. I’ve always figured I could take care of everything myself. But now I can’t. Abel’s head is hurt. I don’t know how bad it is or what to do. Please, let him be okay.”

  She remained on her knees half praying as she watched Abel’s chest rise and fall. The clop clop of horse hooves jolted her to her feet. She was alone except for an injured man. She grabbed Abel’s rifle and faced the door. No one would be allowed to harm him.

  “Mercy,” a familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Jayne?” She rushed over and flung the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seth brought me. He’ll be here as soon as he tends the horses. Abel’s horse and Nugget were wandering about the yard.”

  She’d completely forgotten the horses. “Come in.” A cold wind shivered across the floor. “Why are you here?”

  “Because you need us. Linette told us about Abel being missing. As soon as he heard, Seth saddled horses for us both and here we are.”

  Seth stepped into the room. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know about Abel though.” She explained how she’d found him trapped by a log. As she recalled those anxious moments when she couldn’t find him and then when she wondered what she’d discover when she pulled the log off, her legs refused to hold her weight and she sank into a chair.

  Jayne wrapped an arm about her shoulders.

  Mercy sucked in air and held it until her strength returned. “I think his legs are okay but he hurt his head.” She led them to Abel’s bedside and showed them his legs.

  “I don’t think there’s any reason to be concerned about his legs,” Seth said, after examining them. “How long has he been unresponsive?”

  “He’s not.” She shook him and called his name.

  But Abel didn’t open his eyes.

  Mercy grabbed the edge of the bed to hold herself upright. “Is he—?” She would not give words to her worries.

  “He can’t be left alone,” Jayne said.

  Mercy had no intention of leaving his side until she saw him standing and his mind clear.

  “We’ll stay with you,” Jayne added.

  “We’ll pray.” Seth bowed his head. “God in heaven, You care about sparrows but we know You care about us a lot more. Because You love us, we humbly ask that You heal Abel’s wounds. Amen.”

  Seth and Jayne looked at each other, eyes so full of trust and assurance that Mercy straightened her legs. Abel would recover. He had to.

  “Have you eaten?” Jayne asked.

  Mercy shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Jayne made tea and sandwiches and insisted Mercy leave Abel’s bedside and sit with them at the table. To placate her friend, Mercy nibbled at a sandwich and drank a cup of tea. Then she pulled her chair to Abel’s bedside. “Abel, if you can hear me, I want you to know you have to get better. For Ladd and Allie.” She repeated the words again and again. Inside her head, she added, And for me. I have so much I need to tell you. Changes I need to make. But I need a chance to make them.

  Jayne and Seth moved about the room almost soundlessly, pausing often to glance down at Abel, then returning to the table where they spoke quietly. Mercy didn’t listen to them. Every thought, every word, every breath concentrated on willing Abel to get better. Silent prayer followed every lungful of air. God, please heal him. Make him as good as new.

  “We brought bedrolls,” Jayne whispered. “We’ll sleep by the table. Why don’t you pull out the trundle bed and put it against the wall and try and get some rest?”

  “I’ll stay here.” She meant to stay at his bedside until he opened his eyes and recognized her. “You can have Allie’s bed.”

  Jayne chuckled softly. “It’s too small for Seth, and I intend to sleep with him. There’s nothing you can do except wait. You’ll hear him if he calls out.” Jayne pulled her from the chair and tugged out the bed. She shifted it away from Abel’s side and pushed it against the wall. “You need to rest.”

  Rather than argue, Mercy stretched out on the tiny bed, but as soon as she heard Jayne’s and Seth’s breathing deepen she slipped from the bed and returned to Abel’s side, where she sat in a chair to guard him. She watched his face in the lowered lamplight, waiting and praying for him to wake up.

  “Mercy.” A hoarse voice jerked her alert.
Had she fallen asleep? How long since she’d last checked on Abel?

  She blinked to focus and looked at him. His eyes were open and he looked at her.

  “Mercy.” The word whispered from his lips into her heart.

  She leaned close and spoke softly so as to not disturb Seth and Jayne. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts and my legs ache, but I am grateful to be here.” He swallowed hard. “Can I have a drink?”

  She hurried to fill a cup with water and hold it to his lips.

  He drank eagerly then settled against the pillow.

  For a moment she wondered if he’d fallen asleep or drifted into unconsciousness, but then his eyelids came up. “I am grateful to be alive.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Me, too.”

  His grip on her fingers was surprisingly strong. The fact filled her with encouragement. Surely it meant he was going to be just fine.

  “Thank you for coming to find me.”

  She grinned. “You must have known I would.”

  He smiled softly. “I counted on it.”

  She stroked his brow with her free hand. “You’ve given me enough adventure to last a lifetime.” Would he understand what she meant?

  “I’m tired,” he murmured as he pressed her hand to his chest. In no time his breathing deepened. He’d fallen asleep. But when she tried to remove her hand, his eyes jerked open. “Don’t go,” he whispered.

  “I won’t.”

  A few hours later, daylight crept into the window. Seth and Jayne scrambled to their feet. Jayne rushed to Mercy’s side. “How is he?”

  Mercy had tried several times to slip her hand away, but he held it firm even in his sleep. “He woke and was clear in his head. I think he’s just sleeping.”

  Jayne patted her shoulder. “He’s lucid enough to know to hang on to the person who rescued him.”

  Seth rolled up the bedding, built a fire and joined them at Abel’s bedside. “His color is good. His breathing is even.”

  Abel opened his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Mercy tugged her hand away lest her friends read more into the way Abel held it than they should. She couldn’t say what it meant. And until she could…

  Abel pushed himself to a sitting position. The color left his face.