A Bride in the Bargain Part 26

"There has to be a quicker way."

He shook his head. "There is no other way."

"I'll go." Ronny swiped the curl off his forehead.

Anna turned and they exchanged a look. A look that reminded her Ronny knew of her love for Joe. A look that told her he understood her distress.

"You're not going." Red shook his head. "Not in this storm."

Ronny squared up. "I'm going, Red. If you want to fight me, then fight me. But after you're done, I'm getting up and going to town. Tonight."

Anna sucked in her breath, realizing the danger for the first time. "No, no, Ronny. I wasn't thinking about the storm. About the darkness. Red's right. It's much too dangerous to make the journey tonight."

His expression turned stubborn. So much like Leon's.

Panic filled her. "Ronny, please. Waiting until morning will be fine."

Red pursed his lips. "She's right, son. If the dark weren't enough, then the squall is. Best wait until daylight."

But Ronny ignored them both and strode to the door.

"No!" she cried. "Please, Ronny. Don't do this."

She started after him, but Red grabbed her arm. She struggled. Her efforts didn't even faze him.

Ronny paused at the door, his eyes locking with hers. "I'll be back. And with the doctor in tow."

"No!"

But it was too late. The door closed behind him. Just like Leon.

She whirled to face Red. "Please. Please. You have to do something."

He looked at the door, his expression contemplative. "All the time he's been on the crew, that boy's never once squared off. Not to any of us." He shook his head. "He wasn't thinking like a boy just now, Miss Ivey. He was thinking like a man. And if he's man enough to square off, then he's man enough to ride to town."

"But that's just it, Red. He's not a man at all. He is, in fact, still a boy."

Red released her. "Good night, Miss Ivey. The fellows and I will see you at breakfast."

He held the door open. The men filed out past him.

"You won't stop Ronny?"

He shook his head. "I'd have to give him a beating first, and truthfully, I think he'd go anyway. It'd be best if he had all his strength. He's going to need it." Nodding, he clicked the door shut behind him.

Anna wrapped her arms around her stomach, then doubled over and fell to her knees. Please, G.o.d, please.

She already had to answer to Him for her father, mother, brother, and now Joe. If something happened to Ronny because of her demands, she'd never forgive herself. Never.

The men's voices slowly faded. She lay curled in a ball praying. For Ronny. For Joe. For intervention.

Something sharp poked her. Examining the floor, she discovered seash.e.l.ls scattered about, some intact, some crushed. What in the world?

Her body began to shake, the chill in the room penetrating her consciousness. Pus.h.i.+ng to her feet, she stoked the fire and added logs.

It was then she realized Anna still wore her wet, mud-coated nightdress. Good heavens. She'd stood in front of the entire crew in nothing more than a nightdress.

Pus.h.i.+ng thoughts of Ronny to the background, she checked on Joe. The lump behind his ear wasn't any bigger, but it wasn't any smaller.

"Hang on," she whispered, smoothing the hair from his eyes. "Let me get out of these wet clothes; then I'll be back, and we'll get that nasty thing cleaned up."

She squeezed his arm, then raced upstairs to change.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Joe struggled to push through the fog. If he didn't know better, he'd think he'd consumed an entire barrelful of whiskey. He tried to lift a hand to his head, but his body wouldn't obey his commands.

Something cool touched his forehead. He heard a woman's quiet murmurings but couldn't make out the words. He forced his eyes open, then immediately closed them. Too bright. And it hurt like the devil. The fog rushed in again and he let himself be pulled into its midst.

Anna dipped her pail into the cold stream running by the house. Dawn outlined the eastern horizon with a beautiful array of pinks and yellows. She wondered if the day would bring them a doctor or if Ronny and Shakespeare had ever even made it to town.

Please, Lord. Please let them have made it to town and bring them back safely.

She returned to the house, wrung out a cloth, and placed it on Joe's head. He'd been restless for most of the night. But his stirrings encouraged her. It was better than the deep sleep he'd been in those first couple of hours.

Rinsing out a second cloth, she wiped down his cheeks and jaw. His stubble snagged on the weave. At least he didn't have a fever. In fact, if she hadn't known about the injury, she'd have a.s.sumed he was merely sleeping.

She checked the lump behind his ear. Still the same.

His arms jerked, pulling the covers off his chest.

She ran the cloth across his shoulders. "Shhhhhh. It's all right, Joe. Just relax."

He immediately obeyed. It had been like that most of the night. Whenever he tossed and turned, she'd shush him, then rub his neck, chest, and arms with a cool cloth. The tension would instantly melt away.

"The men haven't come for their breakfast," she told him, glancing at the meal warming on the stove. "I'm wondering now if they'll be coming at all. Red said they would. And they need to eat. I'd hate for all this to go to waste."

A slight frown tugged at his eyebrows.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and ma.s.saged his scalp, careful to avoid his injury. "Does your head hurt? I'm sure it must. It's time to wake up, though. You need to eat. I've made your favorite. Raspberry slump. Can you smell it?"

A gold, silken curl wrapped itself around her finger. She rubbed it with her thumb. "Once you're feeling better, I'm sure they'll tell you how I made a ninny of myself, crying over you." She worried her lip. "And it's true. I did cry. I cried because . . . because I love you."

She'd tried to shut her feelings off where he was concerned. But she was living in his house, cooking his meals, darning his clothes, spending every free moment with him.

Even that would have been manageable if he hadn't been such an enigma. So kind and quick to laugh, yet so fierce. So hardheaded, yet so gentle. So beautifully packaged, yet so masculine. How could she remain unmoved under such conditions?

She couldn't. And with each pa.s.sing day her resistance had fallen away like a flower shedding its petals.

She loved him. She'd known it since the day she'd watched him fell the redwood. The dilemma lay in what to do about it.

She straightened the rag on his forehead, then ran her knuckles over his p.r.i.c.kly cheek. "My feelings don't bode well for you, I'm afraid. Everyone I love has come to a bad end. And each time it's been a direct result of something I did. And if you don't believe me, just look at yourself. If it weren't for me, you never would have chopped down that tree. And you certainly wouldn't have done it in the dark."

Her throat filled. She couldn't do this again. She couldn't be responsible for the death of another loved one.

"Wake up, Joe, please. Please."

Tracing his eyebrows with her fingertip, she nudged up the cooling cloth and blinked back her tears. "If you do wake up, it would behoove you to send me packing. Though I'm not sure that will help. I managed to kill my father with my thoughtlessness while he was hundreds of miles away."

His eyes flew open.

She squeaked and jumped back.

"You killed your father?" he asked, his voice rough but laced with shock.

Relief and horror warred within her. Horror won out. "How long have you been awake?"

His eyes were clear. Completely, perfectly clear. "For hours."

She gasped. Hours? "I've been worried sick about you and you've been feigning sleep all this time?"

"I wasn't feigning anything. The light hurts my head. My body aches from top to bottom. I wanted to rest. So I kept my eyes closed." He frowned. "Now, what about your father?"

She slid her eyes closed. Her relief at Joe's awakening was quickly replaced with panic over his question. She took a step back.

He grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm. Strong. "Explain."

"No."

She tried to peel his fingers off her wrist.

He grimaced but kept his grip tight. "What did you do to your father?"

Anna lifted her gaze, moisture glazing her eyes. "I killed him," she whispered.

He pulled the cloth from his head. "Why? How?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She'd never shown anyone Papa's letter. Never confessed her sin out loud. Not even to the Lord. But G.o.d already knew, and in her heart of hearts, she acknowledged she owed Joe the truth.

She took a deep breath. "The bullets. The rebel bullets. They hit him because of me."

Joe slid his hand down, then wove his fingers with hers. "Tell me."

"I yelled at Leon. Knocked down his soldiers. And would even have struck him, except . . . except my fist caught Mama instead."

He rubbed his head. "You aren't making any sense, Anna. Slow down and start from the beginning."

Sighing, she told him everything, ending with Leon's running away, Papa's letter, and Mama's death.

"So you see?" she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I killed them. All of them. And I almost killed you, too."

"Come here." He tugged, trying to pull her closer, but she wouldn't budge. "You didn't do anything, Anna. None of that was your fault."

"It was. And it will happen again if I let you get too close." Wrenching free, she ran from the room and up the stairs.

The door hinges squeaked. Heavy footfalls crept to the bed. Joe opened his eyes.

Red placed a finger to his mouth, then pointed. Anna sat slumped in a chair, head tilted at an impossible angle, her mouth hanging open. Her hair looked as if a mother bird had tried to make a nest of it. Tangled and snarled, it housed leaves, twigs, and dried mud. She wore one of her old wool dresses, ap.r.o.n tight around her waist.

Joe smiled at first, then remembered the misplaced guilt she carried for her family. For him. He needed to convince her she wasn't responsible.

You all right? Red mouthed, capturing Joe's attention.

He nodded, then immediately regretted the movement. His head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Still, he should get up and get moving. The boys would expect no less.

Pus.h.i.+ng himself to a sitting position, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His vision blurred. The room began to spin.

Red placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, there," he said in a hushed tone. "No need to rush things."

Joe waited for the pain to subside, but it never did. "What happened?" he asked softly.

"Looks like the chestnut was a sidewinder and some debris caught you from behind."

Closing his eyes, Joe concentrated. "No. She was falling right where I put her. Caught the top of something else, I think, and I didn't have my sagged pants."

"You didn't have your brains, is what you didn't have. What were you doing out there like that?"

He gripped the edge of the mattress, willing his head to quiet and his stomach to still. "Long story."

Glancing at Anna, Red lowered his voice even more. "She has feelings for you."

Joe was too miserable to bask for long in the pleasure of that statement. He'd already known it, of course. He'd heard her confess it with her own lips. Still, he was surprised Red knew. "She told you that?"

"Didn't have to. She was as protective as a hound with her first batch of pups. Then started blathering about laying you low herself. Didn't make a bit of sense."

Much as he wanted to hear the rest, his stomach had other ideas. "Hand me a bowl."