Lydia. Elizabeth LaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
declare, Sarah Parker, you need babies of your own! You’d make a wonderful mother!”
“I seem to have my hands full just now,” Sarah murmured, muffling her words against the baby’s satin cheek.
“Listen, Sarah.” Varina’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I should probably just be quiet and let nature take its course, but I’ve never been one to keep a thing to myself.” She leaned close to Sarah’s ear. “My brother hasn’t been the same since you were up here the other night. He’s been as restless as a tomcat under a full moon. Now, I know Donovan pretty well, and I’d say he’s taken a real shine to you!”
Sarah lowered her face, struggling to hide the hot rush of dismay that flooded her cheeks. From outside, Donovan’s furious hammer blows punctuated the pounding of her own heart. For all her stage experience, she found herself tongue-tied.
“Varina, I—”
“You what? He likes you. I can tell.”
“No.” Sarah shook her head, writhing inside. “You’re wrong, Varina. I’m not Donovan’s kind of woman at all.”
“Nonsense! You don’t know how many ladies have tried to trap that man over the years! Pretty ones! Wealthy ones! None of them seemed quite right. But you, Sarah, you’re different. You have an inner beauty that shines through your face. If you’d only show some interest in—”
Varina’s words were shattered by the crash of splintering wood and falling timbers against the outer wall. The sound galvanized both women. They stared at each other in alarm.
“Here—” Sarah thrust the baby back into Varina’s arms. “You stay put. I’ll go see what’s happened.”
Sarah gathered up her skirts and raced outside with the three children at her heels. The sight that met their eyes as they rounded the corner of the cabin stopped her heart cold.
Donovan was lying on the ground beneath a tumble of heavy beams. Lying as still as death.
“Stay where you are!” she ordered the children. “Annie, run back inside and get my medical kit. Don’t tell your mother what’s happened. Not till we know—”
Annie was gone like a streak. Katy had begun to whimper. “Miss Sarah…is Uncle Donovan dead like my pa?”
“Dead? Don’t be a little goose, Katy!” Sarah threw her full strength against the topmost beam, straining her tight corset stays as she swung the heavy end around and rolled it to one side. She had to hurry. She had to get the weight off Donovan’s chest before it crushed the breath out of him.
“Don’t let him be dead, Miss Sarah!” Katy whined.
“Be still and hold on to Samuel!” Sarah wrestled frantically with the next timber. She could see Donovan’s face now, white and still, the eyes closed. A small gash at his hairline was oozing blood.
No—with Virgil long since buried and Charlie Sutton not two months gone, they couldn’t lose Donovan, too. It would destroy Varina and her little ones. She had to get him free, had to save him…please…please…
Donovan’s head moved slightly. He groaned.
Sarah froze. As her heart began to beat again, she remembered the frightened children looking on. “Katy, Samuel, it’s all right!” she gasped, heaving the last timber aside. “He’s breathing! He’s alive! Tell Annie to hurry!”
She flung herself to the ground beside Donovan. He was alive, yes. But how badly was he hurt? He could have broken bones. He could have head injuries. He could-He groaned again as she placed a trembling hand on his chest. His skin was wind chilled, but his heart throbbed steadily against her palm. Sarah was dimly aware of Annie thrusting her medical bag into reach. Willing her emotions to freeze, she snatched it up and rummaged inside for the vial of smelling salts.
The big, stubborn fool! What business did he have trying to frame a cabin alone when he obviously knew nothing about it? He could have been killed. He could have-Sarah’s hands shook as she yanked out the stopper and waved the vial a finger’s breadth from his nostrils. Donovan’s face twitched. A shudder rippled his long, muscular body. His eyelids fluttered. Sarah held her breath as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.
For the space of a heartbeat his gaze held hers—warm and open, as if he saw into her soul and understood everything. But the bond was as fleeting as a moonbeam. His mind was clearing now. As he recognized her, his eyes glazed over with hatred.
“What the devil—?” He thrashed against her, struggling to sit up.
“Don’t try to move!” Sarah ordered in a frigid voice. “You could be hurt.”
“Blast it, I’m not—” His words ended in a grunt of pain as he collapsed back onto the ground.
“What is it? Your ribs? Keep still a minute.” Her fingertips slid over his sun-burnished flesh as she fought to detach her feelings, to make believe this was just another injured man she was touching, and not Donovan Cole.
But try as she might, Sarah could not close her mind to the manliness of his body—the finely sculpted curve of arm and shoulder, the splendor of his broadly muscled torso, the shadow of coarsely curling chestnut hair that trickled along the midline of his flat, tan belly to disappear in-Stop it! Sarah tore her eyes away from the distinctly male bulge that rose below his belt line. There was no part of a man she hadn’t seen before, she reminded herself bitterly. Donovan would be no different from Reginald Buckley, or from anyone else, for that matter.
He flinched visibly, biting back a yelp of pain as Sarah’s fingers probed along his left side.
“Hurts there, does it?” She paused, studiously avoiding Donovan’s eyes.
His sharp exhalation answered her question.
“Nothing feels broken, but you may have a cracked rib or two. How about your legs? Your arms?” Sarah tried to sound disinterested, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. She was conscious of the three children, huddled in a worried little cluster, watching and waiting.
“My legs and arms are fine!” he groused. “Annie, Katy, you take Samuel and go back in the house! This isn’t a blasted sideshow!”
“They’re just concerned about you,” Sarah murmured as the youngsters scattered for the porch. “And you can hardly blame them, after what happened to their father.”
“Oh, damnation, don’t I know it?” Donovan sat up gingerly, blood dripping down his temple to mingle with the rough, reddish whiskers on his unshaven jaw. “I’d give anything if they’d just pull up stakes and go back to Kansas with me. But Varina’s as stubborn as that mule of yours. This was Charlie’s land, and now it’s hers. She won’t budge an inch.”
“Varina’s the finest woman I know. But you’re right, she can be stubborn. Hold still, now, while I clean up that gash on your head. Then we’ll see to your ribs.” Sarah fished a pint of cheap whiskey and a clean wad of cotton wool out of her bag. “This’ll sting some.”
He held himself rigid, wincing as she dabbed away the blood. “This doesn’t change anything, you know,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t expect it to.”
“You’ve still got till Monday night to be gone from Miner’s Gulch. Otherwise, I spill your treachery to the whole town.”
“Save your bluster, Donovan.” Sarah balled another wad of cotton wool and saturated it with the whiskey, hoping he wouldn’t notice her quivering hands. “I told you I wasn’t leaving. I meant it.”
His green eyes, inches from her own, narrowed like a puma’s. “If you’re gambling on the chance that I’ll back off, forget it. You’re the lying scum of the earth, Sarah Parker Buckley, or whatever your name is. I’ve hanged nobler souls than you, and I won’t have my nieces and nephews growing