Runaway. Carolyn DavidsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
by the memory of her mother’s body, and her not seeing to a decent burial. Although the best she could have done was barely fit to mention.
Besides, Mama’s soul was surely in heaven, far removed from the man who’d made her life a torment.
Lastly, there was the small matter of Remus Chandler. Her landing in jail if she’d hung around was almost a certainty. Whether or not she was being pursued by the law was the thing she needed to consider.
Cassie sat on the bank of the shallow pond, gingerly breaking the surface of the water with her toes. Chilly, but not icy, she decided, scooting forward until her feet were covered by the water.
“Want some soap?”
He’d come up behind her, and she jerked in response to his query. “You could let a body know you’re prowling around,” she said sharply. His boots moved beside her and he squatted inches away, his hand holding the narrow piece of hard soap.
She took it, glancing up into dark eyes that pierced her with silent reproach. Their hands brushed, her fingers curling around his offering, and then she relented.
“Thanks for waking me up during the night. I don’t usually have bad dreams.” It was a gruff acknowledgment of his kindness, about the best she could come up with.
He rocked on the balls of his feet, balancing beside her. “We all take a turn with nightmares sometime in our lives, Cassie. I’ve had my share.” He dropped a dingy towel into her lap, rising to his feet. “I’ll take a look at your feet after you clean ‘em up a little. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
“Thank you.” She’d dreaded seeing him in the daylight, but he’d made it easy on her. Of course, she still hadn’t actually faced him, other than that one glance. She bent over, lifted one foot and set to work. Maybe the soap would help. Maybe there was more dirt than bruises.
“Damn, you sure beat up these poor feet of yours. You’re not used to goin’ barefoot, are you?” Will lifted her foot for his appraisal and shook his head at the sight She’d suffered numerous small cuts from stones, and what skin wasn’t scratched up by the rough ground was nicked by bushes she’d tramped through. Already healing, her feet had responded well to the soap and water.
Now he added the benefit of alcohol to the treatment he’d prescribed. His bottle of whiskey, wrapped in another shirt, had been at the bottom of his saddlebag and he’d poured out a small measure into his cup.
“That burns!” she cried, curling her fingers into fists, drawing her shoulders high, watching as he scrubbed at each scratch with a whiskey-soaked cloth.
“It’ll burn worse if these start to fester up.” He held one foot high, her heel resting in his palm. “I’m usin’ my good whiskey on you, girl. Don’t give me any grief.”
She bit her lip, holding back the remark she’d been about to make. As far as she was concerned, whiskey wasn’t good for much, other than washing out wounds and making hot toddies. It certainly hadn’t improved Remus Chandler’s disposition any. Rotgut was what her mother had called it, that vile stuff Remus had swigged down with great regularity. Cassie shuddered at the memory.
“Cold?” Will Tolliver asked. “You’d better toughen up. It’s still pretty chilly up north.”
Cassie lifted her foot from his grasp, placing it cautiously on the blanket where she sat. She eyed it carefully. Another day of healing and it would be fit to walk on, she figured. “I’m not cold, just took a chill.” She met his gaze. “Are you going home? That where you’re from?”
“Not lately. Not since I was just a kid, settin’ out to see the country.”
“Did you? See the country, I mean?” She leaned forward and took the stockings from him, then carefully covered her feet with them. One more thing she’d be owing him for.
“Saw Texas and parts west,” he told her, shifting to one knee. “‘Course, I don’t think anybody’s ever seen all of Texas. It just goes on beyond what most folks consider civilization, right down to the border.”
“Now you’re going home?” She tugged the stockings up, then covered them with the rolled-up cuffs of his trousers. His eyes had been on her movements, and she flushed as she recognized his interest in the pale flesh of her calves and ankles. His fingers had been gentle on her feet, their touch sending slivers of fire on a race through her that had little to do with the whiskey’s potency. It seemed she was not immune to his style of doctoring, nor the gruff tenderness he dispensed.
“Yeah, I’m headed home.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it,” she said quietly, squinting against the sun’s rays as she looked up at him.
His smile was a grimace. “I’ve been happier, like when I faced a whippin’ from my pa, or had to split a cord of firewood before breakfast” He rose quickly, offering her his hand. “Come on, we’re wastin’ time talkin’ and the day’s half-gone.”
“Half-gone?” She eyed the sun, barely visible through the trees. “It can’t be more than eight o’clock or so.”
“I’m saddlin’ up, Cassie. If you’re ridin’ along, you’d best be ready to go.”
She looked around the clearing, trees on three sides, beyond them the trail leading back to Loco Junction, now at least thirty miles away.
Crouched beside his belongings, Will delved deeply into the pack holding his personal things, muttering beneath his breath as he sorted through the miscellany of his scant supplies. A grunt signified success and he hoisted himself to his feet, a brown-paper-wrapped package in one hand.
“Here.” He tossed it in her direction as he glared at her, his lowered eyebrows adding a menace to his look. “Bought those for my sister, back down the trail. They oughta fit you. She won’t mind if you borrow them till we can find somethin’ better for you to wear.”
Cassie’s fingers trembled as she unwrapped the soft bundle. A gift was to be enjoyed, even if it was just on loan. A pair of moccasins tumbled into her lap and she touched the supple leather with one finger, then lifted them to her nose to inhale the distinctive scent. He’d picked out pretty ones, beaded and sewn with careful stitches, and for a moment she envied the sister who merited such tender regard.
“Well, go ahead. Try ‘em on.” His tone was impatient and she cast him a glance of apology as she slid her stockinged feet within the soft leather protection of the shoes,
“They fit just fine.” It was all she could manage, her throat filling with a strange tightness she could suppress only with a rapid blinking of her eyes. “Thank you.” Her teeth pressed against her bottom lip as she stuck one foot out before her, displaying the beauty of his purchase to his view.
“They’ll do.”
Gruff and abrupt, his approval pleased her nonetheless, and she tucked away her pleasure at his thoughtfulness.
She watched him as he packed his gear, loading the mule in a systematic fashion, balancing his packs, one on either side, tugging and testing the ropes.
“Fold up that blanket and bring it here,” Will called impatiently from the other side of his horse.
Cassie folded the rough fabric quickly and limped to where he worked at the cinch, watching as he pulled the stirrup into place. His hands reached for the blanket, and he arranged it behind his saddle, then lifted her with an ease that left her breathless, settling her as he had yesterday, astride the horse’s back.
The animal shifted beneath her and she held the back of his saddle, balancing herself as the blanket slid in place.
“Whoa, there,” he ordered sternly, approaching with the mule’s lead line in hand. He wrapped it around the saddle horn twice, then eased his way up, his foot and leg coming perilously close as he seated himself in front of Cassie. Looking back at her over his shoulder, he scowled.