Chapter 136
"I think it's safe to talk to me. At least tell me what's wrong."
What's wrong? My whole life's what's wrong.
Harriet forced words through the paralysis in her throat. "I tripped and fell, hit my head against the tree, twisted my ankle."
"We need to get you to shelter." His voice took on an English lilt. "Good thing my n.o.ble steed, Shadow, can bear us both to yonder town."
The last vestiges of her fright fled. She doubted any man who deliberately tried to sound like a hero from a poorly written Arthurian novel would mean her harm. Even if he did seem bigger than a barn.
From somewhere inside herself, she found a bit of humor to match his. "Did you say your name was Gulliver?" She referenced her favorite book.
He grinned. "Only if your name is Lily."
"Lancelot perhaps?"
"Guinevere?"
"Ivanhoe?"
"My lady," he said, exasperation edging his humor. "Will you allow me to get you out of this wet?"
Harriet hesitated.
"I see I'll have to forcibly abduct you." He set the lantern down. Placing one arm under her knees and one behind her back, he scooped her up.
Harriet gasped and slipped one hand around his neck. A thrill shot up her backbone, setting b.u.t.terflies to wing around her stomach and almost masking the pain of her ankle and head.
"Little bit of a kitten, aren't you?" he murmured.
With a lift, he set her aside the saddle, making sure the blanket remained mummy-tight around her. He pulled the rest of his bedroll apart, spreading it like a cape over her. Picking up the lantern, he balanced it on her lap.
She lifted her blanket-shrouded hands to cup the base. Peering at him from under the hood created by the blanket, she said, "I'm sorry. I really didn't catch your name."
"Anthony Gordon. But everyone calls me Ant--a university nickname."
A laugh bubbled up, and she shook her head, not knowing what to make of this man. In the s.p.a.ce of a few minutes, she'd gone from misery to fear to laughter. "Ant. I can see why."
"Resemble an insect, do I?" He grinned. He had one short eyetooth, which made his smile a little crooked. An endearing smile. One that invited her to share the humor.
She couldn't help smiling back. "Because you're as big as a house."
"Only a small house."
"Like a hut, then."
"And you're?"
"Harriet Stanton. I'm the schoolteacher."
"The teacher, eh?" He swung into the saddle and settled himself behind her.
She winced as her ankle b.u.mped against the horse, the throbbing reawakened by movement. But then his arms settled around her, giving her something new to focus on.
He urged the horse back to the trail.
Harriet sat as rigidly as possible within the shelter of Ant's arms. He smelled of wet horse and leather and maleness, a not-unfamiliar aroma, but somehow made more intimate by his body enveloping hers.
As the giant stallion picked his way down the trail, the rhythm of the horse's gait soon seduced her into relaxing against Ant's broad chest. The rain ceased. After a time, the warmth of the blanket penetrated her numb body; drowsiness seeped through her limbs.
A memory hovered at the edge of her awareness, faint and tattered from age. She reached out to grasp a whisper of remembered sound. Papa's voice.... His lips on her forehead as he carried her to bed.... The scent of cigar and brandy. Snuggling against him, content, secure.... A feeling she'd lost with his death and had searched for ever since.
The faintest hint of tears brushed Harriet's eyes. She hadn't remembered her father who died when she was just three. Never had a paternal remembrance to call her own. Now like a gift, one had drifted into her heart.
Ant's gift.
Like a child, Harriet nestled closer into his arms. I'm safe.
Like the kitten he'd named her, the woman curled into Ant's embrace. Her smallness unnerved him somehow. Usually he liked his women tall and well-endowed, so he didn't have to strain his back or crick his neck much to kiss them.
Yet this little one had showed spirit, bantering with him even when she'd been scared and in pain. During his years of reporting, he'd seen enough tragic situations to have experienced female bravery at its best--tight-lipped, head-held-high courage. But he couldn't recall a mite of a girl quipping her way through a frightening circ.u.mstance.
She said she was a schoolteacher. Maybe David's teacher. Hope stirred within him. The first in a long time. He refrained from rus.h.i.+ng into questions. On horseback, during a storm wasn't the place to have that talk. But as soon as she rested up....
The trail leveled, joining with a dirt road. Ahead Ant could make out the shadowy outline of buildings, several showing amber light s.h.i.+ning through the windows.
He leaned down to speak in her ear. "Where do you live, Miss? "
"I board with the Cobbs, who own the mercantile. Keep going a ways on this street and you'll get there."
They pa.s.sed quiet houses and buildings. The lantern light didn't reach far enough for him to make out any details. Seemed like an ordinary enough town.
A burst of laughter and tinny piano music belted from a saloon; the sound followed them up the street. An ordinary town, all right.
"There." Harriet angled her chin to the left. "That's the mercantile. The front will be locked, so we'll need to go around the near side to the kitchen."
Guiding Shadow to a hitching post near a watering trough, Ant paused, reluctant to dismount. He knew he needed to get Harriet to shelter, but that would mean letting go of her. He hadn't held a woman since Isabella. His meaningless encounters with prost.i.tutes were meant to satisfy a s.e.xual itch, not lead to a physical connection. He'd forgotten the feeling of holding a woman in his arms--the powerful protective instinct a female could evoke in a man.
Or
Best get her indoors and be done with her. "I have to dismount. I'll try not to hurt you."
She sat up, which did not help matters.
Ant eased one leg over Shadow and jumped down. "Now, relax and lean over." He reached one arm around her back and the other under her knees. "Heave ho, matey."
She giggled, and then gasped with pain.
He continued teasing, trying to keep her mind off her injuries. "At least I made you laugh before I hurt you."
Even though her face was drawn with pain, she managed that quarter smile.
To avoid the tick of response in his heart, he quickened his pace toward the door. "You'll have to do the knocking. My hands are full."
The light from a lace-curtained window illuminated the entry. Harriet untangled one arm from the blankets, reaching out to knock.
Just before her hand connected, Ant had a sudden thought and, half in jest, half in concern, swung her away. "Mr. Cobb won't be greeting me with a gun will he? As you can see, I'm in no position to defend myself."
CHAPTER THREE.
David March stared out the single cracked window of the shack he and his father had called home for the last three months, watching the rain track wiggly trails through the grime. Behind him, his father sprawled on a filthy pallet; his drunken snores shook the tottery one-room building.
The storm trapped him inside with Pa. Usually, during the warmer nights of summer, David could escape and sleep in the lean-to with the mule. Safer there. Pa often woke up with a fierce temper and a heavy hand. If David made a morning appearance before Pa started drinking again, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, more h.e.l.l than usual to pay.
Even with his father asleep, s.h.i.+vers of fear burned under David's skin. He wanted to escape. Run fast and far, back to....
Gray hazed with black speckles slid between then and now. His drifty place. David let his vision move out of focus, until all he saw was the slick surface in front of him. As if half-asleep, he tapped on the gla.s.s along with the rhythm of his father's snores.
Snort. Tap. Whistle. Scratch with a fingernail. Pause. Hold the pad of his finger over a bead of water. Snuffle. Draw his knuckle in a half circle.
In his drifty place, his body numbed, and his mind stayed gray. But at least he didn't feel the cramp of hunger in his belly, nor the tightness and tatters of two-year-old clothes. Best of all, he couldn't feel any pain, for he didn't feel anything, anything at all.
The side door yanked open so fast Ant thought the nails might fly from their hinges. A man's anxious face peered out, bulbous red nose twitching. Behind the man, Ant could hear a woman shrill, "Is that Miss Stanton?" The woman ducked under her husband's arm, holding up a gla.s.s lamp. "Miss Stanton! The Lord be thanked. What happened? Are you injured?"
"I'm all right, Mrs. Cobb. Just bruised. But I twisted my ankle."
"Come in. Come in. Don't just stand there. Isaiah, move over." She nudged her husband out of the way with one wide hip.
Ant turned sideways, careful to keep Harriet's feet from hitting the frame, and squeezed through the door into the kitchen. His first impression was welcomed warmth and the bitter fragrance of willow bark tea brewing. The Cobbs must have expected some trouble. But the tea should help ease Harriet's pain.
A quick scan of the room showed a rectangular table surrounded by six wooden chairs and covered with a red-and-white checked cloth. A large cast iron stove provided the warmth. He strode over to the nearest chair. Hooking the leg with his foot, he pulled the chair over to the stove and deposited Harriet on it.
Mrs. Cobb stared up at Ant. Her close-set brown eyes bulged in apparent shock--a not uncommon reaction to his great height. Her mouth opened and closed like a fresh-caught catfish, showing pointed eyeteeth.
Her husband stretched himself to his full length, another common reaction to Ant's size. Isaiah Cobb had an ordinary tall frame, which meant he reached to Ant's chin. The red nose led Ant to think the man might have been drinking, only there was no aroma of alcohol on his breath. A fringe of gray-and-brown hair circled his bald head.
Mrs. Cobb emerged from her trance. "Well, and who might you be?" she said acidly.
Harriet untied the remains of her bonnet, revealing chestnut brown hair, fine gray eyes, a pert nose, and pink lips. Kissable lips. She waved a hand to him. "My rescuer, Mr. Anthony Gordon."
"But, my dear Miss Stanton, whatever happened to you?"
"I went for a walk. The day was so beautiful that I wandered farther up the mountain than I thought. I tripped and hit my head against a tree. I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke, I found I had sprained my ankle and couldn't move. The storm began. I called for help, and Mr. Gordon appeared." Her fingers explored the lump on her head.
Mr. Cobb leaned closer to examine Harriet's b.u.mp. "Nasty bruise you have there. Better go for Doc Cameron."
Harriet's hand dropped to her lap. "No. Don't disturb him."
"Disturb him." Mrs. Cobb's voice rose. "Why, we are all disturbed. Hunted all over town for you. It's not like you, Miss Stanton, to take off like that without telling anyone. Very inconsiderate. Dr. Cameron is half-expecting a summons."
Harriet brushed a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused." Her voice shook.
As Ant listened to the conversation, his ire rose. Instead of sympathy and prompt treatment, these people were blaming Harriet. "If you'll tell me where the doctor is, I'll go fetch him." In spite of his annoyance, Ant kept his voice even. "In the meantime, perhaps Miss Stanton can take a hot bath. She's chilled and muddy."
Mrs. Cobb bristled. "I don't believe we need a stranger to tell us how to take care of our Miss Stanton."
Apparently you do.
Miss Stanton fluttered a trembling hand. "Mrs. Cobb, Mr. Gordon's been very kind. I believe he saved my life." She fisted her fingers, dropping her hand to her lap, obviously trying to mask her weakness.
Mr. Cobb rubbed his nose with one thick-fingered hand. "Now, Hortense, we have to be grateful to Mr. Gordon. The Lord sent him as an answer to our prayers for Miss Stanton's safe deliverance." He patted his wife's shoulder. "You go heat up some water, while I give Mr. Gordon, here, the directions to Doc's house."
Ant wasn't fooled by Cobb's hearty tone. He could see the man would far rather stay inside than ride through a storm for the doctor. But he hid his scorn. He didn't much like these people, but for Miss Stanton's sake he'd be polite. Plus, he needed information about Lewis and David. He couldn't alienate the Cobbs until he had what he needed.
Harriet wanted the smooth planks of the wooden floor to open up beneath her, preferably onto a fat featherbed. That way, she could disappear and not have to deal with getting up to her room. She hated arguments, hated seeing the Cobbs act almost rude to a man who'd been so kind.
The conversation shriveled her up inside, but she couldn't allow Ant to ride for Doctor Cameron. She wasn't injured enough to warrant disturbing the physician, nor did she need the burden of paying for medical expenses. "Mr. Gordon, you've done enough for me," she said, putting all the schoolmarm firmness she could manage into her tone. "I refuse to have you summon Doctor Cameron. I think a bath and some sleep should take care of me. You, yourself, need to get settled and dry."
"My slicker's kept me fairly dry. It's you I'm concerned about." Ant's eyes peered into hers, seeming to a.s.sess the truth of her words. Finally, he nodded. Turning to Mr. Cobb, he asked, "Is there a hotel in town?"
"No. Banker Livingston has plans to build one. Widow Murphy takes boarders, though. You can put your horse up at the livery stable."
"If you'll direct me, I'll take my gear to Widow Murphy's, stable Shadow, then return here. I think Miss Stanton will need to be carried to her bed."
"Mr. Gordon!" Mrs. Cobb dramatically clapped one hand over her ample bosom.
Harriet refrained from rolling her eyes. You'd think Ant had offered to ravish her.
He raised one eyebrow, giving the woman a quelling look. "Do you plan to carry her yourself, or do you expect her to crawl?" His gravelly voice took on an ominous tone. "I've been carrying her around already for the last hour. You can follow right behind us, so Miss Stanton will be well chaperoned."
Mrs. Cobb huffed, but wisdom prevailed, and she chose not to say anything. She turned toward the sink, grabbed a teakettle and filled it under the pump. She motioned toward a large copper pot sitting on the edge of a shelf of pots and pans. "Isaiah, fill that for me. We need to boil hot water. Then bring the tub in."
Exhaustion hit, almost knocking Harriet off her chair. A headache hammered at her forehead. In spite of her tiredness, she forced herself to act politely. "I thank you for all your help, Mr. Gordon."
He nodded. "My pleasure, my lady." The teasing lilt returned to his voice.