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 up under your influence. I won’t have my sister—ouch!” Donovan snarled as the stinging alcohol penetrated raw flesh.
Sarah had never realized words could hurt so much. Inwardly she recoiled as if he had struck her, but nothing showed in her face. Whatever happened, she could not let him see how deeply he had wounded her. She could not give him the satisfaction or the power.
Gulping back tears, she forced her features into an icy mask. “I’ll not have you telling me where I can or can’t make my home,” she declared coldly. “Do your worst, Donovan. It won’t make any difference. I can be just as stubborn as your sister, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then you’re a fool.” He stared sullenly past her shoulder as she applied a plaster to the cut. Her hands trembled where they touched his face. More than anything, she wanted to be done with this ordeal, to be back in the security of her little schoolroom with the door bolted behind her. But there would be no security anywhere for her, she realized. Not now.
“How much experience have you had framing a cabin?” she asked, breaking the weight of his silence.
Donovan’s jaw twitched, but he did not reply.
“A fortnight ago, I delivered Jemima Hanks down in the creek bottoms. Lanny Hanks, her husband, is an able carpenter. He needs work.” Sarah paused to retrieve the roll of muslin stripping she used for bellybands. “Raise your arms, now, and I’ll bind your ribs. Framing’s not a job for a lone man—not even one who knows what he’s doing.”
“Save your do-gooder advice for somebody else. I should have seen through you back in Richmond.” Donovan’s voice was a lash, but he did raise his arms, giving silent consent for Sarah to wrap the muslin around his bruised rib cage.
Sarah bent to the task, steeling herself against his nearness. Donovan held himself rigid, his whole frame radiating unspoken fury. Along his ribs, the flesh had already begun to discolor. The bruises would be painful for a long time to come.
“This wrapping will help, but you’re going to be sore. I’d advise you to take it easy for a few days.” She bent close to pass the binding around his back, swallowing a gasp as one tightly puckered nipple brushed her cheek. Donovan’s was a soldier’s body, hard, disciplined and nicked with the marks of battle. The track of a rifle ball creased his lean left flank. His right shoulder was pocked with shrapnel scars. They lay creamy white against his golden skin, oddly, compellingly beautiful.
Donovan’s lips tightened as the muslin passed around his ribs. His silence seethed, emanating ice-cold fury.
I should have seen through you back in Richmond.
The words echoed in Sarah’s ears as she struggled with the wrapping, bending close again to circle his rigid back. The memory that flashed through her mind was scalding in its pain.
Richmond…music…a waltz. Her peony pink gown afloat in the midst of the swirling ballroom. Golden epaulets blazing in the lamplight. Her lace-mitted hand, resting on the fine gray wool of Virgil’s tunic…
And Donovan, his face glimpsed through the shadows beyond Virgil’s shoulder, his mouth set in a hard line, his expression guarded and cautious, veiling his emotions.
Almost by chance their eyes had met—and in that blistering instant, it was as if their naked gazes had penetrated each other’s souls, leaving no secrets unseen. So searing was the connection that Sarah had gasped and torn her eyes away from him. For days afterward she had lived in fear, certain that he had detected her masquerade. Only now did she realize he had not. It was something else she had glimpsed that night. Something deeper.
Oh, Donovan, if only we’d been born different people, you and I. If only we’d come together in a less dangerous time…
Sarah’s hands had slowed in their task. Sensing his impatience, she hurried to finish. The children had not reappeared. Varina, Sarah realized to her chagrin, was probably keeping them inside the cabin to further her misguided matchmaking efforts.
“Leave the wrapping in place for the next few days, at least,” she said, snipping off the end and fashioning a square knot. “Promise me, too, you’ll get some help with that framing. You’ll never manage it alone, especially with cracked ribs.”
“Promise?” His wry chuckle carried the bitterness of a January wind. “I owe you no kind of promise, Miss Sarah Parker. It amazes me, in fact, that your lying lips can even speak the word.”
“Stop it!” Sarah jerked away from him, quivering with the fury of her frayed patience. “I can’t change who I am, Donovan Cole, not even for you, and I’m through apologizing for it! You gave me an ultimatum, and I gave you my answer! As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing more to say between us!”
“Nothing more to say.” He watched her through slitted eyes as she fumbled for the scattered contents of her medical kit—the scissors, the roll of stripping, the whiskey.
“Nothing more to say, Miss Sarah, except this—”
Donovan’s hand flashed out like the strike of a rattler, fingers locking on
