Then the dream would break into wisps like smoke, blowing away to the real nightmare of the dank cave of his cell where mice skittered and bugs crawled.
He did not awake there. He could not seem to wake at all. The shadows held him, and there was no pain. But that voice—it was captivating. It held him as if the cuff and chain were once again tight on his ankle. There were no words, this was not singing, but a humming cheerfulness, and it glittered inside him like sunshine through rain. A melody that rose and fell and lured him back to the darkness of his life.
He did not want to go back. Here, in the shadows, there was no grief. Loneliness didn’t stick in his soul like a sharp rock, jabbing deeper and deeper with every step. Here, the bitterness seemed far away and he knew, if he simply let go, he would travel to what his grandfather had called happy hunting grounds, his father heaven, and his mother simply home.
His mother. Would he see her there? Was she waiting beyond the threshold? The thought of seeing her again made joy crackle inside him. Roaring and growing like a fire in dry grass.
But the humming melody called to him, too. Made him yearn with the heart of a man. He knew it was her, the woman and her corkscrew curls and her generous smile and kindness. He would not like her. He would not want her. He no longer believed in the good of any woman, and yet he followed the sound of her voice, innocent and sensual at once.
Pain slammed into him like an avalanche of snow…and he was falling. Then there was her. Standing over him like an angel in morning light, and her clear alto. It was a tune he didn’t know, and the brisk dawn’s sunshine was suddenly too bright. His eyes stung and he couldn’t seem to focus. Maybe it was the pain leaving him breathless, as if he’d been crushed at the bottom of that avalanche.
But it was strangely all right. For she was here, her hand in his, holding on to him, pulling him back, even as oblivion claimed him, it was only sleep.
Betsy knelt at the edge of the hand-dug well. The board frame bit into her knees as she unhooked the bucket. Cool, clear water sloshed over the side of the pail and onto her clothes.
Every inch of her seemed to ache, or maybe that was just sorrow brimming over the rim of her heart. Through the golden streaks of the sun rising at the edge of the forest, she watched the doc’s buggy bounce down the road. The stand of evergreens closed around him and she was alone.
The doctor’s prognosis echoed in her thoughts. I’veseen this type of lingering before. He’ll not awaken. Noman loses that much blood and lives. Remember Charlie.
Remember Charlie? She’d never forget. She hurt as if the doctor had reached out and slapped her, and she thought of the injured man still breathing, still living, and refused to give up hope. For without it, what good would life be? Without it, how could any good at all come out of this? He’d tried to awaken earlier, she was certain of it.
Perhaps it was the doctor’s job to be so practical, but he’d been drowsing when Hennessey had stirred. It had been slight, but there.
Cool water sloshed over the rim and onto her again as she unhooked the bucket from the rope. Exhaustion made her muscles feel heavy as she stood. Overhead an army of birds twittered and chirped and flitted from tree to tree, and the noise they made was as loud as the train rumbling through town. A body certainly wouldn’t need a clock living out here.
On her way back to the cabin she felt…well, watched. The nape of her neck prickled, but there were no obvious signs of danger. Goodness, how could there be with the breeze pleasant through the drying grasses and the tall trees waltzing with their branches outstretched and the sunshine warm and friendly? The splashes from the water bucket sprinkled across her bare feet and plopped onto the soft earth.
There, in the loose dust in the path, were tracks. As clear as her own footprints heading to the well, but those imprints hadn’t been there when she’d gone to fetch water.
She looked around carefully and shivered. Was it her imagination or did the wind have a mean edge to it? Nothing knelt behind the woodpile, not that she could see, or crept through the unmown grasses.
The giant cat tracks ambled along the road, as if the cougar had been heading to town and following the doctor’s buggy. Maybe the animal had continued on. Maybe not. Maybe it was watching her from the thicket of the crowded evergreens—and getting hungry.
She certainly had no notion of being any creature’s breakfast! Heaven on earth! She’d been out this way on her deliveries once a week for several years now. Before yesterday, the most wildlife she’d seen in these woods had been a few grazing deer. She picked up her pace and sprinted up the porch steps. With the stout wall to her back she felt safer as she looked back, at the fresh tracks—they looked just like her little kitty’s paw prints back home except each imprint was as big as her foot. She didn’t feel safe until she shut the door behind her.
“W-water.”
“Mr. Hennessey?” She nearly dropped the bucket in shock. Coming to her senses, she set it on the nearby table and was at his side without remembering crossing the room. His eyes were open and in them she read the agony he was in. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”
His hard mouth curled into a frown. “Water.”
“Oh! Of course. I can’t believe it, but I wouldn’t give up hope for you. The doctor was less than encouraging, but I knew.” She was babbling, and she couldn’t stop the happiness from bubbling up. “You’re going to be fine. I know it. I’m so glad. You were so heroic, coming to my rescue as you did.” Her fingertips reached out—she simply couldn’t help it.
Emotion overwhelmed her and tears blurred her vision as she stroked the side of his face. Stubbled with prickly whiskers, it felt so good and right just to feel the very manly texture of several days’ growth. Her chest clenched tight with an odd longing. It wasn’t sexual—she’d tried very hard not to notice the incredibly perfect chest of his and more, much more.
It was something else, something amazing. Her very being seemed to quicken and that warmth new in her chest seemed bigger. It hurt, strangely, and she didn’t know what to say. How to tell him she knew he was weak and he would be bedridden for a long while, but she wouldn’t let him down.
He’d saved her, and she intended to save him right back.
“W-water,” he snarled.
At least he had the strength to snarl. That had to be a good indication, right? She smiled at him because nothing could dim her gratitude. She raced to the table and stole a tin cup from the shelf overhead. Her fingers were trembling, she spilled water everywhere, but she didn’t spill a drop when she eased down beside him on the wide feather bed and held the rim to his cracked lips.
He groaned with pleasure as the cool goodness ran across his bottom lip and over his tongue. He swallowed with difficulty and grimaced in agony at the pain it must have caused.
“Oh, I am so pleased,” she told him, holding the cup to his mouth again. “It is not every day a woman gets her very own hero.”
Hero? Hardly. Duncan growled and, although he’d only swallowed twice, it had exhausted him. He lay panting, eyes tearing, his entire body vibrating with unbearable pain and he remembered her humming. He remembered her at his side and how she’d told the truth.
This morning her eyes were red-rimmed and she was pale with strain. She was wearing his shirt and a pair of his trousers tied with a rope at her waist. The clothes engulfed her, but nothing
