should be allowed to talk that way about a decent woman,” he said shortly.
She dipped the bloodstained cloth back in the water, noticing how pinkish the once clear water had become. She lifted it back to Thorn’s face. “But then, I’m not a decent woman, according to you,” she replied bitterly.
He caught her wrist tightly. His eyes were frankly apologetic. “Curt told me the truth. I’m sorry. More sorry than you realize.”
“Don’t ruin your image, Mr. Vance,” she said as she tugged her hand out of his grasp and continued her ministrations. “I hardly think apologies are part of your repertoire.”
Her father was hovering nearby. Thorn wished him in Montezuma. He needed to see Trilby alone, to see if he could mend the distance he’d put between them. She acted as if she despised him and he’d given her good reason. Even a blind man should have realized that her innocence was no pretense.
“Your man, the Apache,” Jack persisted. “He speaks English.”
“Does he, really?” Thorn asked, managing to look surprised.
Jack cleared his throat and walked out.
His absence gave Thorn the opportunity he’d wanted to patch things up with Trilby, if he could.
“Look at me,” Thorn said quietly. “Trilby…look at me.”
She forced her eyes down to his.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Did I frighten you that day?”
She flushed and turned away.
He got up, standing behind her. His lean hands caught her shoulders gently. “You’re upset. You’d never even been kissed, had you?” he said regretfully.
“No,” she said through her teeth. “And what you did…”
He let out a heavy breath. “Yes. What I did is something that belongs in a relationship between married people. You learned things about me that you’d never have known in the normal course of things.”
She flushed and was glad that he couldn’t see her face. “I’d better finish cleaning your face, Mr. Vance,” she said stiffly.
He turned her toward him, bending so that he could see her eyes. “Don’t hate me,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I was wrong. I want to make amends.”
“Do you? Then please stay out of my way.” She laughed uneasily. “I want nothing to do with you.”
His face stiffened. He’d frightened and shocked her. She made him feel inadequate somehow. His hands fell from her shoulders and he sat back down again.
His attitude made her feel guilty. “You have my forgiveness if you think you need it, Mr. Vance. I’ll thank you for defending me, regardless. I’m sorry you were hurt on my behalf.”
“These little cuts?” he said heavily. “They sting, but they’re not much. I’ve had bullet wounds hurt worse. They tear the flesh when they penetrate.”
Her hand paused in midair. “Bullet…wounds?” She swayed and her knees turned to jelly.
He caught her as she went down, holding her propped against his strong body. “Trilby, for the love of God…”
She drew a slow breath and the nausea and the faintness began to dissipate. “I’m sorry,” she said weakly. “It’s just…there was so much violence!”
She felt fragile. So fragile. He bent suddenly and swept her up completely off the floor in his arms, turning into the living room, where her father had just reappeared from outside.
“Trilby, what’s wrong?” Jack asked.
“She fainted. I shouldn’t have mentioned bullet wounds,” Thorn said ruefully. “She needs to lie down.”
“Yes. Of course. This way.”
Her father led the way to her neat bedroom, standing aside to let Thorn carry her in and place her delicately on the white embroidered bedspread.
“Jack?” Mary Lang called suddenly, her voice almost hysterical. “Jack, where’s Teddy?”
“I think he’s out back with Torrance,” Thorn said over his shoulder.
“Oh, bother,” Jack muttered. “Trilby, dear. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Father,” she whispered. “I’m just a bit sick. And glad that you’re all right.”
He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Left briefly alone with Thorn, Trilby tried not to meet his eyes. He looked terribly cut up, and she wondered if that cut on his cheek would heal without leaving a scar.
“I’m sorry about all this,” he told her stiffly. “I guess you’ve never seen a fistfight before, either.”
“Hearing it was bad enough.” Her eyes glanced off his face. “You should bathe your face again tonight,” she murmured.
“I’ll do that. Naki has some kind of herbs he uses on cuts. I’ll let him doctor me.”
“Are you sure he won’t poison you?” she asked, with faint humor.
“He’s my friend,” he said simply. “Friends don’t poison each other. If you’re sure you’re all right, I’ll be on my way.”
“Thank you for looking after my father,” she said, with stiff pride.
“He needed looking after,” he said shortly. “My God, he’ll lose everything if he doesn’t toughen up.”
“It’s so brutal out here,” she said suddenly, her wide eyes expressive.
“Of course it is. It’s no place for lilies.”
She blanched. Her hands dovetailed on her waist as she lay there looking up at him from her pillow. She felt vulnerable with a man in her bedroom. He seemed to fill it, dominate it. He looked at her as if she were hopeless. Perhaps she was.
His dark eyes slid down her body to her slim ankles and back up again. She was slender and well made, and he ached thinking about how her mouth felt under his.
But she was looking at him as if he frightened her. Probably he did, he thought bitterly. He’d been antagonistic toward her from the very beginning; he’d insulted her, been roughly physical with her, and then he’d savaged her reputation. How could he expect her to trust him?
That was a pity, when she’d begun to appeal to him in a totally new way, he thought ironically. She’d been scared to death and sick while he fought the Mexican, but she was game! White in the face and shaking, she’d still had the nerve to doctor his wounds. He admired her. He’d admired her when she fought with him verbally, and she’d done that from the first time they’d met. He couldn’t remember one time when he’d ever admired his late wife—except in the very beginning of their relationship.
“I
