A Love Forbidden (14 page)

“Go! Go!” she screamed at the now-frightened animal.

The mare leaped forward then reared in terror. Shiloh grabbed for the saddle horn and tried clamping her legs to stay on the horse’s back, but her fingers and limbs were too numb. With a cry, she slid off and into the churning waters. She went under and after several frantic seconds fought her way back to the surface.

“Shiloh!” she heard Jesse yell. “Watch out!”

Turning, paddling with all her might to stay above the roiling waters, she caught a glimpse of something big looming almost over her. Then the tree turned in the current and slammed into her.

Pain exploded in her head. Everything went black.

8

Jesse had just reached the river’s far bank and turned to assure himself that Shiloh was following safely behind him when he caught sight of the uprooted dead tree headed directly toward her on the fast-flowing current. He yelled to warn her, then leaped from his horse, turned, and dove into the water. Even as he did so, he knew he’d never reach her in time.

Once more the icy temperature took his breath away. The river current was strong, and he had to fight his way back to the surface. As he did, the old pine, now a scant ten feet away, began to pass him. He saw Shiloh’s horse rear, wheel around, and throw her into the river.

The tree, rolling about in the current with roots leading, swept over the spot where she’d just sunk below the river’s surface. He swam toward the tree as the massive pine swept by, hoping to find Shiloh as she resurfaced. Instead, she rose several yards downstream, just as the end of the tree passed over her.

Her hair, broken loose from her braid, tangled in some of the roots. The tree rolled over again, pulling her beneath the water. Jesse flung himself forward. By some stroke of luck, he managed to grasp a long, broken branch protruding near the top of the big pine, before being jerked downstream along with it.

Water, churning around him and splashing into his face, obstructed his view down to the end of the tree slicing through the middle of the river. Flinging his arm around the rough bark, he inched his way down toward the roots. He saw a flash of red and flailing arms as Shiloh managed to fight her way to the surface. She gasped, drew in a frantic breath of air, and tore at her hair still entwined in the myriad sharp, dried roots.

Then the tree bounced off a large boulder, and the impact sent it rolling again. With a cry, Shiloh was jerked back beneath the rushing water. The twisting trunk almost pulled Jesse under as well, but he kicked away from it just in time. As soon as it righted, he swam back and grabbed hold of it again, desperately making his way down toward where he’d seen Shiloh disappear.

For a brief time, the river calmed a bit. He grabbed a long root, swam around the tree base, and looked for a sign of Shiloh. Just then, a hand rose amongst the roots. He saw faint strands of auburn hair entangled in the finer tendrils splaying off the main roots. He reached out, grasped the hand, and pulled. In the space it took for Shiloh to surface and take a breath, he held her up.

Her face was pallid, her lips blue. But recognition flared in her terror-darkened eyes.

“Hold on!” Jesse yelled above the river’s roaring tumult. “I’ll get you loose.”

He began to tear at the bits of her hair that he could see caught in the roots. Then the tree glanced off another boulder and rolled yet again. He was forced to let go of Shiloh or risk breaking her arm. This time, though, he followed her beneath the water. It was that or risk becoming caught in the roots himself.

Blinded in the dark, churning water, Jesse thrust out wildly, trying to find Shiloh. His hand glanced off something soft. His numb fingers clenched around a human limb. An arm.

Frantically, Jesse used his other hand to reach her head and work its way up to the hair still caught in the roots. He jerked down hard, tearing the ends of her hair free. Then, slipping his free arm about her waist, he held her down as the rest of the pine sailed over and past them.

As Jesse kicked his way to the surface with his now-limp burden, the big tree slammed into a huge boulder jutting from the middle of the river. The wooden hulk spun around, its end barely missing Jesse. He swung his body to protect Shiloh just as a jagged, broken branch caught him in the right side.

Burning pain shot through him. He thought the flesh was surely being ripped away. Then the tree caught in the boulders, its farthest end nearly at the riverbank. Jesse seized the fleeting opportunity this presented and swam the few feet back to the tree. Still holding onto Shiloh with one arm, he used the other to pull his way down the tree toward the shore.

He made it just in time. With the last of his strength, Jesse dragged Shiloh up onto dry land. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath and gritting his teeth against the searing agony in his side.

Don’t you dare pass out
, he fiercely ordered himself, fighting the blackness that threatened to take him.
Shiloh needs you. Needs you as much as you needed her that day.

His fingers digging into the soft earth, Jesse made himself sit up. Then, as gently as his numb hands would permit, he turned Shiloh over on her stomach and began to try and push water from her lungs. For the longest minutes of his life, she didn’t respond, only lay there limp and lifeless.

“B-breathe,” he cried. “Don’t you die on me! I can’t lose you too. I just c-can’t!”

His words caught on a sob. He was so tired. His head spun. And he was so very cold. But still Jesse pressed on. Shiloh couldn’t die. Not while there was breath still left in his body . . .

Water began to gurgle from her mouth. She gagged, choked, and then began to cough. Her arms flailed at her sides.

Jesse rocked back on his heels. He lifted his gaze to the sky in silent gratitude. Then the edges of his vision began to gray. He blinked hard against the encroaching darkness, fighting to stay conscious. It didn’t work for long. He toppled forward.

It seemed forever before she could draw in a full breath, as water kept rising from her lungs to spew from her mouth. The choking kept going on and on. Finally, blessedly, however, the moment came when Shiloh found she could breathe again. And, for what seemed the longest time, she just lay there, savoring the experience.

At last, she rolled onto her side and levered to one elbow. Bone-deep shivers racked her. The recollection of her near drowning flooded back with terrifying intensity.

How did I get free . . . ?
The memory of a darkly handsome face filled her mind.

“Jesse!” she whispered, her voice little more than a ragged croak.

Her bleary gaze took in her surroundings, the river racing past only a few yards away, the scattered bushes and chokecherry trees, and the greening grass beneath her. There was no sign of Jesse, though.

Fear lanced through her. Had he drowned trying to save her? She forced herself to a sitting position and, looking over her shoulder, found him.

Jesse lay there motionless, only inches from her, facedown on the ground. His hair and buckskins were dark and wet, but what sent Shiloh’s heart to hammering was the blood she saw seeping from a long gash in his right side.

She turned around to face him and after a brief struggle managed to get him onto his back. His skin was pale, his lips blue. But he was at least breathing, thank the Lord.

The continued bleeding, however, was worrisome. Shiloh pulled up his buckskin shirt and soon found the reason why. Something had pierced Jesse’s side and torn a ragged hole in his flesh.

Panic, this time bordering on hysteria, filled her. Here she was in the middle of nowhere, their horses missing—and with them had gone all their supplies. Jesse was badly wounded and bleeding. In the bargain, they were both soaking wet and night would be here soon. A very cold night.

“Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered, her chest rising and falling in rapid sequence until she began to feel light-headed. “Help me. Help me to see what I must do and how to do it.”

Clasping her hands before her, Shiloh clenched shut her eyes and prayed. Little by little, her breathing slowed. Her muscles began to relax. Her confidence returned.

The land would give her what she needed. Her Ute nursemaid had taught her much about herbal remedies. How to recognize the many healing plants even in spring, before they regained their full growth and color.

Shoving to her feet, Shiloh forced her cold-stiffened limbs to move her back down toward the river. She walked along the bank, checking for patches of green amongst the rocks and sandy shore. And, finally, she found several mounds of moss in the shallows between some rocks, already beginning to green in the warming days of spring.

It was a simple enough matter to dig up big handfuls of the absorbent plants, which she unceremoniously shoved into her jacket pockets. First order of business was to get Jesse’s wound to stop bleeding, she decided, then move him to some sort of shelter. Next, she had to locate one or both of their horses. Without them, and the bedding and supplies they carried, both their lives might yet be forfeit.

Jesse was still unconscious when she returned, and Shiloh was more than thankful for that. The wound itself was surely painful. Packing the moss into the wound would be even more so.

A scant ten minutes later, the moss firmly pressed against his side and bound in place by strips she’d torn from her chemise, Shiloh finished dragging Jesse’s inert form a short ways downstream to rest beneath a small chokecherry tree. Already, its leaves were beginning to swell. Not the best shelter in the world, but hopefully the branches would provide Jesse with a bit of visual haven from any who might venture by.

Any humans at least, she amended as she next set out to hike upstream in the hopes of finding their horses. Jesse’s blood and its scent could easily attract several kinds of nonhuman visitors. She had done the best she could for the time being, though.

The activity of hiking uphill, combined with the still warm sun, eventually rejuvenated her, stimulating the blood to flow back into her benumbed limbs. If not for her wet clothes, Shiloh would have felt almost comfortable again. She only hoped the sun was helping to warm Jesse too.

After a half hour’s brisk walk, Shiloh’s efforts were rewarded far beyond what she had dared hope. Both of their horses stood near each other, placidly dining on the bits of spring grass poking up through the winter-killed foliage. They glanced briefly at her, then resumed their grazing. They were easily caught.

A quick check revealed their bedrolls were still tied to the back of each saddle, the rifles and saddlebags as well, and three of four canteens still remained. Neither horse was hurt or lame. Shiloh soon mounted her mare and, leading Jesse’s pony, headed back downstream.

Thank You, Lord,
she thought, relief and gratitude filling her.
Now, if Jesse survives through this night, and we can get him to some town or friendly settler’s house, I’d be most thankful.

The return trip was a lot less strenuous and a whole lot swifter. Shiloh jumped down when she reached the chokecherry tree, tied the two horses to it, and quickly unfastened the bedrolls from both saddles. Both sets of double blankets were wet. Shiloh spread the four blankets atop some nearby bushes to hasten their drying.

An examination of Jesse’s wound revealed the moss had done its work. The bleeding had stopped. Jesse was still unconscious, however.

She used the time to good purpose. After gathering a load of tinder and scrap wood from the shrubbery and trees growing along the river, she fashioned a fire pit ringed with rocks, then set up the wood and tinder to make a fire. Within one of the saddlebags, the flint and steel lay in its waterproof pouch. With those invaluable aids, it was a simple enough matter to create sufficient sparks, and it didn’t take long before Shiloh had a small fire going. She added additional twigs until the fire flamed hot and bright, then paused to pull Jesse as close to it as she dared.