Desperate Hearts (10 page)

Kyla frowned. There was something wrong with
that kind of reasoning, but she wasn’t up to analyzing it.
Crouching on the gravel next to the stream, she dipped the hankie
into the icy water and washed her face. Her hand shook and her
cheeks were so hot she almost expected to hear the wet fabric
sizzle on her skin. She must have a fever, she though, but there
was nothing to do except press on to Misfortune. She had come too
far to give in to an injury.

Leaning over to dunk her hankie again, she
avoided looking at her reflection. The water was clear and
slow-moving, and made a perfect mirror. Kyla had never thought of
herself as a vain woman, but if she looked as bad as she felt, she
didn’t want to know.

She hadn’t bathed in a tub since escaping
from Blakely. She had been able to wash her clothes a few times,
but they were old and thin when she first put them on. Except for
the night in the hotel, she had camped in the open for more than a
month. To sleep in a real bed, or even in a barn, out of the wet
and cold, might perk her up. She hoped so, anyway—she had no more
use of her arm this morning than she had had for the last two
days.

“
Come and get a biscuit,”
Jace said from his seat by the fire. “You didn’t eat anything last
night, and if you get weak you won’t be able to keep
up.”

Tired and worried, the admonition only gave
voice to her own fears. “Just get us to Blakely. I’ll keep up all
right.”

Rising unsteadily, she walked back to the
fire on legs that felt as if they ended just below her knees. It
was a frightening sensation but she did her best to ignore it.
Tucking the wrung-out handkerchief into her gear, she looked at her
gun belt lying next to her bedroll. When she picked it up; the
leather was cold and hard in her hand, and it seemed so heavy this
morning. How on earth would she buckle that thing again? It would
be a monumental task, and she didn’t know what to do.

She was determined not to show Jace the
weakness he was waiting for. It wasn’t only pride that drove her—a
moment of defenselessness, of being unprepared, could be a person’s
undoing. No one knew that better than she did.

She looked at the top of his head where the
sun picked out deep red highlights in his dark hair. He looked up,
too, and for an instant the gun belt in her hand was forgotten. She
stood engrossed by blue eyes, by the strong jaw, by a wide mouth
that was neither thin nor full. The odd flutter in her stomach had
nothing to do with hunger or fever—she could not identify it, but
it unnerved her.

Now that he knew her true gender, everything
felt changed between them. He didn’t act differently, but she saw a
powerful awareness in his gaze that had not been there before.

Quickly she turned her eyes and tried to
flap the buckle end of the gun belt around her hips. It clanked
against her body, probably leaving a bruise every time it
struck.

Jace watched the struggle, faintly amused.
With her arm in the sling, she made him think of a goose trying to
take off with one wing tied. Hot color filled her face and she
panted with the effort. Laying aside the rifle he put on his hat
and rose from his place by the fire.

“
You’re going to beat
yourself to death before you get that gun strapped on.” He seized
the belt in midswing. “Hold that other end.”

“
I can manage—” she said
stiffly, trying to step back.

He gripped the buckle, preventing her
escape. “You’ll manage to stand there for the rest of the morning
and still not have this belt on.”

She smelled of wood smoke and sage. Not
exactly like a typical woman rinsed with rose or lavender water.
But given the circumstances, the scents suited her. At any rate,
she was hardly a typical woman.

Before she could pull away again, he shot
out a hand to grip her waist. It was a mistake. Through the fabric
of her thin shirt he felt an unexpected supple warmth against his
fingers. If her appearance belied her gender, her softness did not.
Thinking of the ample curves that swelled under her clothes, he
didn’t have to work hard to imagine the potential beauty hidden
beneath them.

The reminder brought him up sharply.
Glancing at her flushed face he saw panic in her turquoise eyes,
and she jerked away.

“
Quit pawin’ me like that!”
she snapped in Kyle’s voice.

He released her, feeling as though his
thoughts were stamped on his face for her to see. “Jesus Christ,”
he barked back, “I’m not pawing you. But how the hell am I supposed
get this damned thing buckled if you keep moving away?”

“
I don’t like to be
touched!”

“
That must have made
marriage hard.” Hell, women didn’t usually work that hard to get
away from him, he thought, feeling a bit insulted. He narrowed his
eyes as he considered her. “I told you I’m not interested in
unwilling females, Kyla. But if you were the one I wanted, I’d make
you feel too good to tell me no.”

"Yeah, right." She glared at him,
tight-lipped.

“
Come on,” he said gruffly,
“let’s get going.”

She held still long enough for him to cinch
the leather around her slender hips, but he felt her edginess.
Hell, he even felt his own tension, a gathering tightness in his
groin. It didn’t matter how many times his head told his body that
this was business, and that his craving to touch her, to hold her,
was just wrong-headed. His head didn’t have much say in this.

“
Do you even know how to
fire this thing?" he asked, needing to interrupt the awkward
silence. A woman wearing a gun certainly wasn’t unheard of in the
West. But he didn’t come across it every day, either.

“
Well enough to shoot
McIntyre in the hand,” she replied smugly and turned to roll up her
bedding.

Jace’s brows flew up and he resettled his
hat. “You think you’re the one who shot him?”

“
Yes, I do.” Her back was
to him and he tried to avoid looking at her rounded hips, but
failed.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad.
She was challenging him again. “Well, think again, Kyla.”

She faced him and he thought she sighed.
“Shall we go?” She still looked unnaturally flushed and the spark
in her eyes had faded to a funny glazed look.

He stopped himself from gripping her
shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“
I’m fine. If . . . if you
could just give me a hand up.” She reached to grip the pommel and
put her left foot in the stirrup. But when she pulled herself up,
she didn’t swing her leg over the saddle. Instead she hovered there
as if suspended, swaying drunkenly on horse’s flank, her foot
wedged in the stirrup while the dun danced sideways.

“
Whoa, steady Juniper,”
Jace called to the gelding, bounding alongside, worried that Kyla
would fall. He threw out his hands, and she tumbled backward into
unconsciousness and into his grip. Her battered hat fell off and
wheeled into the stream, carried on a stiff breeze.

He lowered her to the ground and clamped his
hand under his arm to pull off a glove. When he touched her small
face, the heat he felt there scared him.

“
God, girl, you’re burning
up.” But the words were lost on her—she didn’t stir. He picked her
up and carried her to the edge of the creek to splash a little
water on her fevered face. Her lashes formed dark crescents on her
red cheeks. She remained limp in his arms. He could feel the heat
of her fever even through her clothes.

She hadn’t admitted how sick she was. She
wouldn’t let him look at her wound, and he had only guessed that
she might not be doing very well.

He held her limp body closer and looked
around, gnawing worry filling his chest. If desolation was a place,
this was it. Surrounded for miles by scrub and yellow-grassed
emptiness, this was nowhere to be stranded with a sick woman. The
nights were already cold, and the days were losing their warmth,
too.

Damn it, he should have asked Many Braids to
tend her arm when he’d had the chance. The old medicine man might
have been able to clean it up better than Jace had. Kyla would have
squawked like a wet hen; now he worried that she might not regain
consciousness.

They had to get to Misfortune, to Doc
Sherwood. He had originally estimated that they’d be there by this
afternoon. That was before this happened.

After tying Juniper to his own pommel, he
lifted Kyla to his saddle. He held a hand on her to balance her
there until he could jump up behind her. Then he settled her
against him, with her warm back pressed to his chest.

A feeling of protectiveness came over him, a
feeling as reluctant as it was surprising. He was startled by the
unexpected pleasure of this human contact. Tentatively, he rested
his chin on the top of her head and felt the softness of her
butchered hair.

What little he knew about this woman
suggested that her wounds ran deeper than the one on her arm. He
shook his head. He’d spent most of his life avoiding entanglements
with people, especially with women; he wanted to keep things just
the way they were.

He had no idea why fate had made her his
responsibility—his life hadn’t prepared him for this. He had
drifted for years, doing as he chose and answering to no one. But
he had no choice except to see this through.

He would need help, though.

Pointing their ragged little band north,
they headed toward Misfortune and one of the few friends he had in
the world.

* * *

“
Hang on, we’re almost
there.”

“
You’ll like Chloe McGuire.
She’s got a lot of grit, just like you.”

“
Doc Sherwood will have you
patched up and on your feet in no time.”

As the miles passed, Jace talked to
encourage himself as much as Kyla. Whether she heard him or not he
didn’t know. She had not stirred even once in all these hours. Only
an occasional whimper escaped her.

Darkness was closing in when he turned the
last bend in the road and saw Travis McGuire’s blacksmith shop up
ahead. Kyla, still unconscious, lay against him in his arms.

The last time he’d ridden up to this white
farmhouse, a year ago, he’d arrived with the single-minded
intention of killing Travis. He had been blindly certain that his
best friend and sister’s widower was responsible for her murder.
Thank God he had come to his senses and they’d made their
peace.

But now as they approached, something seemed
wrong here. The house was dark, even in the kitchen, and no
telltale wisp of smoke rose from the chimney over the shop. The
gate to the backyard swung lazily on the cold twilight wind,
banging against the fence when a strong gust came up. Curtains
still draped the windows but a feeling of abandonment hung over the
whole place.

What the hell was going on? he wondered. He
slid down from the saddle and brought Kyla with him. Carrying her
up to the front porch, he laid her on the swing to knock on the
door.

“
Travis!” he yelled,
pounding his fist on the frame of the screen door.

There was no response.

He glanced at Kyla, lifeless and pale now,
slumped on the porch swing like a full-size rag doll. He could not
take her any farther. Night was coming on, and the last few days
had been hard enough for her. She needed shelter, and to have her
arm tended. They had to stay here, whether or not they were
invited. If Travis and Chloe didn’t like that, they could take it
up with him later. The decision made, he pulled open the screen
door and turned the doorknob.

The dusky light revealed a front parlor with
only a few pieces of furniture. He returned to the porch and picked
up Kyla. She felt so small. Her head lolled against his arm and he
carried her inside to a dark green settee.

Confident that she would stay put, he left
her to check the other rooms, baffled by the emptiness. It was the
same in the kitchen—the stove was still there, but the cupboards
were empty of all the food and most of the dishes. The kitchen
table remained but one chair was gone. It was as if they’d taken
sudden flight, grabbing what they could carry as they left.

He looked out the windows at the coming
night. He had brought Kyla here hoping for the help of friends, but
it looked like they were on their own. He had to go for Doc
Sherwood, and they would need food, even if he had to buy something
from the saloon. Doc would know where Travis and Chloe had
gone.

He strode back to the parlor and pushed Kyla
more firmly against the back of the settee.

Crouching next to her, he studied her slack
face and said, “Now, listen, I’m going for the doc, but I’ll be
back as soon as I can, before you even notice I’m gone.” She
mumbled incoherently, but her eyes remained closed and she gave no
indication of understanding him. “You stay here, okay?” he added,
feeling a little foolish.

He lighted an oil lamp that still stood on a
table by the settee, then with a final look at her, walked to the
door and pulled it closed behind him.

The fast ride down Misfortune’s one street
proved to Jace that there was even less of the old mining town than
there had been a year ago. A couple of the boarded-up buildings
were beginning to lean on their foundations. Dark windows bracketed
the length of the street. The whole place looked as if a good wind
gust would carry it all away, leaving nothing but its memory. Only
DeGroot’s Mercantile and the Twilight Star Saloon remained in
business.

When he came abreast of the abandoned Rose
and Garter, a picture flashed through his mind of a hushed
September afternoon, and the battle that he and Travis had waged on
the second floor for the life of Chloe Maitland. When it was over,
Jace had a bullet in his shoulder, and Chloe’s kidnapper was dead,
shot twice in the heart by Travis. Despite the bitterness that had
stood between them, Travis had saved his life, and Jace returned
the favor by leaving Misfortune and taking his grudge with him.