Nan Ryan (19 page)

Almost to the bottom, Virgil managed to plunge a stiffened left leg into the loose shale, twist his body slightly, and bring himself to a swift halt. He dug in his heels and got his balance. Then he turned quickly, arms outstretched, ready to catch her.

The round-eyed princess slammed directly into him running full force, managing somehow, to get him in the ribs with a sharp, punishing elbow. Virgil let out a muffled yelp, but ignoring the pain, he enclosed her in his protective arms and kept her from falling.

“You all right?” he asked, then gritted his teeth in agony.

“Yes, yes I believe I am,” she said, not thinking to ask if he was hurt.

“Well, I’m not,” he said, releasing her, putting his hand to his left side.

“You’re not?” She automatically reached out to touch him. He grimaced and she snatched her hand away. “What is it?”

“A rib,” he told her.

“Oh, dear me,” she said, looking up at him. “I do hope you didn’t break it.”

“I didn’t,” he said, face tight. “You did.”

“I?” she said, offended. “Why must you blame everything on me?”

“You got me with your elbow, Red,” he said. Then, “Maybe the rib’s just badly bruised.”

“Is there a physician close?” she asked.

His face etched in pain, Virgil said, “You will be the doctor.”

Not sure what he meant, she said, “Such nonsense. I am no physician, and I have never tended a sick or injured person in my life.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he told her. “Now, you’ll have to help me here. Get me back up the hill.”

The princess exhaled. “How? I can’t possibly—” Interrupting, Virgil said, “Step in here real close to me. That’s right. Now, drape my arm over your shoulder—no! Jesus Christ not that one!” He grimaced as she yanked on his left arm, the upward motion pulling painfully on the injured rib.

“Sorry,” she said and moved quickly to his right side, drew his long arm over her slender shoulders, and wrapped her hand around his wrist.

“Now, put your arm around my waist,” he instructed.

She put her arm around him, hooked her fingers around his belt, and looked up at him.

He said, “What are you waiting for?”

Nodding, the princess struggled manfully to get him back up the rock-slippery hill. He was so much bigger than she, it was all she could do to support him as he leaned heavily on her. A couple of times she had to stop to get her breath. Once she stumbled on loose rocks and almost fell, but quickly righted herself.

With effort they reached the camp with just enough light left to see. One-handed, Virgil unbuttoned his black-yoked shirt, pulled the long tails free of his trousers with his right hand, and sat down on the ground. The princess, a few feet away, was bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath.

When her breathing slowed and she straightened, Virgil said, “This shirt comes off over my head.”

“Yes,” she said, “I know. Why are you telling me this?”

Needing her help, he labored to conceal his frustration. In an even voice, he said, “You’ll have to help me get it off.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, stepped closer, leaned down and gripped the shirt’s long tails. She peeled the shirt up his torso and heard him groan as he raised his arms so she could take it off. Tossing the shirt aside, the princess sank to her knees before him. “What will you do now?”

“Nothing,” he said. “You will do everything.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I have no idea how to do the kind of things that occupy the time of ordinary people. You see, I’ve never learned because it simply was not necessary. Why, I never even dressed myself until … until you …” She lifted her shoulders in an unapologetic shrug and admitted, “When it comes to tackling mundane tasks, you’ll find that I am really quite useless.”

His reply was, “You’re fairly intelligent. Surely as intelligent as my stallion, Noche. I trained him. I’ll bet you can be trained.”

“Are you comparing me to a horse!” she said, outraged.

He replied, “Kindly move around behind me.”

The princess stayed where she was. “I will not.”

“Get behind me!” he ordered, and she, startled by his biting tone of voice, anxiously obeyed. “Now, carefully examine my back. That’s where a broken rib can be most easily located.”

Puzzled, having no idea how to search for a broken rib, the princess laid her hands on him. He had, she noticed immediately, a beautiful back. Perfectly shaped with wide muscular shoulders tapering down to a surprisingly narrow waist. His skin was smooth and deeply tanned, as if he had lain naked in the sun. And he was warm to the touch.

“Press your thumbs in the flesh on either side of the spine,” Virgil directed, his tone now low, soft. The tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, the princess did as instructed. “Now, pressing with your thumbs, run them very slowly down my back, one on each side.”

“Oh, Virgil,” she said, using his name for the very first time, “I’ve found it! Right here, under my left thumb, a rib is protruding more than the others and … and … the one just below it feels like it is slightly prominent as well.”

Nodding, he said, “I believe the actual break is in front. Come around and have a look.”

The princess moved around directly in front of him. She put out her hands, and he guided them to where he thought the break was.

“Right there,” he said, and she gasped audibly as her fingers found where one rib stuck out at an angle under his chest wall. He winced when she touched the spot.

“That’s it,” he said, lips thinned.

“What shall I do? I don’t know—”

“There’s a supply kit in my saddlebags. Get it and tape my ribs.”

This time the princess didn’t hesitate. She was up instantly and rushing to the saddlebags. Then back in a flash and falling to her knees before him. Following his instructions, she got out the roll of tape and then she was forced to reach inside his trouser pocket for his knife. She could feel her cheeks burning as her fingers searched for the knife. She didn’t dare look at him. After several awkward pats and feels, she snagged the knife’s end, and withdrew it so rapidly, the lining of his pocket came out with it. She didn’t bother with stuffing it back in. Nor did he.

With a smooth mother-of-pearl case, the pocket-knife looked harmless enough until—complying with his orders—she eased the blade out and up. It glinted in the sun’s dying red rays.

With Virgil patiently guiding her, the princess cut several long strips of the wide tape and carefully laid each one on the grass, with the sticky side up. He told her when she’d cut enough, and she closed the knife, laying it and the roll of tape aside. She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Now, you stretch those pieces of tape, one at a time, around me, starting at the backbone and pulling them as tight as you can get them in front. Think you can do that?”

“I shall try.” She picked up a long strip of the wide tape and went to work.

“Yes, that’s it,” he commended as she pulled tape after tape as tight as she could get them around his back and halfway across his naked torso.

When the task was complete, the princess sank back on her heels and admired her handiwork. And, she admired the broad, symmetrical masculine chest with its appealing growth of curly jet hair. When she’d drawn the tapes tight, her knuckles had brushed the crisp raven hair, and the recollection now sent a thrill of strange excitement surging through her. She wondered how it would feel to lay an open palm against his warm muscular chest and twine some of that crisp curly hair around her fingers.

“Is something wrong?” Virgil’s voice startled her, and she felt herself blushing.

“No. No,” she said with a nervous laugh, “I … I was just thinking that … that when you take the tape off,” she pointed, indicating the top piece of tape, “it is going to … to … yank out some chest hair.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there,” Virgil said. “Right now I’m in enough pain to keep me pretty well occupied.” He gave her a hint of a self-deprecating smile and said, “Now, don’t you think it’s about time we have a bite to eat.”

She looked at him. She looked around. “You haven’t built a fire, so how can we—”

“No fire tonight, Red,” he interrupted.

“Why? How can we possibly fix the evening meal without a fire? And how can we sleep tonight? Already it’s getting cold. We
must
build a fire.”

“Have you forgotten already what we saw on the trail not two hours ago?” He shifted his weight a little, grimaced, put a spread hand to his taped ribs, and said, “The Apaches. If we build a fire, they might see it.”

“Dear God,” she said, looking anxiously around, “will they kill us as we sleep?”

“Nope,” he assured her. “We’re safe enough tonight. The Apaches are unique, different from all other tribes. They rarely attack at night. They believe that the soul of a warrior killed at night must wander forever in darkness.”

“If they won’t attack at night, then I don’t see why we can’t have a campfire.”

“If they’re close by, a fire would alert them to exactly where we are. They wouldn’t kill us tonight, but come morning they’d be waiting to ambush us.” He paused, then added, “If, by any chance, you were attempting an escape a while ago when you went barreling down that hill—”

“I was not! I slipped and—”

“Let me remind you again that if the Apaches get us, I will likely die a quick, merciful death. You, however, will not. You’re pale and you’re pretty. Just the kind of woman the hostiles—”

“You have made your point, Captain,” she cut him off. “I don’t wish to hear more.” She quickly changed the subject. “Now, I am quite hungry. Surely you mean to prepare us at least a cold supper of some kind.”

“No, I don’t. I mean for
you
to prepare us a cold supper.”

“Me! Out of the question! Haven’t you heard one word I said? I do not know the first thing about fixing meals. Hot or cold. I am, whether you can be convinced of it or not, a royal princess!”

“Well, Your Majesty, unless you want to go to bed hungry, you’ll fix us something to eat.”

“Oh, very well.”

The princess grumbled to herself as she filled two tin plates with cold beans and beef jerky and stale bread. When they had finished eating, she really made her feelings known when Virgil told her to take the dirty dishes down to the stream and wash them. She did so, but as she crouched there on her heels in the gathering dusk dipping the tin plates into the water, she really let him have it. She expressed her feelings about him candidly, speaking loudly, on purpose, hoping he would hear every unkind word she said.

He did.

But it didn’t particularly bother him.

When the princess returned carrying the clean tin plates and utensils, she was nonplussed to see that the Ranger had spread his bedroll and was retired for the night. Stretched out on his right side, blanket pulled up to his bare shoulders, he appeared to be fast asleep.

Her delicate jaw ridging with resentment, the princess raised the tin plates high above her head and released them. They clattered loudly to the ground.

Virgil calmly cocked one eye open and said, “If you’re going to see how much noise you can make, you may as well build a fire.” He yawned then, and said, “Better come on to bed before you freeze.”

Princess Marlena’s hands went to her hips. “If you think for one minute that I am ever going to lie down beside you again, you are an even bigger fool than I thought!”

“Suit yourself.” His eyes closed again.

“I always do,” she said, walked over, and unceremoniously yanked the blanket off him.

While Virgil drew the bottom blanket up over himself, the princess walked a good twenty yards away from him, spread the blanket, lay down, and pulled it around herself. She sighed and stretched and attempted to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy. The ground was hard, and with the sunset had come a deep chill to the air. She knew she was going to spend a cold, miserable night. She consoled herself by thinking it would be the last one. Tomorrow she would get away from Black. She didn’t know exactly how, but she would manage to escape. By this time tomorrow night, she would, with any luck, be sleeping in a soft, clean bed somewhere.

Her eyelids growing heavy, the plotting princess watched swallows dart about and heard a muted cacophony of insect sounds. Hoping nothing was crawling on her, she finally closed her eyes. They came open again when a quick series of eerie yelps rang loudly in the night silence.

She sat up. “What was that?”

“Coyotes,” said Virgil. “Or Apaches.”

The princess, hating herself for being a coward, shot to her feet and snatched up her blanket. She hurriedly crossed the twenty odd yards to Virgil. Not bothering to ask permission, she stretched out beside him and covered herself with the blanket. Virgil eased the one side of the blanket up, moved closer to her, and spread the cover over them both.

In that low, flat Texas twang he said, “To what do I owe this—”

“None of your smart remarks, Captain,” the princess stopped him in midsentence. “I am most definitely not in the mood.”

21

The princess soon fell asleep.

Virgil did not.