Promises Linger (Promise Series) (40 page)

“If it hadn’t bounced off that rib, he’d be dead.”

Clint pushed to his feet. “You got a point.”

Part of her wished she didn’t. She didn’t know if she could do this.

“I’ll hold him down,” Clint said. “You cut out the infection.”

Elizabeth picked up the smaller knife. Working carefully, she cut away the dead and angry tissue, blocking her ears to Asa’s moans, knowing what she was going to do next would make this seem like a picnic. As she wiped at the fresh blood running down Asa’s side, she glanced at Clint. His face was as white as hers felt. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He handed her another cloth to replace the one she’d dropped on the floor. He nodded to the fireplace. “As soon as that blade’s red to the hilt, you grab it up and place it over the cut.”

She wrapped her hands in thick strips of sheet. “I know what to do.”

She just didn’t know if she could. What if she passed out? What if she failed? The quivering started deep inside. She swallowed hard and beat it back. She’d do this because she had no other choice. She thought of Asa, the way he stood up for her. The way he smiled when she lost her temper. The way he treated her, like he actually thought she was fine just the way she was. His tenderness and desire for her. She squeezed the tremors into silence. She would do this.

The blade glowed red. She took a deep breath. She grabbed the handle, stood, and swung around. The room spun. She bit her lip, but the black encroached. Pain seared her hands from the heat. It was enough to help her stay focused. She hurried to the bed. She had to do this right. She didn’t want to do it more than twice.

Clint pulled the sheets back. “Now,” he ordered. “For the count of ten, hold it there.”

She told herself she was just searing meat. She applied the knife. The scent of burned flesh rose with Asa’s howl of agony. It seemed an interminable amount of time before she hit ten. She removed the knife and returned it to the fire.

Black crept further into her vision. She knew she was seconds from passing out. It was too much. All of it was too much. She took a deep breath. The horrible scent filled her nostrils. She barely made it to the basin in time.

When the last of the spasms passed, she turned back to the fire. The knife blade glowed red hot. Ready. She moaned despite herself.

“You all right, ma’am?”

It didn’t matter if she wasn’t. She had to be. “I’m fine,” she responded.

She glanced at Clint. He was definitely green around the edges, but he was hanging in there, holding Asa steady. Doing what had to be done. She could do no less.

“Just one more time,” she breathed. She could do that. One more count of ten and she’d be done.

Clint’s voice was a soft echo. “Just one more time.”

She picked up the blade, welcoming the heat this time against her palms. It gave her something to focus on rather than the suffocating wall of black. Her vision was reduced to a small circle that consisted of the wound she was cauterizing and the blade she was going to do it with. She placed the blade across the wound and resolutely counted through Asa’s low groaning agony and Clint’s swearing. By the time she got to ten, she could barely see.

“Looks good,” Clint declared with obvious relief.

She took a blind step back. “We don’t need to do it again?”

“No.”

The last thing she remembered was asking Clint to take the knife. Then all went mercifully blank.

* * * * *

A week later, Elizabeth came down the stairs to find Bryce, the youngest hand, waiting in the parlor.

“How is Mr. MacIntyre?”

She gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “He’s fine. Almost ready to be up and about to hear him tell it.”

The boy grinned ear to ear. “I bet he’s not much fun laid up.”

If she didn’t murder him by sundown, he’d be fortunate. “What makes you say that?”

“My pa was the orneriest thing on two legs when he got laid up with a busted leg,” the boy added cheerfully. “My ma swore he was going to drive her mad trying to do more before it was time.”

“Mr. MacIntyre is a bit ambitious in his recovery.”

“But he’s going to recover?”

“Oh, yes.” Maybe not from the wounds she’d be inflicting, but from the gunshot, definitely.

“We’re real happy to hear that.”

She assumed he meant the hands by “we”. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah.” He blushed a fiery red that went with his hair. “Mr. McKinnely brought in those brush tails. We figured on keeping them close to home, but we need a big fenced-in area.”

“Why don’t you take that fencing we set aside for the north pasture and put it around the back meadow? If there’s enough posts, we might be able to corral all of them.”

The boy flushed deeper. “That’s a good thought. Do you think Mr. MacIntyre will think so?”

“I imagine so.”

From the way the boy stood there, she assumed he wanted her to go ask. Frustration ate at her innards. What did the boy think Asa was going to say? They had the same materials to work with. The same open amount of land. The same water supplies. He continued to stare. Finally, she said, “I’ll go ask.”

She stomped up the stairs, walked past Asa’s room, and then stopped. There was no way she was going in there. The first question and he’d be struggling out of bed to supervise the construction of the corral. He was nowhere near healed enough, but, like a typical man, he wasn’t hearing that. She waited two more minutes and went back down the stairs.

“Did Mr. MacIntyre agree?”

“It’s a fine idea. Go with it.”

As the boy loped out the door, she told herself it wasn’t strictly a lie. It was a good idea.

“Elizabeth?”

The bellow came from upstairs. She ignored it, went into the kitchen and made up a tray of soup and bread. She added a glass of water. The apple pie, she ignored. The man didn’t deserve any sweets.

As soon as she cleared the top of the stairs, Asa bellowed again.

She shot him an exasperated look as soon as she cleared the door. “You hollered?”

He had the grace to drop his gaze from hers. “Was that Bryce I heard downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Guess there isn’t trouble or it’d be Clint or Old Sam.”

“Exactly,” she agreed.

She had trouble putting the tray down without spilling the soup. Asa, reaching to help, didn’t improve the situation. She blew her hair off her face in exasperation. “Would you stop that?”

“What?”

“Stop trying to help. Stop trying to get out of bed. Stop trying to make yourself sick again!” The last sentence came out as an angry yell.

Asa relaxed against the pillow. He eyed her as if she were some strange new species of animal. A potentially dangerous one. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you shout before.”

She gnashed her teeth and didn’t answer.

“Gotta admit, you don’t sound much like a lady when you do.”

She permitted herself the luxury of glaring at him.

“That’s quite a screech you got there.”

He sounded amused. She contemplated dumping the soup over his head.

“I kind of like it when you let go,” he went on.

“Excuse me?” Pure shock halted the inclination. She slowly lowered the tray.

“Ever since my fever broke, you’ve been marching around here all controlled, doing what’s necessary, nothing more.”

She moved her hands to the soup bowl. “And your problem is?”

“I haven’t even gotten one good morning kiss.”

She tightened her grip. In the midst of her argument with herself that she’d only have to wash the bed linens if she chucked the tray at his arrogant head, she paused as what he said sank in. He was out of sorts because she hadn’t kissed him?

“Clint told me how you cauterized my wound yourself. I’m sorry I carried on as I did. Don’t rightly remember it, but I understand it wasn’t pretty.”

She slowly digested his words. She wondered if he knew she’d fainted like a baby afterwards. “Cauterizing a wound isn’t pleasant,” she agreed.

Red tinted his cheekbones. His gaze locked to something on the hearth. “I wouldn’t have carried on had I been conscious at the time. A man can’t help the way his mind betrays him when he’s out of his head with fever.”

She released her grip on the bowl. He was embarrassed because he’d cried out when she’d put a red hot knife to his flesh?

“Don’t imagine the scar’s none too pretty,” he added, still staring at the fire.

“Are you aware,” she asked, “how close you came to dying?”

At least she’d pulled his attention from the fire. His silver eyes skated around the vicinity of hers. “Understand it was close for a bit.”

“It was more than close.”

“That must have been scary for you.”

It had been more than scary. It had been soul-revealing. Terrifying. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

She couldn’t believe she’d let that sneak out. She’d avoided dealing with that revelation for a week. She’d been avoiding
this
for a week.

The hoarse whisper yanked Asa’s gaze to hers. In their green depths, he saw only a reflection of what she’d endured.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said. “Besides, even if you did lose me to the undertaker, McKinnely would step in and get those cattle to the railroad. Ranch’d be in the black and you’d be sitting pretty.”

The bowl of soup came at him so fast, he didn’t have time to duck. It half-hit the pillow and his face.

“How dare you?”

He wiped his eyes and plucked a piece of chicken out of the corner of one.

Elizabeth stood next to the bed, her chest rising and falling under the force of emotion. “How dare you suggest I wanted you dead!” She threw up her arms. “You come waltzing in here, ruin our deal, play on my honor, and then you lie there suggesting I’m so shallow, one little cry of pain and a new scar is going to drive me away?”

She grabbed the bread. “Not too long ago, you were accusing me of selling you short.” The bread came hurtling at his head. “Let me tell you, Mr. High and Mighty MacIntyre. You may be as handsome as the devil, but you’re a poor example of a husband.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You are! You’re worse than Brent.” The napkin came hurling his way. It landed in a gentle plop on his chest. “You’re worse than my father!”

He felt a small kernel of hope blossom. “How so?”

“At least they never bothered to try to make me love them.” She took one step toward him, then another. “They were content with my cooperation, but not you. You had to have it all.”

“Yup,” he agreed unrepentantly. He watched her carefully. One more step and he’d have her.

Her slap, when it landed on his arm, was gentle. Full of emotion, but guaranteed not to hurt. “You kept pushing for more and now make fun of me when you get it,” she whispered.

“I didn’t make fun of you, darlin’.”

“Yes, you did. You said I hadn’t kissed you.”

He caught her wrist and tugged. “You haven’t.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, stiff-backed and ready to fight now that she’d exposed herself. He touched her hands, then raised his hand to her cheek. “I thought maybe you thought I wasn’t useful to you anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been lying here, trying to figure out why you haven’t been very wifely for the last few days.”

“I’ve been taking care of you!”

“Yeah, I know, and it’s been no different than if McKinnely had done the caring.”

“I beg to differ. McKinnely would have punched you.”

His chuckle sent pain though his ribs. “You threw soup.”

“And now I have to clean it up.” She made to get up.

He anchored her with his grip on her wrist. “Later. I want to explain.”

Her green eyes stared at him. Her lips pursed tight. Her whole demeanor said he’d better make it a good one. “It occurred to me that you married me thinking you were getting a strong man. What happened here a few days ago might have changed your opinion on what you’d married up with.”

“That’s nonsense!”

She looked so outraged, he had to smile. “Just goes to show how addled a man can get when he’s forced to live on gruel.”

“I have not served you gruel.”

“It’s been a long way from steak.”

“Your stomach’s too weak for steak.”

“My stomach’s too weak for gruel.”

She sighed and looked at the mess on the bed. “Well, looks like you’re back to gruel.”

“Uh-huh.” And they made snowballs in hell. He let his fingers flirt with the collar of her shirtwaist. “So you were fretting on losing me, huh?”

“I was concerned.” Her gaze moved to something outside the window.

He smiled, amazed she could sit there so prim and proper while he unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress. The pulse in her throat came into view. It was tapping fast and hard. “Truth be told, darlin’, were our positions switched, I’d have been nervous about losing you, too.”