Page 11 of Texas Splendor
She had sold all her animals except for one cow and a few chickens. She heard his horse snort and saw it standing in the distant stall. Using the lantern to light her way, she peered in the stalls she passed until she reached the stallion, secured in the driest area of the barn. How could a man who placed his horse above himself be a murderer?
Holding the lantern higher, she gazed inside the stall. The horse nudged her shoulder. “Where is your owner?”
The animal shook his head.
“You’re a big help.” She turned at the sound of a low moan. The glow from the lantern fanned out to the opposite stall, revealing a man curled against the corner, lying on his side, knees drawn up, arms pressed in close against his body. She eased toward the stall. “Mr. Leigh, I brought you some quilts.”
His only response was a groan. Stepping inside the stall, she noticed that his clothes were soaked and he was visibly trembling. Hugging the quilts, she knelt beside him. Tiny rivulets of water ran down his face. He had removed the vest that he’d been wearing earlier and tucked it beneath his head. His drenched shirt hugged his body, outlined the curve of his spine, the narrowness of his back. “Mr. Leigh?”
Slowly he opened his eyes. “Miss Grant, I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you?” He released a short laugh. “You don’t trust me because I’ve been in prison. A man makes choices in his life, and he’s gotta learn to live with them. But he doesn’t always know what those choices are gonna cost. It’d help if we knew the price before we made the decision.”
The anguish reflected on his face, limned by the lantern light, made her want to draw him within her arms, to comfort him as she had her brother when he was a boy. It had never occurred to her that he would be offended if she took his weapons. She wished she could have overlooked them, but he had worn the gun so easily. “I’m sorry.”
His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You didn’t send me to prison. Did that to myself.” He raised up on an elbow and leaned toward her, the smile easing into oblivion. “You know the worst part? The loneliness. You ever get lonely, Miss Grant?”
“All the time,” she whispered as she set the lantern aside, shook out a quilt, and draped it over his back. Shaking as he was, the warmth of his body surprised her. She pressed her hand against his forehead. “My God, you’re hot. Are you ill?”
“A man didn’t think my five years in prison was a just punishment. He thought I should pay with my life. He cut me across my back. I think it might be festering.”
“We need to get you into the house so I can look at it.”
“Wouldn’t be … proper.”
Curiosity sparked within her, making her wonder at the circumstances that had caused a man who worried about her respectability to commit murder. People appeared to kill with little provocation: a card skimmed from the bottom of the deck instead of the top, a small half-truth that blossomed into an ugly lie.
“I thank you for your concern over my reputation, but no one’s around to notice.” Grabbing his arms, she struggled to get him to his feet. Groaning, he staggered forward before catching his balance. She picked up the lantern. “Lean on me,” she ordered.
“I’ll crush you.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
He slung an arm over her shoulders, and she locked her knees into place.
“I’m heavier than I look,” he said, his voice low, but she almost thought she heard a smile hidden within it.
She slipped her arm around his waist. “Come on.”
The quilt fell from his shoulders, wedged between their bodies, and trailed in the mud as they trudged toward the house. The wind howled, slinging the stinging rain sideways. The porch eaves couldn’t protect them from the merciless storm. She let go of the man and released the latch on the door. The wind shoved the door open, nearly taking her arm with it. She pulled on Austin Leigh. “Get inside!”
He stumbled into the house. She followed him, slammed the door, and jammed the bolt into place, imagining she heard the wind howl its protest. Digger lifted his head, released a small whine, and settled back down to sleep.
Loree stared at the man standing in her house, wondering what in the world she thought she was going to do with him now. He looked ready to collapse at any moment. She set the lantern on the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”
He obeyed, hunching his shoulders and wrapping his arms around himself. She stepped behind him and cringed when she saw the brown stain on the back of his shirt. She might have noticed it earlier if he hadn’t been wearing a vest.
“Let’s get your shirt off.” With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt, pulled the ends free of his trousers, and worked the clinging shirt off his body. Then she studied the long jagged pus-filled gash. Red irritated flesh surrounded it, and she wondered briefly how he had managed to chop her wood. “I’m going to have to lance it. Let’s get you into bed.”
She helped him to his feet. He followed without complaint as she led him into her bedroom. “Can you finish undressing yourself?” He stood, enfolded in silence. She cradled his roughened bristled cheeks between her hands. Images of doing the same thing to her father just before she had kissed him good night as a child swamped her. “Listen to me. You have to get out of these wet clothes and into bed. Can you do that?”
He gave a short nod as though even that was too much effort.
“Good.” She hurried to the closet, pulled out a towel, and tossed it on the bed. “You can use that to dry off. I’m going to prepare some hot salt water to draw out the infection after I’ve lanced it. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She slipped out of the room, clicking the door closed.
Austin dropped onto the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots, grimacing as the pain assaulted him. He should have realized his back was festering and sought out a doctor before now, but clearing his name had made everything else seem insignificant.
