The ragged edges of the wound were covered with dirt and blood. As she cleaned it, fresh blood oozed out and thickened into globs. Jayne swallowed hard, holding back nausea. She’d never taken care of an injured person. Never even entered a sick room. But she would take care of this injured man. It was her responsibility, no matter how tight her lungs grew or how hard her pulse banged behind her eyes.
“Take the wet cloth and sponge away more of the dirt,” Linette said.
She dabbed at the dirt and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Another step on her journey to move beyond a pampered young lady who couldn’t take care of herself or help others.
“You need to scrub a little harder to get the dried stuff,” Linette said.
She rinsed the cloth clean and tackled the job again. When she’d finished the area around the wound, she turned to Linette. “What about the blood?”
“Clean right to the edges.” Linette leaned past Jayne’s shoulder to inspect the job. “Good. You’ve got it nice and clean. Now we need to use antiseptic on it.” Linette handed her a small container marked carbolic acid.
“Won’t it hurt?” she whispered to Linette.
“For a moment or two. But it’s necessary.”
Jayne turned to Seth. Knowing whatever pain he endured was her fault tore at her innards. “I’m going to use antiseptic. Linette says it might sting.”
Gritting her teeth at what she must do, she splashed the carbolic in the wound.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the bed. His eyes caught and held hers. The dark, pain-filled look brushed a tender spot inside her.
“I’m sorry.” Her hands trembled as she set aside the bottle.
Sweat covered his brow.
She grabbed a towel from the stack nearby and dabbed at his forehead, which provided her plenty of opportunity to study him. He was big. She’d noticed that as he’d hobbled up the stairs at Eddie’s side. He had a thatch of dark—almost black—hair in need of a good combing. His hazel eyes, although clouded with pain, held her gaze in a steady grip.
She turned from her musing as Linette handed her dressing material. As she placed a pad over his wound and wrapped strips to secure it, she was aware of him watching her and longed for words to assure him she had nothing but his well-being in mind.
“I truly regret that you must suffer for my ineptness.”
“You’re doing fine.” The hoarse words grated on her heart.
She’d meant shooting him, but he’d taken it to mean her ministrations. “I’m doing my best.”
“I’ll get you a clean shirt,” Linette said. “Yours could do with a good scrubbing.” She slipped from the room.
Jayne turned to meet Seth’s gaze. “I very much regret that I am responsible for your pain.”
He studied her for a moment. “Who did you see shot to death?”
His question jolted through her, bringing all the memories of that day forward in a flash. “My fiancé, Oliver.” She twisted the towel she held, knotting her fingers into the material.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He lifted his hand and caught her fingers. His hand was large, work-hardened and steadying.
She tore her gaze from their linked hands and stared into his eyes. Her imagination read a dozen things into his gaze—comfort, concern, perhaps even the offer of protection.
She jerked her eyes away and stepped back from the bed to hang the towel over the back of the chair. The last thing she wanted was to be taken care of by anyone. “I’ll be fine on my own.” Her words were firm, almost as if daring him to think otherwise.
“No doubt you shall.” He sounded dismissive. And why not? He had no reason to concern himself with her and she didn’t want it.
Linette returned with a clean shirt and helped Seth slip out of his dirty one. “It’s a spare. Eddie has gone to tend your horse and get your things,” Linette said. “In the meantime rest and allow the bleeding to stop. We’ll be back in a bit to see if it has.”
Jayne followed Linette down the stairs and into the kitchen. She glanced about and let out a relieved sigh when she saw Sybil and not Eddie. She did not want to face her brother and once more insist she meant to do certain things that he might not consider appropriate for a proper, genteel young lady fresh from England. His concern about her behavior was at such odds with the free rein he gave Linette. He didn’t protest her doing all sorts of things Father would have objected to. Perhaps that was the difference. He didn’t have to answer to Father for Linette’s actions.
She dumped out the red-tinted water. No doubt Father would be shocked that she’d dirtied her hands in such a fashion. But with or without the approval of the men in her family, she meant to be more than a pretty fixture in some fancy house. She’d prove she was capable, though she wondered if anyone would ever believe it. Eddie didn’t think she needed to learn to protect herself because someone else would do it. Not many years past, her father didn’t think there was any reason for her to continue her studies because once she was married, Oliver would expect her to run his home and provide him with children. Other than that, she’d sit around the house doing needlework and looking content, eager for nothing more than for her husband to return and favor her with a smile.
As for Oliver, well, she’d proven she was of no use to him.
But she’d sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, crossed the hills and rivers and mosquito-ridden land of most of North America for the chance to start over. And to be a person who could take care of herself.
“Is he going to live?” Sybil asked.
Before she could reply, Linette spoke up. “He’ll be fine so long as he doesn’t get an infection in his wound.” She turned to Jayne, squeezing her arm. “This might be the perfect thing for you.” Her smile was gentle. “You couldn’t help Oliver but you can help this man. You’ll need to check his dressing in a couple of hours. If the wound stops bleeding he’ll doubtlessly be wanting to leave. But until it does, he needs to keep still.”
Jayne nodded. Linette was right. This was her chance to atone not only for what she’d done to Seth but what she’d failed to do for Oliver.
She’d grabbed his soiled trousers and shirt as they left the room. “I’ll wash these and mend them.” At least she had a certain amount of skill with needle and thread.
“There’s a tub and washboard hanging on the side of the house,” Linette said. “Scrub out the blood in cold water. I’ll heat water so you can give them a good wash.”
She went out to the back step, filled the tub with water and plunged the trousers and shirt into it. Though she’d never used a scrub board, she’d seen maids using one. Mimicking their actions, she rubbed the soiled shirt and pants up and down the ridges.
Mercy came around the corner of the house as she worked. “Do you remember the young cowboy named Cal?”
“I met him the first day when Eddie took us around and introduced us.” Good. With repeated rubbing across the scrub board, the blood came out, staining the water a muddy brown.
“He says he’ll teach me how to ride.”
“You already know how to ride.”
Mercy made a dismissive noise. “Side saddle. I’m going to learn to ride astride.”
Jayne straightened to give Mercy her full attention. “Mercy Newell, have you taken leave of your senses? Your parents will be shocked.”
Mercy’s merry laugh said enough but she spoke her mind, as well. “Who is going to tell them? Besides, I intend to enjoy every opportunity for adventure this trip offers.”
Jayne sighed. It was useless to try and dissuade Mercy. Besides, who was she to say what was safe and proper for anyone? If she were to listen to the voices around her, she would continue to be who she’d always been and she had already decided against that. She returned to scrubbing the clothing.
Mercy studied her for a long, quiet moment. “Why are you washing his clothes? Can’t he take them with him and tend to them himself? I understand he’ll only be here a few hours.” She tipped her head from one side to the other as she studied Jayne. “Does this have something to do with Oliver?”
Jayne didn’t bother trying to hide her shudder. “I shot some poor passing cowboy.” As she talked, something became clear. “But no, this isn’t about Oliver. It’s about me.”
Mercy wrapped an arm about Jayne’s shoulders and drew her close. “You can do it.”
Linette brought out hot water and helped Jayne fill the tub. “Here’s the soap.” At least her sister-in-law understood Jayne’s need to exert more control in her life. From what she’d heard, Linette had much the same desire when she came west. She said her first hurdle had been convincing Eddie she could be a pioneer wife. Her second had been making him understand he needed such.
A few minutes later Jayne had the shirt and pants pegged to the clothesline. They would dry quickly in the warm sunshine with a breeze to aid the process.
* * *
Seth jerked awake as Jayne entered the room. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Only to rest for a few minutes. He’d glanced at his dressing earlier. It had grown pink, which meant he was still bleeding. How much blood had he lost? Enough to make him feel weak. Not a state he liked.
Jayne moved to the side of the bed and folded back the sheet covering his leg. Her eyes softened with concern. “I’ll have to change the dressing. It’s blood soaked.”
He nodded. “Fix it up as best you can. I can’t afford to lie about.”
“What’s your big rush? I thought cowboys came and went and did pretty much as they pleased.” She folded back the dressing as she talked. Her cool fingers on his skin made it possible to ignore the pain as she uncovered his wound.
He sat up on his elbows to study it. “Is there an exit hole?”
“Yes. Linette checked for it earlier.”
He fell back on the pillow. “Well, that’s good news. And the bullet missed the bone.”
“This would never have happened if Eddie would have given me shooting lessons.”
“Why doesn’t he? Seems it would be the wisest thing to do.”
A quick smile curved her lips. “He doesn’t see it that way. Seems he still sees me as his little sister whom he was taught to protect.” She shook her head. “I keep telling him I don’t want to be protected anymore.” Despite the determined tones of her words, her voice remained calm, the English accent soft and soothing. Like the song of a dove.
“How long have you been here?” Then lest she think he meant this room he added, “At the ranch.”
“My friends and I arrived a few days ago. Mercy, Sybil and myself.”
Three unmarried young women in the Northwest Territories. They would draw men from every direction within a hundred-mile radius, if not more. Especially Miss Jayne. The light from the window next to the bed settled in her hair like a net. Brown was such a flat word for the richest color of hair he’d ever seen.
“We left England for various reasons,” she was saying. “Sybil’s parents are both dead and she longed to get away from her memories. Mercy lives for excitement. The whole trip has been one big adventure for her.” She eased his leg up so she could wrap strips of cloth about it. “That ought to take care of it for now.” She stepped back.
Pain pulsed in the wound. He wanted to ask her to press her fingers to the spot. Her touch would ease the hurt. He turned to her, then thought better of his foolishness. “And you came to forget about Oliver.”
Her expression hardened. “I will never forget. Nor do I want to.” She fluttered a hand. “Not that I wouldn’t gladly erase the images from my mind. But I don’t want to forget the helpless feeling I had as I stood back not knowing what to do.” She curled her hands in a gesture that suggested resolve.
Resolve was good but not when it was combined with stubbornness and refusal to listen to wise counsel. And he had already learned enough about Jayne to know in her case, it was. Despite her brother’s warnings she’d gone ahead and shot a gun. Shouldn’t the accidental shooting have persuaded her to abandon her idea of learning to shoot without a proper teacher?
She was a dangerous woman to know or be around. The kind that left others to bear the consequences of her choices. In this instance, he was the unfortunate one to pay for her recklessness. His jaw tightened as he thought of the burden her stubbornness placed on others.
He stared up at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“Almost supper time.”
He sighed heavily. “I really need to get on the trail.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I got a pa who needs me. He’s all I have.”
Her smile softened her expression and made her eyes dance. “He’s expecting you?”
He tried to think how to answer her question. Yes, Pa was expecting him, though not likely with the generous welcome she appeared to imagine.
Taking his silence for denial of her question, her eyebrows rose. “You’re planning a surprise? How nice. How long since you’ve seen each other?”
“Not exactly a surprise, though he isn’t likely expecting me. I joined a cattle drive four months ago and haven’t seen him since.”
Sympathy darkened her eyes. “Well, then of course you’re anxious to see him, but will a day or two make any difference? Especially if your leg needs the rest?”
“It’s not just my pa.” Shoot, he might as well tell the whole story. “My pa had a stroke five months ago. It left him crippled on one side and barely able to speak.” As he talked the memory of the situation tightened his throat. “I will never forget finding him alone and helpless.”
She patted his shoulder. “I think he wasn’t the only one who felt helpless. I think you did, too.”
He nodded. Held her gaze. Maybe she understood because of her own helpless feeling of watching her fiancé die. “The doctor said there were new treatments. Some patients had been having good success with manipulation of the paralyzed limbs. I would do anything to help my pa so I arranged to hire one of these people who do that. A man by the name of Crawford would care for my pa for a price, and put him through the exercises. In order to pay for his services, I joined a cattle drive. I paid him what I could up front and promised to deliver the rest at the end of the drive.”
“Surely a day or two won’t change that.”
“I don’t know. Our agreement was for three months but our drive ran into trouble crossing the Oldman River. Crawford drove a hard bargain. I sent a letter a few days ago saying I’d be there in a week. I don’t expect he’ll give me much leeway in my arrival time.” He sat up on his elbows and checked for his boots. They were there but his pants and shirt were missing. Never mind them. Eddie would find his clothes in the saddlebags. “I need to get there. I don’t want to put my pa’s health at risk. But more than that, I want to see for myself how Pa is.”
“You said he was all you have left. Your ma is dead?”
He nodded. “She passed away a few years ago.” She’d been ill a few days before he’d gone away on a job but she assured him she was fine. “Go on and do what you need to do,” she’d said. “I’ll be here when you get back.” She’d been there sure enough. In a pine box. He shouldn’t have left her knowing she’d been ill. Pa said he didn’t realize she was so sick. Seth knew even if he had, Pa wouldn’t have sought medical help. He didn’t think doctors had anything to offer. If Seth had been there he would have taken her to a doctor. She might still be alive.
“I’m sorry about your mother and I respect your anxiety about your father but it seems to me you better let your leg stop bleeding so you can get on your way without fear of dying on the trail.” She shuddered. “This is all my fault.”
No getting around that fact and yet he wanted to reassure her. But what could he say? “It was an accident.” His words offered little comfort to her and certainly didn’t provide an excuse in his mind. Accidents were usually the result of foolhardy choices and as such could, with a little common sense, be prevented.
“If I could ride I would deliver your money myself. I’d make sure your pa was cared for in the best possible way. I’d do it myself.”
Seth held back a protest. But he wasn’t sure she was the kind of person he’d send to care for his pa.
Fire filled her eyes. “See, that’s what’s wrong with being helpless. I need to learn to ride like a Western woman.”
He chuckled. “It’s a long ride for anyone not used to the saddle.” She’d be off the horse and leading it before she’d gone twenty miles. The idea tickled him clear to his toes.
She smoothed the sheet over him then poured a cup of water and offered it. Her cool fingers brushed his. Such fine, soft fingers. Evidence that she’d led a privileged life. Hardly the sort of woman to shoot a gun, or ride a horse, or do many of the things required of women in the west. Yet she seemed determined. And some things she needed to know, like starting a fire in the stove, or practical things like that, but where was her common sense? Even if she thought she needed to know how to shoot a gun, there was a reasonable way to do it and a bullheaded way. His leg was evidence that she’d chosen the latter, unwilling to bide her time for proper instruction.
He knew the risks of people who didn’t listen to common sense. He lived daily with the consequence. He scrubbed at his chin, vaguely aware he needed a shave.
“Linette said if your wound was still bleeding you should continue to rest. You have lost a lot of blood already. I don’t know how much a person has to lose.” She shuddered. “Seems like a lot.”
He wondered if she meant Oliver. Had she watched him bleed to death?
She sucked in air and appeared to dismiss whatever thoughts shivered up and down her spine. “She says she’ll provide you a tray so you can eat in bed.”
“Eat in bed? No way. Only invalids and weak women take their meals in bed.” He was neither.
“That’s just your pride speaking. If it means your leg would stop bleeding, shouldn’t you be willing to do it so you can resume your journey?” She sounded so reasonable that he felt like a small child having a pout.
“Very well. I’ll take supper in bed.” He held up his hand to make sure she understood. “But only this once so my leg will stop bleeding.”
She patted his shoulder. “One meal in bed won’t make you a permanent invalid.”
How could he protest when she sounded so reasonable? Pride was a foolish emotion that he had never struggled with before, and now it had reared its ugly head. He didn’t like it.
“I’ll be back later. Try and rest.” She slipped from the room.
He stared at the ceiling. He curled and uncurled his fingers and lay as still as possible, willing the bleeding to stop. Only common sense kept him in this bed. Like Jayne said, he didn’t want to die at the side of the trail. That would not help Pa. But being sensible had never before been so hard.
Please make the bleeding stop. Help me get there in time. He didn’t know if God had a mind to listen to a prayer from a cowboy with little faith. God sure hadn’t listened to any prayer from him in the past, but Ma had often counseled him to “cast all your cares on God.” He’d done little of it in the past but he was powerless at the moment to do anything else. Guess he had nothing to lose by casting.
Maybe he should ask for a hedge around Jayne while he was at it. Seems she’d need divine protection, as would everyone around her if she meant to blindly pursue her own plans despite the risks.
Seemed to him people should consider the dangers involved before they blindly followed their own path.