Savannah was prepared to do battle by acting helpless. She pasted on a smile as Mr. Morrillton climbed from his buggy. That is, until she spotted a weary Lincoln helping a blood-covered Wyatt toward the house.
“Wyatt!” She leaped from the veranda and sprinted toward them. “What happened?”
“We were searching for a cow and her newborn calf when a cougar jumped Mr. Jamison. We need to get him into the house.”
“Of course.” Unmindful of the blood, she propped her shoulder under Wyatt’s other arm. “Irma! Spread a blanket on the sofa. Hot water.” What was she forgetting? If Wyatt died … well, she wouldn’t think about that. With her heart in her throat, they passed a very confounded-looking banker.
“What’s going on here?” He propped fists on his suited hips. “I thought this man was gone.”
“Chew on your hat, Mr. Morrillton, and go back to town.” Savannah stepped onto the first step. “We’ve got you, Wyatt. We’re almost there.”
“I don’t play games, Miss Worthington. You’ll regret this little charade.” He turned and climbed back into his buggy. “Mark my words.”
She’d like to mark him with a riding crop. “Good day, sir.”
They entered the house with Mama and Irma both scurrying to get the needed medical items.
“Not the sofa!” Mama pointed to the kitchen. “The table, please.”
They half carried, half dragged Wyatt to the kitchen and, with the four of them working together, got him on the table. The pallor of his skin made Savannah’s knees weak, and she sagged into a chair.
“Go change, honey. You’re covered in blood.” Mama patted her shoulder on her way past. “Irma and I will patch up Wyatt. We’re going to be removing … some articles of clothing. As an unmarried woman, you don’t need to see.”
Gracious. She’d change, but she’d return pronto. Modesty had no place when the man she loved could be dying. Loved. She never expected that emotion to have a place in her life.
With one last glance at Wyatt’s face, she headed upstairs, hoping, praying, it wasn’t her last look at a living Wyatt. Shedding her stained clothing, she kicked them into a corner of her room and grabbed her plainest housedress. Whether Mama liked it or not, Savannah had every intention of helping nurse Wyatt back to health.
Using what water was left in the basin on her bureau, she cleaned up the best she could, got dressed, and hurried back to the kitchen. The moment she arrived, Mama tossed a towel across certain parts of Wyatt’s anatomy.
“Avert your eyes!”
“Mama, please. I’m no shrinking violet.” Although the heat rushing to her face at the sight of Wyatt’s strong limbs and chest might just kill her. For her sake, and her mother’s, she draped a small blanket over the patient. “There. We’re all safe.”
Irma giggled. “You white people are the strangest things. The trick is not to look at Mr. Jamison as a handsome man right now. He’s a body, something that needs caring for.”
Maybe she could look at him that way, but Savannah sure couldn’t. She wouldn’t see him as anything other than the handsome, viral man he was.
“You … think … I’m handsome … Irma?” Wyatt asked, not opening his eyes.
“I may have jumped the broom with Lincoln, but I’m not blind. Hush, now. We got to stitch you up and it’s going to hurt. Miss Savannah, fetch me the medicinal whiskey, then help hold him down.”
Heavens to Betsy, she was going to have to touch him. Her gaze met Mama’s startled one. Then, Savannah grinned. Mama couldn’t say no when Irma needed her help. Oh, how scandalous, how glorious, how utterly naughty. She knew she would be consumed with embarrassment once Wyatt was on his feet, but that was another day.
During all this, Lincoln had remained quiet. His stoic expression belied nothing other than weariness.
“Lincoln, would you fetch the whiskey from the top shelf?” Savannah asked. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee. You look as if you desperately need a cup. Then, you sit in that chair over there. We’ll fuss over you in a bit.”
“I ain’t never sat down in a white person’s kitchen before.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re all family here.” She patted his arm as he passed. “You very well may have saved Wyatt’s life.”
“If you’re finished making my man uncomfortable, Miss Savannah, I need your help. Sit on his legs. Lincoln, you can’t rest yet. Hand me the whiskey and hold down his shoulders. Mrs. Worthington, you hand me what I need when I need it.” Irma barked orders like an army sergeant.
Mama’s eyes widened, but she stepped closer to the black woman. There were a lot of firsts happening in the Worthington household that morning.
“First we pray.” Irma led them in a simple prayer for God to guide her hands and heal Wyatt. Then she held out her hand for the whiskey. “Open your mouth, Mr. Jamison.”
“You’ve seen me without clothes, Irma. Call me Wyatt. I don’t drink.” He opened one eye.
“Open. Your. Mouth.”
Savannah giggled as he obeyed. Maybe Irma should be the ranch foreman with the way she handed out orders. If Wyatt could argue with her, then he was going to be just fine. She caught sight of the needle in Irma’s hand and grew dizzy. She could not faint! She busied herself with the coffee.
“Child, get back over her.” Irma’s voice cut through her busyness. “Ain’t nobody got time for that. Coffee can wait. Mr. Jamison is losing blood all over the kitchen floor.”
Mercy. Savannah leaned on the counter and focused on her breathing.
“Now, Miss Savannah.”
She nodded and took a deep breath. She climbed onto the table, got a glimpse of the whiskey being poured over Wyatt’s open wounds, and collapsed across his legs. The last thing she heard was Lincoln laughing and saying, “I guess that’ll work for holding his legs.”
Wyatt almost screamed as the whiskey poured over him. He thought he preferred the cat’s bites to the fire burning through him. “Stop, please.”
“Can’t.” Irma continued to pour. “Not going to allow any infection, Mr. Jamison.”
“I can’t move my legs.”
“That’s because Miss Savannah fainted over them.”
“What?” He opened his eyes.
“She’ll be fine. Let’s get you sewed up. Here.” She shoved a leather strap in his mouth. “Should have used this from the beginning.”
The woman was going to kill him. He bit down on the strap and groaned as the needle punctured his skin.
Warmth coursed through him at the thought of Savannah caring so much she would faint to see him in pain. Or maybe it was the whiskey. Either way, he hadn’t taken her for the fainting kind. Maybe he was going to die. He hated Irma to work so hard on saving him if he was going to die anyway.
Irma hadn’t finished stitching the first bite when Wyatt passed out. He woke to find himself on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. A cool sheet covered his body. A body that still didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. Why in tarnation had they stripped him? The cougar bit his shoulder and arm, right? He turned his head to see Irma asleep in a chair.
He cleared his throat. “Irma.”
Her eyes flew open. “Yes sir. You feverish?”
“I’m a bit hot, but not too bad. I, uh … why am I naked?”
“That cat got you in the shoulder, the arm, across the rib cage, and scratched up your thigh real good. It took a while to get you cleaned up.”
“Can I have my clothes now? I’d like to speak to Savannah.” Lord have mercy, she’d been in the kitchen while they’d worked on him. How was he ever going to face her again? “Never mind. I can’t.”
“Pshaw. I’ll get you some tea and company.” She sauntered from the room, muttering about crazy white people.
He must have fallen asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, night had fallen. The only light in the room was a low-burning lamp lighting Savannah’s sleeping face.
He lay there, content to watch her, even though his throat burned with thirst. He’d ruined the plan to get a confession out of Morrillton. What had happened with him, anyway? He vaguely remembered a thinly veiled threat. Well, Wyatt wouldn’t be lying in bed for long. He’d be back out there protecting the people he cared about, especially the woman who had stolen his heart.
Sighing, he stared at the ceiling. Why was he bothering to contemplate a relationship? He had nothing to offer. Just some half-bright ideas to keep the ranch running. What she really needed was money. He lay there like a trussed-up turkey, unable to do a thing. The realization of what couldn’t be weighed on his heart. He would help her get the taxes paid then look for his replacement. Savannah needed a husband. One as good at running a ranch as he was, but one who could offer her financial freedom. He turned his head away from her and went back to sleep.
The next time he woke, Mrs. Worthington sat in the chair. “It’s about time,” she said. “Soup is growing cold.” She shoved a couple of pillows behind his back. “While I feed you, we need to talk.”
“All right.” He grimaced against the pulling of his stitches as he struggled to sit upright. “I can feed myself. It isn’t my right arm that’s in a sling.”
“Very well.” She handed him the tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of soup. “I tasted the tea. It’s vile, but Irma swears it will help you, so drink up or she’ll have my head. She’s a very bossy woman.” She pulled the chair closer to the bed.
“This is a delicate subject.” She twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “But, since my daughter has seen you without apparel, I feel it necessary to save her reputation by the two of you getting married.”
He spit soup down the front of him. “Excuse me? There were no other people there, Mrs. Worthington. Only us and the workers. Who was there to form any opinions?”
“Word gets around. I won’t have my daughter sullied.” She lifted her chin. “Are you adverse to marrying Savannah, or only to marriage in particular?”
A proposition of this sort was the last thing Wyatt expected to hear upon waking. “This is a lot to throw at a man lying in bed, Mrs. Worthington.”
“You are still without apparel, Mr. Jamison. Savannah spent the night in your room!”
“Watching over me as I slept!” Of all the ridiculous—
“Others do not know that.” She crossed her arms. “I have tried to do right by my daughter. I will not stand down now.”
He shoved the tray to the side, spilling some of the soup. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“The idea of marrying my Savannah curdles your stomach?”
“No ma’am. She would make any man very lucky to have her as his wife. My reluctance has nothing to do with her personally.” He met her steely gaze with one of his own. “I have nothing to offer your daughter.”
“Except your name. That alone will keep her reputation intact.”
He exhaled heavily. The woman would not listen to reason. “Mrs. Worthington. Please. I plan on leaving the Rocking W as soon as the taxes are paid. I’m not the type of man to stay in one place. I’ve always compared myself to a tumbleweed, going where the wind blows.”
“Balderdash. I had someone look into your background before I hired you. You may have lost everything in the war, but you come from good lineage.”
Savannah stepped through the door, face pale, eyes brimming with tears. “You’re leaving me?”