The Beholding, page 15
Luke knew there was no returning. His destiny changed forever last night. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be wrong. He wanted to break his word. He wanted to believe the allegations were false. Tess had branded him as surely as if she held a running iron to his hide. An omen had taken his first love from him, and now keeping his own oath threatened to do the same to what might become the love of his life.
Tess had little time to worry whether Luke needed to put distance between them or if he simply relieved Jim from a sense of duty. When she returned to camp, she found Tommie crying in his sleep, clutching his leg as if it pained him greatly. A touch of her hand to his forehead warned he had taken on a fever. When she followed her suspicions and checked his hip and leg, she discovered both inflamed.
I should have been here, she berated herself. What kind of mother left her son alone and traipsed off to the woods? Taking the liniment from her trunk, Tess scooped a glob into her hands and began to massage his leg, working out the pain that made the tiny limb draw up.
How many more days until they reached Denver? Idaho Springs was only a day and a half from there. If she could ward off this current threat to her son’s health, the healing water of the hot springs might relieve him.
Though Jim was obviously tired and needing his sleep, he begrudgingly agreed to drive the wagon while she remained in the back with Tommie. The wind began to stir in midafternoon, blowing hard over the waist-high prairie grass until it bowed in submission. The unbuffered gale shook the schooner’s canvas bows and made an unearthly sound as it passed from one opening in the tarpaulin through another.
Tess stared with dread at the little patch of sky she could see from the back opening, wondering if it brought another week-long shower. Anticipating the storm drained her strength. When Tommie’s leg swelled and pained him so, rain only made it worse.
Late afternoon closed in on them, tightening like a vise. Hot air swirled under the canvas, bringing with it a suffocating grip to the lungs and throat. Dust and grass billowed behind the wagon and danced as the wind whipped dust devils skyward. The mules balked.
Tommie’s eyes took on an unhealthy shine. A paleness settled around his mouth as he began to shiver even in the overwhelming heat. Tess called to Jim, “We have to stop. Tommie’s ill. I’ve got to heat the liniment and wrap him. I need a fire.”
“You see the sky?” Jim hollered back over his shoulder. “With this much wind, we can’t keep a fire going even if there was anything to burn.”
Tess peered over the unforgiving prairie. The day’s journey took them deep into the grasslands. Hours away from even the precious willow which could sustain a fire in wetness. It was too dangerous for Jim to leave them and search for wood, and she couldn’t commandeer the team and care for Tommie. “I’ve got to try. Stop … please.”
The wind shrieked as if laughing at her predicament, but Tess steeled her resolve to defeat it. She searched the interior of the schooner for anything that might burn until her gaze locked on the butter churn. It wouldn’t provide much of a fire, but she had no choice but to try.
Jim pulled back on the reins, instructing the mules to halt. “I’ll unhitch the team so they can graze. Guess I’d better hobble ’em or we’ll lose the lot if that storm acts up.”
Tess dug through her trunk and found an extra cotton chemise. She tore it into one long strip of cloth. Gathering the churn, liniment, one of the blankets and a skillet, she exited out the back of the wagon. Tying two ends of the blanket to the wagon wheel and angling the cloth into a half tent, she formed a barrier to the wind. She set the churn below it and began the difficult task of raising a fire in the swirling wind.
The wood seemed only to darken. Tess’s pulse raced as she willed the image of a reddish blue flare to ignite, enabling her to cook. Moments ticked by, stretching into eternity. Only a thin trail of ash revealed the fire’s birth within the churn. Finally a puff. The blaze flared. The wind challenged, causing the red-blue light to flicker. Another and another flame, and the fire caught and stayed.
“I’ve got it!” she shouted in triumph. Grabbing the skillet, she rested it on the top of the churn and quickly scooped the liniment into it. “Cook fast,” she prayed aloud, her gaze darting between the opening in the tarpaulin and the task at hand. As she strained to hear if Tommie was still moaning, the howl of the wind prevented her from doing so.
The afternoon grew dark as midnight. Flashes of lightning signaled a coming rain. Glimpses of daylight blinked behind ominous clouds spiraling up over the prairie.
“Please don’t pour before this gets hot,” she pleaded. The rain itself would make the healing more difficult. Without the medicinal plaster, Tommie’s fever might rage even more.
In a battle for time, Tess scattered the liniment across the surface of the skillet and hoped thinning the globs would help it warm faster. She felt the heavy oppression of gloomy clouds press down upon her.
“Rider coming!” Jim hollered from inside the wagon.
Tess stole a quick glance and exhaled a sigh of relief. Luke! He would help. Having him near sent a wave of reassurance through her. She stood abruptly to wave him in. Her foot bumped the edge of the churn. Flames licked against the blanket and caught. Tess screamed, grabbing the precious skillet without thinking. As pain seared her hands, she dropped the cast iron in the grass. Some of the liniment splattered onto the ground.
“Fire!” she screamed, stalled by a moment of indecision. Should she protect the liniment or put out the blaze already consuming the blanket and now threatening the wagon? She clutched full skirts with her badly burned palms. Tess gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to pat the fire out with them. “Get Tommie out of there!” she yelled. “The wagon’s on fire.”
Jim appeared at the opening, saw her terror and rushed to help her.
“No, get Tommie!” She fought off his helping hands.
Tess pushed the gambler aside, letting him worry over the wagon. She rushed to the wagon gate, prepared to climb in and get the boy. But before she could put one foot up, Luke appeared over the threshold, cradling Tommie in his arms. The canvas burst into flames above them, beside them, flaring with a heat that made Luke stumble back.
“Nooo!” Tess wailed, groping for them. “Jim, help me. They’re still in there!”
Batting away the flames with one hand, Luke strained for the opening again.
Tess ignored the darting tentacles of fire as she attempted to climb. “Hurry, Luke!” she pleaded. “Hurry!”
Luke lowered the boy into her awaiting arms as the gambler reached up and locked his hands about Tess’s waist, helping her to come aground. She cradled her son and ran from the wagon, far into the prairie. As she turned, the fire consumed the wagon bed.
“Luke!” She watched in horror as he jumped and a long red tongue of flame licked out at his back.
“You’re safe!” Tess whispered, remembering to breathe again. You saved my son. Silently she thanked the bounty hunter limping toward her. Then she remembered the liniment. Tommie was far from safety. “The liniment,” she yelled at Jim, but the gambler kept running for safety. “I forgot the liniment!”
Luke was closer, but could he make it in time? “Tommie needs the liniment, Luke.” She pointed. “In the skillet. By the wheel. Be careful, it’s hot.”
Luke halted and looked back, as if gauging the possibility. He turned and sprinted toward the skillet, his limp making the dash awkward. Just as he reached the place where she had dropped the cast iron, the wagon burst into a horrendous ball of flame, barreling out at him.
Tess screamed as he dove to the ground, and all she saw was a blinding flash of red.
Chapter Fifteen
“Luke!” Tess placed her son gently on the grass and ran as hard as she could toward the bounty hunter. “Don’t die, Luke. Don’t die!”
Raising her hand to shield her face, she approached the leaping flames and peered through the wind-driven smoke. Leaning into the gale, she thought she saw his dark form. He moved! As she struggled closer, Tess’s cheeks stretched taut against the heat. One palm pressed against her mouth to ward off the instant parching of her throat.
“Grab his feet!” the voice behind her commanded.
Jim. “Help me, Jim. I don’t know how badly he’s hurt.”
Each took a legging and yanked as hard as they could. Though he was not heavy, Luke’s weight made the going slow. Tess felt the blood rush to her burned palms as her shoulders strained to keep up with the gambler’s easier effort. A drop of rain spattered her face. Thunder rumbled.
“Pour buckets, damn you,” she cursed the sky, gritting her teeth against the burning pain that weakened her grip. Lightning flashed seconds behind the rumble. Nothing she did would stop the inevitability of a downpour. She could only soothe Tommie. But the rain would drown out the flames and ine oenauiing prevent the chance of starting a prairie fire from which none of them could escape. Another raindrop fell and another, moistening the skin stretched tight by the fire. “Rain!” she demanded again.
Despite the groans emitting from Luke as they dragged him across the grass, every pain he suffered was one less from death. At last they reached a distance far enough away to exchange feet for shoulders. When Tess lowered his leg and rushed to help Jim who already threaded his arms through Luke’s, she discovered the bounty hunter still gripped the skillet in his hands.
“Take that ointment and see to the boy,” Jim instructed her. “I’ve got Reeves.”
Tess checked to make certain the band was still in the pocket of her skirt where she had stuffed it. If in all the commotion she dropped it, the bandaging would be difficult. A quick pat told her the wrapping remained. The rain fell now in sheets. She gathered her skirt hem and used it to reach for the cast iron. Taking the skillet from Luke’s gloved hands, she carefully but swiftly walked to where Tommie lay and placed it beside him. Separating the homespun from the layers of petticoat, Tess tore several pieces of her undergarments and covered the ointment.
As Jim dragged Luke alongside the boy, the bounty hunter shuddered, opened his eyes and sat up. “Is the boy all right?”
“For now.” Tess bent beside Luke, staring at him in wide-eyed concern. Her hands touched him everywhere, checking, reassuring herself he was whole. “Where do you hurt?”
Luke gulped back the words racing to his throat. The swallow felt like thousands of razor strops speeding down his throat and landing in a piercing heap at his chest. “Here.” Panic filled his eyes as he fought to stand.
“Lie down a minute. You’ll be fine.” She took him by the arms and forced him back. “You took in too much smoke.”
“But Tommie—”
“The boy’s not burned. He’s got a fever in his hip and leg. Here now, you lie back like I said.”
Wilting back to the earth, Luke quit resisting and closed his eyes to the memory of heat streaming past him, scorching his hair and brows. Rain spattered his face as Tess and the gambler worked. He opened his mouth to let the moisture soothe his parched throat. Suddenly callused hands cupped both sides of his face. The smallness of the palms revealed they were Tess’s, but why were they so rough? His eyes flashed open and his hands pushed hers back. Blisters formed along the inner folds, blood streamed where the rain hit them. He sat up. “My God, what happened?”
“I burned them,” Tess stated the obvious as she blinked away the tears threatening to reveal how much her hands hurt. “Will you be all right? Jim’s going to round up the mules while I look after Tommie.”
“Not until I doctor your hands, you aren’t.” Luke slowly got to his feet, but a wave of dizziness made him unsteady.
Tess clutched to hold him still, gasping from the pain of contact
“Will you quit being so damned helpful?” Luke pushed her hand away. But seeing the pain well in her eyes, he knew he’d been too abrupt with her. “Look, I just mean to quit worrying about taking care of me. We need to see to your hands before you can help any of us. Here, take this.”
Luke shucked his buckskin shirt and offered it to Tess. The effort made his breath come uneasily. “Must’ve sucked in a lot of smoke, but it’s easing already. Take this and let me have the boy.”
“What are you going to do?” Her brows angled in puzzlement.
“Keep the underside of that bottom down and the rain won’t soak through the top. When we saddle up, I’ll carry the boy with me and we’ll drape the buckskin over him. That ought to keep out the rain or a bunch of it.” Gratitude rounded the sea-green eyes staring back at him.
“Thank you, Luke. For… everything.”
“Don’t thank me till we’ve got you both well.” He took her arm and urged Tess toward the boy. Lifting the pieces of undergarments protecting the liniment, he found the ointment still warm. He cupped as much as he could and demanded, “Lift your hands.”
“Don’t use too much,” Tess warned. “I’ve wasted so much already.”
The ointment soothed and wanned, not nearly as hot as it needed to be to comfort Tommie. “Hurry, Luke. It’s getting cold.”
Luke’s fingers circled her palms, bringing ease to the blistered skin, sending heat of another kind up her arm to settle into every pore. “Enough.” She pulled away from his comfort and the impulse to give in to his touch. Tommie’s good health depended on her.
Like a sinner being chased by the hounds of purgatory, Tess stripped her son of the rain-soaked nankeens. She cupped the barely warm salve in her hands and let it stream over his hip and leg. Despairing at the cold white chill that beaded the surface of his skin, she began to rub his leg briskly only to discover the fever beneath.
“My y-yeg,” he sobbed. “You h-hurt my yeg. It hurts, Mommie. It hurts real bad.”
“It’ll be better soon, darling,” she crooned, but he pulled away.
“No, I want Yuke. Mista Yuuuuke!”
“Luke’s here, but he’s sick too.”
“Yeave me ayone.”
In spite of his fevered anger, Tess forced his hands down. He began to sniffle and cry for Luke. Her heart felt pierced to the core. Jealousy urged her to awkwardly touch his hair, but Tommie shied away even from that tentative touch.
“Tommie?” Luke stood beside her now, looking large and protective. No wonder her son had called to him. Didn’t she rely on that same strength? Didn’t he always manage to see them through? She envied her son in that moment, for the unequivocal love he and the bounty hunter shared.
“He wants you.” Fighting the struggle within more than the effort to lift her child into Luke’s arms, Tess lost the battle to keep the jealousy from her tone.
Luke gladly accepted the boy as Tommie clung to him and buried his face into the bounty hunter’s neck. “Don’t cry, Tommie. It’s all right, son. Hush now.” Terror filled Luke. The heat beneath his touch assured him that if they didn’t get the boy dry and out of this rain, everything would not be fine.
Tommie clung to Luke’s neck like a lifeline, weighing next to nothing. Luke swallowed hard against the emotion building in his sore throat, but the lump refused to budge. He tried to clear it as Tommie began to shudder. “Shh! Shh now. I’ve got you, son. Don’t cry anymore.”
His hand pressed over the small back, feeling each heaving sob. Looking helplessly past the blond head at Tess, he noticed a glint of tears shimmering in her eyes. “Give me that buckskin and help Daggert get those mules. Tell him to hurry!”
She handed Luke the shirt, then turned. Luke watched as she raced over the slick grass, nearly stumbled, found her footing, then raced on. If Olivia had been half the mother Tess Harper was, maybe … Luke refused to finish the thought, shaking it off as a product of the emotional turn of events.
Time crept by as the rain continued to pour. But as he had hoped, the buckskin kept the child fairly dry. Luke stuck the injured leg into one of the sleeves so the liniment would remain dry and threaded one arm through the other. The rest of the shirt wrapped around Tommie like a cocoon. Luke had dropped his hat somewhere near the wagon when he had first seen Tess beating out the flames on the blanket. Maybe when they rounded up the mules, Tess or Daggert would find the hat, and then he could shield the rain from Tommie’s face.
As Luke peered into the distance, ignoring the cold that tightened his bare torso and shoulders, a shot rang out. From the same direction Tess had taken. Don’t let there be trouble, he hoped reverently. Not now. Luke raced toward the schooner’s burned-out hull. At least it offered some protection from the stark prairie. Through the graying shadows, two mules emerged ridden by Tess and Daggert. But where were the horses? “Did you hear the shot?”
“One of the mules broke its leg trying to run,” Daggert informed him. “Had to put it out of its misery.”
“The other?”
“Couldn’t find hide nor hair of it. Seems kind of strange—there’s no place for it to go. Couldn’t catch the horses.” Jim pushed his hat down over his eyes, letting the rain drizzle from its brim..
“Mule’s probably down somewhere. Couldn’t find it in this high grass unless you know exactly where it fell. My guess is the horses will hitch up with Chisholm’s remuda. We’ll make do with Jack and Jenny till we find the herd.”
Luke’s gaze locked onto Jim’s hat. “We need to shield the boy’s face from the rain. He’s fairly dry otherwise. I’d be obliged if you’d give me your hat.”
Jim hesitated, making Luke wonder if the man had any common decency inside him. Finally the gambler relented and handed over his hat. “He gonna be all right?”
Luke nodded. “Soon as I saddle up and we can get him to Chisholm’s camp. Hope they got a dry spot, ’cause the boy’s gonna need it.”
He started to hand Tommie to Tess, but the child complained. “Guess you better ride with Jim.” Luke patted the child. “Your mama’s going to hold you until I get mounted, then she can hand you back to me. Won’t you, Mom?”
