Roman watched the rise and fall of her big full breasts. “Come here,” he said, his voice brimming with the sound of his sensual intentions.
She remained exactly where she stood, beside the chair Miss Fowler had occupied. “How much whiskey did you consume?”
“Sixty-four and a half bottles. Now come here.”
At his gross exaggeration, given in the face of her dilemma, her anger rose. “I am leaving Singing Creek.” She heard the fury in her own voice, but saw that it had little effect on Roman. The man had stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes!
“Yeah, we’ll leave in just a minute,” he muttered, his head beginning to pound with the aftereffects of whiskey. “Start getting your things together.”
The next sound she heard from him was a snore that reverberated throughout the room. As if meted out by the swing of an ax, rage cut through her with such force, she almost lost her breath.
Within ten minutes she had all her belongings packed. In ten more minutes she had several hotel employees carry her baggage downstairs. The wait for her horse and wagon to be delivered to the hotel entailed another ten minutes.
Half an hour after Roman began to snore, Theodosia headed out of town.
Roman damnedthe blackness ofthe night. With no moonlight to guide him, he couldn’t find a hint of Theodosia’s trail. Self-condemnation and apprehension clawing at his insides, he continued heading southwest, which was the direction the Singing Creek stableman said Theodosia had taken. As he traveled through the heavy night mist, he called out her name, but to no avail.
He traveled for the rest of the night, and when dawn unveiled no sign of her, a stream of curses left the taste of rust in his mouth. Turning Secret around, he rode a little over five miles before spotting wagon tracks. A sprinkling of sunflower seed hulls assured him he’d located Theodosia’s trail, and an hour later he found her asleep beneath the buckboard.
He’d come upon her not a second too soon.
Red wolves circled silently around the wagon, their noses to the ground. Several crept within a few feet of where she lay, while others slunk toward her horse, who remained hitched to the wagon with his reins looped over a mere sassafras sapling.
Roman realized instantly that if he shot at the wolves, he would frighten the horse, who was already showing signs of panic. If the mustang chose to bolt, the slender tree trunk and supple branches would bend, and the reins would slip right over them. The wagon would then run over Theodosia.
The sole way to keep that from happening was to catch the horse before the steed understood what was happening. Speed was of the essence.
And speed flowed from Secret’s very soul. In the next instant, the tremendous gray stallion responded to his master’s command and sprang forward.
As his horse raced directly toward the wolves, Roman had never been so glad for the trust the steed had in him.
Most of the wolves scattered, but the braver animals stayed to defend their prey. His eyes on the mustang, his senses trained on the snarling wolves, Roman leaped out of the saddle and grabbed the mustang’s bridle before the horse had a chance to escape. Drawing his Colt, he prepared to shoot the wolves.
But before he could fire the first shot, the mustang began to rear. Lifted off the ground by the terrified horse’s actions, Roman could barely keep the wagon from moving, much less aim his gun accurately.
Dammit, he couldn’t shoot! The hungry wolves skulked too close to Theodosia, and he refused to take the risk of hitting her with a stray bullet. Doing his best to keep the rearing mustang still, he shot into the air, kicking pebbles and shouting at the hungry wolves.
Coming out of a dead sleep, Theodosia became wide awake, and a terrible scream came from her throat. Her heart pounding with fear, her mind swimming with confusion, she sat straight up, forgetting she was beneath the wagon. The moment her head crashed into the hard wood, a dizzying pain dulled her senses, and darkness fell before her eyes. The last thing she understood before she lost consciousness was that someone was shouting her name.
“Theodosia!” Roman yelled again. He’d heard her scream, but because of her spot beneath the wagon, he couldn’t see her. Horrified over the possibility that she might have been bitten, he threw his empty gun toward the cluster of slinking wolves.
The largest of the wolves howled with pain, and its tail tucked beneath its legs, it turned and ran into the grove of oak and pecan trees. When the other wolves followed suit, Roman realized he’d struck the leader of the pack.
Only moments after the animals fled, the mustang began to calm. Roman let out a long shrill whistle that brought Secret cantering out of the woods. The stallion stopped in front of the mustang. Counting on Secret’s presence to further soothe the mustang and keep it from running, Roman lunged toward the wagon and threw himself beneath it. His action upset John the Baptist’s cage, but he paid little attention to the mishap.
“Oh, God,” he whispered upon getting his first close look at Theodosia and the blood that oozed from a wound to her temple.
Carefully, he slipped her out from beneath the buckboard, then scooped her into his arms. Her body flowed over his arms as if something hot had melted her over them. Fighting back a rush of alarm, Roman carried her to the edge of the woods and laid her down on a soft bed of dew-moistened leaves.
Judging by the large red bump that swelled near her temple, Roman knew she had not been bitten by a wolf. She’d hit her head, probably by sitting up beneath the wagon.
He found no further injuries and quickly set about building a huge fire, knowing that if the wolves remained near, the flames would keep them at bay. After retrieving the few medical supplies he kept in his saddlebag, he proceeded to tend to Theodosia’s wound.
Her head in his lap, he bathed the injury with clean water while boiling a pan of witch hazel leaves over the fire. A short while later, when the witch hazel had cooled, he drenched the wound with the pungent astringent, relieved that the soothing liquid promptly began to reduce the swelling.
But when Theodosia remained unconscious, his worry returned. Continuing to keep her forehead moist with cool water, he held her close. “Theodosia, wake up. Wake up now, Theodosia.”
His anxiety mounted when she did not respond. Quickly, he unbuttoned the back of her bodice, pulled her gown down to her waist, and emptied his canteen upon her chest.
