If her father was so greedy, why had he sent so much money to her mother all those years?Why would he build a school?Why would he help so many others in trouble, as the people of Casey Springs had said?
But there was still that nagging worry about Rafe Tyler.The mere thought that he might be wounded or hurt was unexpectedly devastating.
She smelled something burning and looked down.The bacon was black, curling up.Her mind still occupied with the enigmatic Rafe Tyler, she reacted instinctively and grabbed the handle of the pan, heat scorching her hand.
She dropped the pan, and grease went splattering over her dress, splashing on bare skin.
“Damn,” Clint Edwards said, moving swiftly toward her.He took her hand; the skin was already turning white.
Shea held her wrist with her other hand as the agony deepened, roaring up her arm.She felt tears form in her eyes from the pain.
“Is there water?”Clint Edwards asked.
She nodded toward the bucket of water Rafe had left for her, and Clint led her over to it.She slowly lowered her hand into it, wincing as she did so, but she made no cry at all.
“It will be all right,” he said.“Shouldn’t be any scarring, but it’s going to hurt like hell for a while.Damn, I wish there was some salve.”
Shea wished the hand would just stop hurting.She wished she could go home.But she had no home any longer, she reminded herself.
A thought suddenly occurred to her.“Can we get a doctor?”
“No, but I’ll bring some salve.”A glint of admiration shone in his eyes.“For now keep it in the water.”
Shea recalled the brand on Rafe’s hand, and she knew her pain must be very small compared to what he had suffered.She couldn’t even bear to think about that.
Instead, she closed her eyes and let the tepid water soothe her hand.Her right hand.Her drawing hand.She tried to move her fingers and winced.She glanced up, catching Clint’s gaze on her.
“When will … your friend be back?”She still felt awkward calling her kidnapper “Rafe.”Or “Tyler.”Or anything else that had the slightest hint of intimacy.
“This afternoon.”
“You sound very sure of that.”
“I am,” he said with irritating sureness.“How is your hand feeling now?”
“Terrible.”
“Perhaps some mud might help.Want to go down to the stream?”
Shea wasn’t sure she wanted to leave the bucket of water, the little relief it gave her, but getting outside the cabin sounded good.She took her hand from the water.It was still agonizingly painful.She looked at the frying pan on the floor as Clint turned toward the door.He had forgotten it!
His back was to her, so she nudged the pan with her foot until it was under the cot, just out of sight.
Murmuring a small prayer under her breath, she followed Clint out the door.
Chapter 12
Shea tried to read.But she couldn’t concentrate on the book with her hand continuing to throb.Clint had left hours earlier, promising to return with salve later that day.She had tried to convince him not to lock her back in the cabin, but though regretful, he was immovable.He had, however, done everything he could to make her comfortable.
The frying pan was still under the cot.The question was whether she could—either mentally or physically—use it.Even with the mudpack Clint had made her, her hand felt as if it were on fire.
Time crept by so slowly.Shouldn’t he be back by now?It had to be afternoon; the candle was getting low.Before long there would be no light at all.
Abner crept up to where she sat on the cot, and he lifted his front paws as if to beg.Shea ran a finger down his back, and Abner bunched up as if in pleasure.She wondered about the man who had managed to tame the mouse.Because he, too, had been unbearably lonely?
But then apparently Rafe was good with all animals.She had watched his patience with the horse, the tolerance of the bears.And then she recalled, word for word, what Clint had said.Rafe Tyler had been the best officer he had ever seen.He had risked his life to save others.
Those two attributes went together, that gentleness with animals and loyalty to men.What didn’t match was the charge that he had betrayed his country and stolen from it.Still, the evidence …
