“Does the sun give ye freckles? I have heard women try to avoid those.”
“No. It burns me. I don’t get freckles but I get badly burned skin. So it does not even make me get darker in color, just peels horribly.”
He decided he would try to forget about the hat for a while. It was more important for him to concentrate staying on his horse. It was proving far more difficult than he had thought it would be.
Matthew sighed and fought to ignore how his wounds felt. James was acting as their scout because he could not ride hard, but it was beginning to feel like he should not be riding at all. The doctor had warned him but he had not listened, had not wanted to. He could tolerate the ache in his arm and leg but the pinching pain and ache in his belly was a bit more than he could bear, especially since every movement of the horse caused it to ache or sting.
Abbie glanced at Matthew and suspected he should not be riding his horse so soon after being wounded. He was looking a little gray. She just hoped he had the sense to get in the wagon if he got too sore or weary. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him cover his stomach and then she silently cursed. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from yelling at him to get in the wagon. Since she could see no sign of renewed bleeding she would just leave him to his misery for now.
“Has the goat left enough room for me?” Matthew asked a half hour later.
Abbie looked at him. “I believe so. Shall I halt the wagon?”
“Aye. It was too soon for this,” he muttered.
“I thought it might be,” she said quietly as she halted the wagon.
“What’s wrong?” asked James as he rode up and then he looked at Matthew. “Ah. Giving up.”
“Too soon,” Matthew said as he dismounted with as much help as Boyd could give him. “Arm and leg are all right but the damned stomach wound isnae cooperating.” He climbed into the wagon and leaned back against the wagon seat back. “It complains with every move.”
“Harvey said it would,” said James as he unsaddled Matthew’s horse and tied it to the back of the wagon. “Maybe you ought to have listened to him.”
“As ye would have, I suspicion.”
James laughed. “Not at all. To my way of thinking, if it is sewn up and blood’s not flowing, it’s mended. Always been proved wrong and survived. Pa always said ‘grin and bear it’ and I took that to heart. Then again, Pa never went to a real doctor. Probably should remind myself of that from time to time.” James remounted his horse. “Going to be riding around you for a while. Want to check the rear, your flanks, and be sure we don’t ride right into something. Just have a feeling it would be best.” He turned his horse and road off.
“He gets a lot of ‘feelings,’ doesn’t he?” said Abbie as she started the wagon moving again.
“Aye, and we always heed them. My mother would have said James has the gift.”
“Gift? What gift?”
“Gift of sight or some other thing. She had belief in all the old ways. James has some instinct that warns him of trouble, a kind nay everyone else is blessed with.”
“Ah. My brother had something like that. It was one reason we were so stunned when we were caught by surprise by those men on the day they took him. It must have failed him because he was caught and taken.”
“Or it didnae fail him at all. He might have kenned about the attack but thought he could save his kin.”
Abbie sighed and shook her head. “That would be just like Reid. Trying to be the hero and instead running right into a trap. Do you want me to check your wounds?”
“Nay. They just ache. I cannae feel any hint of bleeding and that’s good, aye? It is that stupid grin on my belly causing me pain but no bleeding there either.”
“Good. So all you did was use them all too soon. You may be stitched up but the skin is still broken over the wounds, held together only by stitching—delicate, expert stitches done by a skilled and steady hand.”
Matthew struggled to keep his chuckles smothered. He liked her bite but, at the moment, he was feeling too battered to show her just how much. Perhaps after he was home for a few days. The sound of someone approaching quickly yanked him out of the delightfully bawdy daydream he had been indulging in.
He turned to get a clear look behind them and cursed himself for letting pride make him ride the horse. That bit of vanity had weakened him at a time when he could be needed to fight.
“Why is James riding up so fast?” asked Abbie, glancing behind her and then tugging on the reins to slow them down. “I have afeelingright now and it is telling me that’s not good.”
“Keep going!” yelled James. “Don’t slow down!”
“Go, Abbie,” ordered Matthew as he picked up his gun. “What’s coming?” he called back to James.
“About two dozen armed men. They are wearing a mix of regular clothes and Confederate uniforms.”
“So, marauders or whatever name they want to use this month.” Matthew carefully moved until he was poised to fire out the back of the wagon. “Why the hell didn’t they choose to go south?”
