She crouched beside him, peeling his hands away from his head as she examined him. “You’ve got a gash on your cheek, and a knot already forming on your head here.” She gently probed the place he’d been hit first, and it took everything in him not to wince away.
“How did this happen?” She moved so she was right in front of his face, waiting for his answer.
He barely caught himself before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I looked at the camp for a second, then when I started to turn back toward the mountain, he hit me here.” He pointed but didn’t quite touch the spot.
She frowned. “Who was it?”
He pinched his mouth, trying to remember anything that would identify the attacker. “I don’t know.”
“Could you tell if it was an Indian?” Parson’s voice sounded from the darkness, then the man stepped into the light to stand just behind Faith.
Grant could only give the same answer. “I don’t know.He got in two blows. I think they were both from a rifle, or something solid. I know the second was metal, though not sharp like a knife.”
Faith brushed a finger down his cheek beside the place that stung. “That must be what caused this. The skin split, but it’s more like a tear than a slice.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll get the salve. If we take care of it, maybe you’ll heal without a scar.”
He nearly groaned. That’s all he needed. A scar down his cheek to remind him and everyone he met about his time in the western territories.
Parson hammered a few more questions at him about where the attacker had gone and the person’s size and hair color, none of which he could answer. When Faith returned to kneel in front of him, their leader turned back to speak with the others.
“Here’s a cup of water. You can drink if you want, then I thought the cool tin might help if you hold it against that knot.” She placed the mug in his hands, and their fingers brushed in the exchange. Her skin felt cool, which made him wish she would place her hand to his head instead of the cup. She would be much softer.
As she dabbed cream on his cheek, her face came close to his. He kept his gaze trained on the jar in her hands, but all his senses felt her nearness. His heart picked up speed at her touch, and her breath warmed his chin. Her fingers gently worked the salve into his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her.
But he couldn’t.
When she finished applying the medicine, she looked up at him, her eyes pools of concern. “How are you feeling?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. “Better, thanks.”
She nodded, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment longer before she stood and moved away.
He watched her go, his mind swirling with emotions he couldn’t name. He couldn’t let himself get so close to her again. This attraction that surged to life inside him had to be squelched before she realized how he felt.
He wasn’t good enough for her, a fact that had been confirmed by every person he’d ever allowed close. He was through with letting himself love another. Except for Will. He owed it to his brother to find him.
But no one else.
Especially not a sprig of a woman he’d only just met, who was determined to carry out her own plans—regardless of what he said or did.
As Parson and most of the others drifted back into camp, he obeyed the order to bed down and sleep. Let another man stand guard.
He would keep his head down and follow orders. Not let his gaze be turned by a pretty face, especially one covered in mud and with a man’s hat pulled low to shadow her features.
Then maybe both of them would get through this journey without fresh wounds added to the scars that already marked their pasts.
At least they were back on the trail today.
Faith squinted against the afternoon sun shining in her eyes. Though trapping at the little lake had been better than Parson expected, he chose to pack up and ride on the nextmorning anyway. Probably because of the attack on Grant. Grant had seemed better this morning, though the way he squinted probably meant his head still ached from the attacker’s blow.
She’d heard some of the men murmuring about how the boot tracks they found were the kind only sold back east. That it must be a white man following them, not a scout from one of the tribes, as they’d assumed. But Parson hadn’t made an official announcement with that information.
When she’d heard Grant ask him whether they found any sign of the man, Parson only said they searched halfway up the surrounding mountains and only found a few tracks. It must be a single person for them to attack the guard but run when the rest of the camp rose to give chase.
She scanned the trees that grew down the slope on her left. This trail wrapped around the side of the mountain, and anyone could lie in wait behind one of those trunks. The man hadn’t shot at them yet, though it was likely he had a gun. Was he out of bullets or powder? Those could be hard to come by, though not as scarce right after the rendezvous.
Had he been trying to keep his attack quiet, then? That seemed more likely. He could pick off the group one at a time if they didn’t all come charging at once. He might be able to do the same if he had a good hiding place where he could shoot them down one by one.
Her skin prickled, and she tried to peer into the shadows between the trees that lined the trail ahead. She rode just behind Grant, near the back of the line. Skeet followed behind her, probably because he was one of the more seasoned trappers, able to handle himself and make quick decisions should something happen up ahead.
