Love on the Mend Page 10

  Stone did a quick inventory. Hands bound. Ankles bound. Gun belt missing. Hunting knife confiscated. The blade in his boot was probably still there, but he couldn’t be sure. He tipped his head back and caught a glimpse of Goliath’s hooves. Indignation roared to life in his chest. His captor had hitched the litter to Goliath as if the noble steed was nothing more than a pack mule! Conk me on the head all you like, Gnome, but insult my horse, and I’ll make you pay.

  Stone had started to roll off the litter and make his stand when his ears perked. Children. Laughing. Calling out to someone named Dobson. His captor? Suddenly the insult to Goliath no longer seemed relevant. In fact, at the moment it seemed downright providential. Rather like the Trojan horse hiding soldiers in its hollow belly. Goliath was dragging him straight into the heart of enemy territory. Where better to gain the knowledge he needed to make his retrieval as clean as possible?

  Closing his eyes, Stone feigned unconsciousness and waited.

  “What’d you bring us, Mr. Dobson?” A high-pitched voice. Probably the girl’s. “What is it? What is it?”

  The child sounded like she thought he was an oversized turkey trussed up for Sunday supper.

  “Stay back, missy,” his captor warned. “He’s a mean one.”

  Him? It was all Stone could do not to scoff aloud. He wasn’t the one who’d slammed a rifle butt into an unsuspecting man’s head.

  “Go fetch Miss Lottie.” Saddle leather creaked. Dobson must be dismounting.

  Something sharp prodded Stone in the ribs. The boy. Stone was tempted to lunge upright and growl, but scaring the kid witless wouldn’t serve his purpose. So he laid like a lump and let the youngster prod at him.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Nah. I just tapped him on the noggin.” Another prod with the stick. Or maybe it was that harpoon contraption. “Better quit pokin’ at him. Don’t want him to wake up too soon and scare the missus.”

  “Aw. Nothin’ scares Miss Lottie. Well, except those frogs I slipped into the drawer of her dressing table that one time.” The boy smothered a laugh. “She came running out o’ her room with her hair flying every which way. It’s the only time I ever seen her with it down. Didya know it hangs past her waist? I don’t know how she manages to pile it all on top o’ her head and keep it there.”

  Why did the boy have to go and draw that picture for him? Here he lay, forced to keep his eyes shut to maintain his ruse, thereby leaving him vulnerable to inappropriate mental images. Where was a good horse to inspect or a barn door to count knotholes in when he needed one? All he had was the back of his eyelids, and they provided scant protection from the vision of a tall woman with honey-colored hair flowing in long waves down the line of her back. Hard to picture Charlotte Atherton as a tight-laced prude if her hair was all soft and free.

  “It ain’t proper to discuss a woman’s hair, boy.” Dobson nearly choked on the words. Was he embarrassed? Angry? Infatuated with the picture himself? That last thought nearly had Stone scowling before he remembered to keep his facial muscles relaxed.

  “Go rub down my horse for me, then fetch a bucket of water for the stranger’s animal. The beast prob’ly worked up a thirst carting this heavy carcass around.” A boot nudged Stone’s hip, leaving no question as to the identity of the heavy carcass being discussed. Stone couldn’t say he enjoyed being compared to buzzard bait, but at least the man was seeing to Goliath’s welfare.

  Plodding hoofbeats retreated as the boy led Dobson’s horse away. A gnat buzzed around Stone’s nose, making the skin around his nostrils itch something fierce. The infernal bug finally flew away, but the itch remained. And intensified with each tickle of breath. Of all the rotten timing. Stone directed his mind back to the fetching picture of Miss Atherton with her hair down. Anything to distract him from the need to scratch. Unfortunately, thoughts of all that hair only made him think of how a stray strand dragging across his face would itch like the very devil. Doggone it. He wanted to scratch. Just once. Maybe if he turned his head a little and raised his shoulder he could make it look natural. Maybe not unconscious-natural, but the gnome was no doctor. How would he know what an unconscious man might do?

  The creak of a door hinge focused Stone’s attention in an instant and saved him from his idiotic rationalizing.

  “Mr. Dobson? What on earth . . .?”

  Fabric snapped back and forth in a rapid staccato as Miss Atherton hurried to see what her guard dog had drug in.

  “He was up on the ridge, miss. Spying on you and the young’uns. With these.”

  Ah. Well, at least Stone knew where his field glasses had ended up. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn’t been left in the dirt. He’d paid over twenty dollars for the high-powered pair and didn’t want to think of them being left out in the elements. The evidence they presented was rather damning, though. He could practically feel her gaze wandering over him, assessing the threat.

  Then she was touching him. Her cool hand skimmed over his face until her fingertips rested against the pulse point at his neck. His blood surged at the contact.

  “He has a vigorous pulse. I suppose we should be thankful for that.”

  Too vigorous for an unconscious man. She didn’t say the words, but Stone heard the suspicion in her tone. The woman was no fool. He willed his breathing to slow, hoping to compensate for his unplanned reaction to her touch.

  “I don’t see any blood. You didn’t shoot him, did you?”

  “No, miss. Just knocked him a good one. He’ll rouse afore long. What do you want me to do with him?”

  An excellent question, Stone thought. Time to see just how far the teacher was willing to go to keep her ill-gotten gains.

  “You’ll have to help me get him into the house. I can’t tend to him properly out here in the yard.”

  “Get him into the . . .” Dobson sputtered. “Have you lost your mind, woman? You can’t take him into your house. That ain’t what I was askin’. I was askin’ if you wanted me to cart him into Madisonville to the sheriff or take him out back and work out a more permanent solution. Sure as manure stinks, he’s Dorchester’s man.”

  “Probably. But we don’t know that for certain. Perhaps he’s simply a cowhand with a penchant for bird watching.”

  Bird watching? Stone nearly jumped to his feet to defend his manhood against the foul slur. Only sissified dandies wasted time on—

  Her palm pressed against his chest. As if signaling him to stay down. Had she read his mind?

  “Bird watching?” Dobson’s incredulous voice soothed Stone’s pride. “What a load of bunkum. Look at him. He ain’t no bird watcher. He’s a mercenary.”

  Retriever, Stone silently corrected. Not mercenary. His brain was for hire, not his gun.

  “Even so,” the teacher said, “I can’t condone violence against him. The Bible instructs us to love both our neighbor and our enemy, so no matter which category this man falls into, it is our place to offer assistance. Now, help me carry him into the house.” Her hand finally slid from his chest, but Stone was too stunned to move a muscle.

  She planned to take him into her house? Suspecting he was the enemy? He didn’t know whether to applaud her faith or berate her stupidity.

  “At least let me fetch the sheriff,” Dobson begged.

  “And what, precisely, do you expect the sheriff to do? This man hasn’t committed any crime. In fact, having the sheriff here would simply put you in danger. You did assault the man. He could call you up on charges.”

  That shut the fellow up. Well, not completely. He muttered under his breath for nearly a full minute as he unstrapped the litter. When the poles finally fell free from Goliath, Stone’s head slammed into the ground with a hard thud. He couldn’t quite contain his moan. Only then did the muttering stop.

  “Sorry about that.” The low, feminine tone resonated near his ear at the same time cool fingers cupped the back of his head. “Now might be a good time to revive, at least temporarily,” she whispered. “I’m afraid t
hat with as large as you are, if Mr. Dobson and I try to carry you into the house, you’re bound to earn several more bruises.”

  Not an enticing prospect. And since the one he cared most about fooling wasn’t fooled at all, there wasn’t much point in continuing the charade. Letting another moan slide from between his lips, Stone lifted his head and made as if to sit up.

  Pain speared through his skull, eliciting a genuine groan. Careful not to jerk his head around too much, he tugged at his bonds, allowing his struggles to increase as if just then becoming aware of his situation.

  A rifle barrel dug into his shoulder. “Settle down, stranger.”

  Stone glared up at Dobson. “If I were you,” he bit out in a threatening tone, “I’d watch where I was pokin’ that thing.”

  Dobson paled slightly, but to his credit didn’t give up an inch of ground. “I’m watchin’,” he blustered. “And I can watch a bullet enter your sorry hide just as easily, so don’t get any ideas.” Dobson jabbed the barrel a little farther into the dip beneath Stone’s collarbone for good measure.

  Stone’s glare promised retribution.

  “Are you two quite finished?” The impatient, snapping voice drew Stone’s attention back to the teacher. “I swear,” she muttered as she leaned forward to take hold of Stone’s arm. “It’s as if boys never grow up. No matter how old they get, they’re still determined to prove themselves the toughest, fastest, smartest, whatever-else-they-can-think-of-to-compete-about-est. It’s ridiculous. If they would just cease their posturing for a moment, they might actually manage to accomplish something worthwhile.” She tugged on Stone’s arm then, making it clear what she wanted from him.

  Bossy bit of goods. But then what did he expect from a tight-laced schoolmarm? Actually, he’d expected a lot more running and hiding. Tears. A screech or two. Seeing as how she suspected him of being Dorchester’s man.

  What was her angle?

  Miss Atherton tugged on his arm again, and Stone complied with her not-so-subtle hint. Rolling slightly to the side, he tried to lever himself up—no easy feat with his wrists and ankles bound. The teacher released his arm and gripped him about the waist instead. She wedged her shoulder against the side of his chest to help him find his balance as he stood.

  Unfortunately, the sudden change in elevation sent his head whirling in a fit of dizziness. He winced and staggered sideways, forgetting the state of his ankles. The bindings tripped him, and he would have fallen if the teacher hadn’t tightened her grip and wrenched him back against her.

  “For heaven’s sake, Dobson. Untie his feet or we’re both going to topple into the dirt.”

  The bearded fellow came around to the front of them and scowled up at Stone as he pulled a long-bladed knife from the sheath at his waist. “I don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t either, but that doesn’t mean we have the right to treat him like a prisoner.” Miss Atherton grunted a bit as she propped up Stone’s weight.

  He tried to help her, but his legs didn’t seem to be working properly, and the ground kept swelling up and down. He gritted his teeth against the nausea building inside. Acting weak to gain information was one thing, but disgracing himself by casting up his accounts in front of a lady was not acceptable.

  “You look a little green around the gills there, stranger.”

  Great. Now the gnome was smiling. As if the urge to retch hadn’t been strong enough already.

  “Quit taunting the man and cut him free, Dobson. He’s too heavy for me.”

  Whether it was the woman’s authoritative tone or the revelation that she was suffering more from the delay than Stone was, Dobson finally gave in and sliced through the ropes at Stone’s feet. Stone immediately braced his legs apart and relieved Miss Atherton from the majority of his weight.

  Stone held his hands out toward the little man in front of him, but Dobson’s face turned granite hard. Looked like he’d be keeping his hemp bracelets for a while yet.

  Miss Atherton urged him forward. Together, they limped to the house.

  “John,” she called. “Open the door, please.”

  A tiny Chinese boy swung the door wide and held it open by leaning his entire body against it. His slanted eyes rounded as his gaze traveled from Stone’s boots up and up and up until he finally reached his face. He didn’t say a word, just kept staring until Stone shuffled past him into the house.

  The girl was nowhere to be seen. Odd for such a giggly, curious thing. The way she’d run up to see him when Dobson first dragged him onto the property proved she wasn’t timid. So where was she?

  Well, no matter. He’d find her. Find her and get her home.

  “John,” Miss Atherton instructed, “collect the ewer from my room and then go find Stephen in the barn. Ask him to help you fetch some cold water from the well. I’ll need to make a compress for this gentleman’s head.”

  The boy scurried around their legs without a word and darted into a room two doors down the hall on the left. A heartbeat later, he dashed out again, pitcher in hand. Casting Stone a wary glance, he made for the opposite side of the house. A door slammed a moment later.

  “Does the kid ever talk?” Stone couldn’t help asking as the teacher shouldered him along.

  “John prefers to keep his thoughts to himself most of the time.” Miss Atherton answered his question politely enough but did not expound.

  The woman was guarded, deliberate, and doing her best to keep the children away from him without making it look like that was her purpose. She was a contradiction. A lady to the tip of her toes—polite, kind, hospitable—yet a kidnapper with some kind of hidden agenda he’d yet to puzzle out.

  They hobbled through the bedroom doorway and stopped at the edge of the bed. She gently slipped from his hold as he lowered himself to sit on the mattress. She stepped back, then bent and took hold of his left boot. She tugged until the thing finally gave way and then repeated the action with the other foot.

  Stone sat and watched her, too dumbfounded to move. A woman—no, a lady—was removing his boots. Such a thing had never happened to him before. She probably just didn’t want him dirtying her bed linens but still, it was a novel experience. She lined up the footwear inseam to inseam like a soldier expecting inspection, then stood his boots near the door with toes flush against the wall. Once satisfied, she returned, stepped around his knees, and rummaged for something in the drawer of the bedside table. She extracted a letter opener and started sawing at the ropes binding his wrists. Not that it did much good. The pathetic excuse for a blade was duller than dirt. Still, he appreciated her efforts.

  “I’ve got a knife in the back of my right boot. It’s probably sharper.”

  Her head came up, and the full force of her blue-green eyes slammed into him. Man, the woman had stunning eyes. Nothing prim or staid about them. Dark lashes shuttered them away from him as she dipped her chin and turned to glance in the direction of his discarded footwear.

  “There’s a small slit in the leather near the back,” he explained. “I keep a blade tucked in there for emergencies.”

  She picked up the boot in question, found the knife, then returned to him. In three slices, she had his arms free.

  Stone rubbed his wrists to ease the burn from the rope. At his movement, the teacher leapt back and held the knife up in front of her. Well, at least she had the good sense to hang onto the weapon. He could overpower her in about two seconds if he wished, of course, but there were too many questions he needed answered, and only one way to accomplish the deed—winning her trust.

  “I ain’t gonna hurt you, lady. As soon as my head quits swimming, I’ll be outta your hair.” He expected to see relief at his pronouncement, or at the very least, a lessening of her wariness. What he didn’t expect was for those expressive blue-green eyes to harden into glinting steel.

  She backed toward the door, then closed it. What was she up to?

  She set the knife down on the dresser top, then stepped closer to him again. Not so clos
e that he could grab her, but close enough to keep her voice from carrying out into the hall.

  “You could have shot me from up on that ridge if you’d wanted to kill me.” She spoke with such matter-of-fact certainty, it unnerved him. “I saw the arsenal Dobson brought back with him. No cowhand travels that heavily armed. You’re here for Lily.”

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte gave the man sitting on her bed her best truth-inducing stare. She’d ferreted out all manner of little-boy secrets in her time, but this man was no boy. If she didn’t know better, she’d think one of Lily’s dime novel heroes had come to life. Charlotte had always scoffed at such exaggerated character descriptions—men as tall as mountains with eyes as hard as flint and bare hands capable of punching holes in brick walls. Hardly realistic. Or so she had thought before Mr. Dobson dragged this particular specimen home.

  The man was enormous, though not a scrap of him was extraneous. She could still feel the solidity of his chest and the weight of his muscular arm from when she’d helped him into the house. The raw strength in him was daunting, yet she sensed an intelligence in him that offered promise. A brainless lackey would snatch Lily without a thought, but this man . . . this man might be made to see reason. The weathered skin, the tiniest hint of gray at his temples, the scars on his hands—all these things spoke of experience, of a life lived by one’s wits, of a man who had learned not only to survive but to thrive in hostile conditions. This was no hothead, but a man who liked to gather facts and weigh his decisions. Yet he was also a man who could overpower her with a flick of his wrist and take Lily away in a heartbeat, even with his injury. She must proceed with caution.

  The man made no response to her declaration about Lily. Just stared at her, his face giving away none of his thoughts.

  Please give him ears to hear, Lord. An open mind wouldn’t be amiss, either.

  “I’m sure Dorchester painted me as a villain,” she began, raising her chin a notch, “but I have legal guardianship of all three of the children in my care.”