The Touch of Fire Read online

  Rafe thought about giving her a fictitious name, but decided that it wasn’t necessary. He would use another name after he carried her back to Silver Mesa, and there wouldn’t be any connection. “McCay. Rafferty McCay. What’s yours, Doc?”

  “Annis,” she said, and gave him a faint, soft smile. “But I’ve always been called Annie.”

  He grunted. “I’ve always been called Rafe. Makes me wonder why folks don’t name their kids what they intend to call them.” Her smile widened and he watched it, unwillingly fascinated by the movement of her lips. Her hand still lingered on his hair, fingers lightly combing through the strands at temple and forehead, and he almost sighed aloud with pleasure at that warm, tingling touch. His headache eased more with each brushing contact.

  But then she moved away, and he had to restrain the urge to grab her and hold her hands to his chest. She’d probably think he had lost his mind if he did, but he felt better when she was touching him, and God knew he needed something. He felt like hell.

  Annie poured the willow-bark tea into a battered tin cup and dutifully tasted it so he could see that she hadn’t poisoned him. He struggled up on his elbow and took the cup, drinking the tea with four strong gulps and shuddering only a little from the bitterness. “It’s not as bad as some medicine I’ve tasted,” he commented, lying back with a stifled groan.

  “The honey and cinnamon made it taste better. Both of them are good for you too. Just rest and let the tea work, while I make some soup. Liquids will be easier for you to digest for a while.”

  She was feeling better herself, now that she had food in her, though she was still inordinately tired. The hard work had loosened her muscles, at least for the moment. She sat on the floor beside him and peeled a few potatoes, then chopped them into fine pieces, and did the same with a small onion. There wasn’t a pot big enough, so she used his skillet, adding water and salt and a bit of flour for thickening, and soon the fragrant mixture was bubbling. The fire had burned down enough that it wasn’t in danger of scorching, so after adding a bit more water to make sure, she turned her attention back to her patient.

  “Feeling a bit better?” she asked, placing the back of her hand against his face.

  “Some.” The deep ache in his thighbones had eased, as well as his headache. He felt tired and limp and a little drowsy, but warmer and—better. “Keep a pot of that stuff brewed up.”

  “It does better fresh,” she said, though she smiled again. She folded back the blanket. “Now let’s get you comfortable and see how your side is looking.”

  Maybe she had put something in that drink after all, because he lay there and let her undress him, stripping him of shirt and boots and even his pants, leaving him clad only in his socks and long flannel underwear, which was so soft it didn’t do much of a job in disguising the outline of his loins. At her direction he eased onto his right side and she rolled his underwear down until it barely covered him. He swore under his breath as he felt his male flesh stir. Damn it, this was why women shouldn’t be doctors. How was a man supposed to keep himself from getting hard with a woman’s soft hands touching him all over? He watched her face, but she seemed oblivious to his lengthening erection. He reached down and twitched the blanket across his hips to hide his involuntary response.

  Annie snipped through the tight cloth binding the poultice to the wounds, her attention totally absorbed by what she was doing. Carefully she eased the pads away, making a satisfied noise in her throat as she saw that the angry red color around the wounds had lessened. The pads were stained with yellow and brown; she cast them aside and leaned over to closely examine the torn flesh. There was a spot of dull metallic gleam close to the surface of the front wound, and she made another sound of satisfaction as she reached for her tweezers. Carefully she grasped the sliver of metal and drew it out. “Another piece of lead,” she announced. “You’re lucky you haven’t already died of blood poisoning.”

  “So you’ve already told me.”

  “And I meant it, too.” She continued with her inspection, but didn’t find any other bullet fragments. The wounds looked clean. To be certain she cleaned them again with carbolic, then carefully set two sutures in each wound to close the worst of the tears but still leave them open so they could drain. He barely quivered when the needle bit into the soft flesh of his side, though a faint sheen of sweat broke out on his body. She noted the sweat, for it indicated that his fever was breaking as well as the extent of his pain.

  She moistened some plantain leaves and placed them on his side, then put bandages on top of that. He gave a low murmur of relief as the soothing, healing leaves began to work their magic. “That feels good.”

  “I know.” She drew the blanket up to his shoulders.

  “All you have to do now is lie there and rest, and let your body heal. Sleep if you want; I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I can’t take that chance,” he replied harshly.

  She gave a small humorless laugh. “You’d wake up if I tried to take the blanket, and I’d freeze to death at night without it. I don’t even know where I am. Believe me, I’m not going to leave here without you.”

  “Then let’s just say I’ll keep you from temptation.” He couldn’t afford to trust her, or to relax his guard for even a minute. She said she didn’t know where she was, but how did he know if she was telling the truth or not?

  “Suit yourself.” She checked the soup and added more water, then settled down on the floor. She had no idea of the time. After noon, surely. It had taken her a long time to clean the hut. She stared out the open door at the long shadows cast by the trees. Why, it was late in the afternoon. “Don’t the horses need more feed?” If he expected her to carry it to them, it would have to be soon, because after dark she wasn’t venturing past that door.

  “Yeah.” His voice was weary. “Give them a little more grain.” With an effort he sat up and reached for his pistol, drawing it out of the holster. Wrapped in the blanket, he struggled to his feet.

  Annie was surprised by the surge of anger that shook her. It wasn’t just his refusal to trust her, for she supposed she couldn’t blame him for that, but because he wouldn’t let himself rest. He needed to be lying down, sleeping, not following her every step. “Don’t bother coming all the way out to the lean-to,” she snapped. “Just stand out here in front, and you can shoot me in the back if I try to make a run for it.”

  For the first time, a flash of temper flared in his pale eyes. His cold control had been what had frightened her the most before, but now she wished she hadn’t let her own rare anger flare, if this was what it had called up. Anger should be hot, but this man’s eyes went even colder, until she felt the chill even across the width of the hut. And still he didn’t lose control. He merely said, “I can shoot anything else that might be out there too,” as he thumbed back the hammer and motioned for her to exit ahead of him.

  She hadn’t thought of that. If he was her kidnapper and an inherent danger to her, he was also her protector, for he knew how to live in these mountains, while she would have frozen to death the first night without him. He was also her only hope of getting back to Silver Mesa. On the other hand, she hadn’t considered the possibility of facing danger just by stepping through the door of the hut. She hoped it was still too early in the year, and too cold, for snakes and bears to be active, but she simply didn’t know. It wasn’t something she had worried about in Philadelphia. She wouldn’t even have known that bears hibernated if a miner hadn’t mentioned it in the rambling monologue he’d been delivering to take his mind off the broken bone Annie had been setting.

  Without a word she walked briskly to the lean-to, where the horses nickered at her arrival and immediately began chomping on the grain she gave them. She hauled two more buckets of water from the stream and poured them in the trough, settled the saddle blankets over the two broad backs to help keep them warm during the night, and after a pat on each nose trudged wearily back to the hut. He was still standing just in front