“Probably in California by now. We passed another wagon last week.” He pulled the paper collar around his neck and worked the buttons closed. “Damn good thing we did too,” he added, his hand poised over a fresh pair of trousers. Apparently he thought better of changing his pants in front of her, for he left the clean ones in place and unbuttoned the ones that hugged his lean hips. “As luck would have it, there was a doctor with them. You wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for Henry Mead, not that we’ll ever see him again for you to thank.”
Tucking the tails of the red flannel shirt inside the waistband of his denim trousers, he worked the buttons shut then turned to face Hope. She was sending him an accusingly skeptical glare as he slipped a leather vest over his shoulders, then reached for a plain red bandanna. The latter was tied around his neck with supple fingers.
Hope scowled. “A week? I was sick for that long?”
“Longer.” Drake reached for the gunbelt. He buckled it around his waist and tied the holster straps around a sinewy thigh. “We’ve been on the trail for almost three.”
“Trail? Three weeks!” She struggled to sit, but the pain in her shoulder drove her back to the mattress. “Now wait just a cotton picking minute. Where the hell do you think you’re taking me? I have a claim to work, Drake. I don’t have time to be traipsing around the country in a wagon.”
Drake’s expression darkened, and to Hope it looked like thunderclouds blocking out the sun. “Don’t be a fool. I’m sure Oren Larzdon and his band of merry misfits were all over that claim before the ink on your father’s death certificate dried.” Hope winced at his bluntness, and Drake’s tone softened. “I’m sorry, sunshine, but it’s the truth. You’re going to have to face it sooner or later. It might as well be now.”
The familiar ache tugged at her heart with icy fingers. Hope resolutely pushed it away. “You saw them take the claim, then?” she asked, her voice as flat and lifeless as her expression.
“In case you didn’t notice, there was a man shooting at us back there,” he informed her briskly, his look guarded. “Once we got on that horse, I didn’t think stopping was in either our best interests.” A glint of cynicism touched his eyes. “For some crazy reason I thought getting you patched up was more important than sticking around to fight for a claim that wasn’t paying dirt.”
“It would have paid,” she replied tightly. Her cheeks, already pale, lost whatever color had returned. Her hands clutched the comforter beneath her chin in a death-grip. “It showed more color than all the other mines combined. It would have paid. I know it.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, running a palm along his stubbled jaw, “maybe not. That’s something we’ll never know.” Drake kept his tone neutral. He was treading on thin ice and he knew it. While he didn’t want to upset Hope any more than she already was, he was having a devil of a time keeping his anger in check. Goddamn, but she was the most unpredictable woman he’d ever met! He wouldn’t put it past her to pull some hot-headed stunt that would pop the stitches that doctor had so carefully sewn into her shoulder. And all for want of a claim that wasn’t paying enough to survive!
Drake cleared his throat, and tried to clear his mind as well. He had to keep her calm, even if it meant kicking the daylights out of the wagon wheel later to vent his frustration. If he allowed her to get too upset, he risked jeopardizing her recovery. Drake didn’t need a doctor to tell him that Hope’s recovery was still too new to jeopardize.
“I’m going back.”
Her words fell over him like a dark cloud. His eyes narrowed angrily as he growled, “Over my dead body.”
Hope’s eyes glistened with raw challenge. “If that’s what it takes.”
“Don’t try it, sunshine,” he replied, holding a firm hand over his mounting annoyance. “I don’t care if I have to hogtie you to the bed, you’re not going anywhere.”
“Get out your rope then, Frazier,” she taunted, her gaze boldly holding his, “because as soon as I’m well enough, I’m going back to work my claim.”
A cold smile played on Drake’s lips; a smile that was not mirrored in his eyes. “Sunshine, by the time you’re well enough, I’ll probably be more than happy to see you go.”
She opened her mouth to retaliate, but he had already stalked from the wagon.
Balling up a fist, she slammed it into the sideboard. The force of the blow sent a bolt of pain ricocheting through her shoulder, slicing down her other arm. Hope gasped, inwardly swearing at the injury that forced her to lie immobile, unable to do anything but listen to Drake Frazier’s threats.
But I won’t be immobile forever, she swore beneath her breath, determined to teach the damn gunslinger a sorely needed lesson just as soon as she regained her strength.
Chapter 10
Thick smoke curled around her legs like dense fog. It stung her eyes and clogged her lungs until she could barely breathe. What little air she was able to draw was filled with the thick, acrid scent of charred wood.
Hope opened her mouth to scream. No sound escaped her lips. Her throat burned and felt like it had been briskly rubbed with sandpaper.
She ran. There was no seeing through the sheet of smoke, yet she ran anyway. Her chest rose and fell in wheezing gasps. The toe of her foot caught on something small and hard, throwing her off balance. This time the scream tore from her lungs in an agonizing cry as she crashed to the ground.
The crackle of flames scorching brick and devouring wood grew louder as she scrambled to her feet. The smoke was too thick to see from which direction the noise came.
Hope ran to the left, guided by instinct. Gasping, she broke through the cloud of smoke. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned against the towering oak tree. The bark cut into her cheek as she pressed against it, inhaling deeply of the crisp night air. The only trace left of the burning wood was the scent of it clinging to her hair.
She waited until her breathing slowed to normal before pushing away from the tree. Small stones bit into the soles of her bare feet as she staggered down the gravel drive. She hardly noticed them. Her attention was focused entirely on the sight slowly rising o
ver the incline as she walked up it.
Lake’s Edge in all its glory. The familiar view stirred her heart, bringing a smile of remembrance to her lips.
The house was magnificent, its red brick complemented by towering white columns and white trim. Oil lamps burned in all but one of the windows, illuminating the lush grass sprawling out from all sides. Carried on the breeze was a hint of honeysuckle, and the notes of a Bagatelle in A minor by Beethoven. Hope recognized the melody immediately, and her fingers flexed in response. Many times, her fingers had flown over the same keys, trying in vain to master the work.