dead, and maybe Chase, and Gabe as well. It’s my fault for not telling the truth right from the beginning. This is all a result of one small lie.”
Limp from worry, she felt like crying, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared into the fire imagining all the things that could be happening out there in the dark.
Sounds from outside caught Jessie’s attention. She tiptoed over and put her ear next to the door.
“We made it, Mr. Strong. We’re here.”
Gabe! Jessie threw the bar up and swung the door open wide.
“You’re home!” she sobbed, rushing to help Gabe pull the travois inside onto the rug.
Jessie fell to her knees beside Chase’s limp body. His face was ashen and blood was everywhere. She cradled his frozencheek in the palm of her hand. “How is he?” was all she could squeak past the egg-sized lump in her throat.
“He’s been shot. The bullet grazed his head. He spoke a few words to me at first, but that was hours ago. He’s lost a lot more blood since then. I’ll admit, I’m worried.”
Jessie looked at the gash, which still oozed blood. “Help me get him into bed.” The two struggled to get the travois through the room and into the bedroom.
“We can get him up on the bed, if we both lift,” Jessie said.
“Careful, he’s awful heavy,” Gabe answered. “I’ll take his shoulders, you take his legs. On the count of three.”
Sarah stood drowsily in the bedroom doorway. Her tousled hair stuck out from her head, and her little brow was furrowed with worry. “Pee-pee.”
“One, two, three… ”
Jessie heaved for all she was worth. Chase landed on the edge of the bed, a weak moan escaping his lips. Sliding him over, Jessie set to work on his boots, which were just as stubborn now as they’d been the night before.
“Here, let me.” Gabe’s voice was tinged with exhaustion.
Sarah began to whine.
“What’s the matter?” Jessie asked, going to her and picking her up. “He’ll be all right. He just has a little cut on the side of his head.” Jessie prayed it was the truth.
“Pee-pee.”
“Oh. You’re a very good girl.” She kissed Sarah, then smiled into her worried face. “Come on, let’s find the chamber pot.”
When Jessie returned she handed Sarah off to Gabe. Chase’s undershirt was folded back on each side, forming an open V more than midway down his body. His well-muscled chest was lightly sprinkled with dark, wavy hair. His abdomen, almost visible through the thinness of the fabric, rippled as he breathed and reminded her of a bull, lean andpowerful. Here was the kind of man the girls used to whisper about at the orphanage. The stories brought heat to Jessie’s face even now. She pulled her gaze from Chase’s body and contemplated his handsome, sleeping face. He was such a good man. Her heart tightened up at the thought of the pain he must be in, and she hurried to get the things she needed to tend his wound. She set the kettle to boil and ripped several clean dishcloths into rags.
Jessie washed the blood from Chase’s face and neck quickly, and wrapped him in a warm blanket. He slept, his head bandaged with the white strips of cloth. The hours passed, but Chase didn’t regain consciousness.
Jessie was slicing bread when Gabe came in from the barn, his face grave.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Strong’s horse is back, but he’s cut up some.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Yes. I think it was the Indians who returned him, because the wounds are cleaned and dressed with poultices. I don’t think we have to worry about them anymore. If they hadn’t come to warn us, Mr. Strong may have died out there.”
Chase moaned, drawing their attention. Jessie hurried to his bedside, placing her hand on his forehead. He was much hotter than he’d been an hour ago, fairly sizzling at her touch.
Jessie pulled the blanket off and gently pulled his undershirt over his head. She bathed his face and chest with water from her porcelain pitcher. Again and again, she ran
Limp from worry, she felt like crying, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared into the fire imagining all the things that could be happening out there in the dark.
Sounds from outside caught Jessie’s attention. She tiptoed over and put her ear next to the door.
“We made it, Mr. Strong. We’re here.”
Gabe! Jessie threw the bar up and swung the door open wide.
“You’re home!” she sobbed, rushing to help Gabe pull the travois inside onto the rug.
Jessie fell to her knees beside Chase’s limp body. His face was ashen and blood was everywhere. She cradled his frozencheek in the palm of her hand. “How is he?” was all she could squeak past the egg-sized lump in her throat.
“He’s been shot. The bullet grazed his head. He spoke a few words to me at first, but that was hours ago. He’s lost a lot more blood since then. I’ll admit, I’m worried.”
Jessie looked at the gash, which still oozed blood. “Help me get him into bed.” The two struggled to get the travois through the room and into the bedroom.
“We can get him up on the bed, if we both lift,” Jessie said.
“Careful, he’s awful heavy,” Gabe answered. “I’ll take his shoulders, you take his legs. On the count of three.”
Sarah stood drowsily in the bedroom doorway. Her tousled hair stuck out from her head, and her little brow was furrowed with worry. “Pee-pee.”
“One, two, three… ”
Jessie heaved for all she was worth. Chase landed on the edge of the bed, a weak moan escaping his lips. Sliding him over, Jessie set to work on his boots, which were just as stubborn now as they’d been the night before.
“Here, let me.” Gabe’s voice was tinged with exhaustion.
Sarah began to whine.
“What’s the matter?” Jessie asked, going to her and picking her up. “He’ll be all right. He just has a little cut on the side of his head.” Jessie prayed it was the truth.
“Pee-pee.”
“Oh. You’re a very good girl.” She kissed Sarah, then smiled into her worried face. “Come on, let’s find the chamber pot.”
When Jessie returned she handed Sarah off to Gabe. Chase’s undershirt was folded back on each side, forming an open V more than midway down his body. His well-muscled chest was lightly sprinkled with dark, wavy hair. His abdomen, almost visible through the thinness of the fabric, rippled as he breathed and reminded her of a bull, lean andpowerful. Here was the kind of man the girls used to whisper about at the orphanage. The stories brought heat to Jessie’s face even now. She pulled her gaze from Chase’s body and contemplated his handsome, sleeping face. He was such a good man. Her heart tightened up at the thought of the pain he must be in, and she hurried to get the things she needed to tend his wound. She set the kettle to boil and ripped several clean dishcloths into rags.
Jessie washed the blood from Chase’s face and neck quickly, and wrapped him in a warm blanket. He slept, his head bandaged with the white strips of cloth. The hours passed, but Chase didn’t regain consciousness.
Jessie was slicing bread when Gabe came in from the barn, his face grave.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Strong’s horse is back, but he’s cut up some.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Yes. I think it was the Indians who returned him, because the wounds are cleaned and dressed with poultices. I don’t think we have to worry about them anymore. If they hadn’t come to warn us, Mr. Strong may have died out there.”
Chase moaned, drawing their attention. Jessie hurried to his bedside, placing her hand on his forehead. He was much hotter than he’d been an hour ago, fairly sizzling at her touch.
Jessie pulled the blanket off and gently pulled his undershirt over his head. She bathed his face and chest with water from her porcelain pitcher. Again and again, she ran
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