How to Lasso a Cowboy (23 page)

But then why was Seth trying to save her father? To claim being a good Samaritan?

Should she wait for the doctor? But she had seen how
pale her father's face had turned, how weak his voice was.

She took the medical box and towels to the room, setting them down on a table next to the bed, then hurriedly fetched the water. She planned to watch every movement Seth made.

He stood a few feet away, applying pressure to the wound on her father's shoulder.

“Keep the pressure on,” he said. She moved to the side of the bed and her hands replaced his, brushing them.

Her gaze didn't leave him as he opened the box. She had seen the contents before but now they looked sinister and ugly. He removed a pair of tongs and glanced at her.

“Wipe the blood from the wound,” he said. “Keep doing it.” He glanced up at her, challenge still in his eyes.

She nodded, leaned over, and wiped away blood with one of the towels she'd brought in.

Seth didn't hesitate but slowly inserted the tongs into the wound. She prayed her father would remain unconscious.

Sweat ran down Seth's face as he moved the tongs with obvious expertise. And care. She saw in his face when he found the bullet, and her gaze went back to his hand as he extracted the bullet.

Blood gushed behind it and without urging she pressed a clean cloth down on the wound.

“The knife?”

“In the stove.”

He left the room. In seconds, he was back, holding the handle of the knife with a towel.

“You might want to leave,” he said. “This won't be pleasant.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “When I tell you to move your hands, do it.” His voice was matter-of-fact as if he had done this a hundred times. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Now.”

She moved the towel and he pressed the blade against the wound. It sizzled and even in unconsciousness her father's
body seemed to jump. She felt the impact clear through her body.

He lifted the knife and looked down at the wound. The bleeding had stopped.

She heard the release of a withheld breath. She thought it her own until she looked at Seth's face. It had been his. His lips were slightly parted, his usually cool eyes roiling with some emotion she didn't understand.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don't thank me yet. He's lost a lot of blood and there could be infection.”

“You tried. You didn't have to.”

“I've seen enough death in the past few years,” he said curtly. “I don't want to see more.” He paused. “No matter who it is.”

It was a direct slap at her. At the man he had just doctored.

She was the first to avert her gaze. “What should I do now?”

“He is going to hurt. The doctor should have something to help. So would alcohol. I would leave the wound unbandaged until the doctor comes.”

“You're not leaving?”

“I have other business.”

“What if . . .”

“I've done everything I can do. Keep the wound clean. Make him as comfortable as possible.”

She started to protest, then she heard hoofbeats approaching. She moved quickly to the window. Howie and the doctor was her first thought.

It couldn't be. Not this quickly.

She peered out the window and her heart dropped.

Major Delaney.
He was looking at the buggy that was still hitched to the horses, at Seth's horse.

Why? Why now?

She turned to Seth. “You have to hide.”

“Why?”

“Major Delaney is here.”

“I have no reason to hide. The war is over.”

“He wants your brother. He might . . .”

“Might what?”

“Try to hold you for some reason. To get to your brother.”

“I am not going to run.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“He's dangerous.”

“He and your father are friends. So are you, I understand. I heard he's calling on you.”

She ignored the contempt in his voice. “It could have been your brother who shot my father—”

“No,” he replied with such conviction that she stepped back. “He didn't chase your buggy. Neither did any of his friends.”

“How do you know?”

A knock at the door turned into pounding, and she didn't wait for an answer. “I have to go down,” she said. “He knows someone is here. The horses . . .”

He took a last look at her father. The man was still unconscious. His breathing was labored.

Then Seth started out the door.

She knew she couldn't stop him.

She also knew what had happened the last time Delaney met a Sinclair.

A frisson of apprehension, of fear, darted down her spine.

He possibly had just saved her father.

Now she had to save him.

 
A QUICK GLIMPSE
out the window had told Seth that the Yankee major was alone.

That was fortunate. More than fortunate from Seth's point of view. It handed him a chance to weigh his opponent. The major was the cause of his father's death, the loss of the Sinclair home and land, the labeling of his brother as an outlaw, and probably a great deal more. Seth relished the opportunity to meet him.

He led a reluctant Elizabeth to the door, standing beside her.

“Go into the other room,” she commanded.

“No,” he said again. “I've been wanting to meet him.”

“Please.”

“I haven't done a damn thing wrong,” he said.

The pounding on the door increased. “Shouldn't you open the door?” he asked. “If you don't, I will.”

Her gaze met his. Worry reflected in her eyes. Worry for him.

“It's all right,” he said gently. “I've been officially pardoned. I even have the papers. There's nothing he can do.”

She reluctantly opened it.

A man in Union blue stood there, his fist upraised. Hostile curiosity flicked across his face when he saw Seth. The officer's eyes weighed him, moving slowly from his face down to his Confederate uniform pants.

“You must be Sinclair,” he stated. From the tone of his voice, he might as well have said “rabid dog.” He took his gun from its holster and held it on Seth. “You are trespassing, Sinclair.”

Seth didn't even look at the gun. “I've heard of you as well,” Seth managed in a pleasant voice.

Elizabeth broke in. “He's not trespassing. I asked him in. He just saved my father's life. He was here. You were not, nor have you provided any of the protection my father requested.” She paused, then demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Seth was astonished. According to Abe, she was being courted by the major. She and her father depended on his goodwill, yet she didn't back away.

“Looks like you need to be doing a better job,” Seth said mildly.

Delaney's hostile eyes held Seth's. He was a bulky man with a ruddy face and a thin mouth. His uniform was impeccable, the cloth good and the fit even better. Nice goods to conceal bad sins. “I met Howie on the road,” Delaney said, his gaze returning to Elizabeth. “He told me your father had been shot. He went ahead for the doctor. I thought I'd better come right away. It looks like I was right.”

“As you can see, we are being well taken care of,” Elizabeth said, glancing at Seth.

“He's a rebel,” Delaney shot back. “He is probably in league with his brother. Drat it, Elizabeth, he probably shot your father.”

“No,” she said. “He was with me. We took Marilee for a picnic.”

Pure rage crossed Delaney's face. “He's a traitor. If he
didn't shoot your father, then his brother did. Or his friends. You can be sure he knew about it. Anyway, he's going with me for questioning.”

“Like hell I will,” Seth said. “Of course, you could shoot me here. In the back. I understand that's your way of doing things. Unfortunately for you, there's a witness this time.” It was a taunt. He saw Delaney's fingers tighten on the handle of his pistol.

“If McGuire dies, it's your kind who did it.”

“My kind?”

“A traitor,” Delaney repeated. “Just like your brother is a traitor.”

“But I'm not a profiteer.”

The gibe struck its mark. Delaney turned several darker shades of red, rage deepening into fury.

He visibly struggled to contain himself as he turned to Elizabeth. “I care about your father . . . and you. Thank God he is still alive. I promise you we will capture those responsible.”

Seth doubted his sudden concern was very convincing to her, especially since it had been secondary to his anger at seeing him here.

“If you are so concerned, then you might ride out to hurry the doctor,” she said sharply.

Neatly done, Seth thought.

“I want to see your father,” Delaney persisted. “I have questions to ask.”

“I don't think he can answer any now. He needs his strength.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” Delaney said. “He might have seen who shot him.” His gaze flickered back to Seth. “In fact, I demand to see him. This man might well have done something to finish the job. You are too trusting, Elizabeth.”

“I am not trusting at all,” she said. “Mr. Sinclair chased off some men trying to run my buggy off the road, and Mr. Sinclair took a bullet from my father's shoulder. Where were you, Major, and the men my father has been requesting for protection?”

“I have a quarter of the state to patrol, Elizabeth,” Delaney said. Seth noticed that Delaney hadn't even responded to the news that Elizabeth had been attacked—most likely because it wasn't news to him.

“You brought us here. Now you're leaving us to the mercy of outlaws. I'm beginning to wonder why.”

Seth was startled by her candor. Had she also started to question what was happening?

Delaney looked equally startled. “Now, Elizabeth, you know I would do anything for you and your father. I have troops out every day looking for those outlaws. That's why I can't keep them at any one ranch.” He nodded toward Seth. “This man is probably here to spy for them.”

“No,” Elizabeth said sharply. “He saved my life earlier, then my father's. Arrest him for no reason, and I'll go to your superiors. As far as I have to go. And you will not come any farther inside with that gun in your hand.”

Delaney glared at her, then slowly put his gun in his holster. He kept his hand on it.

“I came to ask you attend our regimental ball with me on Saturday,” he said with a forced smile.

“I cannot attend when my father is wounded,” she said. “But thank you.”

A muscle twitched in his neck. He was not, Seth thought, a man to be refused. An unexpected surge of satisfaction rushed through him. Despite what Abe had said, it was obvious by her cool reception that any feeling Delaney might have for Elizabeth was not reciprocated.

Why did he even care?

He mulled that over as Delaney glanced at him, then back at Elizabeth. Seth wondered whether he detected any of the attraction that had darted between them.

If he had, he chose to ignore it for the moment. “I still insist on seeing your father,” Delaney said.

She reluctantly stepped aside. Delaney brushed by him as if he were an annoying fly and went to McGuire's bedroom as if he belonged here, had been here often. Seth didn't like the jealousy that roiled in his stomach as he
followed Delaney and Elizabeth to her father's room. He had no intention of leaving her alone with the man.

Seth entered behind Delaney. Perhaps McGuire's death was exactly what Delaney wanted. Then he could claim the Sinclair land. And McGuire's daughter. She would be alone then. Vulnerable.