Only in My Arms (36 page)

"For my head," Ryder finished. "It's all right. Mary warned me her father would want my head on a platter." He forgot his pain long enough to allow himself a small, self-mocking chuckle. "Jay Mac could have saved his money. Rosario would happily turn over my scalp for free."

"So I understand."

"It's not personal," Ryder said. "Rosario hates all Chiricahua equally and that's what he considers me. That's why he's been such a good scout for Gardner. Bringing in the Chiricahua is a matter of pride. He can cut his teeth on me, but if he can bring down Geronimo he'll be a legend." Ryder shifted his weight again, this time moving back on the bed so he could lean against the stone side. The effort beaded his brow with sweat. "So Rosario's out on his own. I'm surprised General Gardner released him to go alone."

"Jay Mac was convincing. And the general thinks Rosario's with me."

"Why isn't he?"

"I lost him."

"No one simply loses Rosario. I may have no liking for him, but I respect his skills."

"I hammered him on the head with my peacemaker," Jarret explained.
"Then
I lost him."

"Why?"

"I didn't trust him."

"Because he's an Indian?"

"Because he wanted you too badly. I was afraid for Mary if she got in the middle." He glanced over his shoulder. The sight of Mary still sleeping comfortably in the chair raised a smile. "And she can't seem to help herself. I used to think it was her habit; now I realize it's just her way."

Ryder nodded, understanding. "Then, thank you," he said quietly, "for realizing what her father couldn't and acting on it."

Jarret took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Jay Mac's not thinking straight. You can't blame him. You have his little girl. I suppose you'd have to have a daughter of your own to appreciate what he's going through."

"What makes you think I don't?"

Frowning, Jarret pinned Ryder with a hard, cold look. "What are you saying?"

"I have...
had
a daughter," he said. It was odd to him that he was telling this to Jarret Sullivan. The words he was speaking he had meant to share with Mary. "She was murdered in her cradleboard. My wife... her family... they were all killed in the same raid."

Jarret's stare could not penetrate the mask that Ryder had drawn over his features. Here was grief so profound, Jarret thought, that it could not be made visible. "I didn't know," he said.

"Not many do."

"Mary?"

Ryder shook his head. "I haven't—" He broke off as a movement behind Jarret caught his attention. At first he didn't know what had changed. Mary hadn't shifted in the chair. Her legs were still curled under her. The tilt of her head was exactly the same. Her shoulder sloped at an identical angle. Ryder's gaze went back to Mary's face and locked on the forest green eyes that were returning his regard. The movement that had anchored his attention was the raising of her eyelids. The emotion he saw in her gaze was more hurt than anger.

Jarret followed the drift of Ryder's attention, turning to face Mary. He saw immediately that she had heard. Her expression seemed to confirm that Moira was indeed right about her daughter's feelings for Ryder McKay. "Hello, Mary," he said gently. He bent and kissed her warm cheek.

Mary blinked and the emotion that had been in her eyes for both men to see was shuttered. "Jarret." She said his name politely, as if he were an unwelcome guest, but good manners forbade her from behaving less than graciously.

To Jarret, her tone was another sign of her hurt and confusion. Mary Francis Dennehy had never been one to stand on ceremony. "How are you feeling?"

She straightened, running one hand through her hair in a negligent fashion. There was a vertical crease between her brows as she frowned, trying to shed the dregs of her heavy sleep. "What are you doing here?"

Jarret looked back at Ryder. "Trust her to come straight to the point."

Mary wasn't amused. She came to her feet, a little unsteadily at first, but she had no use for Jarret's extended hand. Brushing past him, she went to the bed. "Let me see your leg," she said. Although her tone brooked no argument, Ryder tried to object. She stared him down.

"All right," he said, giving in. Over Mary's shoulder, he could see Jarret's interest in the exchange. He pushed back the blanket and let her examine the wound.

"It's better," she pronounced.

"Wishful thinking," Ryder told Jarret.

"It
is,"
she said. "Look. Some of the redness is gone. I think the poison is gone. Jarret, come and look at this."

"He's already seen it," Ryder said, even as Jarret was approaching. "He knows I'm going to lose my leg."

Mary's head swung in Jarret's direction. "Is he right?" she demanded. "Is that what you think?"

It
was
what he had thought when he'd first seen the wound. Now he saw Mary's fierce determination and remembered what it was like to fly in the face of that. "What I think," he said heavily, almost on a surrendering sigh, "is that there's something in my saddlebags that might help."

Chapter 11

Once Jarret was gone from the chamber Ryder was left basking in Mary's triumphant smile. "How do you do it?" he asked. "How do you get people to move in ways they're not at all inclined to pursue?"

"I'd like to think they respond to superior reasoning," she said primly. "The truth is, I bully them."

The real truth was somewhere in between, Ryder decided. Not that Mary wasn't capable of sound reasoning
and
bullying tactics, but it was her ability to make people believe in her, and in the things she believed in, that had them stepping lively to her tune.

"Lie down," she said. "All the color's faded from your face."

Ryder acknowledged that he was in no condition to gainsay her. With Jarret gone, he didn't even try.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mary picked up a damp cloth and wiped the perspiration from Ryder's face. "I wish you had told me about your wife," she said after a moment.

"I know." The cloth was cool on his skin, and Ryder closed his eyes. "It was so long ago," he said. "I was married before my uncle found me, before West Point. I can almost believe it happened to another person. It's the same way I feel about my childhood in Ohio. Separate places. Separate lives."

He was a man with roots in two worlds, she thought, part of both, belonging in neither. "Where is it that you find peace?" she asked.

Ryder opened his eyes and looked at Mary steadily. The serenity of her features masked the ferocity of her temperament... his warrior angel. "In your arms," he said, as though the answer were profoundly simple. "Only in your arms."

Mary's breath caught in her throat. For a moment she couldn't move. It was the way he said it, with that air of inevitability and acceptance, that gave truth to the words. Leaning over, she kissed him full on the mouth. "All the more reason to get well," she said, lifting her head. "So you can be there again."

Ryder murmured his agreement, his eyes closed again. Sleep was edging at his conscious mind. He felt Mary's gentle touch on his face, then his neck and shoulders. The cloth was cool, her fingertips warm.

Mary continued to wipe down his fevered skin even after Ryder fell asleep. She pushed back strands of his dark hair where it lay against his temples and brushed her knuckle across the pronounced hollow of his cheek.

"He's sleeping?" Jarret asked from the entrance. "Or did he pass out?"

"A little of both, I suspect." Mary left Jarret's side to dip the cloth in the pool again. "How did you find us?"

Jarret dropped his saddlebags on the rocker and set down his lantern. He tipped his hat a notch as he looked in Mary's direction. "There's a trail of blood a greenhorn could follow."

Mary nodded. "Ryder was afraid of that. Where did you pick up the trail?"

"Above the ravine where he fell. I went down first, just to make certain there were no bodies, then I climbed out, using the same route he did. It's pretty much a miracle he survived at all—and with no broken bones."

"Two ribs," she corrected.

Jarret just shook his head. "The man has a will of iron."

"He wanted to come back to me," she said simply. "You would have done the same for Rennie."

"But I love your sister."

Mary sat beside Ryder again. "Well?" she asked.

Jarret's eyes went from Mary to Ryder and then took in both of them together. "I see," he said. "So that's the way it is. Do you return it?"

"If I do," she said, "I wouldn't tell you first. That's for Ryder to hear."

Jarret grinned as he removed his hat and dropped it on the rocker. "You were never one to show your hand early," he said. "Just so you know, your mother thinks she has it figured out."

Mary nodded, accepting it, but saying nothing.

Jarret sat in the wing chair and reached for the saddlebags. He placed them between his knees and began removing their contents. "How long ago did he fall?"

"I don't know." When Jarret looked at her oddly, she explained, "There's no means of telling time in here. Neither of us has a watch, and there's no sun—no moon to orient us. My best guess is that it's been a week since the accident. I just can't be sure." She began to wipe down Ryder's skin again. "Was the ravine far from here?"

"Easily eight miles."

"I've been that way once in the daylight and once at night, but I don't remember it clearly. How far did Ryder fall?"

"Didn't he tell you?"

She shook her head. "And I didn't ask. It wasn't as important to know the details as it was to have him here."

"He went down about a hundred and fifty feet." At Mary's gasp, he added, "Not all at once. He dropped in stages. The ground kept crumbling under him, and he slipped on his own blood as he tried to climb out. That gash in his leg was the result of slipping past a tree branch that was growing out of the side of the ravine."

"I thought it might be something like that." She sighed. "I suppose it would have been better if he hadn't gone after the clothes at all." At Jarret's curious look Mary explained why the clothing had been on the trail in the first place. Some of her guilt came through in the telling, because Jarret was quick to point out that the events that followed were not her fault.

"There's not much comfort in that," she told him. "So I may as well feel guilty." Mary pointed to the items Jarret was removing from his saddlebags. "What do you have there to help Ryder?"

"Balms and tinctures," he said. "Your sister made me bring them—just in case."

"Then thank Rennie for me."

"It was Maggie, not Rennie."

"Maggie? When did you—"

Jarret held up his hand and cut her off. "Mary, did you really imagine the family wouldn't gather at a time like this? Maggie and Connor arrived hours before I left. Michael and Ethan are on their way from Denver. Skye is the only one with no chance of getting here and she won't thank you for it."

Mary's shoulders slumped a little. "It occurred to me, of course," she said softly, more to herself and to Jarret, "but all of them..."

"Jay Mac was here right away."

"I knew he would be." She wrung out the cloth and put it aside. "Mama is doing well?" she asked.

"For the circumstances," he said. "The more frustrated Jay Mac gets, the calmer Moira becomes."

Mary smiled faintly. "It's always been like that."

Jarret grinned, understanding. He sorted through the items he had removed from the saddlebags and carried the most important ones to Mary's side. "Maggie's instructions were hurried," Jarret explained, "but I think I know how to use these things."

Mary accepted a bottle of tincture and studied her sister's neat, handwritten label. "The wonder is she didn't insist on coming herself."

"She did," Jarret said dryly. "Connor held her back."

Uncorking the small brown bottle of white willow tincture, Mary swabbed Ryder's wound carefully. "I had to cut him open again to remove more of the infection," she told Jarret.