The Cowboy's Reluctant Bride (10 page)

A sudden stab of possessiveness had Gideon expelling a mental curse. Ivy Powell was not his woman. He needed to remember that he was here for her brother, not her.

Chapter Six

O
ver the next three days, Ivy and Gideon fell into a routine that mainly consisted of working and eating. There had been no more late-night visits on the porch, few conversations about anything other than the farm or the pup.

Since the stage passengers had left on Saturday, Gideon had been different. She didn’t know if he was keeping his distance the way she was, or if he was just focused on chores. Besides taking care of all of the livestock, he’d put a new door on her root cellar and repaired the steps leading down into it. Just an hour ago, he had helped her move the rugs outside for beating.

Now she was in the barn, feeding the pup. Her gaze fell on the animal trap that Gideon had hung on the wall, and she shivered. The stage was due back today for its Tuesday run. Gideon had told the railroad agent he was just a ranch hand. He was more than that, although she wasn’t sure exactly how to define it or if she wanted to. Protector? Friend? Both?

He’d certainly rescued her from that vicious metal trap and offered her a shoulder to cry on, which she had done literally. She was grateful for it, had even felt close to him, but she had done fine without a man for years.

While Tom had been off fighting, she’d handled everything. Things hadn’t been much different after he’d come home. Though he had tried at first, it hadn’t been long before he’d begun to take refuge in liquor.

Gideon had been through hell, too, yet he hadn’t turned to alcohol. To her knowledge. The man could have other vices she didn’t know about, but if he did, they weren’t obvious yet.

When the stage still hadn’t shown up by midafternoon, Ivy and Gideon ate the sandwiches she’d prepared. Gideon had cleaned out the chicken coop then disappeared a while ago to wash up in the river.

Because of his height, he would have to go downstream to get into water that would reach higher than his waist. An image flashed of him in the altogether—water lapping low on his hips, brawny shoulders glinting with water, the flat iron-hard stomach she’d felt when he held her after snatching her from the trap.

She wouldn’t mind taking a dip herself. She’d just spent ten minutes chasing Thunder, who wanted to play rather than eat, but that wasn’t what had her so hot. It was the picture of a naked Gideon. She wondered if he had scars besides the ones on his jaw and around his neck.

Forevermore! She pushed away the thoughts and bent down to pick up the pup, who had curled up beside the milk bowl. Thunder blinked drowsily.

Ivy’s attention turned to the bank. On Saturday, Conrad had said that the mayor was due back early in the week. She hoped he had returned. She needed to know as soon as possible about her bank loan, especially after her disappointing news from the stage line. That still irritated her.

Lifting her apron to dab at the perspiration on her forehead, she heard a sound behind her. Gideon. She started to turn. “How was the river?”

Something hard struck her on the back of the head. Pain burst in her skull. Another blow sent her stumbling. She went to her knees then crumpled to the ground, vaguely aware of the pup’s sharp yelps before she slid into blackness.

The next thing she knew she was staring up into Gideon’s face. He was on one knee, holding her against his solid chest.

Sharp pain arrowed through her head. “What happened?”

“I was hopin’ you could tell me.” Concern darkened his blue eyes. “Do you remember?”

“Someone came up behind me. I thought it was you.”

She tried to ease to a sitting position. He flattened a hand on her stomach, keeping her in place. “Stay put.”

“Go after them. You could probably catch whoever it was.”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, and neither are you.” He ran his free hand over her shoulders then arms. “What all hurts?”

“Just my head.”

His touch skimmed down her legs, making her tingle. “Nothing’s broken that I can tell.”

“Except my head.”

Still kneeling, he gathered her closer. Thunder wiggled next to Ivy and licked her wrist, whimpering.

Gideon moved a hand to the back of Ivy’s head. When he barely touched a certain spot, agony exploded in her brain and she winced.

“Easy,” he murmured. He lowered his hand, blood streaking his fingers.

Suddenly she felt wobbly and was glad he was holding her.

“We’re going to the doctor.”

“I think it’s just a bump.”

His gaze scrutinized her face. “Did he say anything? Make any threats?”

“No.” Thunder put a paw on her skirt then eased halfway into her lap. “How do you know it’s a man?”

“Boot prints. Can’t tell anything about them except they’re large.” Gideon’s mouth tightened in a grim line. “I’m wondering if the reason he didn’t say anything is because you might have recognized his voice.”

She felt as if someone were driving tacks into her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut. “How long was I out?”

“Probably not long. I was already on my way back to the house when I heard the pup putting up a fuss. I ran.”

Ivy noticed his hair was damp, as was his three-button shirt. The placket was undone, revealing a V of dark hair on his chest. He smelled of soap and fresh air. Ivy’s light-headedness passed, leaving her with a piercing throb.

“I think I can stand.”

Offering her a hand, he stayed on one knee as she got to her feet. He moved one big hand to her hip to steady her. After a moment, he rose, though his hand stayed on her hip, hot and heavy and possessive. Reassuring.

She straightened then cried out at the stab of agony. “Oh!”

“Enough of that,” he growled. He carefully picked her up and carried her to his bunk.

She remained sitting up, afraid to move her head or neck. “Don’t budge,” Gideon said. “I’m hitching up the wagon.”

“Is that necessary?”

He gave her a flat look. “We’re going to town to see the doc, then Farrell.”

She shut up, because she did want to talk to the sheriff.

After readying the wagon, Gideon went to the house and returned with every blanket she owned plus all of the pillows. He arranged them in the wagon bed, piled on top of each other like a fat cocoon.

He frowned at his handiwork. “You’ll still get jounced around, but this should help cushion some of it.”

Thunder lay at Ivy’s side, her little head resting on Ivy’s leg. The pup leaped down when Gideon bent to pick up her mistress. Once again he was careful as he handled her, easing her onto the plump mound of coverings and pillows. Thunder yelped, jumping on Gideon’s leg. She bounced and pawed at his shin, yipping as though she wanted to go.

“Hush up,” he murmured as he plucked up the dog and put her in the wagon beside Ivy. “You ain’t helpin’ Ivy’s head.”

Thunder quieted, curling up beside her. She had noticed Gideon’s grammar worsened whenever he was angry or concerned about something.

He climbed into the wagon and guided it out of the barn.

Ivy closed her eyes, holding a pillow tight to her head in an effort to lessen the piercing jabs of pain as the wagon bumped along the road.

He glanced back frequently. “I’m sorry for the jarring.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, but I can’t do anything about it.”

After a ride that seemed interminable, they reached Paladin. She directed Gideon to the doctor’s house on the outskirts of town near the gristmill. He braked the wagon and jumped down to come around for her. After lowering the wagon gate, he pulled the makeshift pallet toward him then gathered her up in his arms.

She wanted to sink into the shelter of his chest, the strong arms cradling her. “My head is better now. I don’t think I need to see the doctor.”

“There’s blood.” He barely spared her a glance. “You’re goin’.”

She’d had enough of men telling her what to do, and yet her temper didn’t so much as spark. That blow must have been harder than she realized.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut against the burning ache in her skull. He smelled of soap and leather and a darker musky scent that was distinctly him.

“Doc?” Gideon’s call brought Roe Manning to the door.

The tall, lean physician let them in, leading Gideon to a separate room with an exam table, a glass-front cabinet full of books and instruments.

Gideon put her gently on Roe Manning’s exam table and explained what had happened.

“Where’s Thunder?” she asked.

“In the wagon.”

Dark hair waving over his forehead as usual, her lifelong friend leaned forward to look into her eyes. “Did you lose consciousness?”

“I think so.”

“Just a few seconds,” Gideon answered. “I was almost to the barn when I heard the dog start howling, and Ivy had come to by the time I reached the barn.”

Roe glanced over at Gideon. “Did you see who hit her?”

Gideon shook his head. “He was already gone, probably hidden in the woods, and I wasn’t gonna leave her so I could chase after him.”

The doctor ran his hands over her shoulders. “Are you nauseous?”

“No.”

Roe’s coffee-dark eyes fixed on her face as he carefully felt for the knot on the back of her head.

Gideon’s features were grim, dark. Forbidding. “Ain’t there somethin’ you can give her for the pain?”

“I want to look at the wound first. You said there was blood.” Roe’s barely there probing felt like a skewer through her skull.

She winced, noting that Gideon looked away, a muscle working in his jaw. His concern had a strange warmth moving through her chest.

The doctor stepped over to the glass-front cabinet holding bottles, a bowl and pestle. A basin of clean water sat on top. Ivy noticed the spots of blood on his fingers.

After washing his hands, he returned. He examined her arms and legs just as Gideon had, but she didn’t get that little tug low in her belly the way she had when Gideon had put his hands on her.

Her friend stepped in front of her, lifting his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“And the date?”

She told him. She had no problem remembering things, but her head hurt like the devil. Especially with the late-afternoon sun streaming through the clinic’s windows.

“You don’t need stitches.”

“I guess I really am a hardhead.”

They shared a smile. Olivia, Roe’s late wife and Ivy’s dear friend, had often told her she was too hardheaded for her own good.

Roe squeezed her shoulder. “I think that knot on your head is the extent of your injury, but I’d feel better if you’d stay here overnight so I can keep an eye on you.”

“No. I’d rather go home.” What if something else happened to the farm or her animals?

Gideon moved to stand next to her. “If you’re worried about the farm, I’ll be there.”

“I want to be there, too.”

Roe shook his head. “Ivy—”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Gideon offered. “What do I need to know?”

The other man’s gaze went from her to Gideon, curiosity plain in the black depths. She could tell he wondered what, if anything, was between her and her brother’s friend.

Though his mouth flattened in a disapproving line, Roe said, “Keep an eye on that bump. It shouldn’t start bleeding again, but if it does, get her back here quickly. I think her head is only bruised, but I don’t want to take any chances. If she becomes confused, nauseous or if her vision changes, bring her in.”

Gideon nodded.

The doctor frowned. “I’ll get a headache powder. Maybe that will help ease the discomfort.”

Gideon shifted to stand in front of her, his gaze going over her solemnly, almost impersonally. Checking her over.

“I’m all right,” she reassured him.

“Are you up for talking to the sheriff? I can do it, if you aren’t.”

She started to step down from the exam table. “I can—”

“No.” He closed one big hand over her knee, causing a funny dip in her stomach. “I’ll bring him here.”

As badly as her head was throbbing, that was probably a good idea. “All right.”

He waited until Roe returned then slipped out the door. Even though Ivy was careful when she turned her head to watch him leave, agony razored through her skull.

“Here, take this.” Roe handed her a cup of water with tiny white granules swirling at the bottom.

She swallowed the bitter drink and returned the cup.

The doctor’s gaze shifted to the window. “I like him. Looks like you’ve got some protection.”

“He’s a friend of my brother’s.”

“Seems to be a friend of yours, too.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, wondering exactly when that had happened. “He came at Smith’s request.”

Roe’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

She explained about the incidents of the past few months, including the murder of the stage line’s horse and her dog.

When she told him about the trap, his handsome features hardened. “Any idea why this stuff is happening?”

“No.”

The door opened and Gideon stepped inside, followed by Josh.

The lawman came toward her, concern etched on his face. “Gideon told me what happened.”

After assuring him she was fine, he agreed with Roe that she shouldn’t go home yet. “If Meg were here, she would come out to stay with you, but she’s in Doaksville until tomorrow.”

Ivy knew she was checking on her sickly mother. “I’ll be fine. Gideon will be there.”

For which she was very glad.

Hands braced on his hips, the sheriff glanced at Gideon and Ivy. “I’ll come by later to check on things.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to Ivy. “I’m glad you’re not hurt worse.”

She nodded, the throbbing in her head turning into a dull, widespread ache.

After Josh left, Roe gave Gideon several packets of headache powder, just in case Ivy needed them.

The doctor leveled a look on her. “You’re leaving against my better judgment.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head.

From the window, Gideon glanced at Ivy. “Will you be okay here for a few minutes? I want to send a wire to Smith.”

“About this?”

“Yes.” He leveled his gaze on her. “And don’t ask me not to.”

“I won’t.” It was good he’d thought of it; she hadn’t.

Surprise lit his eyes. “Okay.”