To Know Her by Name (5 page)

“Think you can manage a little broth?”

“I'm hot.”

Pup put her hand on his head. His skin was warm but not on fire.

“There's a breeze coming through the window, but you don't want to get too cold.”

She watched him try and push the covers away, but he didn't have the strength. However, it wasn't a minute before he said, “Where are my pants?”

Pup didn't need to answer. His eyes were already closing. A man couldn't lose that kind of blood and pop out of bed like nothing happened. Pup touched his head once more, and again the action seemed to calm him. He moved slightly under her touch, but the anxiety was gone. Pup didn't hear from him the rest of the day.

4

Pup was gone from the cabin long before daybreak the next morning. Govern had been right about the money. Pup had cash on hand—she always did—but Govern would never have found it in the various places between the logs of her bedroom walls. She had put large saddle bags on Ginny and was now headed in for supplies. If she moved right along, she'd be back up the mountain by mid-afternoon.

McKay had been awake when she checked on him, and had even accepted some broth from a spoon. She'd left him resting quietly. Pup wasn't exactly thrilled to leave him on his own, but they had to have food. It had been her plan to tell him where she was headed, but he'd fallen back to sleep. Supplies could not wait another day.

The ride into town was uneventful, and so was the shopping trip. Pup eyed the produce and canned goods dispassionately but still chose a good variety. Her patient was on her mind for most of the trip, so as soon as she finished filling her saddle bags she made a stop at the bank and headed back up the hill.

McKay woke slowly, feeling like he'd been dragged behind a horse. His shoulder was still on fire, and the rest of his body was sore to the bone. His head hurt, so he tried not to move much. The back of his head deep in the pillow, he let his eyes roam his surroundings. From his vantage point there was nothing pretentious about the room. It was square with a low ceiling, and only the bed, nightstand, and one chair served as furniture. No pictures hung on the walls, and there were no curtains at the window. Indeed, one window was boarded up, casting a shadow across the bed. His mind still fuzzy, McKay wondered what had happened.

He shifted his head to the left side. Now he was able to look out the open door to the room beyond. He thought he could see the edge of a table and some chairs, and with his head in this direction he also caught sight of a cup of water that had been left for him. Only about 18 inches away on the nightstand, it was like reaching for the moon. McKay was gasping with pain by the time he managed to maneuver the cup to his lips, and he splashed himself before getting anything into his mouth. He finally let his head fall back, feeling as if he'd run a race. The cup was empty in his hand.

“Anyone out there?” he croaked, but was only met with silence. “Hey,” he tried again, his voice little more than a whisper. “Is someone there?”

His hostess, or whoever she was, was obviously out. McKay had a dozen questions, and he was determined to stay awake to ask them, but he couldn't make it happen. He fell back to sleep, not even stirring when the cup rolled from his hand and landed with a small thump on the rug beside his bed.

When McKay woke again he was assailed by the smell of meat cooking. His stomach clenched in hunger, and he rocked his head to squint out the door. He could tell by the shadows that the day was long spent, but there was still plenty of light in the sky. He hadn't cried out this time, but his movement brought the woman with the head of dark curls. She stopped in the doorway but came forward when she saw he was awake.

“How are you feeling?”

“I've been better.”

“Water?” Pup filled the glass she'd retrieved earlier and held it up.

McKay nodded and she helped him drink. Their eyes met when he lay back.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You mean in the hills above Boulder, or the cabin?”

He didn't answer. “You live here?”

“Yes.”

“What's your name?”

“Callie Jennings.”

McKay was not at all surprised that Govern Hackett would have a woman living with him in the hills, but she was different than he would have imagined—clearly small town and down to earth. If rumor could be trusted, Govern enjoyed the big cities and women who'd seen a little more of life. Not that McKay could tell what this woman had seen—her dark eyes gave nothing away.

“Can you eat something?” she asked without emotion. “I've got some rabbit stew on. I can cut it into small pieces for you.”

“That sounds good.”

She left without a word, and when she returned it was with a small bowl and spoon. Steam billowed from the top of the bowl. She was almost to the bed when she tripped on the edge of the rug and slopped a little onto the bed covers. Without a sound, she set the bowl on the nightstand and went for a towel. She cleaned up the mess without comment, pulled the chair close, picked up the bowl, and held out the spoon.

McKay realized in that instant that he hated being flat on his back, weak as a child. It was humiliating. He couldn't tell her that he could manage on his own, since it hurt to even move his shoulder, and Callie Jennings did not look large enough to help him into a sitting position. But it was true—he hated this helplessness.

“Are you the woman I saw outside the cabin?” he asked between bites.

“Yes,” she answered before putting the spoon back to his mouth.

“Where's Govern?”

“He's dead,” Pup supplied calmly, feeling no need to remind him that they'd covered this the day before.

“Did I shoot him?”

“Yes.”

This time McKay didn't take the food she offered. He'd eaten all of four bites, but it had cost him.

“Had enough?”

“So tired.”

“You're going to be, with all the blood you lost.”

“How'd I get in here?” he asked, slurring his words.

“I dragged you in.”

“Bullet,” he began, his eyes barely staying open.

“It's out,” she told him, but she didn't think he heard. She set the bowl aside and picked up the cloth. She tenderly wiped his mouth and chin as well as the little bit of stew that dripped onto the sheet. It wouldn't be long before he'd be wanting a bath. Pup remembered how heavy he was and didn't relish the thought. It seemed that he was going to make it through, and she couldn't help but wonder how long he'd be laid up. He didn't interfere too greatly with her lifestyle, in fact not at all, but she had her own life and didn't enjoy the idea of a stranger living in her home indefinitely.

It would be dark soon, Pup thought absently as she cleared away the bowl and towel and left the sickroom. As she did the dishes, she decided she would take a bath and turn in early. Days spent going to town and back always made her tired; it felt good to finish the dishes and sit down. With the little bit of light left in the sky she picked up the copy of
Pride and Prejudice
, the book from Percy. It was very good. She read until the light faded, lit her lantern, and readied for her bath. McKay was doing surprisingly well, so she took as long as she liked, letting the cold water clear her head and cleanse her body. She then did as she'd planned and turned in early, thankfully sleeping the whole night through.

McKay's fever was up the next day. He was in and out of coherency and hot to the touch all day. He was not overly demanding in his needs, but each time he surfaced he had questions.

Where is my horse? Did you get my saddlebags? What day is it? Where's Govern? What was your name again? What time is it? How long have I been here?

None of it was unreasonable, but Pup was a woman who could go for days, even weeks, and not talk to anyone. McKay's constant questions were wearing her out. However, there was an upside. Each time McKay woke over the next three days, it was for a little longer period. Pup knew that he was gaining strength. She hoped he would be on his feet soon, not just for her sake, but for his as well. However, she hadn't reckoned with the man—McKay Harrington. She didn't know him well enough to realize that as he improved he also grew more frustrated with the fact that he wasn't back to
full
strength. He woke up on Tuesday morning, just seven days after he'd been shot, his body still weak as a child's, but his mind moving in 40 different directions.

5

“Miss Jennings,” McKay called to his nurse as soon as he heard movement in the next room. He figured he'd been awake for more than an hour, just waiting, his mind still moving much faster than the rest of him. It was a relief to hear someone else stirring.

Pup didn't have any trouble hearing McKay's voice, but she'd never been called Miss Jennings before. She went to the door.

“I take it you're feeling better?” she asked kindly from the threshold.

“Yes, thank you.” His voice was all business, and he wished he had the strength to sit up. However, that was not going to stop his mission. “I know you've gone to a lot of trouble,” he began, “but I need a favor.”