He looked at her. At least she thought he did. With those swollen eyes, it was impossible to be certain. “Do you think you can move if I support your left side?” It was his left ankle that was swollen. “You could use the broom as a crutch.”
He mumbled something and she said, “Is that a yes or a no?”
More mumbling. One hand lifted and she thought he pointed to the window. “Close it? Open it wider?”
More swearing. At least that’s what it sounded like. He could barely move his lips.
Hands on her hips, she said, “All right, I’m going to suggest a few things. If I’m right, nod your head.” Which would probably hurt, too, but they weren’t getting anywhere using words. “You’re hot. You want me to open the window.”
Was that a nod, or a negative? He barely moved.
She tried again. “You want me to hide you in case whoever did this comes looking for you.”
This time there was another stream of curses, followed by a groan. She leaned over and whispered, “Shh, don’t try to say any more, I understand.”
Oh, yes, she understood. The Millers distrusted all strangers. This man was a stranger, an angry stranger if she were any judge. Who could blame him if this was an indication of their hospitality?
“Never mind, I know you can’t talk, but you might as well know it now—sometimes I tend to talk too much. Comes of living alone,” she said as she lifted the afghan she’d spread over him when she’d peeled him down to his long underwear. That, too, was wet as if he’d been caught in a downpour—or dunked in the creek—but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to strip him completely bare.
“All right then, let’s see if you can sit up. It’s only a few steps away—right over there where the door is.” Torn between wariness and sympathy, she studied her unexpected guest and tried to think of some way to make the transfer easier.
There was simply no way. As gentle as she’d tried to be, he had groaned when she’d peeled his muddy blue jeans down over his bare foot. Hopefully it wasn’t broken, but even a sprain could be painful.
She positioned herself on his good side and slid one arm under his, taking most of his weight on her shoulder. He groaned. She grunted. “Don’t worry,” she managed. “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”
Working together they managed to get him onto his feet. Or rather, onto his foot. With her on one side and the broom on the other serving as a crutch, he hobbled toward the back of the cabin.
His body felt unnaturally hot, and she wondered how long he’d been lying out in the woods before he’d found his way to her cabin. If he was already feverish, it could be either lung fever or an infection of one of his wounds. Surely it was too soon for that. But then, she still didn’t know the full extent of his injuries. Wouldn’t until she got him out of his underwear.
Feeling her face flush, she told herself she would worry about that later. For now, she needed to get him onto the bed before he collapsed. Then she could start by cutting off the tight cuff of his long johns. It had to be constricting circulation, with that swollen ankle.
If he had internal injuries, she could only pray that they were minor. She should have paid more attention to biology as a student, but at the time she couldn’t picture a situation where knowing how a frog was constructed would be of any value.
He practically fell across the bed, giving her mere seconds to sweep the covers aside first. Then she had to reposition his heavy limbs until he was lying more or less straight on the feather tick. Her sheets would be wet clean through, but that was the least of her worries.
What on earth was she going to do with him? He was too big to hide under the bed, even if he could crawl under there. There was simply no place else to hide, but if the Millers were to show up—if they were to come inside and discover that she was harboring a strange man…
They couldn’t. Chances were they’d been the ones to do this to him, but even if they hadn’t, they hated strangers. They would drag him away, and in his present condition, he might not survive their rough handling.
“Think, Eleanor, think!”
He focused a bleary eye on her face, and she said, “Sorry—I told you I tend to talk to myself.”
All right, she was thinking. What if he were a fugitive? A bank robber? A train robber? What if the sheriff was after him and had followed him here? In that case, she could be arrested as an accomplice.
On the other hand, if she explained how she’d found him and they took him away, she could insist on going with them. Not even the Millers would risk trying to hold her against her will with a sheriff as witness.
“No. Don’t even think about that now,” she muttered. Whoever or whatever this man was, he was no threat to anyone in his present condition. He certainly didn’t need any lawmen dragging him down the mountain. What he needed was to sleep until he could tell her where he hurt, what to do about it, who did this to him and whether or not they were likely to follow him here.
At the moment, though, she needed to get him up long enough to peel the rest of those wet clothes off his poor battered body. If the parts that were hidden were in as bad shape as the parts that were visible, he might not even survive the night.
And if he died…
“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered as she turned to her sewing basket to find her scissors.
“Mm?”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said hurriedly, fingering the thick knit of his long johns. “That is, I was, but I don’t expect a reply. I think I might have mentioned that I tend to talk to myself occasionally.”
This time when he said, “Mm,” it was without the questioning inflection. In other words, she translated, “I hear you, woman.”
One piece. She would have to cut around the waist and pull them off in both directions. A blindfold might help her modesty, but it wouldn’t help get the job done.
“Be still now, don’t move,” she cautioned, and positioning the scissors, she slit the left leg of his underwear up to his knee, wincing at the way the cuff had cut into his swollen ankle. Between bruises and abrasions, his skin was a lovely golden color, like well-polished maple.
“I’ll be as gentle as possible, but we have to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch pneumonia.” She cut all the way around just under the knee, then lifted the remnant away. Now all she had to do was get the top part off, then she would worry about what came next.
“Here, let me cover you with this,” she said, unfolding the crocheted afghan she had found in Cousin Annie’s hope chest after her cousin had died. She had wept gallons at the time, but being the practical woman she was, she’d packed it in her own hope chest, which by then she had thought of as her hopeless chest.
She covered his midsection and began unfastening the bone buttons that led from the hollow of his throat all the way down to…
Wherever. “You look like you were dragged all over the mountain,” she said, seeing that one eye was slightly open.
No reply. He appeared to be fascinated by the unadorned whitewashed walls. The poor man had to be every bit as embarrassed as she was, letting himself be cut out of his underwear by a strange woman.
She continued to chatter to take both their minds off what she was doing. “I thought at first you might have tangled with a bear, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t any bear caves around here, at least not any longer. I think the mining must have driven them away.”
Accustomed to conversing with herself, she didn’t wait for a response. “There, roll over a little bit so I can cut