Gathering her soiled skirts, Faith lifted them above her shoe tops with one hand, lurched to her feet and stumbled around a corner. Finding a bare wall, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
It hurt to move. To breathe. She pressed both palms hard against her aching side. Dear God! As much as she hated to admit it, Charity was right. The streets of Fort Laramie were no place for a stroll.
At the passage of a shadow across her flushed face, Faith’s eyes snapped open. The muscled shoulder of an enormous reddish-colored horse was a scant three feet from the tip of her nose. She heard saddle leather creak as its rider leaned forward.
“You should have better sense,” he grumbled.
Her blurry vision focused. That beard. That hair. The buckskins. It was him. The man from the trading post who was searching for his lost bride-to-be. She drew a short breath and winced as pain shot from her side to her innards. “Sarcasm is quite uncalled-for, sir.”
“Where’s your man?”
“I hardly think that is a proper question,” Faith shot back, grimacing in spite of herself.
He dismounted beside her, his tone a little more gentle. “You’re right. My apologies. Guess I’ve been alone on the trail too long. Are you badly hurt?”
Suddenly not certain, Faith sagged back against the wall. “I…I don’t think so.” Taking a deeper breath, she assessed the searing pain that increased every time she moved or dared inhale. “Oh, dear.”
“Can you walk?”
“Of course.” What a silly question. Why, she’d never had a sick day in her life, not even when she’d been left to try to cope after Mama had died. Faith bit her lower lip. Today’s problems were sufficient for today, as the Good Book said.
The plainsman stood by, waiting, his mere presence lending her added fortitude. She would straighten up, stand tall and prove to him she was fine. The moment she tried, however, agony knifed through her body, bending her double. She bit back a cry.
“Have you got a penny?” he asked, sounding disgusted.
The slim cords of Faith’s reticule were still looped around her wrist. Had she been in better command of her faculties, she might have questioned his request. Instead, she raised the drawstring bag to him without speaking.
“Good, because I don’t. I’d hate to waste a whole dollar on this.”
Although pain was coursing through her like the racing water of a rain-swollen stream, she was still capable of a modicum of indignation. “I beg your pardon?” Her mouth dropped open. What audacity! The man had invaded her reticule to withdraw the asked-for penny.
“This will do.” Flipping the oversize copper coin into the air and catching it several times, he whistled at a young boy who was passing. “Son! Over here.”
The boy’s face lit up when he spied the coin. “Yessir?”
Connell bent low, holding out the penny as inducement. “I want you to fetch that Mrs. Morse from the trading post. You know her?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Tell her a lady is hurt and needs her. Then bring her here and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”
Young eyes darted from the coin to the pale, disheveled woman leaning against the wall. “Did you hurt her, mister?”
Faith managed to smile. One hand remained pressed tightly to her ribs, but she put out the other and laid it on the buckskin-clad arm of her Good Samaritan. “No,” she said. “There was an accident and this gentleman came to my rescue. Now, hurry. Please.”
“Yes, ma’am!” The boy was off like a shot.
Breathing shallowly to minimize her pain, Faith peered at the man on whose sturdy arm she was leaning. Soon, she would release her hold on him. Just a few seconds more and she’d feel strong enough to stand alone.
“I do thank you for looking after me,” Faith managed. “No one else seemed to even notice.”
“They noticed.” How delicate she seemed, Connell McClain thought. Her skin was soft, like the doeskin of his scabbard, only warm and alive. And her eyes. No wonder they had reminded him of a deer’s the first time he’d looked into them. They were the most beautiful, rich brown he’d ever seen.
He scowled. Better to keep the woman talking and draw her thoughts away from her injuries. She didn’t look well. If she passed out on him before Mrs. Morse arrived, he didn’t know what he’d do with her.
“The Indians wouldn’t help you because they don’t dare touch a white woman,” he explained. “And if the soldiers got involved, they’d have to admit they were the cause of your troubles. That could mean the stockade.”
“Oh.” The woman glanced at the street and seemed to realize passersby were eyeing her with curiosity. “I’ll bet I look a fright.”
“You have looked better,” he said, remembering the strong response he’d had when he’d almost bowled her over in the trading post. Some of the pins had come loose from her hair and it was tumbling down over her shoulders. He hadn’t imagined that the coffee-colored tresses under her bonnet would be nearly as comely as they actually were.
Nodding, she folded her arms more tightly around her body in an apparent effort to cope. Between the sweltering heat and the pain she was evidently experiencing, it was little wonder she was struggling so.
“I expect they think I’m your kin, so they’re leaving us alone,” he offered.
“I’m truly sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir. If I had money to spare, I’d gladly repay you for your kindness. My sister and I are on our way to California. After arranging our passage I’m afraid we have very little left.”
A sister? Connell vaguely recalled that there had been another woman with her in the trading post, but for the life of him, he couldn’t picture what she’d looked like.
An unexpected twinge caught her unaware and she gasped before she again gained control of herself. Tears gathered in her eyes. He hesitantly cupped her elbow with as light a touch as he could manage and still support her.
“I’m sorry for being such a ninny,” she said, with a faint smile. “I’m usually quite brave. Really, I am.”
“I’m sure you are, ma’am.”
“I can’t be seriously injured, you know.” She looked east toward the wagon camp. “I may have to drive the team when we leave here.” Her voice trailed off. She could tell from the way the man was looking at her that he had already decided she was, indeed, badly hurt. Coming on top of so much throbbing pain, the thought of not being able to function on her own was too much for her.
Darkness pushed at the edges of her vision. Flashes of colored light twinkled like a hundred candles on a festive Christmas tree. Nausea came in waves. She fought to keep her balance, but it was no use. Closing her eyes, she began a slow-motion slide toward the ground.
Connell saw her going out. The doe’s eyes glassed over, then rolled back in her head. He cast around for help. Where had that fool boy gotten to?
The plainsman instinctively grabbed Faith’s arms, then made the split-second decision to catch her up in spite of his misgivings. Next thing you knew, he’d probably be shot by the woman’s jealous husband or brother for trying to help her. They’d bury him on the prairie in an unmarked grave and forget he’d ever lived. Then, who’d be left to find out what had happened to poor Irene?
Connell lifted the unconscious Faith in his arms, trying not to jostle her ribs as he swung her across his chest. She was so tiny. Barely there.