He wouldn’t be much help getting up in his fevered state, but she wasn’t a weakling either. Gripping him under his arms, she wrested his upper body as gently as possible off the floor and onto the bed. She propped his legs up next, then repositioned the pillow beneath his head.
“I need to get a better look at your wound, all right?” She didn’t really expect an answer, and yet, she felt compelled to explain why she needed to peek at his side, especially after his insistence that he’d be fine without her help. Tugging his nightshirt up, she wasn’t surprised to find a bloodied bandage underneath.
She peeled back just enough of the soiled cloth to get a look at his injury and promptly gagged at his mottled flesh. Turning away, she clapped a hand over her mouth. She knew a little about sickness, farm injuries and medicine from her grandmother. Olive Reid had learned the skills of midwifery and nursing from her mother and had doctored most of the townsfolk during her lifetime, at least until an actual doctor had set up practice.
Tex’s wound appeared to be more than a few days old, but it wasn’t healing properly. No wonder he was feverish and delirious. He needed real medical care. And yet, he’d practically panicked when she’d suggested going for a doctor. It was something Ravena still didn’t understand, but Tex wasn’t in a position to explain.
She straightened, her arms folded tightly against her middle. The lamp on the nearby table lit up Tex’s features. How could they be so familiar and yet so foreign? Even now, creased with pain and fever, they still had the power to turn her insides to warm mush.
“What do I do, Lord?” How many times had she breathed this same prayer over the last three months? But having Tex here was nearly as daunting as having no hired hand for spring planting and not enough room to bring four more orphans to live on the farm.
Looking down at him, she felt as if she stood before a precipice. She didn’t know if the right thing was to jump or turn and run the other way. Questions she’d stopped asking herself years ago rose painfully into her mind. Why hadn’t Tex come back for her that night? Had his feelings for her changed so abruptly? Had she trusted where she shouldn’t have? Had he loved her at all?
Even when his brother, Tate, had come over later that night and confessed that he and Tex had argued, she felt certain Tex would still return for her, once he’d had a chance to cool down. But the long hours became morning, and still there was no sign of him. Then a full day went by, then a week, then a month, and finally years. All without a single letter of explanation.
Now that Tex was here again, did she really want to know the answers to her questions? Could she bear to hear him say aloud that he’d changed his mind about her? The possibility made her heart thrum a ragged, aching beat beneath her nightgown. If he stayed, how would she keep the past from drawing away her focus? She had to remain strong in her dedication to provide a home for these orphans and those she would somehow bring to the farm as well.
She could send him away in the morning, ignoring the terrible state he was in. They had agreed on one night, and she didn’t owe him anything.
Or she could do the Christian thing. She could allow him to stay however long he needed to fully recover.
Ravena eyed his bandage again, her mouth pursed in hesitation. Perhaps there was some way to speed up his recovery, then she wouldn’t have to manage having him around for more than a few days. Grabbing the lamp, she padded out of the room and back downstairs to the parlor. She pulled one of her grandmother’s journals, filled with Olive’s medical notes and home remedies, from the shelf. She settled the book on her lap and began perusing the well-worn pages. There had to be something in here about dealing with bullet wounds and the illnesses they might produce.
The clock on the mantle struck two before Ravena found what she’d been looking for. She could mix up a special tea and a strong poultice from the herbs in the cellar, though her grandmother had noted that plenty of rest and little movement for the patient was also critical.
Shutting her mind to the latter advice, Ravena went to the kitchen, wrapped herself in a shawl and headed outside to the cellar, shivering in the cool predawn air. With the aid of the lamp, she located the needed herbs. In the kitchen, she stoked the fire and set the kettle on to boil. While she waited, she crushed the herbs in a bowl with her grandmother’s old pestle.
The sharp scent of the crushed leaves awakened her further and reminded her of similar nights spent doing this very task as she’d assisted her grandmother. And now she was doing it alone—doing everything alone. A negligent tear rolled down her face, which she brushed away. Tears wouldn’t solve her problems.
Once she had the tea and poultice ready, she placed everything on a tray, added a fresh roll of bandage, and carried the things up to her room. She was relieved to find Tex hadn’t tumbled off the bed again. Her next task would be difficult, making her grateful Tex wasn’t conscious. She had to remove his bandage, place the poultice against his wound, and tie a new cloth around his middle.
Uneasiness warred with her determination, and Ravena willed herself to take a steadying breath. She’d assisted her grandmother as Olive had attended to a number of men. This would be no different.
She managed to untie the old bandage without moving Tex too much, then she tossed the cloth on the floor to burn in the stove later. With that done, she placed the herb poultice against his side. Tex winced in his sleep, though Ravena wasn’t sure if it was from the heat, the herbs or the pain of her jostling.
“Almost done,” she murmured, as much to herself as to him.
She slid her arm and the bandage behind him before grabbing it with her other hand. Leaning forward, she made sure she had the cloth in the right position.
Holding him like this, in a half embrace, she felt beckoned to recall memories she’d buried long ago. Carefree days of strolling with Tex across the hills, walking hand in hand. Or kissing him as they stood beside the stream. Or speaking of their shared future. Those were the days when her world had been bright and happy, full of love and promise. She had Tex, her grandfather and the orphans.
Ravena suddenly felt Tex tense. Had she hurt him? She flicked her gaze to his and gave a soft yelp when she found his blue eyes watching her rather lucidly. Her cheeks burned with mortification as she scrambled away from him. “Y-you fell out of bed earlier. So I thought I’d just change your...um...your bandage.”
The barest hint of amusement lit his face. “If you wanted to hug me,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, “you could’ve just asked.”
She leveled a glare at him, which only served to coax a faint smile from his lips. “I wished no such thing.” Though she did feel some relief that he didn’t seem angry at her for intervening when he’d told her not to.
“You can go ahead and finish.” He closed his eyes, but now she had to complete the task with him awake.
Reminding herself she’d left her feelings for Tex in the past, as he’d clearly done with her, she set her chin and approached him again. She grabbed the ends of the bandage as hastily as she could, then she proceeded to tie them securely over the poultice.
“There,” she announced, a bit breathlessly as she tugged his nightshirt back into place. Hopefully Tex didn’t notice. “Since you’re awake, you can have some of the tea I made.”
“All right.”
Her hands were trembling so that she rattled the teacup and saucer as she lifted them off the tray. Sitting on the very edge of the bed, she brought the cup to Tex’s mouth. He took a swallow, but his face contorted in surprise and his eyes appeared to water.
“What’s in that skunk brew?” he coughed out, pounding a hand to his chest.
Ravena shook her head with impatience. He was as bad as one of the younger boys. “It will help you heal. Now, drink up.” She hoisted the cup again, half expecting him to clamp his lips shut like Mark did. But he didn’t.
Even though he looked wary, he obediently drank