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“I noticed your father let Aaron use the waterholes here.”
“Yes.”
“There isn’t a written agreement?”
“No, but Aaron knows he’ll never be denied water.”
Aaron hadn’t struck him as that trusting a sort.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You haven’t been thinking of cutting him off?”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.” Today, he added silently.
“Did Aaron have to borrow to finance his side of the operation?” he asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know. Probably not.” She made quick work of the next stitch. “He always seems to have plenty. Rumor is his wife has money of her own.”
Asa made a mental note to check that out. A man who could lose everything if water rights were taken away, was a man who bore watching.
“There.” Elizabeth sat back with a huge sigh of relief. “It’s done.”
He looked at the neat row of black stitches angling up his side. “Neat as a pin.” Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he let on how obscene he thought it looked.
She dipped the needle back in the bowl of whiskey. “As long as you don’t get an infection, you should be right as rain in no time.” She reached out and placed her hand on his forehead as if she expected a fever to conjure itself on suggestion alone.
“I’m too mean to catch a fever,” he told her, completely confident in his assertion. “One look at this ugly mug and fevers tuck their tails in pursuit of easier game.”
Her smile was weak. Uncertain.
He motioned with his fingers. “Bend on down here and give me a kiss.”
“Don’t you ever think of anything else?” she asked, yet doing as he bid.
His smile broadened as her lips touched his. “Not when you’re around, darlin’. Not when you’re around.”
Chapter Eighteen
He was burning with fever. Elizabeth bit her lip and dipped the cloth in the cool well water. She ran it over his face, then down his neck to his torso. Too ugly for a fever, indeed. Ha! The man was more like a God than a troll, and the proof lay in his festering wound.
Footsteps on the stairs indicated the return of Clint. A slower step followed and she figured it was Old Sam.
“Doc’s at the Hennessy’s,” Clint said after a soft knock.
She bit her lip. “He’s not coming?”
He shook his head. “Can’t, ma’am. Seems like Mr. Hennessy’s got some kind of poisoning. They don’t know if he’s going to make it through the night.”
She placed the cloth in the water. “Poor Jenna.” Hennessy wasn’t worth much, but he was still worth more alive than dead.
“Dorothy’s with her,” he said. “Jenna’ll be fine.”
She probably would, Elizabeth decided. Doc’s wife Dorothy was a beautiful woman who radiated caring and warmth. She’d see Jenna through.
“Elly?”
She took a breath and faced Old Sam. “Yes?”
“McKinnely sent me up here to tell you he’s going to take over rounding up those brush tails.”
God! She hadn’t even considered the cattle. “Would you thank him for me?”
“Already been handled.” Old Sam crushed his hat in his hand. “I’ll be going with them.”
“Of course.”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the bedroom door. “You gonna be all right?”
Before, no matter what the result, her answer would have been an unequivocal “yes”. Now, she wasn’t sure. If Asa died, would she be fine?
Her silence dragging long enough, Clint answered for her. “She’ll be fine.”
“Glad you think so, young’un,” Old Sam snapped, “but last I saw, Mrs. MacIntyre had a mouth on her face. From that, I figured she could speak for herself.”
“Can’t you see she’s busy, you old coot?” Clint shot back. “She’s got more on her mind than—”
Elizabeth pasted a smile on her face and leapt into the middle of the fray before it could become an argument. “I expect Asa’s fever to break tonight.” Old Sam cast Asa’s supine body a skeptical look. She firmed her voice with an extra dose of conviction. “Everything’s going to be all right. Thank you for asking, Sam.”
He smoothed the brim of his hat. “Guess we’d better get those critters gathered up then. Asa’ll be screaming blue thunder if we don’t.”
“Yes.” She looked at Asa’s flushed face, damp from her sponging. She’d give anything right now to see him rumble, let alone generate thunder. She infused all the confidence she could fake into her voice. “He will.”
He slammed his battered hat back on his head. “Then I’ll be getting those boys moving. No doubt they’ve been lazing about rather than packing. Can’t leave ‘em alone for a minute.” He was still muttering as he disappeared down the hall.
Elizabeth looked at Clint. He stood twirling his hat in that way he had, slow and unhurried. “Aren’t you going with him?”
“Nah.”
“Don’t they need you?”
“We figured I’d be better served here, what with my doctoring knowledge and MacIntyre being sick.”
He made it sound as if it were a reasonable decision based upon illness. It didn’t ring true. She looked at him again. “For this, you’ve come into my house wearing guns?”
