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A hot rage boiled in the core of his gut at the mere thought of Daphne Sweeney. He most certainly didn’t appreciate those memories resurfacing. Though, admittedly, would have been difficult not to under the circumstances. The similarities were too close.
He looked over his shoulder as he felt the rope tug for the umpteenth time and watched Ivy McGregor fall to the ground. Her short copper curls looked in disarray. Her wide forehead had streaks of dirt matching the filth on her gray cheeks. She looked far from how she initially appeared when he first spotted her at the train
station. Then she had looked composed, well put together. And listless.
Watching her, he couldn’t help but admit how exhausted she must be. The woman struggled with every breath she took. Brushing the thought aside, he turned and kept moving, ignoring the throbbing of muscles in his own legs. He didn’t want to think about Ivy’s suffering, or her comparison to Daphne.
On the outside, the women might have been on the opposite ends of the pole. But inside, their souls couldn’t be more alike. Reluctantly, his mind travelled back to the past. Daphne had been distractingly beautiful. Immaculate. He had been drawn to her instantly. Then paid the price later for it. A quick glance back at Ivy and he knew that wouldn’t be an issue.
Ivy was a homely woman. Barring a remarkable set of eyes. They had the ability to be cold and lifeless one moment, than alive and on fire the next. Though at the present moment, appeared sunken and shallow. Her skin didn’t fare any better. Far too pale against that copper hair of hers.
He never liked redheads. They reminded him of his mother.
Unwillingly, he slid a glance at the strands in question, glistening in the sunlight. Hers though, were admittedly more on the strawberry side with the odd streak of blond highlights throughout. The curls were natural and, in opposition to her persona, looked soft even in their disheveled appearance. If she had worn them long, he didn’t doubt they could bewitch the best of men. As it was, she styled it short, just below the ear. Very unusual. He didn’t know many females risqué enough to wear theirs short.
Not that her appearance would have any foundation on how he treated her anyway, he thought pushing forward. Many a men believed poison ivy to be safe in the autumn when the plant bore red leaves. However, once burned by the deceptive plant, one learned quickly never to trust the colored leaves. And this definitely was one Ivy he had no intention of misjudging.
With his attention back on the trail, he forced his thoughts to concentrate on where he was stepping. Had he not just said never again would he allow a woman to distract him from his task? He hated the idea of being stuck alone with her in this god-forsaken country. This capture was supposed to be swift and rewarding. An easy job with a big bounty. So much so that he had actually thought of leaving it for someone else to track her down. But the reward was too tempting to turn his back on.
And there was that other reason.
It made his insides curl with hatred to think of a woman getting away with murder. Yes, perhaps it was personal. But the real reward would come when he watched Ivy McGregor swing from her scaffold.
He stopped near a large oak tree. “Best rest, ma’am. You’re not looking so good.”
He saw her eyes flare, but wordlessly, almost gratefully, slumped against a tree. Sam took the rope and wrapped it around both the tree and Ivy McGregor. Immediately, she became alert.
“What do think ye be doing?”
“There’s a stream through the bush. We’ll be needing water soon, otherwise we’ll become dehydrated.”
“Then why be tying me up?” Her voice was beginning to rise with panic. Sam ignored it and secured a knot tightly on the opposite side of the tree where she couldn’t reach.
“I’m a bit too tired to be doing any more chasing through the woods today, ma’am.”
“If ye haven’t noticed, Mr. Michalski, so am I.”
“Still the same.”
He left and headed toward the embankment toward the creek, but glanced over his shoulder to give Ivy a quick glance. Contrary to her own words, she was trying to loosen her restraints. He shook his head and continued moving, not any faster, but not necessarily any slower either. Even if she were successful in escaping, he didn’t doubt she was too exhausted to do any sort of running.
Kneeling at the water’s edge, he gingerly removed his hat and noticed the blood stain on the inside rim. He had wanted to remove it earlier, but knew better than to reveal an injury to his prisoner. A quick perusal of the plants in the area and he was able to gather some healing leaves. Cleaning the injured area, he applied the plants and gritted his teeth from the stinging it provided. For a moment, his head swam, but just as swiftly past and Sam was able to rinse the remainder of blood out of his hair.
He watched the dried blood dissolve in the little stream before he reached for the canteen he had retrieved from the train and filled it to the brim. Giving his Stetson a good scrubbing, he placed it on his head, then turned and headed back to where he left Ivy tied to the tree. Sure enough, she stopped struggling against her restraints the moment he cleared the woods.
He exhaled heavily, but held the canteen to her lips nevertheless. “Here.”
She turned away.
Shrugging, he lifted it to his own mouth and said before taking a large gulp, “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll not be accepting any of yer aid, Mr. Michalski.”
“Don’t mistake simple human needs for aid, ma’am. You won’t be receiving any from me.”
She lifted her chin and stared at him. “How can ye be so cold? Do ye have any idea what will happen if I go back to Chicago?”
“Not if, ma’am, but when.”
