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At last she moved. She turned and headed toward the shelter, presumably to change into her own clothing. Deciding to rid the woman from his mind, he released a heavy sigh and returned to the carcass and his meal.
She exited the small shelter he had built while she slept five minutes later fully dressed. For some reason, he felt a wave of relief. Though she was tall, his coat trailed slightly behind her, covering her naked form entirely. With the exception of her feet. For some stupid reason, the sight of those dainty little toes peeking out from beneath the hem of his coat, caused a stirring deep in his gut. And lower. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get the image of the woman’s naked form out of his mind.
He bit angrily into his food, then lifted the canteen to his lips and took a large swig of the ice-cold spring water he collected from the creek. The last thing he would do was think of Ivy McGregor in that manner. It was bad enough he had held her in his arms most of the morning until her trembles finally subsided. She had been stone-cold and no amount of fire was warming her. Finally, he was left with no choice but to pull her into his arms. He had rubbed his hands all over her body; forcing circulation back into her veins, but in the same process raised the blood pressure in his own.
He groaned. Hell, had it been that long since he lain with a woman? Perhaps his lifestyle was starting to get to him, if he was finding the likes of Ivy McGregor tantalizing. The sooner he got them out of these woods, the better. And once he did, the first thi
ng he would do was head straight for the closest brothel.
He unraveled a shoot of tobacco and dropped a small amount into his mouth just as he heard the sound of shuffling coming from behind him. He turned and saw her limp slowly toward the fire. His gaze drifted down to her leg, concealed now by her long skirts and felt the same odd feeling tug at his brow. “Leg still hurting?”
She simply gave a single nod, but said instead while holding out his coat, “I thank ye for the loan.”
Then she approached the fire, still holding the uneaten piece of meat, and held her hands out for warmth. He thought she wasn’t going to say anything further, but was surprised when she asked, without looking at him, “Why do ye do it?”
He shifted the tobacco to one side of his mouth and glanced over at her. Without asking, he knew what she was referring to. “The pay’s good.”
“I see,” she quietly said, still staring into the fire. “Alive or—dead?”
“Yep.”
“Ye can do that? Be taking someone’s life and not be charged with murder?”
“Yep,” he mumbled again, spitting a piece of the tobacco into the fire. “Law says so.”
He heard the softest swoosh of her breath as she inhaled sharply. Sam shrugged. Guess the woman had no idea what she was getting herself into when she bashed that poor fellow’s skull.
“Where are ye taking me, Mr. Michalski?”
He swirled his tongue around to the back of his teeth where a piece of tobacco got lodged. “Already told you. Chicago.”
“Where to in Chicago?”
“Where?” He frowned at her, sticking his pinky finger in his mouth to dislodge the weed. “Where do ya think?”
“Back to the Hendrickson’s?”
He paused, narrowed his eyes, then leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You stay away from those fine folks. The Hendrickson’s are good people and you’ve already put them through hell.”
To his surprise, anger darkened her own eyes. “Ye know nothing about the Hendrickson’s.”
“I know they didn’t deserve to have their oldest son bludgeoned to death.”
She literally snapped back as if he had physically struck her. Sam only shook his head. Yeah, hearing it spoken out loud had a nasty way of making the crime real. He didn’t doubt she had subconsciously tried to bury the memory. Most did.
It wouldn’t surprise him if regret was now beginning to seep in at that very moment. It was reported that she and Philip Hendrickson were lovers and after he replaced her for a younger maid, she had flown into a fit of jealousy and lashed out with an iron poker. When his body was found, a bloody handkerchief covered his brutally bashed face. Hence the nickname. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had reacted on her own selfish emotions.
He watched the blood drain from her face and knew his words stung. But she needed to be reminded, and reminded often of what her jealous behavior had done. It was the coward’s way out to try and claim they were clear of all blame. He wouldn’t doubt her next words would do just that. But he would make certain this woman would know exactly what she did before they pulled the noose.
He waited, but no words crossed her lips. Admittedly, he was surprised. They always begged for mercy and pleaded their innocence. Always. And so would Ivy McGregor. Just like any other criminal.
She sat down in front of the fire, staring without blinking into the flames. The meat in her hand, left discarded in the billows of her skirt. Sam noticed her skin was just as pale as it had always been, but the dark circles under her eyes were not nearly as visible. He knew she had not slept an ounce during the night and today’s sleep had done her a world of good. Though not nearly enough. She still was weak. As if at any moment she may snap and break.
He got up and removed the food from her lap, then dumped some water from the canteen onto her newly dried skirt. She yelped and leaped to her feet. “What the deuce? Have ye gone mad?”
“Scrub it clean,” he said, gesturing to the stain on her skirt left by the meat. “Otherwise, the scent will be sure to lure a bear.”
The anger drained from her cheeks, leaving them an unhealthy pasty shade. “A bear?”
