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And saving him here would be an uphill battle. He needed bed rest. He needed nourishment. He could get none of that here.
She checked his pulse. It was steady, but he was still unconscious. Kristin needed to wash herself clean at the pump. But she couldn’t risk having him wake up alone and disoriented on the table.
She stood gazing down at him. His eyes were closed, his lashes like smudges of soot against his bloodless cheeks. With his powerfully chiseled bones, the slanting scar down his face, and the road map of healed wounds that crisscrossed his bare torso, he could never be called a beautiful man. But Kristin found his looks strangely compelling. He was a battle-scarred warrior.
She trailed a finger down his cheek, feeling the prick of dark stubble that edged his jaw. “Don’t you dare quit on me, Logan Hunter,” she murmured. “I’ve done everything I could to save you. Now, damn it, it’s up to you to live.”
“Gas! Get your masks on!”Logan’s body jerked.He was running, shouting the alarm. His men were dropping around him, screaming and choking as the clouds of chlorine poured over the trenches. He smelled it, tasted the burn in his throat . . .
He opened his eyes as the dream dissolved into memory. Kristin was bending over him, her arms holding him down. Her face was freckled with blood. His blood.
“Thank goodness you’re awake.” The words emerged between breaths. “It was all I could do to keep you from falling off the table.”
He exhaled, forcing his body to relax. “Dreaming . . . Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine. And I understand.” She let go of him but stayed close. “I’ve had bad dreams myself. Do you know where you are?”
“Montana. I got shot. You’re a doctor.”
“Good.” She nodded. “At least your mind is clear. But you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ll need rest. Sleep would be even better. Here, drink this.” She raised his head and tipped the canteen to his lips. The cold water sent a shudder through his body.
“If I help you, can you make it to the sofa?”
“Anything would be better than lying on this table like a side of beef.”
“Let’s do it. When I sit you up, swing your legs off the table and put your good arm around my shoulders. You’ll be weak. You’ll need to lean on me.”
“I can make it fine.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.”
With her gripping his right arm, he sat up. The room blurred. Lord, he was as weak as a newborn lamb. But he had to do this.
Stumbling and staggering, he managed to get off the table and make it to the ragged sofa in the parlor. Dr. Kristin Dollarhide was stronger than she looked. He had to lean heavily on her, but she didn’t let him fall. Every step shot pain up his shoulder and down his arm, but he’d been wounded before. He knew what to expect.
She eased him onto the cushions and paused to catch her breath. Weak as he was, Logan couldn’t help noticing again that, above the waist of her divided riding skirt, she was still clad in her revealing shift. Her white blouse had been sacrificed to bandage his wound. He lowered his gaze. She didn’t deserve to have him ogling her.
“How do you feel?” she asked him.
“About how you’d expect.” He’d spent his meager strength just getting this far. Even forming words in his head was an effort.
“I need to do some things outside,” she said. “Will you be all right alone here for a few minutes?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “In fact, you’ve done enough. Take the horse and go home. Somebody’s bound to come looking for me. Or better yet, you can send help.”
“Don’t even think about it. You’re too weak to be left here alone.” She took the canteen and her hat, which she’d left on the back of the sofa. “I’ll be close by. Call if you need me.”
Her voice faded as she stepped out the door, leaving it open behind her. Questions rose like wisps of phantom smoke in Logan’s mind. Who had shot him? How had the woman managed to find him out here? And if she was a Dollarhide, why hadn’t she just left him to die?
Questions without answers. They floated away as he closed his eyes.
* * *
Outside, Kristin filled her hat with water and held it while the horse drank its fill. Then she tethered the buckskin where it could graze. After that, she combed the yard for every stick and scrap of wood she could find and piled them on the porch. The sun was low in the sky. Before long, the light would be gone.
That done, she stood at the pump and splashed her face, hair, arms, and chest with cold water to wash away the worst of the blood. By the time she’d finished, her teeth were chattering. What she wouldn’t give for a blanket or a warm shirt. But the heat from the stove in the kitchen would have to do.
Returning inside with the canteen slung over her shoulder and her arms full of wood, she found Logan asleep on the sofa. He had moved since she’d left him. Now he was leaning against the corner, his head pillowed on the arm in what looked like an awkward position. Dropping everything, she hurried to check him. His breathing was regular and his pulse was steady, if not as strong as it could be. The color of his left arm was healthy, which hopefully meant that the blood was circulating. But the hours ahead would be critical.
