第 23 页

Fresh blood bubbled from a hole in his flesh. It spurted past the torn red wool of his underwear and slid onto the blankets beneath him. Already it was collecting into a small pool.

A bullet hole! The sight of it snapped her out of her stupor. She pressed a handful of nightgown firmly against the wound. When the blood flow slowed somewhat, she gingerly lifted his thigh and peered at the underside. A relieved sigh escaped her lips. The bullet had gone straight through.

She raced to her armoire and retrieved her sewing basket. Flinging it on the bed, she flew to the stove and set three pans of water to boil.

She watched the water. Her foot started a quick, staccato beat. Panic began at the edges of her mind, and suddenly her whole body was shaking.

Don't be stupid. Think. What do you do first?

Stop the bleeding. She shot back to the armoire and grabbed a muslin summer skirt. Ripping the flimsy material from hem to waist, she twirled it into a rope and wrapped it around the uppermost part of his thigh. At the artery she stabbed a wooden spoon between the fabric and his skin, then turned the spoon clockwise until the tourniquet was tight enough.

While the tourniquet was working, she plucked scissors, silk thread, an embroidery needle, linen, and tweezers from her sewing kit. She dropped everything but the linen into the boiling water.

She waited impatiently for the instruments to sterilize, all the while wiping a cool cloth across Stone Man's fever-hot brow. When she couldn't wait any longer, she poured the boiling water into her big washbasin and gingerly extracted her tools.

With white, shaking fingers she picked up the tweezers and dipped the metallic tip into the red-black hole in his flesh. The minute the instrument touched the frayed, blood-encrusted wound, Stone Man's leg whipped taut. The muscles in his leg corded and bunched.

She soothed him with her voice, and after a few minutes he relaxed. Efficiently she probed the wound for leftover bits of cloth. Finally, satisfied she'd found them all, she set the tweezers down and picked up the scissors.

God, she wished she had something to give him for the pain. But there was nothing. No alcohol, no laudanum. Nothing. She couldn't even risk the time it took to run to the post for the Perry Davis Painkiller.

Gritting her teeth, she lowered the scissors to his flesh and started clipping off the tattered edges of the wound.

When she finished, she glanced worriedly at his face and let out a relieved sigh. He was still unconscious.

She threaded her needle.

It has to be done. She pulled the smooth edges of the wound together and closed her eyes, gathering her strength. In one sharp jab she ; sent her needle through his flesh.

Tensing immediately, she waited for his reaction. But there was none. He was out cold.

Relieved, she sewed up the entrance and exit wounds quickly, checked her stitches, and then used a pile of turpentine-soaked linen as bandages.

For the next few hours she sponged his hot skin, checked his sheets, and kept him warm. She crooned softly in his ear, talking insensibly of whatever came to mind. But mostly she waited, and the words please wake up were never far from her lips.

Stone Man clawed his way through the protective cocoon of velvety blackness. A pinpoint of light beckoned just beyond his reach. He flailed, fighting for consciousness.

"Thank God," came a soothing, liquid voice from somewhere nearer the light. Welcome coolness slid across his forehead.

"Here, drink this. It's cooled moose broth."

He drew his swollen lips together. "Wa..." His voice crackled like dead leaves and died.

"Shhh. Here, drink." The words, as soft as a morning breeze, came again, this time accompanied by a hand gently forcing him to lift his head. Too tired to resist, he let the hand control him. A warm drop of wetness touched his parched lips and dribbled down his chin.

He swallowed the rich broth greedily. When his thirst was sated he sank back into the softness beneath him, exhausted.

Everything hurt. His eyes, his mouth, his head, his body, his leg. Everything. The harder he strove to reach the light, the more everything hurt.

The softness of the bed beckoned him to forget the light and to sleep. But there was something he had to do, something that had to do with Devon.

The thought spiraled away, forgotten. He'd think about Devon later, when he was sure he was alive. Right now he was so damned tired...

It was two days later when he finally woke. The scorching pain in his thigh roused him. His eyes grated open, and he found himself staring at the smoke-darkened canvas ceiling of his tent.

He blinked, disoriented. What was he doing home? The last thing he remembered, he'd been sitting with Bear...

Memory crashed through his brain, stunning him. Bear was gone. Oh, God...

He tried to lift his head off the pillow. At the movement a drumbeat of pain burst to life at the base of his skull, and he sank back into the cotton softness, temporarily defeated.

He turned his head to the left and scanned the small tent. The lantern was lit, and its reddish-gold flames illuminated the space.

The place was a mess. Pots cluttered the small stovetop, a ripped-up skirt lay across the table, and clothes and knives were scattered everywhere.

He frowned. Where was Devon? She'd never go to sleep in this kind of mess. Fear seeped through his dazed mind. He struggled to sit up. At the movement a wave of dizziness washed through him. He gritted his teeth and inched himself upright.

She was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, fast asleep. Her head was lolled over to one side, and her mouth was open. Piles of untamed russet hair haloed her face, wisping airily along her high cheekbones and falling in a tangled heap to her waist. In her lap was a pile of damp rags; at her feet, a basin of water.

Even in sleep she looked tired. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and a network of lines on her brow he'd never noticed before. Her skin was a pale, waxy hue, with none of the usual rosiness in her cheeks.

Even so she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. An ache of longing swelled in him, setting off another drum-roll of a headache.

He couldn't deny it any longer. He wanted her. And not just for a night. He wanted her for... longer.

On his way home all he'd been able to think about was kissing her one last time. He'd never thought about what would happen if he actually survived.

But he had survived, and his death's-door dreaming was just that. A feverish dream. One kiss wouldn't make everything all right. After the kiss they'd still be as different as night and day. A pretty lady like her wouldn't last long tramping through the wilderness with a stubborn old loner like him.

The moment the river thawed he'd lose her.

He sighed. It was a question of pain. Bear's death had made him realize that. In the blink of an eye Stone Man had lost his only friend, and the pain was enormous. But if he let himself love Devon and then he lost her, the pain would be even worse.

Yet lose Devon he would. Come spring she'd pluck up those crisp little skirts of hers and head back to civilization.

Bye bye Stone Man. Hello St. Louis.

It wasn't worth the risk. He'd had enough pain in his life; he didn't need to go courting more. All he had to do was keep a safe distance between them for a few short months. Then she could board the Yukoner without a backward glance. She could take her damned bicycle, her alligator gripsack, and her tablecloth with her. His heart was staying put.

He sank wearily back into the pile of pillows and closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her cool palm on his forehead.

Her touch and her voice had been so incredibly soft, so comforting. As a child he'd gone to sleep alone, huddled beneath a flimsy blanket, and he'd dreamed of being touched that way. He'd ached for it.

Now, at the ripe old age of thirty-nine, someone cared enough to sit beside him, to cool his fevered brow.

A grimace darkened his face. Until spring.

Chapter Sixteen

Stone Man awakened with a smile on his face. Lazily he lifted his head off the pillow. For the first time in a week he didn 't have a headache. His smile expanded. The first thing he saw was the woman stretched out beside him. Devon. In his mind the word was a caress. She looked breathtakingly beautiful and oh so desirable. "Devon," he whispered throatity. She blinked awake. "Morning," she purred. He felt himself drowning in her eyes. He reached out to her. She snuggled closer. A lock of burnished russet hair twined around his forefinger, and it felt like a swatch of the finest French silk. "I..."He stopped, suddenly awkward. "I don't know what to say. Words are so inadequate. But thank you for saving my life. It means a lot to me that you cared enough to bother..."

Devon smiled at her whimsical daydream. Since Stone Man's return she'd been unable to control the wanderings of her own mind. At first she'd fought her fantasies, telling herself that it was stupid and childish to pretend. But the more she'd fought the images the stronger they'd become, and finally she'd stopped fighting. It was then that she'd learned something surprising: Dreaming was fun.

But enough was enough.

She glanced longingly at the man sleeping beside her. If only he'd wake up, they could get on with things. There were so many things to be done today, so many things to be said.

She'd already decided that they should spend the winter as lovers. It was a shocking decision, to be sure, but logical. They could hardly live together in a ten-foot-by-ten-foot tent for five months and pretend they were only partners.

It made sense for them to share one glorious winter and then move on. What did she have to lose?

She'd be good-old-spinster-aunt Devon soon enough. When the river thawed she was going home.

Why not have one good memory to take home with her? A memory to keep her warm on the long, lonely St. Louis nights when she'd be sleeping alone.

She pushed up on one elbow to study Stone Man's profile. For the first time in a week he'd had a good night's sleep, and the effect on his face was startling. He looked carefree, almost young.

Weak winter sunlight filtered through the canvas walls, glancing in flecks of near-blue through the tangled mass of his newly washed hair. She ached to run her fingers through the coarse black strands.

She scooted closer to him. The soft rise and fall of his body brushed her nipples. A delicious shiver rippled up her spine.

To think she'd considered him a friend! He was so much more. She and Bear were friends; she and Stone Man were something else. Something that made her blood tingle when they kissed, something that made her nipples harden at his touch. Something too wonderful to name.

She was ready to begin the winter right now.

His eyes blinked open.

"Good morning," she said eagerly.

"Morning," he answered sleepily.

Stone Man stretched his arms, working the sleep kinks from his muscles. Devon wiggled closer, and he felt the peaks of her taut breasts tickle his ribcage. Without thinking he brought his arm around her body, drawing her closer. His fingers curled around the wool-sheathed curve of her shoulder and squeezed gently.

He half rolled onto his side, and there she was in his arms. For a moment her beauty stole his breath. Her eyes were huge and bright in the morning paleness of her face, and her lips were a beguiling shade of pink. She ran her tongue slowly along her lower lip.

He stared at the trail of glistening wetness, and something in his gut clenched. Hard.

One minute he was looking at her lips, and the next minute he was kissing her. He didn't know exactly how it had happened, and he didn't care. It was a kiss he'd been dreaming about for months, and he took it greedily. His lips possessed hers, moving with a gentle urgency, tasting, seeking. Then he drew back until their lips were barely touching and let his tongue flick teasingly along her upper lip.

One by one his fingers released their hold on her shoulder. His hand slid down her arm, and a thousand tiny goosebumps bubbled to the surface of her flesh. Every nerve in her body leapt to life.

The blunt tips of his fingers traced the soft underside of her breast. She froze, unable even to breathe. His palm glided across the mound, whispering atop her nipples until she thought she'd surely faint.

Just when she couldn't stand the teasing another second, his hand closed around her breast. His strong fingers began a slow, gentle kneading. Devon gasped at the sensations that exploded in her body. She reacted instinctively, arching into his warm palm. A throaty whimper slipped from her mouth to his.

Her quiet moan brought Stone Man back to his senses. His fingers popped open as if scalded.

"Holy shit!" He scrambled backward, putting as much distance between them as possible.

Reluctantly he looked at her. She was sitting across from him, all hunched and waiting. Her face wore the same long-suifering look she used to give him when he belched at the dinner table. Her mouth, still puffy from his kiss, was drawn into a disapproving line.

She was disappointed in him. Again.

Goddamn it! He felt like putting his fist right through the canvas wall. Why in the hell had he kissed her? He'd spent six weeks in the freezing cold telling himself she wasn't for him. He knew damn well she wanted things he could never give her-a home, a family, a goddamn dog, and a white picket fence.

All that running and thinking hadn't done squat. He'd been back in the tent a week-and he'd been half-dead for most of that time-and here he was, kissing her. Wanting her so badly it hurt.

He had the self-control of a rutting animal.

"Goddamn it, Devon. Don't sneak up on me that way."

Her eyes flashed. "Sneak up on you! Why of all the-"

"Okay, okay," he said wearily, "I didn't mean it was your fault. I don't give a good goddamn whose fault it was. But we can't kiss anymore."

A frown darted across her brow. "Why not?"

He groaned at her innocence. "Because I'm too tired to leave again."

"Then stay."

Her sensual voice washed over him in waves. His resolve wavered. "Ah Dev," he sighed. "Just let it be."

She started gnawing on her thumbnail like a nervous rabbit. He grimaced, knowing her analytical mind had found a loose thread; something that wasn't quite right.

Her thumb popped free. She'd solved it.