Far above, an old dirt road led to a worthless mine. The gouged out chunks of earth and scraped soil marked the wagon's path to the point of impact, as it careened down the sloop. But what was someone doing with a buckboard on the old Wheeler road?
"Better look for the driver," he said, sighed and swung out of the saddle. After ground-tying Queenie, he gave the
wreck another quick perusal. No one in that mess.
"Heh! Wait a minute." There was no sign of a horse. No leather straps, no harness, nothing. Grabbing at his hat, Luke
slapped it against his pants then ran stiff fingers through damp hair. "Strange."
"Hell! Nobody could have lived through that." As he climbed over another pile of stones, he scanned the
area, then worked around more stones.
What was someone doing on that road, anyway? Never has been any gold or silver in these parts and everybody around here knows it. This makes no sense, none at all.
Then, he heard a groan and froze.
Someone had been on that wagon. His stomach knotted.
Hey, Buddy, can you hear me? Give a shout." He stopped in his rush over another patch of rocks.
"Stupid," he mumbled. The guy could be mortally wounded and Luke wanted him to shout? The noise had come
from behind that boulder. He moved closer.
Nothing.
Wait. Next to a stone, something moved. Below a dark swatch of cloth, the edge of a small boot twitched. He climbed
toward the object. Dark drops of what looked like blood splattered the ground. Whoever was on that wagon had been
injured.
Vaulting over more rocks, he slammed to a stop like a body running into a brick wall. His stomach flipped, his heart
dropped and he swallowed hard. Never expected to see this! A dark skirt bunched around a pair of legs, long legs with
shapely calves. Full hips flared below a slender waist. A bodice, once white, was nicely filled with full feminine curves.
"Oh, he--" Biting off the end of the word, his gaze jerked to her face. Thick brown hair covered a good portion of it, but blood stained the other half, and soaked into the ground. One hand was smeared with red, as if she'd touched the wound.
She groaned again.
Thank the lord. At least she was alive. He hunched down at her side.
"Ma'am," he said, hesitated then touched her shoulder. "I'll get help. You rest easy. I'll just signal my foreman
then send for Doc. Okay?"
Ridiculous! She probably couldn't hear him. She moved and for an instant opened her eyes and
blinked. Bright blue eyes, filled with intense pain, stared back at him. And fear. Fear so stark he could almost smell it.
Deep inside, an emotion long denied, twisted and turned, like a wind-up toy soldier he'd seen in a Denver store. Luke
gritted his teeth. Where was his resolve? He'd finished with women. What he felt now for this lady, was pity. She was hurt,
in pain. Pity, that was all! After all, she had been thrown from a wagon.
Another surge of emotion hit. Forget it. He needed help, to get Bud back here.
He pulled the pistol from his waistband and glanced around. No cattle to worry about. He only needed to fire a single
shot. The men were working nearby. They could take her back to the ranch while one of the boys rode to town for Doc.
A minute after he fired, the thunder of hooves broke the udden silence. By the time Bud halted his horse at the bottom
of the hill, Luke had risen and stood waving at him.
"Trouble, Boss?"
"Yeah. Get the men and empty the buckboard. We're gonna need Doc. Some fool drove a wagon over that cliff." He
glanced down at the woman. She didn't look like a fool. She was a looker, that was for sure, with her arched brows, short,
straight nose and lips shaped like a hunter's bow. He gritted his teeth. What she looked like shouldn't matter. Did he have to
remind himself he was finished with women?
Another thought intruded. Had she been alone? He hadn't even looked for anybody else.
"Get Carl," he ordered. "I want him up here to see if he can find anyone else."
With the noise, she opened her eyes again. Slowly, she lifted her injured hand toward him.
"Ma'am were you alone?' he asked kneeling beside her "Was someone else on the wagon with you?"
She attempted to shake her head. It must have hurt for all she did was groan. Then she said "Help me." She grabbed at
his shirt. "I don't want to die."
Luke patted her arm. He couldn't remember when he'd heard that kind of desperation in someone's voice. "You're not going to die," he growled. "I didn't climb up here to have you..." No need to finish talking. She'd lost consciousness. Just
as well. They'd have to carry her down the mountain, and the ride to the ranch would mean more pain.
Damn, could they move her? How bad was she injured? I'll have to check for broken bones. Sweat broke out on
his brow. This was something he didn't want to do, but there was no one else. He felt as nervous as he had the first time he
tried to break a horse.
Wiping damp hands on jeans, he murmured a silent prayer. Let her stay unconscious. He swallowed hard and lifted
both hands. I gotta do this. He groaned, then straightened. But this was a woman. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd
helped with enough ranch accidents to know he had to find out if she'd broken any bones. There was no choice, he was it. And he had to finish before the men arrived with the wagon so he'd know if they could move her.
First, he ran his fingers down one arm, then the other. Then he skimmed her shoulders. Sweat poured off, under his
hat, down his shirt, both front and back. The softness of her skin, the delicate bones, curves he couldn't ignore, were pure
punishment. Damn. Now his hands were shaking.
"Don't see nobody else, boss," Carl announced as he approached.
"Who else rode out with you?" Luke asked. He glanced at the women, wondering if she could hear them talking but there was no reaction.
"Just me and Bud. The others headed west with them cows. Got all ten of 'em."
"You head to town for the Doc," Luke instructed. "But first thing, stop at the house. Tell Agnes what's happened, that we're bringing in an injured woman. She'd best get the spare room ready." He watched Carl bound down the mountain before
returning to the task.
For a second he closed his eyes. Get done with it. Once more he ran his hands over her shoulders, then traced her
sides, slid over her ribs. Oh, lord. She was wearing one of those corset things. He couldn't feel a thing through the whalebone
structure. Why'd women need something like that when they were already slim and shapely? This woman sure didn't need it.
Now his hands shook as he lifted the skirt a bit to see if she'd broken any leg bones. Nothing broken so far. He jammed his hands into his back pants pockets to stop the shaking. After a minute, he continued the examination.
When he ran his hands over her head, a goose egg had formed behind her right ear, then he rolled her over. A dozen
small cuts covered her arms and legs and she had twice that many bruises. The deep gash on her head was doing all the
bleeding. And what looked suspiciously like rope burns circled her wrists.
He sat back on his haunches. Strange, those burns? If she'd wrapped the reins around her wrists as well as her hands
to help control the horse pulling the wagon she might have some marks, but like this? Probably not, but what else could
have made that kind of injury. Standing, he walked around the area, looking for tracks. Where was the critter that pulled the
buckboard over that road? And, that bump behind her ear, could she have hit her head on something on the trip down the
mountain? He'd leave the speculation to Doc.
Just then the front door flew open.
She didn't have to guess to know who had arrived. Her whole body tingled. Grimacing, she turned to face her adversary.
"Come in, Simon."
Simon stalked into the room, his body stiff, his face rigid, his eyes radiating anger. Clifford stood behind him.
Simon stepped forward and grabbed Amy's forearm. Once again, a stab of heat rushed through her and she took a deep breath. She shook her head, closed her eyes and tried to identify what he did to her. Fear, she told herself. It had to be fear that caused the sensations that raced through her body.
"I told you I wanted someone to escort you here," Simon snarled.
She opened her eyes and glowered at him, immune to his angry gaze. How dare he speak to her in that tone? After all, she had managed for almost a year without his guidance.
She felt her own anger escalate. He also needed to learn more about her.
"I don't take orders well," she informed him. "Besides, we'll soon be finished here. If you want to help, you can take Clifford with you and send him back with a wagon."
"Clifford stays."
"Clifford is not necessary. My Lord, you forget. We lived in this cottage for over nine months without any protection."
"Clifford stays. And, I'm here now. From the moment I returned to London and read your father's will, you became my responsibility."
The word responsibility made Amy sick to her stomach and she thought she would gag if he said it one more time.
"All right," she muttered. "Then Clifford can stay. You'd better leave, so we can get finished," she announced, wishing him back to London.
He opened his mouth and Amy cringed. She expected an angry retort, but nothing came. Finally, Simon said, "All right. I'll send Chester back with a wagon. But, I want everybody at the house by noon."
Amy glanced around her. There was still much to be packed. "We'll try."
"I mean it, Amy. Before noon."
"Yes, my Lord," she snapped. She waited another moment, and watched as Simon turned around and stomped back down the path.
