One Texas Night

CHAPTER 10

McCord felt his body moving through layers of muddy water, floating slowly to the surface. He forced himself to take a deep breath and swore he smelled buffalo. He hated buffalo. Orneriest creatures God ever made. The only thing worse than having them roam over the plains, eating every blade of grass for miles, was seeing the thousands of carcasses rotting after the hunters shot them.

He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. His mouth felt like it was packed with sand.

Opening one eye, he noticed he was lying on what looked like a buffalo hide, and just beyond that was a mass of midnight hair. “Anna,” he whispered.

She raised her head and looked at him with eyes heavy with sleep. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. “Wynn,” she whispered, as if she’d just been dreaming of him.

She looked delicious. He moved to kiss her and felt the stab of a dozen knives in his back.

“Don’t move,” she ordered, her hand on his shoulder.

Memories came back with the pain. The feel of her beneath him a moment before fire crossed his back. Floating in darkness, unable to open his eyes. The sound of her voice constantly talking to him, pulling him closer to shore, not letting him sink away from the pain . . . away from life.

He closed his eyes and tried to think. Maybe he had died. It would be just his luck that hell would be full of Yankees and they’d all be talking.

He opened one eye again. No. He was alive and Anna was sitting beside him. He caught her fingers when she touched his hand, gripping tight, needing to know that she was real. Almost losing her had tortured his mind for days, and when he’d watched her fall off the horse he swore his heart stopped until he saw her rolling on the ground.

The fingers of her free hand brushed through his hair. “You’re going to be all right, Wynn. Just rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Sleep now.”

He smiled and closed his eyes, thinking of how he liked the way she said his first name. He hadn’t heard a woman say his name in years.

When he woke again, morning shone through the windows, but the face in front of him was Dirk Cunningham’s. The sergeant looked tired, but a smile spread from ear to ear.

“’Morning,” the sergeant said. “You look terrible.”

McCord groaned. “Where’s Anna?”

Cunningham laughed. “She’ll be back. I’m not surprised that my face wasn’t the one you wanted to wake up to, but you could at least act like you’re glad to see me. Anna said if you wake I’m to roll you over like you was a newborn and prop you up.”

McCord swore as Dirk lifted his shoulders off the buffalo hide.

“Stop your complaining. I ain’t never said I was a nurse.”

“That’s an understatement,” McCord managed as soon as the pain subsided enough for him to breathe. “Where is Anna?” Somewhere in his dreams he’d thought he heard someone ask her to dinner.

“She went to tell the cook how to make broth for you. He sent some over that Clark and me thought was fine, but she said it wasn’t near thick enough.” Cunningham shook his head. “That woman’s been giving more orders than the captain and, unlike the orders we usually get from him, every man on the place does what she asks.”

McCord wasn’t surprised. She’d ordered him to come back from the dead, and he’d done so for fear she’d follow him down and spend eternity complaining that he didn’t listen.

“I swear,” Cunningham mumbled. “I have a hard time believing that woman don’t fight for slavery. She’s a natural master.”

They both laughed. They’d never had slaves or believed in owning slaves. Like most Texans, they’d fought for Texas rights and it had cost both dearly. If either had anyone close to them they wouldn’t be doing such a dangerous job. McCord had been alone so long he barely remembered how it felt to have family. The war had left him with nothing but land that had gone wild in the years he’d been gone, and no one who cared.

McCord forced down the pain in his back and his heart. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days, and she’s barely left your side.”

“I know,” he answered. Every time he’d come close to waking, he’d known she was beside him.

Cunningham offered him whiskey, but he declined.

“Water,” he said.

The sergeant frowned. “I don’t know about that. With all the holes in you, you’re liable to spring a leak.” He poured a cup of water and held it while McCord drank.

When he finished he asked, “What happened after . . .”

Cunningham knew what he wanted to know. “A dozen of the boys went back for the bodies. Both the men who kidnapped Clark and Anna were dead. The gambler’s body and the man on watch, who Clark shot, were easy to recognize, but the man in black is a mystery. We brought the bodies back to the camp, but no one seems to be able to identify him. He could have been Thorn, who headed up the gang. From what I’ve heard about the man, he might have come alone, thinking he’d have time to torture Anna before the gambler killed her.”

Anna entered, ending the conversation. She smiled when she saw McCord propped up.

The sergeant stood away from the table and showed the patient off. “I did what you said. I turned him over. He may look like trampled death, but he’s well enough to complain about my nursing skills.”

“She can see that,” McCord grumbled. “Mind getting me a shirt from my pack in the barracks?”

Cunningham frowned. He didn’t seem to like the idea of leaving. “Oh, all right, but she’s been looking at that hairy chest of yours for days.”

“And take your time,” McCord said to Cunningham’s back.

The sergeant nodded as he moved to the door. “I should have known you’d wake up meaner than a wet snake. You got no gratitude in your bones, McCord. If it weren’t for knowing you’d do the same for me, I’d have left your bloody body out there in the middle of nowhere.” He closed the door, still complaining.

Anna’s eyebrows pushed together. “Aren’t you going to thank him?” She set the soup beside his bed.

“He knows I’m grateful and he’s right—I would do the same for him.”

“It never hurts to say the words, Wynn.” She pulled a chair beside his bed and picked up the spoon as if she thought he’d let her feed him.

McCord watched her, thinking how proper she looked. “Is that why you kept talking to me when I was near death, Anna? You thought there were words that needed saying?”

“I guess.” She didn’t look up at him.

“I don’t know if I heard everything, but I remember you telling me over and over to stay.” He took a drink of water and waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he added, “You commanded me to come back, not just from death, but to you.”

She set the spoon down and laced her fingers, but still did not look up.

He saw the red burning across her cheeks, but he didn’t stop. “You said when I came back to you it would be to stay. You told me I belonged with you.” He grinned. “I think I even remember you yelling at me one night about how I was your man and I couldn’t die unless you said it was all right.” He laughed.

His Anna was a strong woman who’d never hesitated to tell him what she thought, but she remained silent now. Maybe she’d never said those words before. Maybe she had thought he was too far gone to have heard. He didn’t care. She’d said them and that was all that mattered to him.

“Give me your hand, Anna.”

“Why?” She finally met his gaze.

“I want to touch you.” When she laid her hand in his, he tugged her toward him.

“You’re still very near death.” She tried to pull away.

He grinned. “I’m also very near heaven. If touching you kills me, I can think of no better way to die. Unbutton a few buttons on that very proper dress of yours, darlin’. I’ve been thinking of how soft you feel and how it might taste to kiss my way down your throat again.”

“I will not, Wynn McCord!” She twisted free and opened the pot of broth. “I can’t believe you’d even ask such a thing.”

“I’m thinking more of doing than of asking,” he said, still smiling, “and I’m thinking you’ll let me too.”

She stared at him and he had his answer in the need shining bright in her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the bowl of soup. “Now, eat your broth or I’ll call the sergeant back and he’ll pour it down you.”

He didn’t push touching her. He knew what lay beneath that plain blue dress and he’d wait. He couldn’t stop smiling though. She’d been shy with him when she hadn’t known where she stood, but the minute he had pulled her close, she knew how he felt. Nothing had changed between them. They both knew he needed her, but she’d come to him on her own terms, and he’d let her take her time.

He didn’t move as she sat on the side of the table and began feeding him. Halfway through the meal he watched as the blush came back to her cheeks. She talked of the broth and how good it would be for him, but they were both very much aware that his hand rested on her dress, just above her knee.

He needed her near and she needed his touch, even if they couldn’t seem to find the words.

That night when she checked his bandages and made sure he didn’t have a fever, his hand slipped beneath her gown and gripped the warm flesh above her knee.

Her breathing quickened as he tugged her knee so he could brush her skin.

“We going to talk about this, Anna?”

She closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered.

His grip tightened. “Am I making you feel uncomfortable, or am I hurting you in any way?” His hand moved a few inches higher.

“No.”

“I love the feel of you.” His touch turned to a caress. “I might not know how to be gentle, but I’ll never hurt you.”

She looked at him and smiled. “I know.”

Then, without him even asking her to, she leaned forward and kissed him.