"Allie – no one would blame you even if you did, sweetheart. He deserved what he got – and more."
She looked away. "Nice girls don't kill people, you know. I was afraid you'd think – badly of me."
"For not letting some lecherous bastard paw you?"
She shot him a glance. "I fear he had more in mind than a mere 'pawing'."
"No one has that right, Allie." Brandon was beginning to understand what Allie might not, even now. "Listen to me. The Nielsons adopted you for their own reasons. Mrs. Nielson needed a nurse, and Mr. Nielson wanted – your body."
The thought made his stomach roll. The idea of another man's hands on Allie's satin skin nearly made him blind with anger. To think she'd almost been despoiled by someone despicable enough to adopt her for that purpose – beyond belief. He moistened his lips. "You did the right thing."
"I stole money from him."
"The way I see it, he intended to steal a hell of a lot more than money from you," Brandon said tightly. "You worked as a servant for his wife for what? Two – three years? Consider it wages."
Allie nodded. "Yes. But what I took – it was – a lot more than that."
Brandon's eyes narrowed. "More than three years' worth of wages?"
"Yes," she said with a definitive nod. "Enough to buy this place and set up—"
A knock came at the door, and she broke off, disengaging herself gently from Brandon's side. The door swung open, and Doc Wilkins appeared, giving them a genial smile.
"How'd my patient fare during the night?" He stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
Brandon looked up at him, and tried to return the smile, but he was afraid his frustration was showing through. Allie had been on the verge of telling him something that sounded suspiciously like yet another confession. What had it been? It would be awhile, now, before they'd have the chance to be alone again, and by then, she'd have had time to pull that damned cloak of reserve around her once more. He wanted nothing between them. Not the path of thoughtful steps she seemed to take in her conversation, not the shadows in her eyes of unspoken hardships and loneliness, not the years that had passed between them since their last meeting.
He sighed. Right now, there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm lots better, Doc," he said. He would do whatever it took to speed his healing, but Allie was his prime concern. He'd unwittingly brought chaos into her life once more.
But this time, he could fix it.
****
Thank God. Allie wanted to tell Brandon about her plans for the orphanage, and about the cattle, but now truly was not the time. She smiled at the doctor and rose, pulling on her robe. Her hand raked through her hair as it tumbled past her shoulders. She immediately reached for the pins on her night table and began to pin it up.
The doctor sat down in the chair, pulling it closer to the side of the bed. He laid a practiced hand across Brandon's forehead and gave a nod of approval. "Better, better. Fever's down." Reaching for his stethoscope, he looped it over his head and placed the end of it on Brandon's chest.
"It's still beating, Doc."
Doc's brows drew together. "Mmm. I know. I want to hear your lungs – see if they're taking any fluid. Deep breath."
"You gotta be joking."
A smile touched the doctor's lips. "As deep as you can, son."
Allie watched Brandon in the mirror's reflection as he complied, letting his breath out slowly.
"Anything for the pain overnight?" Doc turned to Allie, and she shook her head.
"Only the willow bark tea yesterday before you got here yesterday, and the morphine you gave him last night.”
Doc's grizzled eyebrows went up. "That wasn’t much of anything. You have a high tolerance, Mr. Gabriel, I'll say that."
He's had a lot of experience, Allie almost said, but she kept quiet, and the doctor went on with his questions.
"How's your hand feel? No, don't flex it. Does it hurt?"
"Hell, yeah, it hurts!"
Doc smiled. "Compared to the rest of you, how does it feel?"
Brandon blew out his breath, wincing at the sudden movement of his ribs. "Look, Doc, I've been down this road before – more than once. I'm gonna be okay. I think my ribs are cracked, so if you don't mind wrapping those up, I'd be much obliged. Allie's fixed my hand and everything else will have to just heal on its own. I hurt, but it'll pass."
Doc gave him a long look. "I suppose you know how close that slug came to taking out your liver."
"'Close' doesn't matter, Doc. It didn't."
Brandon's affable fa?ade was wearing thin. He was hurting more than he'd show, Allie knew. But the doctor could hold his own. He'd dealt with unhappy, hurting patients his entire career.
"Yes," he replied slowly. "Thank the Lord it wasn't any worse than it was." He stood up and began to put away his stethoscope. "After breakfast, I'll change the dressings before I leave." He turned to Allie. "You do have bandages, don't you?" He gave her a wink, then said blandly, "I hear you requisitioned some yesterday along with the whiskey and rifle from Anderson's Mercantile."