Read Deborah Camp for Free Online Page B

someone—was in the field and moved with a slow, sure rhythm. It was a woman, dressed in a drab, brown skirt and a baggy, loose shirt. Hair the color of corn silk spilled from beneath her sunbonnet. She looked young. Her shirt stuck to her back and her shoulder blades poked at the material. She raised a hand to mop her face and the gesture was graceful but bone tired.
    This woman has a hard row to hoe, Rook thought as the memory of grief-stricken blue eyes wafted to him again.
    “
Your man, ma’am?
”
    “
None of your business!
”
    Irritated by his inability to grasp the memory that kept drifting in and out of his mind, Rook sucked in his breath and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. His upper body trembled with the effort and he realized that he was worse off then he’d thought. Must have a fever, he thought, moving his tongue in his mouth and grimacing at the bad taste of it. God, what he’d give for a swig of whiskey!
    What was she doing? he wondered as his wandering attention returned to the woman outside. She had a … a … Christ Almighty! It was that crazy girl! The one who’d been digging a grave when he’d ridden up on her. She still had a shovel in her hands! The memory flooded through him, clear and jarring. That bad-tempered hellcat with the whip and pistol. His gaze narrowed as he recalled her biting orders and menacing frown. Digging a grave…. Digging a grave?
    Good God! He swallowed hard and his eyes bulged in their sockets. That’s what she was doing now! She was digging another grave—for him!
    He fell back, gritting his teeth when the pain knifed through him again. Was he near death? Was she planning on letting him rot here and then burying him? He broke out in a cold sweat, feeling the stench of death cover him. To hell with that! He wasn’t ready to meet his maker! Goddammit, he had to get out of there!
    Using all his strength, he sat up and, for a moment or two, he thought his head had crashed right through the ceiling. The room tilted sideways, making his stomach break loose inside him and float up into his chest. He struggled against the dizziness, but it overtook him and his eyes rolled back in his head. The room collapsed around him as a moan slipped past his lips and he dropped back into oblivion.
    Cassie dropped the shovel and rubbed her hands together. She studied the red blotches across her palms, gingerly touching them and wincing from the sharp pain. Her feet felt like lead weights as she trod across the ground to the pump for a drink of water. The coolness soothed her throat and she drank deeply. The chestnut, which she had tied near the old chicken coop, chomped nosily at what sprigs of grass it could find.
    She’d have to find something to feed that animal, Cassie thought. It was good having another pack animal on the place. Her Pa’s faithful mule Bawler had died the year before, and she and Pa had never had enough money to replace it. The chestnut wasn’t a pack animal though, she thought, correcting herself as she went over to it and stroked its silky mane. It was well bred and long of limb, with an intelligent face. The stranger had taken good care of it.
    Looking over her shoulder at the cabin, her thoughts circled back to the man in her bed.
    “Rook,” she whispered, trying out the name. Sounded like an outlaw’s name, but it was better than thinking of him as “the stranger.” One thing about it: she had to get used to having him around. She leaned her forehead againstthe chestnut’s side. Make the best of it, she told herself. He’s here and he’s gonna be here for a spell. She’d agreed to doctor him and she’d stick to her word. With Jewel’s help, she might be able to get through the summer without having to sell the land. All she had was the land. And the mine.
    Lifting her head, she looked in the direction of the mine and her earlier questions about Shorty’s death resurfaced. What kind of lowlife would shoot an old man in the back? She