Chase The Clouds. Lindsay McKenna

first or last time.”

      Sam swore softly, glaring at her. “You’re a hellion just like that horse when you want to be. Why don’t you climb down off there and let me see how badly hurt—”

      Keeping her hand over her nose, Dany kneed Altair, and the stallion made a quick turn. “No thanks! Just stay out of my way. Do you understand me?”

      He sat there on his black gelding, his gray eyes sparks of fury. “You two deserve each other,” was all he growled, and yanked his horse around, galloping back toward the group of cows and men waiting for him about a mile away.

      Tears ran down her cheeks, and she spit out the distasteful metallic taste of blood from her mouth. That would serve her right: She should have checked over the terrain first. It was clear that she would have to begin work in earnest with Altair on all sorts of water situations. She gave him a pat. “Come on, big boy, get me home so I can get a cold cloth on this nose. I hope it’s not broken. God, it hurts.”

      She had managed to remove the bit from Altair’s mouth and was trying to unsaddle him when Sam appeared out of nowhere. He lifted the saddle off in one smooth motion and gripped her arm firmly with the other. Dany muffled her protest as he dragged her down the aisle toward the house.

      “You might as well quit struggling,” he declared grimly, handing the saddle to one of his hands. He stopped long enough to say, “Jake, cool Altair down and then put him back in his paddock.”

      Dany tried to pull away. Blood was still trickling from her nose, and she put her other hand up to try and halt it. “Let me go!” she cried.

      “Stop it,” he ordered, pulling her along.

      They passed Martha, whose eyes widened with surprise as he guided her through the kitchen. Sam took her to his suite, forcing her to sit down on a stool in the huge bathroom. He threw his hat down and took a washrag, running it under a faucet. Dany sat there, tears streaming down her face, infuriated and embarrassed.

      Martha came on the run, panting as she waddled around the bedroom door to the bathroom. “Sam, what’s happened to her?”

      His fingers slid along Dany’s jaw, and she tried to jerk away. “If you don’t sit still,” he threatened softly, the moistness of his breath fanning across her face, “I’m going to take you over my knee.”

      Martha crowded in, her keen brown eyes assessing Dany’s nose. “I’ll go call Dr. Hart right away.”

      “Do that.”

      “No!” Dany protested, acutely aware of his strong fingers against her chin and jaw.

      “Yes!” Sam thundered to the departing Martha. He glared back down at her. “You’re certainly hardheaded.” She winced as he gently placed the cloth against her nose. “You may have broken it,” he growled, carefully blotting away the blood.

      “Oh, shut up!” she mumbled, grabbing the cloth out of his hands. She stood up, examining her nose in the mirror. It was swelling on one side, and she touched it tentatively.

      “Why don’t you sit down before you fall down and get a damn concussion,” he ordered tightly, his eyes broadcasting his concern.

      She wasn’t going to do one blasted thing he ordered. She might have to live here for a month or two, but that was all! Stubbornly, she remained on her feet, the pain increasing and making her eyes narrow. The cold cloth against her hot skin felt good, and she rinsed out the cloth and put it back against her nose. “You might as well be talking to a wall,” she muttered, glaring up at him. “I’m not doing a thing you tell me!”

      He leaned forward, his face a mask of tightly controlled fury. “I don’t need my rider fainting on me and striking her head against the tile floor of this bathroom. Now sit down before you fall down!”

      She wanted to stick her tongue out at him in sheer frustration. He was treating her like a twelve-year-old child. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said haughtily. “I’m not going to faint! I’ve been hurt a lot worse than this and had to take care of myself without anybody’s help. So just let me be!”

      “That’s part of your trouble. You’re so self-sufficient that you don’t know how to handle someone’s offer to help. You’ve got to be part Irish with stubbornness like that.”

      His verbal tirade sounded hollow, the words seeming to blur together, and Dany blinked, dropping the cloth from her hands. Lights danced in front of her eyes, and she felt waves of pain shooting up into her forehead. She moaned, and her knees suddenly buckled beneath her.

      “Dany,” Sam whispered, barely catching her as she collapsed into his strong arms. The last thing she remembered was his arms encircling her and the warmth of his sun-hardened body pressed against hers.

      * * *

      Dany awoke, groggy, immediately aware of a heavy adhesive bandage across her nose. It was dark except for a small light on the nightstand beside her bed. She sensed movement rather than heard it and gasped as a bulky shadow moved from the darkness to the light.

      “It’s just me,” Sam growled, coming over and standing above her.

      Dany let out a sigh of relief, her fingers resting at the base of her throat. She felt the bed sag beneath his weight. Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at his harshly lined face. Assorted impressions hit her at once. Someone had dressed her in her black silk nightgown, and she was comfortably ensconced in her own bed. Dark smudges hovered around Sam’s eyes, fatigue showing in their darkened depths. Guilt at her outburst earlier caused her to be contrite.

      “How long have I been out?”

      “About four hours. You went from a faint into sleep. Doc Hart said you were exhausted. He just called me about an hour ago and said you’re also anemic. So that means you cool your heels for a while and take it easy and rest.”