The Gentrys: Abby. Linda Conrad

staring at her now. They were closed, but she could see the pain etched across his features just the same. She reached for his shirt buttons and decided she’d put these idiotic feelings aside and take care of the injured man.

      Determined and dedicated, she managed not to think as she unbuttoned his shirt and rolled him out of it.

      There. See? It was easy to—

      Whoa! She found herself frozen in place and staring at his chest. It was broad, rippled and so manly it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. In the shimmering lamplight, she could see the sheen of sweat spreading over his smooth, hairless skin and shining like a glittering lake in the moonlight.

      She couldn’t help it when her gaze dropped lower, heading for his waist—and lower yet—to the part of him covered by tight, worn jeans, and shouting to her that he was uniquely male. And more so than most, she’d noted.

      But her gaze suddenly returned to a patch of scars, spreading out across his abdomen like the wings of a bird. Gray had been cut. But they weren’t recent wounds, and they really did have some pattern to them.

      The urge to follow the featherlike scars with her fingertips nearly consumed her. She longed to soothe his jagged skin—to heal his old, echoing pains.

      Abby pulled her hand back before she actually touched him, and shook her shoulders, trying to keep focused. He needed her help to live. She could do this. He was groggy and seemed to be going in and out of a semiconscious state. At times he could almost focus his gaze on her, at others his eyes were closed. She prayed that most times he’d keep those dark eyes shut.

      A half hour later, as she put the soapy water and wet towels away, she congratulated herself on remaining so calm and detached. She’d known that her practical nature would win out. After all, he was just a man. Normally, she had no trouble ignoring any minor tingles when she looked at a well-built specimen of manhood. Especially an injured one.

      Fixing for a little hot chicken broth for the two of them, she reflected on her actions today and felt good about them. She’d been strong, levelheaded and decisive. Exactly the qualities that her ranch management professor at college had said would be required of a professional foreman.

      Being the foreman on the Gentry Ranch was all she’d ever dreamed about doing with her life.

      After a while Gray became coherent enough for her to hold his head up and spoon a bit of broth into his mouth. As she did, she thought about how proud of her Jake would be.

      He’d been the ranch foreman for as long as she could remember. Always her idol and role model, Jake Gomez had encouraged her to go for her dreams and try for his job when the time came.

      Of course, convincing her older brother, Cinco, to give her the job was going to take every bit of strength and determination she could muster.

      Abby set aside the bowl of broth, relieved to see that Gray’s features looked decidedly calmer. He didn’t seem to be in as much pain. Maybe he’d sleep through the night.

      After she’d washed the bowls and spoons, she figured that if he could rest, perhaps she could catch a couple of winks, as well. She wouldn’t really sleep soundly, she needed to be alert to any changes in Gray’s breathing. But a cat nap or two couldn’t hurt anything.

      Abby got comfortable by opening a few buttons on her shirt and loosening her heavy work belt. Then she shut off two of the lanterns and turned down the light on the one she’d kept next to Gray’s cot. The lamplight flickered against the ceiling of the cabin, sending eerie shadows to play hide-and-seek with her mind.

      Abby shivered in the heat, but decided she was being silly again. Heading toward the bunk, she smelled smoke. But she’d put out the stove’s fire ages ago after heating the broth. And the lanterns only smelled like kerosene, not smoke.

      Smiling at her own foolishness, she moved to the windows and made sure they were wide open. It hadn’t cooled down much at all since the sun had set, but it was certainly more comfortable than when the sun was high in the sky.

      At the window she took a deep breath, intending to clear her head. But the smell of smoke was even stronger outside. Now she realized not only was she definitely smelling smoke, but pipe-tobacco smoke at that.

      But where…who…would be smoking? The first real sense of panic grabbed at her gut, sending adrenaline shooting through her veins.

      Quickly she barred the windows and barricaded the door, listening all the while for a sound from Patsy that might mean another horse or some intruder was nearby. But the complete silence of the darkness worried her even more than those sounds might have. Where were the night sounds? The usual whispers of tree frogs and crickets and the soft spring breeze through the leaves? All those normal noises were strangely quiet.

      Abby picked up her rifle from its place in the corner and sat down in the chair she’d dragged over beside Gray’s cot. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if doing so would hold the world together, no matter what.

      The silence was deafening. And the smell of tobacco smoke was stronger than ever.

      Instinctively, she set the rifle down beside her and reached a hand to place against Gray’s forehead, to satisfy herself that he was still breathing. He seemed peaceful enough, and his skin was cool and dry. But just then, a low drumming beat suddenly began pulsing through the night.

      Drums? The distant sounds set fire to her blood. Soon the vibrations rang inside her body. The pounding snaked through her, almost as if a living, breathing creature inhabited her arteries, taking over the beating of her heart.

      She closed her eyes and held on tightly to her sanity. Another sound, the magic sound of an ancient flute, drifted through the walls, haunting her unconscious mind.

      Keeping her eyelids shut against whatever evil might befall them, she reached out toward Gray. She needed the touch of another human being.

      When her hand touched only emptiness, her eyes popped open. Right before she fainted in a heap on the hardwood floor, Abby’s brain refused to believe what her sight had clearly revealed.

      The cot stood cold and empty. Gray was gone.

      Two

      “Come with me, Gray, my son.”

      “Father? Ahpi?” The very strong sensation of fingers gripping his forearm confused Gray. Was this really his father beckoning him to follow? Impossible. His father had died years ago. Did that mean Gray had somehow also died from the poisonous snakebite? Had his brother the rattlesnake sent him into the land of his ancestors?

      Gray didn’t want to die. Intrigued by the memory of the girl who’d fought to save him, he wanted more time. He remembered her heroic efforts, even though he hadn’t been able to talk to her or help himself. The echoing feel of her cool hands on his feverish body continued to calm his spirit.

      Gray looked around but saw only dark images, swirling clouds of ghostlike shadows. “Father, where do you take me?” He heard the shrill call of the red-tailed hawk and beyond that, the ever-present drumbeat of his own heart.

      “Nemene, our people, wish to speak to you through the misty shrouds of time. You will listen with your heart.”

      “Yes, Ahpi. As you wish, but…”

      Before Gray could finish his sentence, he noticed the image of his own mother, standing next to him. The sharp pain of grief was the first arrow to enter his heart.

      “Mother.”

      “No, my son. I am Pia, the mother of all the people, come to you in an image that will imprint itself on your soul. Banish the pain of your grief, Gray Wolf Parker. Your mother wishes it. Open yourself to the wisdom of the ancient spirits.”

      Gray shook his head. This had to be some kind of weird dream or hallucination brought on by the snakebite. Or…maybe he really was dead.

      “No, son.” The old woman answered his query without him having to give voice to