Lone Star Heiress. Winnie Griggs

at bay.

      “I guess I should introduce myself,” he said, hoping to distract her. “Mitch Parker, at your service.”

      “Ivy Feagan.” She offered her name reluctantly, then he heard a quick intake of breath as he dabbed at the cut. She indicated the dog. “This here is Rufus.” Her voice had a note of challenge in it.

      Good. He preferred bravado to fear. “Glad to meet you. By the way, did you get to sample those mulberries before I interrupted you? I hear they’re exceptional.”

      She answered affirmatively, then fell silent again. There were no indications she was hurting, other than an occasional hitch in her breathing when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. When that happened, she’d start talking, mostly rambling thoughts, as if to hide her reaction.

      Despite her unfocused chatter, he found himself admiring her. She didn’t complain, or dissolve into hysterics or cower—all of which would have been understandable reactions given the situation. Instead, she maintained a stoic demeanor. He’d known men who would have acted with less restraint in these circumstances.

      It took all the water in his canteen, but he finally had the area clean enough to see the cut. It was a nasty-looking gash, but the bleeding had almost stopped.

      He rinsed his now-soiled handkerchief, then squeezed out as much water as he could. He folded it into a thick pad, then gently covered the injury. “Do you think you can hold this in place for a few moments?”

      She obediently placed a hand over the pad. He picked up the cloth bag, quickly removed the drawstring and held it up to show her. “I’m going to use this to tie the bandage in place. Okay?”

      “Okay.”

      He secured the pad, then leaned back to study his work. With the ties dangling over her left ear, she would have looked comical if the situation weren’t so serious.

      “That will have to do for now.” He met her gaze and frowned. He didn’t like the paleness of her skin. Her freckles stood out in stark relief, her eyes looked huge and the rest of her face had a pinched look. And he could tell she was struggling to stay focused. What should he do now?

      “How bad is it?” Her wariness was still evident, but he thought he also sensed the beginnings of trust.

      He chose his words carefully—he didn’t want to alarm her unduly. “You’ve lost some blood. I imagine you’re going to have a whopper of a headache for the next several days, but I’ve seen worse.” Much worse. “But right now we need to see about getting you someplace where you can rest and be tended to properly.” He strived to keep the worry from his tone. “Do you have friends nearby or a place I can take you around here?” Please let her say yes.

      “No.” Her single-word answer offered no clue as to why she was out here on her own. And that disconcerting wariness was back in full force. He couldn’t really blame her for her caution—in fact he rather admired her for it. But she shouldn’t have been placed in the position of fending for herself this way.

      He tried again. “Is anyone traveling with you?”

      “Only Rufus and Jubal.”

      Rufus was the dog, but who was Jubal? “Do you know where Jubal is?”

      “Jubal is my mule—” Her face suddenly drained of any remaining color and her eyes fluttered closed.

      Mitch managed to catch her before her head hit the ground again.

      He quickly assured himself she was still breathing, and to his relief, her eyes fluttered open. As soon as she realized her position, she struggled to push him away. “What—”

      He reached for her canteen and held it up to her. “You fainted. Here, drink this.”

      She quieted and took the canteen, raising it to her lips. Her gaze never left his.

      After a few sips, she handed the canteen back, but he shook his head. “You need to drink it all,” he said firmly.

      She stiffened at his tone, but after a heartbeat obediently drained the canteen.

      What in the world was he going to do with her?

      If he had a wagon, he’d transport her directly to Turnabout and hand her over to Doc Pratt. But there was no wagon, and in her current condition, she’d never be able to sit in the saddle for the four-hour ride to town. Even if she could, she probably shouldn’t.

      That left him with only one option. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to temporarily abandon his plans for solitude. “I suppose you’d better come with me to my cabin, where you can rest until you’re feeling better.” He only hoped she could sit in the saddle long enough to get that far.

      “Thank you,” she said, her suspicion obvious, “but that’s not necessary. Once I rest a bit I’ll be able to get on with my journey.”

      He knew bluster when he heard it. But he tried to navigate around her caution carefully. “Nevertheless, I’m responsible for your fall and the least I can do is share my shelter and my food with you.”

      She appeared to be wavering. Hoping to tip the scale in his favor, Mitch retrieved her knife.

      She tensed as apprehension flared in her eyes.

      He quickly held the knife out to her, hilt first. “You can hold on to this if it makes you more comfortable.”

      He only hoped she didn’t decide to skewer him with it.

      * * *

      Ivy accepted the knife, wondering just how much she could trust this stranger. His size was certainly worrisome—he wasn’t just taller than Goliath. He also had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen.

      Still, he’d been nothing but kind and helpful. Surely if he’d meant to harm her he’d have done so by now. And despite what she’d said, her inability to stop shaking or keep her thoughts focused was worrisome. Perhaps a hot meal and a dry place to rest would cure that. “I suppose I can rest at your cabin as well as I can here. But just for a little while.”

      He smiled approvingly and she decided he looked much less intimidating when he smiled. In fact, you might say he looked downright handsome, in a bigger-than-life kind of way. It was mighty tempting to let go of her worries and let this man handle them. And right now she was having trouble remembering why she shouldn’t.

      “Good.” He nodded to his left. “I’d like to move you to that tree over there so you have something to lean against while I gather your things.”

      Move her? She wasn’t sure she could stand and make it more than a couple of steps right now, even if he helped her.

      But before she could respond, he gave her a stern look. “You appear none too steady and I wouldn’t want to have to deal with you falling again.”

      She could see where he might feel that way, and to be honest, he had good reason. But she had a better idea. “I’ll just lean against Rufus instead.” She gingerly rearranged herself to demonstrate. And loyal Rufus allowed her to prop herself against him, just as she’d known he would.

      She wished he would just get on with gathering her things so she could close her eyes and relax for a minute or two. But she had the nagging feeling she’d forgotten something important.

      He studied her a moment, then stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way.”

      As soon as he turned away, she closed her eyes. Then she suddenly remembered what it was she needed to tell him and her heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly. “Mr. Parker.”

      He turned and took a step back toward her. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

      “It’s about Jubal. You should know, he turned up lame yesterday. It’s why we’re camped here.” She hoped he’d show Jubal the same kindness he’d shown her.

      His expression tightened, but he