Luke's Cut. Sarah McCarty

Tia said.

      Taking the cup Tia passed him, he trickled a little water over her dry lips. The clear liquid pooled at the corners before sliding down over her cheeks and neck leaving a trail in the pale powder.

      She groaned. He held the cup to her lips, tipping a little into her mouth. “Drink.”

      Half-conscious, she frowned.

      “Don’t fight me on this, woman. Drink.”

      Parting those sexy lips, she sipped.

      “She’ll be all right?” Stefano asked.

      “Yes.” He wouldn’t allow otherwise. He smoothed the moisture over her cracked lips and tipped the cup again. “More.”

      “She needs to get out of the sun,” Ed called, limping over.

      He was right. The shadow he was casting over her merely darkened her expression, emphasizing her distress rather than providing any real relief.

      “True enough.”

      Across the way, he saw the scout nod to Zach before heading out. He could tell from the slap of the reins against his boot Zach was worried. And rightly so. A Comanche sighting was never good news. They needed to keep moving.

      Handing Ed the cup, Luke gathered Josie up. She struggled a little before settling into his arms as if she belonged there. The corset pressed into his forearm. He didn’t know why she wore one. They were impractical as hell. A woman couldn’t move in one, let alone breathe. While those restrictions might be fine and feminine back East, out here those restrictions could be a death sentence. The wagon creaked and dipped as he backed awkwardly down the steps. As his boots hit the grass, her petticoats caught on the brake lever, yanking him up short.

      “Shit.”

      “Hold on.” Ed reached over and tugged at them. There was a slight rip and then “There you go.”

      “Thanks.”

      Ed frowned as Luke carried Josie toward the back of the wagon. “I thought she’d handle the trip better.”

      “She is not used to our heat,” Tia fussed, hurrying to get to the rear of the wagon before Luke. Her gait, he noted, was not as easy as it used to be. There was a stiffness in one hip. He shook his head, remembering his conversation with Ace. Damn.

      She opened the back door, revealing the interior. Hot air rushed out.

      At least the pallet on the floor was clear, he noted.

      “Be careful,” Tia cautioned as he propped Josie on the edge of the pallet, leaving her feet dangling over the side.

      “Aren’t I always?”

      Tia clucked her tongue. “Hardly.”

      “Ed?” Luke called to the front.

      “Yes?”

      “Could you water the nag? We don’t need him dropping from exhaustion, too.” If they had to run for it, he needed the gelding ready.

      “Stefano is already on it.”

      He wasn’t surprised. Zach only kept on good men. “Thanks.”

      A tug on his shirt drew his gaze. Josie’s lips moved.

      “What?”

      She said it again. He had to bend closer to hear.

      “His name’s Glory.”

      That again? “As in glory be to God?” he asked drily. “Or Glory be, will he make it through the day?”

      She frowned up at him, a little of the fight coming back into her expression. “Neither.”

      At least her voice was getting stronger.

      “Are you sure?” He hitched her up to move her back. Her nails dug into his arm. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh no!”

      He’d been on the back end of too many benders not to know that look. He turned her just in time. She vomited. All over his boots.

      “Son of a bitch!”

      If her moan hadn’t been so pitiful, Luke would have dropped her right there. Instead, he set her gently on the ground. She scrabbled to her hands and knees. He supported her with an arm around her waist as she vomited up all the water he’d just poured down her throat. Between heaves, she swatted at her bonnet. Since he hated the drab, ugly thing, too, Luke tugged it off and tossed it aside. His own stomach lurched, but he held it back, until finally, with a last retch, she slumped. With another sympathetic “Pobrecita” Tia handed him the cup. Water sloshed as he held it to Josie’s lips. She shook her head.

      “Rinse your mouth out.”

      She took a sip. “Don’t swallow, spit,” he ordered.

      She did with an utter lack of self-consciousness that said more than anything about how horrible she felt.

      “Good job.”

      When he was sure she was done, Luke pulled Josie back until she sat on his thighs. Her head flopped limply against his shoulder. Her breath shuddered out.

      “I’m so hot,” she whispered. “Just so hot.”

      “I know.” He stood and turned to look into the wagon. It was dark and still, likely still stifling. “Stefano!”

      “Yes?”

      “Open the front panel, please.”

      The wagon slouched with the vaquero’s weight. The panel rattled as it opened.

      “It is done.”

      A little bit of light and air moved through the interior. Hopefully, more air would flow once the wagons were moving. Josie braced her hand on a trunk as he set her down on the thin mattress sandwiched between her belongings. Tremors vibrated from her to him. He started unbuttoning her dress. Her fingers wrapped weakly around his wrist. From behind him, Tia said, “I can do that.”

      “I’ve got it.”

      “You cannot undress a young, unmarried woman.”

      He didn’t spare her a glance. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

      Tia placed her hand on his arm. “No, mi hijo, you cannot.”

      Her resolution flicked at his determination. “Dammit. It’s not the first time I’ve seen undergarments.”

      Tia’s chin set. “You would mortify her.”

      “She should be mortified for being so stupid. Why the hell is she wearing so much?”

      Tia elbowed him aside. “It is proper.”

      Dammit. There was no fighting with Tia when she got that set to her mouth. He stepped back. She didn’t have to say it as if he were an idiot. “Proper will get her killed.”

      “Women are taught proper is what saves their lives.” Tia glanced over her shoulder. “Turn your back.”

      Even more reluctantly, he did. “You’re not wearing that much,” he pointed out, tipping the cup and rinsing the vomit off his boots. It was going to take more than the cup he held to get the job done. Son of a bitch. His cobbler was going to be pissed.

      “I should have talked to her,” Tia fussed.

      He could hear the sounds of clothing being removed. The slide of a sleeve down an arm. The rustle of petticoats being removed. His imagination pieced in the removal of the corset. At any other time his imagination would be running rampant. But right now, all he could think about was the Comanche, the delay and the risk to everyone every minute they were stopped here. A trunk opened and a minute later it closed.

      He hated being forced to cool his heels. “Does she at least have something lighter to wear?”

      Tia sighed. “Do you not have something