La Desperada by Patricia Burroughs

Author:Patricia Burroughs [Burroughs, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical romance, ebook, nook, La Desperada, western, book view cafe, kindle, Patricia Burroughs, epub
ISBN: 9781611381412
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2012-01-10T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Wake up... have to wake up... Coulter’s eyes clammed shut against the pain... his head throbbing. He lifted his head, and the whole universe quaked around him. His fingers grasped the blanket that covered him. Cold... so cold... a chill racked through his body.

It was dark, still night. The frogs croaked so loudly they were vibrating through his ear, his head, his mind... dizzy... light-headed. His hands trembled. His face wet with cold sweat, the dizziness began to subside.

He wanted to get up, but couldn’t. He felt his head gingerly... no knots, no swelling, no wound. What was the matter with him?

Elizabeth... where was she?

“Laa …” A croak, nothing more. He raised his head slowly, closed his eyes.

“Laa... dy?”

Not loud enough. She didn’t hear. He breathed deeply.

“Lady? Answer me!”

His face contorted in pain as his own voice rang through his head. Still... no answer... He steeled himself... braced his hands against the floor... not strong enough. He opened his eyes.

Where was she?

The bed was empty. Her carpetbag was gone.

And then his eyes rested on the mug overturned on the floor.

~*~

With dawn came a cold, steady rain, pelting Elizabeth’s face. The mild summer storm gusted with chilling winds. But her wet body was no colder than her heart, the gray dawn no more dismal than her soul. Once again, she was running.

Only this time, instead of Coulter’s familiar back and Sage’s restless gait, the immense form of the mountain man preceded her. She followed on the mare, keeping pace with the plodding rhythm of the mountain man’s horse.

This time she was running not for her own life, but for Coulter’s.

Soon the rain stopped, the wind died, and the mare picked up her pace and pulled alongside the lead horse.

“Reckon we’ve been in New Mexico fer a good couple ’a hours.”

At first, she didn’t hear the mountain man speaking to her. Then, huddled in her sodden cloak, the rim of its hood dripping in her face, she managed a nod.

“Wetter year than we’ve had in recent mem’ry. Ain’t complainin’ though. Never complain ’bout rain less’n it sweeps away yer missus and kids. Then mebbe you’ve somethin’ to complain about.” He spat at the ground. “Mebbe.”

She forced a smile, another nod, and his wide-mouthed grin made it worth her while. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she’d become to the outlaw’s long silences, until confronted with a man whose desire to communicate had been stifled for weeks, maybe even months.

“How long should it take us to get to Seven Rivers?” she asked numbly.

“A couple of days, mebbe longer. Now we’re on the plains, the goin’ll be easier. The wet’ll slow us a mite. Yep, mebbe longer.” He angled his face up at the sky, and the dark clouds overhead. “Then agin, mebbe not.”

This brought a little laughter from her cold lips. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”

“All m’ answers are straight, ma’am. It’s m’ mind that wanders here and yon. No sooner do I reckon one thing, another comes along to distract me.

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