Meant to Be by Pierson Cheryl

Author:Pierson, Cheryl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: civil war, time travel, western romance, christmas romance, wounded hero
Publisher: Western Trail Blazer

Chapter Six

Jake lay on the floor of the cave beside the small fire they'd built. How often had he laid just so in this shelter, the fire in the center of the room, the smoke drawn up and out through the small opening? The wood that had been stored by the wall was not what he'd left the last time he'd been here. That worried him, because the last time he'd used this cave had been at least two years ago, before he had joined up with Watie, and Ray had been with him.

The wood was considerably fresher than what they'd left, and stacked differently. Someone else had frequented this cave; but whether friend or foe, he couldn't be sure.

Robin lay beside him, her head pillowed on his left arm. She wasn't asleep. He could feel the tension in her body, still.

It had taken every ounce of her will to do what he'd asked of her – to cut the arrow out of his flesh, then pull it free. He'd cried out, unable to stop himself. With anyone else, he might have felt ashamed that he'd been unable to hold himself in check. But not with Robin.

She'd done everything he asked, he thought grimly. Now, remembering the look of disbelief in her eyes as she'd opened the cartridge and poured the gunpowder into the gaping hole, he wondered if he'd pushed her too far. He should have done that himself. Although she dressed oddly, being from another time, anyone could see she was a lady, through and through.

He should've had better sense than to ask a well-born lady to dig out a bloody arrowhead and then cauterize the wound with black powder.

"Strike the match," he'd told her.

The look of understanding that had come into her soft brown eyes, followed by the pity, had nearly been his undoing. In the end, she'd lit the match with fumbling fingers, but she couldn't bring herself to put it next to the wound, to start the fire trail in his flesh that would stop the bleeding.

So, gently, he'd put his hand atop her blood-soaked fingers and guided the burning stick of wood to the wound, until it caught, and the intensity of the pain had brought him darkness. The last thing he'd seen was her eyes, holding his; her teeth caught in her lower lip; her delicate jaw set in determination.

When he'd come to, only a few minutes later, she'd been sitting with his head in her lap, bathing his neck and face with a ragged piece of her clothing she'd torn away and wet with snow from the crusted opening above them.

"Give me a few minutes," he said, looking up at her. "Keep the gun…handy." He'd drifted off again and slept, really slept. And now, looking up through the cave opening, he could see it had to be early afternoon, if he wasn't fooled by the hazy gray of the sky.

If their assailants had been Union troops, the shots that had been fired at him and Robin would have alerted Watie's camp…given them the advantage.

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