Chapter 2 #3
He touched her on the shoulder and leaned down closer.
Was she alive? He pressed his fingertips against the underside of her jaw, feeling for a pulse.
There! She was alive. “Seth, get me some water,” he ordered.
He turned back to her but couldn’t tell if she was injured, lying on her side as she was.
Paying no thought to decorum, he quickly felt along the arm and the leg that he could reach but didn’t find any indication of broken limbs.
“Here you go, Sheriff.”
He glanced over his shoulder to find Seth standing in the doorway extending a canteen toward him.
“Thanks.” He unscrewed the lid, carefully poured a little bit of water over his free hand and tucked the canteen onto the back seat.
He gently patted the cheek and forehead of the woman’s face, then brushed the hair back from her eyes.
Suddenly, her eyes opened and she startled, then moaned.
“Don’t move around,” he cautioned.
Her eyes wide with fear, she slowly turned her head to look up at him.
Now he could see blood smearing the right side of her forehead.
She must’ve been tossed off the seat as the stagecoach had careened over rough ground.
With another moan, she lifted a hand toward her head but he gently grasped her wrist.
“No, don’t touch it. Are you hurt anywhere else?
” She didn’t say anything but blinked several times.
When she turned to look at him again, Seth had shifted slightly away from the door and the late afternoon sun made its way into the interior.
Her eyes, light blue, with a darker blue outline of the iris, stared at him.
“I … I don’t know,” she responded, her voice soft and hesitant.
He backed his way out of the coach and extended a hand toward her. “Can you sit up?”
She stared at him once more and then hesitantly reached for his hand. Slowly, he helped her sit up. She winced and lifted her other hand to her head, seemingly confused when she moved it away and saw blood smearing her fingers.
“Head wounds bleed a lot, but they look worse than they are,” he told her. “Do you hurt anywhere? Your ribs, your belly, your arms or legs?” For a brief instant, her cheeks colored but then grew pale again.
“I don’t think so, just my head.”
“Come on, I’ll help you out of there.”
As she began to make her way feet first out of the coach, he glanced over his shoulder at Seth. “Can you bring my horse?”
Within moments, the woman was out of the coach, standing a bit wobbly beside him, his arm wrapped around her waist, her other arm draped over his shoulder as he bent down so he could grasp her wrist to keep her standing. “We’ve got to ride back to town, miss.”
“All right,” she murmured, then took a step and gasped. “Oh!”
He glanced at her face, concerned that he’d hurt her. She stood so close he saw the gold flecks in her blue irises. She wasn’t looking at him though. He followed her line of sight and realized she’d seen the bodies of the driver and his companion. Seth approached with his horse.
“Were there any other passengers besides you?” he asked, helping her toward his gelding.
“No … no, I was the only passenger.”
He wanted to ask her what had happened, what she’d seen, and if she could identify any of the outlaws who’d attacked the stage, but knew that now was not the time. She was in shock, perhaps injured. He would take her to his mother’s house and send Seth for the doctor.
As he neared his horse, he glanced at Seth. The cowhand took his place at the woman’s side, supporting her while Nathaniel quickly mounted and then leaned down, arms outstretched.
“Up you go,” Seth murmured, placing his hands on either side of her waist. He lifted her upward.
Nathaniel clasped her around the waist and settled her sidesaddle on his lap, his arms around her as he gathered his reins in his hands. Her head rested heavily against his right shoulder, his chin just above the top of her head. She smelled of flowers.
He turned to Seth. “Can you wait here for a bit, Seth? I’ll send Ezra with his wagon.” Ezra Winters was the undertaker serving not only Cedar Bluff but neighboring communities.
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” he said. “We’ll wait here with Roger and Kurt.”
Nathaniel nodded his thanks. He turned his horse around and urged the gelding into a quick walk as he headed west, back toward Cedar Bluff, the sun slowly sinking ever closer to the western horizon. The woman trembled in his arms.
“My name is Nathaniel Cross,” he said. “Sheriff Nathaniel Cross. Who are you?”
Her head moved against his chest but she didn’t look up at him, murmuring something under her breath, something that sounded like ‘bad luck’. He frowned. “I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Chloe. My name is Chloe.”
“Everything’s going to be all right, Chloe,” he murmured, praying that his words were true.
With that, she sagged heavily against him.
He knew without looking that she’d lapsed once more into unconsciousness.
Outlaws and yet another stagecoach attack.
Was it the Blackwell gang? Questions persisted, and yet overall, he couldn’t help but focus on the slender woman in his arms, the scent of lavender wafting upward, making it hard to concentrate on anything but her and how she felt in his arms.