Excerpt of Heal My Hurting Heart by Allison Knight

CHAPTER ONE

End of July 1885, northwest of Denver

“What the hell?” Luke Adams jerked on the reins of his ancient horse.

A muffled crack competing with the sighing winds played through the mountain pines. Definitely not a gun shot! Thank God. Not with cattle missing. Twisting in the saddle, he listened.

Nothing unusual. Just the distant lowing of cattle, the whispering breeze, the creaking of his saddle leather.

Damn. His skin crawled. Superstitious wasn’t his style and he didn’t believe in premonitions. Hell, there wasn’t much he did believe in anymore! But, something was wrong.

He gazed out over the narrow valley, surveying the new grass bending in the gentle wind, grass that would feed his cattle through the summer. With a movement borne of practice, he threw his leg over the saddle horn and stared up at the red rocks that gave the surrounding mountains their name. Peaks still frosted with touches of last winter’s snow framed the landscape, as puffy white clouds floated past through a sea of pure, crystal-clear blue. What sound had shattered this peace? What had he heard?

Luke inhaled a deep breath of crisp mountain air, ignoring his own question as he studied the unchanging scene, the same year after year. Hell! How he wished his life could be as steady as these rocks.

The pounding thud of an approaching horse interrupted his thoughts. He glanced back. Could it have something to do with that cracking sound?

“Came to see how yer doing,” Bud, his foreman, shouted as he rode into view.

“How many did you find?” Luke asked as Bud halted beside him.

“Only two. Thought I’d go east. Them cows have got to be somewhere.” Bud patted the neck of his horse to quiet him.

“We’ll find ‘em. We’re only missing ten head. They just wandered off. But you check the valley to the west and I’ll check that hill to the east.”

Bud gave a salute and rode off. Luke slid his boots back into the stirrups and started east, dismissing the sound. Probably been a weakened branch splitting from a nearby pine tree.

Once he reached the hill he stopped near the bottom and searched above him. Not a cow in sight. He started to turn and then spun around. Halfway up the hill, a pile of debris littered the ground. Whatever it was it hadn’t been there earlier this week.

He prodded Queenie forward. As she picked her way around a series of rocky outcroppings, he studied the spot above him. To the right of a large boulder was what looked like the remains of a fractured buckboard. Bits of grass and dirt stuck to several pieces of wood and metal. This was recent. Had this been what he’d heard, this buckboard splitting apart?

Far above, an old dirt road led to a worthless mine. The gouged out chunks of earth and scraped soil marked the wagon’s path to the point of impact, as it careened down the sloop. But what was someone doing with a buckboard on the old Wheeler road?

“Better look for the driver,” he said, sighed and swung out of the saddle. After ground-tying Queenie, he gave the wreck another quick perusal. No one in that mess.

“Heh! Wait a minute.” There was no sign of a horse. No leather straps, no harness, nothing. Grabbing at his hat, Luke slapped it against his pants then ran stiff fingers through damp hair. “Strange.”

“Hell! Nobody could have lived through that.”

As he climbed over another pile of stones, he scanned the area, then worked around more stones.

What was someone doing on that road, anyway? Never has been any gold or silver in these parts and everybody around here knows it. This makes no sense, none at all.

Then, he heard a groan and froze.

Someone had been on that wagon. His stomach knotted.

“Hey, Buddy, can you hear me? Give a shout.” He stopped in his rush over another patch of rocks.

“Stupid,” he mumbled. The guy could be mortally wounded and Luke wanted him to shout? The noise had come from behind that boulder. He moved closer.

Nothing.

Wait. Next to a stone, something moved. Below a dark swatch of cloth, the edge of a small boot twitched. He climbed toward the object. Dark drops of what looked like blood splattered the ground. Whoever was on that wagon had been injured.

Vaulting over more rocks, he slammed to a stop like a body running into a brick wall. His stomach flipped, his heart dropped and he swallowed hard. Never expected to see this!

A dark skirt bunched around a pair of legs, long legs with shapely calves. Full hips flared below a slender waist. A bodice, once white, was nicely filled with full feminine curves.

“Oh, he--” Biting off the end of the word, his gaze jerked to her face. Thick brown hair covered a good portion of it, but blood stained the other half, and soaked into the ground. One hand was smeared with red, as if she’d touched the wound.

She groaned again.

Thank the lord. At least she was alive. He hunched down at her side. “Ma’am,” he said, hesitated then touched her shoulder. “I’ll get help. You rest easy. I’ll just signal my foreman then send for Doc. Okay?”

Ridiculous! She probably couldn’t hear him.

She moved and for an instant opened her eyes and blinked. Bright blue eyes, filled with intense pain, stared back at him. And fear. Fear so stark he could almost smell it.

Deep inside, an emotion long denied, twisted and turned, like a wind-up toy soldier he’d seen in a Denver store. Luke gritted his teeth. Where was his resolve? He’d finished with women. What he felt now for this lady, was pity. She was hurt, in pain. Pity, that was all! After all, she had been thrown from a wagon.

Another surge of emotion hit. Forget it. He needed help, to get Bud back here.

He pulled the pistol from his waistband and glanced around. No cattle to worry about. He only needed to fire a single shot. The men were working nearby. They could take her back to the ranch while one of the boys rode to town for Doc.

A minute after he fired, the thunder of hooves broke the sudden silence. By the time Bud halted his horse at the bottom of the hill, Luke had risen and stood waving at him.

“Trouble, Boss?”

“Yeah. Get the men and empty the buckboard. We’re gonna need Doc. Some fool drove a wagon over that cliff.” He glanced down at the woman. She didn’t look like a fool. She was a looker, that was for sure, with her arched brows, short, straight nose and lips shaped like a hunter’s bow. He gritted his teeth. What she looked like shouldn’t matter. Did he have to remind himself he was finished with women?

Another thought intruded. Had she been alone? He hadn’t even looked for anybody else.

“Get Carl,” he ordered. “I want him up here to see if he can find anyone else.”

With the noise, she opened her eyes again. Slowly, she lifted her injured hand toward him.

“Ma’am were you alone?’ he asked kneeling beside her. “Was someone else on the wagon with you?”

She attempted to shake her head. It must have hurt for all she did was groan. Then she said “Help me.” She grabbed at his shirt. “I don’t want to die.”

Luke patted her arm. He couldn’t remember when he’d heard that kind of desperation in someone’s voice. “You’re not going to die,” he growled. “I didn’t climb up here to have you...”

No need to finish talking. She’d lost consciousness. Just as well. They’d have to carry her down the mountain, and the ride to the ranch would mean more pain.

Damn, could they move her? How bad was she injured?

I’ll have to check for broken bones. Sweat broke out on his brow. This was something he didn’t want to do, but there was no one else. He felt as nervous as he had the first time he tried to break a horse.

Wiping damp hands on jeans, he murmured a silent prayer. Let her stay unconscious. He swallowed hard and lifted both hands. I gotta do this. He groaned, then straightened. But this was a woman. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d helped with enough ranch accidents to know he had to find out if she’d broken any bones. There was no choice, he was it. And he had to finish before the men arrived with the wagon so he’d know if they could move her.

First, he ran his fingers down one arm, then the other. Then he skimmed her shoulders. Sweat poured off, under his hat, down his shirt, both front and back. The softness of her skin, the delicate bones, curves he couldn’t ignore, were pure punishment. Damn. Now his hands were shaking.

“Don’t see nobody else, boss,” Carl announced as he approached.

“Who else rode out with you?” Luke asked. He glanced at the women, wondering if she could hear them talking but there was no reaction.

“Just me and Bud. The others headed west with them cows. Got all ten of ‘em.”

“You head to town for the Doc,” Luke instructed. “But first thing, stop at the house. Tell Agnes what’s happened, that we’re bringing in an injured woman. She’d best get the spare room ready.” He watched Carl bound down the mountain before returning to the task.

For a second he closed his eyes. Get done with it. Once more he ran his hands over her shoulders, then traced her sides, slid over her ribs. Oh, lord. She was wearing one of those corset things. He couldn’t feel a thing through the whalebone structure. Why’d women need something like that when they were already slim and shapely? This woman sure didn’t need it.

Now his hands shook as he lifted the skirt a bit to see if she’d broken any leg bones. Nothing broken so far. He jammed his hands into his back pants pockets to stop the shaking. After a minute, he continued the examination.

When he ran his hands over her head, a goose egg had formed behind her right ear, then he rolled her over. A dozen small cuts covered her arms and legs and she had twice that many bruises. The deep gash on her head was doing all the bleeding. And what looked suspiciously like rope burns circled her wrists.

He sat back on his haunches. Strange, those burns? If she’d wrapped the reins around her wrists as well as her hands to help control the horse pulling the wagon she might have some marks, but like this? Probably not, but what else could have made that kind of injury. Standing, he walked around the area, looking for tracks. Where was the critter that pulled the buckboard over that road? And, that bump behind her ear, could she have hit her head on something on the trip down the mountain? He’d leave the speculation to Doc.

“Thank heavens,” he muttered in relief as Bud stomped up the hill. “We’ve got to get her down this mountain and into the wagon.”

Bud frowned. “Just you and me? You know we’re gonna hurt her carrying her over them rocks. Anything broke?” He tossed a blanket to the ground.

“I don’t think so. ‘Course, I’m not Doc.” Luke stooped to spread the blanket over the rough terrain.

“Well, let’s get to it,” Bud said and bent down, gathering her skirt in his hand. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

They eased her onto the blanket. Luke grabbed two blanket ends, Bud the other two.

“Watch for them damned rocks,” Bud ordered.

With the woman between them they struggled down the mountain, then slid her into the wagon.

“Damn good thing she’s out,” Bud said after Luke whistled for Queenie.

“You drive the buckboard,” Luke ordered mounting Queenie. “Take it slow. I don’t know how bad she is. I’ll bring your horse in. Meet you at the house.”

Urging the horse into a trot, and not wanting to see Bud’s face or hear any complaints, Luke started for the house. A short time later, he bounded up the wooden steps of the front porch. He opened the closed door and threw his hat toward the hat rack. “Agnes!”

No answer.

Damn, where was she?

“Agnes?” he called again. Still, no response. Rushing into the kitchen, he stared at the empty pie shelf where earlier that morning two sugar cream pies had stood.

“Damn!” Obviously his housekeeper was off being neighborly. Just when he needed her. The job of getting a room ready had to be his. As another thought surfaced, he jerked to a halt. If Agnes didn’t show, he’d have to get the woman settled. Have to make her comfortable.

Until Doc arrived.