he said, giving her his pillow to cradle. After smoothing her long brown hair to one side, he dipped his bandanna in the warm water."I'm going to dampen the fabric, see if I can remove the cloth easier. I'll try not to hurt you."
"I'll be fine, Clay."
Gingerly, he dabbed the top cut, heard her sharp intake of breath, but continued when Vanessa said nothing.
After moistening it again, he loosened the fabric, gently pulled it away from her skin. Clay's hand shook as he made progress. Finally one welt was revealed, then a second. Under the second was evidence that Price had stuck her a third time, her skin was bruised and swollen.
How could this have happened? What's more, how had he allowed it? How had he not heard her cries?
"Clay? Are you done?"
Her damaged shirt was wadded in his hands. Before him lay Vanessa's back, covered by a plain white cotton camisole.Swallowing hard, he gently traced the line of the top cut. To his eye, it was obvious cotton fibers were still embedded.Though he hated the thought of hurting her further, he knew he had no choice. If he didn't clean it well, infection would set in. "I'm going to have to wash out these cuts."
"I . . . all right."
She squeezed her eyes shut. He didn't blame her. During the war, men had whimpered over less. Gently squeezing the curve of her shoulder, he murmured, "It's okay if you cry."
"I think I'm all cried out, Clay."
Knowing nothing would get done if he didn't do it, Clay steeled himself to her pain. Systematically, he cleaned her injuries, doing his best to concentrate only on his duty, not her sounds of discomfort. Finally, he poured a liberal amount of hot water onto his bandana and dabbed.
Vanessa's back arched in pain.
"It's over, sugar." With shaking hands, he helped her sit up. Next, he handed her one of his old shirts then turned away so she could cover herself again in at least the illusion of privacy.
"I'm dressed now."
He tried to smile at the picture she made. She was indeed covered; his too-large shirt was wrapped around her securely, like a robe. But it was her face that held his attention. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she was valiantly doing her best to keep them at bay.
"Some ointment would be a good idea, but it's in the back of the barn," he said, hardly recognizing the rasp in his voice, thick from worry over her. "I'll get it when I go inside to get your things."
She moved to stand up. "I'll go with you, Clay."
"No you won't. I won't let you go near Price again. Tell me what you need."
"Dresses. Boots. Undergarments." After a brief pause, she said, "Clay, maybe we should talk about this, talk about your plans. I can't ask you to leave the Circle Z."
"You didn't ask me."
"This—what happened—it isn't your concern."
How could she imagine it wasn't? He'd promised her father he'd take care of her. Had promised it with a hand on his Bible. The vow was irrevocable. "It is. You are my concern."
"Maybe Miles—"
Clayton cut her off. "Miles didn't look after you tonight.He won't protect you tomorrow. Neither will your mother.And this—" Able to look at her again now that she was covered, he added, "This will happen again."
"Maybe—"
"Honey, you know I'm right."
After a long moment, she nodded. "What can I do?"
On a peg was his mother's old carpetbag. "Put some coffee, beans, and bread in here." Remembering her tender skin, he pointed to a soft wool blanket. "Roll that up, it's cold out."He opened the door, whistled for Lovey. The pretty shepherd came running. "Stay," he ordered the dog. "Guard Vanessa."
Unable to help himself, he turned to stare at Vanessa again. She was standing by his lone chair, doing her best to look brave but failing miserably. Lines of exhaustion rimmed her eyes. The knowledge that it would be some time before she could rest made his tone harsher than he meant it to be."Lock this door behind me. Don't open it until I come back.Do you hear me?"
Her eyes darted to the lock as if she wondered if it
"I'll be fine, Clay."
Gingerly, he dabbed the top cut, heard her sharp intake of breath, but continued when Vanessa said nothing.
After moistening it again, he loosened the fabric, gently pulled it away from her skin. Clay's hand shook as he made progress. Finally one welt was revealed, then a second. Under the second was evidence that Price had stuck her a third time, her skin was bruised and swollen.
How could this have happened? What's more, how had he allowed it? How had he not heard her cries?
"Clay? Are you done?"
Her damaged shirt was wadded in his hands. Before him lay Vanessa's back, covered by a plain white cotton camisole.Swallowing hard, he gently traced the line of the top cut. To his eye, it was obvious cotton fibers were still embedded.Though he hated the thought of hurting her further, he knew he had no choice. If he didn't clean it well, infection would set in. "I'm going to have to wash out these cuts."
"I . . . all right."
She squeezed her eyes shut. He didn't blame her. During the war, men had whimpered over less. Gently squeezing the curve of her shoulder, he murmured, "It's okay if you cry."
"I think I'm all cried out, Clay."
Knowing nothing would get done if he didn't do it, Clay steeled himself to her pain. Systematically, he cleaned her injuries, doing his best to concentrate only on his duty, not her sounds of discomfort. Finally, he poured a liberal amount of hot water onto his bandana and dabbed.
Vanessa's back arched in pain.
"It's over, sugar." With shaking hands, he helped her sit up. Next, he handed her one of his old shirts then turned away so she could cover herself again in at least the illusion of privacy.
"I'm dressed now."
He tried to smile at the picture she made. She was indeed covered; his too-large shirt was wrapped around her securely, like a robe. But it was her face that held his attention. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she was valiantly doing her best to keep them at bay.
"Some ointment would be a good idea, but it's in the back of the barn," he said, hardly recognizing the rasp in his voice, thick from worry over her. "I'll get it when I go inside to get your things."
She moved to stand up. "I'll go with you, Clay."
"No you won't. I won't let you go near Price again. Tell me what you need."
"Dresses. Boots. Undergarments." After a brief pause, she said, "Clay, maybe we should talk about this, talk about your plans. I can't ask you to leave the Circle Z."
"You didn't ask me."
"This—what happened—it isn't your concern."
How could she imagine it wasn't? He'd promised her father he'd take care of her. Had promised it with a hand on his Bible. The vow was irrevocable. "It is. You are my concern."
"Maybe Miles—"
Clayton cut her off. "Miles didn't look after you tonight.He won't protect you tomorrow. Neither will your mother.And this—" Able to look at her again now that she was covered, he added, "This will happen again."
"Maybe—"
"Honey, you know I'm right."
After a long moment, she nodded. "What can I do?"
On a peg was his mother's old carpetbag. "Put some coffee, beans, and bread in here." Remembering her tender skin, he pointed to a soft wool blanket. "Roll that up, it's cold out."He opened the door, whistled for Lovey. The pretty shepherd came running. "Stay," he ordered the dog. "Guard Vanessa."
Unable to help himself, he turned to stare at Vanessa again. She was standing by his lone chair, doing her best to look brave but failing miserably. Lines of exhaustion rimmed her eyes. The knowledge that it would be some time before she could rest made his tone harsher than he meant it to be."Lock this door behind me. Don't open it until I come back.Do you hear me?"
Her eyes darted to the lock as if she wondered if it
Similar Books
Just Sex
Heidi Lynn Anderson
Love's Last Chance
Jean C. Joachim
Wrestling With Desire
D.H. Starr
Shadowed Threads
Shannon Mayer
Penny and Peter
Carolyn Haywood
Home to Eden
Margaret Way
Double Image
David Morrell
Big Game: Hunted Love #1
Aden Lowe
Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries)
A.W. Hartoin
Dickens' Women
Miriam Margolyes