Rio Grande Wedding Read Free Page B

of his will to move the short distance to a bedroom off the kitchen. He noted windows all around, and a swept wooden floor and a lamp burning warmly in one corner before he eased into the comfort of the clean, fresh-smelling linens. Blackness edged his vision, and he took her hand urgently, to speak before unconsciousness claimed him again.
    â€œSeñora,” he said urgently, and paused to gather the English words.
    â€œI’m here.” Her hand was strong. Reliable, somehow.
    She bent over him in that way of caretakers, moving into his view so he did not have to even turn his head. As he gathered his words, he saw that she had a face like a saint, that smooth white skin, and heaven-soft eyes, and a long rope of brown and yellow hair that shone in the light.
    â€œTell me about Josefina,” she said in Spanish, as if realizing what effort it took for him to concentrate.
    â€œI lost her in the raid, and she is ill.” He tried to remember what else. “She’s...little. Ocho años.”
    â€œSu hija?”
    â€œNo, no.” Blackness crept over him. “My niece.... por favor.”
    â€œI’ll find her,” she promised, and squeezed his hand.
    Believing her, he let go and blackness swarmed over him, velvety and deep and free of pain.
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    Molly felt his grip loosen as he slipped into the fever. She settled his lean dark hand on his belly, then efficiently removed his boots—an act that would have been agonizing for him while he was conscious—then found her scissors and cut away his jeans completely so that he could rest more comfortably. She’d made the bed before she moved him, and now braced the wounded leg between two pillows to help keep it immobile. Though the evening was not cold, she covered him with a light quilt, anticipating the chill a fever sometimes brought with it.
    Fever. She needed antibiotics. There were some painkillers in a bottle in the medicine cabinet, left over from dental surgery a few months ago, and when he could eat a little, she’d give him those. But the need for antibiotics was urgent. His temperature was up, and the leg was burning. The last thing in the world she wanted was to end up with a dead man in her house.
    She pulled another light blanket over him, tucking it around him loosely so he’d stay warm but would not feel constrained. Again, the impossible beauty of his face struck her. Wounded and ill as he was, his face was still so astonishing Molly couldn’t help staring. Such artful lines.
    And not only his face. The body was lean, hard-muscled, tan. She had a weakness for men who worked the land, who spent their days in the sun, touching what grew or roamed on the earth In her experience, it didn’t matter whether it was a lowly field hand or a rancher with hundreds of acres, men of the land were a breed apart. They looked to the sky and tasted the wind and knew they were at the mercy of nature. It lent them humility and dignity.
    Her husband had been such a man. For a moment, she thought of the fan of sun lines that had marked Tim’s face by the time he was thirty, and waited for a hollow ache such memories usually brought. This time, it did not come. She felt only fondness.
    Although her patient would not likely stir for many hours, she left a small pitcher of water on the night-stand, along with a cup. There was a small bathroom across the hall, probably reachable if he held on to walls, and she left the light on to lead the way if he awakened.
    Then she set out to see if she could make good on her promise to find Josefina, trying in vain to ignore the pleasure she felt over discovering it was not his wife, but a child, that her patient called for with such devotion.

Chapter 2
    J osefina knew two things about the world—that people usually liked little girls as long as they were polite, and that she got better results from grandmothers. She had been hiding all day, waiting for her uncle to come find