you’re nothing but blood and bones.”
Grandy lay sprawled on the ground. Bits of alfalfa tickled his nostrils. Raindrops splashed on his face, bringing him around. By the time his senses returned, Duncan and the palomino were dots on the dark horizon. Grandy touched two fingertips to his forehead. They came away bloody.
“Damn it!” He struggled to his feet and pressed his hand against the bloody swelling as he lurched toward the house. “That son-of-a-bitch. I’ll kill him!”
The pain in his head burned into his brain. His hands were wet with blood when he reached the house, bolting through the door and across the front room. He staggered toward the kitchen where a bucket of water sat on the sideboard. Zanna stepped in his path.
“Did one of the mules kick you?”
“No, your brother-in-law tried to run his horse over me.”
“He
what?
” She paled. “You mean, Duncan’s here?” Her gaze bounced to the front door and she grasped his shirtfront in fists of steel.
“No, he’s gone.” Grandy squinted through his own discomfort to see the raw fear in her eyes. “Is he crazy or just deep-down mean?”
“Both, I think.” She jerked his shirt, wrestling for his attention. “Grandville, listen to me. Stay out of his way. Please! He’ll hurt you … or worse.”
“I can take care of myself.” He shook her off. “Get out of the way.” He poured water into a shallow pan and set it on the table, then dropped into one of the chairs and rinsed his hands in the water, turning it pink.
“Here, let me help,” Zanna said, grabbing a rag and wetting it. She sank to her knees beside him and touched the rag to the cut. “It’s not deep. It’s a bad bruise.”
He closed his eyes as weariness seeped into his bones. Lightning cracked outside. “I’m so tired.”
“The bleeding will stop and then you can go to bed.”
“Mostly I’m tired of you. All you’ve done is make my life a living hell.”
“I
saved
your life!”
He opened his eyes at her flash of anger. “And for what? So I can work my butt off for nothing?” His gaze wandered past her to the stove. What he didn’t see made him sit up straight. “Where are the beans?”
“The—what?”
“The pan of beans I left on the stove. What happened to them?”
“Well, I …” She turned guilt-ridden eyes on him as she pressed the damp cloth to his forehead. “I ate them.”
“You … ate … them,” he repeated slowly, numb with aggravation. The woman was testing his patience beyond endurance. Did she
try
to send him into a fit of fury or was she accidentally infuriating?
“I thought you’d cook something else tonight for your supper.”
“That does it,” he said, starting to rise.
She pushed the rag against his forehead, setting off a flare of pain that kept him in place. “Grandy, listen. You’re right. I’ve treated you badly, but I’ll change. Trust isn’t something I give; it’s earned and you’ve earned a measure from me. Tomorrow we’ll go to church and then we’ll come back home so you can rest.” She lifted the rag and examined the purple and red bump. The blood was beginning to clot and she released a sigh of relief. “You’re going to be fine. Just stay out of Duncan’s way. Don’t look for trouble with him or you’ll regret it.”
“Is that so?” Grandy stood up, swayed a little, fought for balance, then forced one boot in front of the other. “I’m going to bed.”
“Grandville, do we have an understanding?”
He paused to look back at her. “Sure. I understand that Duncan Hathaway’s got you scared spitless. But, mark my words, the next time I see that bastard, I’m going to unravel him down to his spurs.”
Chapter 6
The two things she’d remember about that rainy Sunday in the Good Shepherd Church of Scyene were Grandville’s voice rising with the others to sing “How Great Thou Art” and how handsome he looked in his store-bought suit of clothes.
Zanna hadn’t needed her
Grandy lay sprawled on the ground. Bits of alfalfa tickled his nostrils. Raindrops splashed on his face, bringing him around. By the time his senses returned, Duncan and the palomino were dots on the dark horizon. Grandy touched two fingertips to his forehead. They came away bloody.
“Damn it!” He struggled to his feet and pressed his hand against the bloody swelling as he lurched toward the house. “That son-of-a-bitch. I’ll kill him!”
The pain in his head burned into his brain. His hands were wet with blood when he reached the house, bolting through the door and across the front room. He staggered toward the kitchen where a bucket of water sat on the sideboard. Zanna stepped in his path.
“Did one of the mules kick you?”
“No, your brother-in-law tried to run his horse over me.”
“He
what?
” She paled. “You mean, Duncan’s here?” Her gaze bounced to the front door and she grasped his shirtfront in fists of steel.
“No, he’s gone.” Grandy squinted through his own discomfort to see the raw fear in her eyes. “Is he crazy or just deep-down mean?”
“Both, I think.” She jerked his shirt, wrestling for his attention. “Grandville, listen to me. Stay out of his way. Please! He’ll hurt you … or worse.”
“I can take care of myself.” He shook her off. “Get out of the way.” He poured water into a shallow pan and set it on the table, then dropped into one of the chairs and rinsed his hands in the water, turning it pink.
“Here, let me help,” Zanna said, grabbing a rag and wetting it. She sank to her knees beside him and touched the rag to the cut. “It’s not deep. It’s a bad bruise.”
He closed his eyes as weariness seeped into his bones. Lightning cracked outside. “I’m so tired.”
“The bleeding will stop and then you can go to bed.”
“Mostly I’m tired of you. All you’ve done is make my life a living hell.”
“I
saved
your life!”
He opened his eyes at her flash of anger. “And for what? So I can work my butt off for nothing?” His gaze wandered past her to the stove. What he didn’t see made him sit up straight. “Where are the beans?”
“The—what?”
“The pan of beans I left on the stove. What happened to them?”
“Well, I …” She turned guilt-ridden eyes on him as she pressed the damp cloth to his forehead. “I ate them.”
“You … ate … them,” he repeated slowly, numb with aggravation. The woman was testing his patience beyond endurance. Did she
try
to send him into a fit of fury or was she accidentally infuriating?
“I thought you’d cook something else tonight for your supper.”
“That does it,” he said, starting to rise.
She pushed the rag against his forehead, setting off a flare of pain that kept him in place. “Grandy, listen. You’re right. I’ve treated you badly, but I’ll change. Trust isn’t something I give; it’s earned and you’ve earned a measure from me. Tomorrow we’ll go to church and then we’ll come back home so you can rest.” She lifted the rag and examined the purple and red bump. The blood was beginning to clot and she released a sigh of relief. “You’re going to be fine. Just stay out of Duncan’s way. Don’t look for trouble with him or you’ll regret it.”
“Is that so?” Grandy stood up, swayed a little, fought for balance, then forced one boot in front of the other. “I’m going to bed.”
“Grandville, do we have an understanding?”
He paused to look back at her. “Sure. I understand that Duncan Hathaway’s got you scared spitless. But, mark my words, the next time I see that bastard, I’m going to unravel him down to his spurs.”
Chapter 6
The two things she’d remember about that rainy Sunday in the Good Shepherd Church of Scyene were Grandville’s voice rising with the others to sing “How Great Thou Art” and how handsome he looked in his store-bought suit of clothes.
Zanna hadn’t needed her
Similar Books
