How To Lasso A Cowboy

“How’s Poppy?”

“He is very sick. But your brother thinks he can ?x him.”

“He found the puppy.”

Finding a puppy and digging for a bullet were two different things, but she was not going to explain that at this moment. She only hoped her faith wasn’t misplaced. “Stay up here, love,” she said. “Take care of the puppy.”

Marilee nodded, cradling the puppy in one arm and holding the glove with the other.

Elizabeth returned to the kitchen and gathered clean towels. “Please God, don’t let him die. He’s all I have.” Her lips moved with the prayer, yet no sound escaped.

She recalled what he had said. Masked men. A rebel cry. The same description ?t the ones who’d intentionally spooked her horse. Her father mentioned Sinclair. Dillon Sinclair. Could Seth be involved in some way? Was that why he had gone with her on the picnic? An alibi?

But then why was Seth trying to save her father? To claim being a good Samaritan?

Should she wait for the doctor? But she had seen how pale her father’s face had turned, how weak his voice was.

She took the medical box and towels to the room, setting them down on a table next to the bed, then hurriedly fetched the water. She planned to watch every movement Seth made.

He stood a few feet away, applying pressure to the wound on her father’s shoulder.

“Keep the pressure on,” he said. She moved to the side of the bed and her hands replaced his, brushing them.

Her gaze didn’t leave him as he opened the box. She had seen the contents before but now they looked sinister and ugly. He removed a pair of tongs and glanced at her.

“Wipe the blood from the wound,” he said. “Keep doing it.” He glanced up at her, challenge still in his eyes.

She nodded, leaned over, and wiped away blood with one of the towels she’d brought in.

Seth didn’t hesitate but slowly inserted the tongs into the wound. She prayed her father would remain unconscious.

Sweat ran down Seth’s face as he moved the tongs with obvious expertise. And care. She saw in his face when he found the bullet, and her gaze went back to his hand as he extracted the bullet.

Blood gushed behind it and without urging she pressed a clean cloth down on the wound.

“The knife?”

“In the stove.”

He left the room. In seconds, he was back, holding the handle of the knife with a towel.

“You might want to leave,” he said. “This won’t be pleasant.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “When I tell you to move your hands, do it.” His voice was matteroffact as if he had done this a hundred times. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “Now.”

She moved the towel and he pressed the blade against the wound. It sizzled and even in unconsciousness her father’s body seemed to jump. She felt the impact clear through her body.

He lifted the knife and looked down at the wound. The bleeding had stopped.

She heard the release of a withheld breath. She thought it her own until she looked at Seth’s face. It had been his. His lips were slightly parted, his usually cool eyes roiling with some emotion she didn’t understand.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me yet. He’s lost a lot of blood and there could be infection.”

“You tried. You didn’t have to.”

“I’ve seen enough death in the past few years,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to see more.” He paused. “No matter who it is.”

It was a direct slap at her. At the man he had just doctored.

She was the ?rst to avert her gaze. “What should I do now?”

“He is going to hurt. The doctor should have something to help. So would alcohol. I would leave the wound unbandaged until the doctor comes.”

“You’re not leaving?”

“I have other business.”

“What if…”

“I’ve done everything I can do. Keep the wound clean. Make him as comfortable as possible.”

She started to protest, then she heard hoofbeats approaching. She moved quickly to the window. Howie and the doctor was her ?rst thought.

It couldn’t be. Not this quickly.

She peered out the window and her heart dropped.

Major Delaney. He was looking at the buggy that was still hitched to the horses, at Seth’s horse.

Why? Why now?

She turned to Seth. “You have to hide.”

“Why?”

“Major Delaney is here.”

“I have no reason to hide. The war is over.”

“He wants your brother. He might…”

“Might what?”

“Try to hold you for some reason. To get to your brother.”

“I am not going to run.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He and your father are friends. So are you, I understand. I heard he’s calling on you.”

She ignored the contempt in his voice. “It could have been your brother who shot my father-”

“No,” he replied with such conviction that she stepped back. “He didn’t chase your buggy. Neither did any of his friends.”

“How do you know?”

A knock at the door turned into pounding, and she didn’t wait for an answer. “I have to go down,” she said. “He knows someone is here. The horses…”

He took a last look at her father. The man was still unconscious. His breathing was labored.

Then Seth started out the door.

She knew she couldn’t stop him.

She also knew what had happened the last time Delaney met a Sinclair.

A frisson of apprehension, of fear, darted down her spine.

He possibly had just saved her father.

Now she had to save him.

Chapter Nine

A QUICK GLIMPSE out the window had told Seth that the Yankee major was alone.

That was fortunate. More than fortunate from Seth’s point of view. It handed him a chance to weigh his opponent. The major was the cause of his father’s death, the loss of the Sinclair home and land, the labeling of his brother as an outlaw, and probably a great deal more. Seth relished the opportunity to meet him.

He led a reluctant Elizabeth to the door, standing beside her.

“Go into the other room,” she commanded.

“No,” he said again. “I’ve been wanting to meet him.”

“Please.”