Read Online A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) by Amelia Rose - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amelia Rose
Ads: Link
It’s finally working!” Moira exclaimed, taking over on her own to try the chore for herself. The animal settled down when it realized the torture of putting up with an inexperienced newcomer had come to an end, and stood lazily chewing a bit of hay while Moira finished the task. Pryor congratulated her on the new skill before heading back to his own chores, leaving his student more proud of her work than if she’d grown the animal herself.
Chapter Eleven
“You’ll have to put up a fence,” he’d explained one day during their morning work of digging the holes for the posts that dotted the perimeter of his claim. “That’s not just sound advice for your farm, it’s required. You have to report so much in crops, plant a few different varieties, and fence your land. This here’s one of the easiest fences you could build, seeing as how you two are ladies. But you’ll need to order supplies, because you might not want to go splitting all the rails yourself.”
The ground was still frozen in the early January temperatures, and not as forgiving as in the spring. Still, the fence had to go up or he risked losing his claim. He’d no sooner said those words than the axe he’d been wielding bounced backward off the log he’d intended to split, knocking him in the forehead with such force that he fell backwards. Both women jumped up from their spots in a flash and were by his side almost as soon as he’d hit the ground.
Gretchen let out a slight scream at the sight of the blood that was already flooding across Pryor’s face, but Moira was in no mood for her maid’s delicate manner. She went to work pulling the bandana from where it stuck out of Pryor’s hip pocket, pushing against him to ease it out from beneath him then pressing it to the wound on his head.
“Pry! Are you all right?” she demanded in a concerned voice, lifting the cloth slightly before pressing against it again immediately to stop the blood that continued to flow freely from his torn skin. Beneath the pressure of her hand and the cloth, Pryor moaned in pain. “Aye, that’s a good sign, he hasn’t knocked himself completely stupid then.”
“My lady! What must we do?” her maid cried as Moira continued to hold the pressure on his head. The blood had already soaked through the thin, worn cloth and pooled near Moira’s wrist, but she continued to hold it in place.
“Run into the house and begin a pot of hot water. Find any spare cloth you can and cut it for wraps. Look about for a needle and thread in case the bleeding will not stop of its own accord. Go now, and hurry!” Moira peeked again as Gretchen took off, running for the cabin to do as she was bid. Pryor lifted a weak arm to try to push Moira’s hand away, but she held the cloth against his wound firmly, pushing his hand back down.
“Hold still, Pry, you’ve hurt yourself. It’s fairly deep, so hold until it bleeds less.” She reached a lock of his dark hair out of the way, dizzying slightly when her hand came away covered in more blood.
It took ages for Gretchen to return to say that the water and bandages were ready. She’d managed to find a needle and a spool of coarse thread but had to rummage through Pryor’s stash of supplies to do so, and immediately apologized.
“I’m sorry to say but there’s naught to be done but that I’ll have to stitch him. I’d best not do it here though, where there’s muck and mud all ‘round us,” Moira explained. Gretchen turned a fair shade of green at the suggestion, telling Moira all she needed to know about who was going to go about doing the unpleasant task. “I’m just not sure we can both hold him down for it. He’ll have to wake slightly so we can tell him what we’re doing to his poor head!”
“I found this, my lady,” Gretchen said, holding out a dusty bottle of homemade liquor. It was so old, the handwriting on the label was faded, and a layer of thick grime covered it.
“Oh, Gretchen, you’re
Chapter Eleven
“You’ll have to put up a fence,” he’d explained one day during their morning work of digging the holes for the posts that dotted the perimeter of his claim. “That’s not just sound advice for your farm, it’s required. You have to report so much in crops, plant a few different varieties, and fence your land. This here’s one of the easiest fences you could build, seeing as how you two are ladies. But you’ll need to order supplies, because you might not want to go splitting all the rails yourself.”
The ground was still frozen in the early January temperatures, and not as forgiving as in the spring. Still, the fence had to go up or he risked losing his claim. He’d no sooner said those words than the axe he’d been wielding bounced backward off the log he’d intended to split, knocking him in the forehead with such force that he fell backwards. Both women jumped up from their spots in a flash and were by his side almost as soon as he’d hit the ground.
Gretchen let out a slight scream at the sight of the blood that was already flooding across Pryor’s face, but Moira was in no mood for her maid’s delicate manner. She went to work pulling the bandana from where it stuck out of Pryor’s hip pocket, pushing against him to ease it out from beneath him then pressing it to the wound on his head.
“Pry! Are you all right?” she demanded in a concerned voice, lifting the cloth slightly before pressing against it again immediately to stop the blood that continued to flow freely from his torn skin. Beneath the pressure of her hand and the cloth, Pryor moaned in pain. “Aye, that’s a good sign, he hasn’t knocked himself completely stupid then.”
“My lady! What must we do?” her maid cried as Moira continued to hold the pressure on his head. The blood had already soaked through the thin, worn cloth and pooled near Moira’s wrist, but she continued to hold it in place.
“Run into the house and begin a pot of hot water. Find any spare cloth you can and cut it for wraps. Look about for a needle and thread in case the bleeding will not stop of its own accord. Go now, and hurry!” Moira peeked again as Gretchen took off, running for the cabin to do as she was bid. Pryor lifted a weak arm to try to push Moira’s hand away, but she held the cloth against his wound firmly, pushing his hand back down.
“Hold still, Pry, you’ve hurt yourself. It’s fairly deep, so hold until it bleeds less.” She reached a lock of his dark hair out of the way, dizzying slightly when her hand came away covered in more blood.
It took ages for Gretchen to return to say that the water and bandages were ready. She’d managed to find a needle and a spool of coarse thread but had to rummage through Pryor’s stash of supplies to do so, and immediately apologized.
“I’m sorry to say but there’s naught to be done but that I’ll have to stitch him. I’d best not do it here though, where there’s muck and mud all ‘round us,” Moira explained. Gretchen turned a fair shade of green at the suggestion, telling Moira all she needed to know about who was going to go about doing the unpleasant task. “I’m just not sure we can both hold him down for it. He’ll have to wake slightly so we can tell him what we’re doing to his poor head!”
“I found this, my lady,” Gretchen said, holding out a dusty bottle of homemade liquor. It was so old, the handwriting on the label was faded, and a layer of thick grime covered it.
“Oh, Gretchen, you’re
Similar Books
