Read Online Her Healing Ways by Lyn Cote - Free Book Online Page A

hot. It made him feel better as it coursed down his throat. He wanted to tell her again that he could feed himself. Then he realized he was wrong.
    â€œHow soon,” he asked, swallowing between spoonfuls, “will I be up again?”
    â€œI cannot say. All I know is that thee will need careful nursing. Thee will need to eat as often as thee can and drink plenty of liquids. Thee has afever, which is completely normal under these circumstances.”
    He wanted to ask, Can I still die? But he didn’t. Of course he could still die. They both knew that from the war. His fever was due to infection, and infection could kill him. He fought the rush of moisture to his eyes.
    â€œAfter thee has drunk this broth, I will begin fomenting thy wound. It will help keep thy fever down—”
    â€œHow’s Mackey doing?” the bartender interrupted as he entered from the rear of the saloon. He held out his hand. “I’m Tom, remember?”
    Mercy began to reply, but Lon cut her off. He could speak for himself. “I’ll be up in no time.” His bravado cost him.
    The hearty red-faced bartender had the nerve to chuckle. “Yeah, well, I hope so. I like having an honest gambler in the place. It’s good for business.”
    â€œDid the man who stabbed me get arrested?” Lon asked, feeling his thin vitality leak out with each word.
    â€œHe took off and we couldn’t find him,” Tom said. “We telegraphed his description to the territorial sheriff in Boise. That’s about all we can do.”
    Lon made a sound of disgust and then sipped another spoonful of broth, hating that he needed to be fed.
    â€œFriend,” Mercy said, looking at the bartender, “I am concerned about Lon Mackey staying here atnight. He needs his sleep, and the noise from the saloon will keep him awake.”
    â€œI slept all night, didn’t I?” Lon demanded, regretting it instantly. Every time he spoke, it sapped energy from him.
    Tom folded his arms and leaned against the unpainted, raw wood wall. “I see what you mean, Doc. But there’s not many places available.”
    Lon forced himself to stay silent and just swallow the broth. He couldn’t afford to waste more effort on words. He stopped listening to the conversation. Feeling her soft palm on his forehead, he turned into it and let himself enjoy the sensation. The fever had wrapped him in its heat.
    He had been wounded before and knew that the pain would pass—if his luck held. He’d made it through nearly four years of war. Thousands of others hadn’t. He tried to block out the images of battle and the charge of fear that they brought. The war’s over. It’s done. Maybe I’m done. He didn’t like that last idea. She doesn’t think I’m done.
    He managed to open his eyes enough to glance up into Mercy’s face. Did she know how pretty she was? He noticed that she had a widow’s peak that made her face heart-shaped. Her blue eyes looked down at him with deep concern. And compassion. How could she care so much about strangers? How had the two of them ended up in this place? Hadn’t she seen enough of pain, misery and death in the war?
    His leaden eyelids drifted down. Maybe the answerlay in the fact that while she had nursed the wounded and dying, she hadn’t ordered them into the line of fire and watched them die. Consciousness began to slip from him and he welcomed oblivion, even as he fought to stay awake, stay alive. There was something about this woman that made him want to live. Why hadn’t her father kept her at home and married her off to some neighboring farmer, out of harm’s way?
    Out of my way?
    Â 
    After the bartender went to unshutter the front door for another day’s business, Mercy looked at Lon as he slid into sleep. He’d almost finished the broth, and that was heartening. Even his crankiness was a good sign. She stood and stretched