Read Online Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sandra Chastain - Free Book Online
Authors: Sandra Chastain
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It was warm to her touch, a living thing that seemed to pulse against her palm.
Almost afraid, she opened it, slipped her fingertips inside, and examined the contents. Small stones, a piece of smooth wood, several roots, berries, leaves, and a black feather. As she held the feather the vision of a little girl sitting at an old man’s knee slipped into her mind.
The child was she. But the man she thought was an Indian had become a big, red-haired laughing man who was singing an Irish song. Then, as she continued to hold the feather, the child became a bird and flew away, taking the vision with it.
With a surety that came from her past, Raven broke off a piece of the root and removed a berry from the pouch. The kettle of water inside the fireplace was already growing hot. She crushed the berry in a tin cup, which she then filled with a small amount of the water.
“Open your mouth and drink, guardian of the past.” She held up his head while she forced the liquid into his mouth. A sip at a time, he swallowed. She dropped the root into the kettle and let it boil with the remainder of the water while she searched for a rag and something to make a bandage.
She found nothing.
The door opened and Tucker entered, the bucket in his hand and the two saddlebags over his shoulder. He put the bucket by the fire and laid the pouches on the floor. Quickly Raven opened the one from Onawa’s back, drew out a fancy ladies’ petticoat, and stared at it in disbelief. Her travel dress. It seemed almost foreign to her here. Savagely she ripped the ruffle from the bottom.
“Not only did you fill my head with sand,” Tucker grumbled as he rimmed his collar with his finger, “but you used my bandanna when you had an entire wardrobe of your own you could have destroyed.”
“I forgot it was there.” She poured hot water into a tin pan she’d found by the fireplace. She should have known. That thought racked her. It was as if she’d been born the morning she awoke in Tucker’s arms.
They’d been lying like spoons, her bottom pressed to him, her head on one arm, her knees bent slightly so that his thighs were planted against her own. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair. For a long time she’d lain there, the wind singing a lullaby in her ear. Like a child, she’d felt safe. She’d grown drowsy and slept.
Now her blood stirred. She shook off the intruding presence of Tucker as she had for most of the morning. If the old man had any chance to live, she had to invoke all her healing powers. She ripped a swatch from the ruffle, dipped it in the bowl of water boiled with the root, and began cleaning the old man’s wound. Finally satisfied that she’d washed away all the dirt, she poured out the dirty water and filled the bowl with that remaining in the kettie. Soaking a second piece of cloth in the mixture, she squeezed the water into the wound, then pressed a sliver of the soft root into the hole and bound it with the remaining strip.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked.
“A root which takes away the infection.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“I had it with me.”
Tucker walked over to where she knelt by the bed and studied the old man. “He looks quieter.”
“It was the juice of the red berry. It takes away the pain and brings restful peace.”
“Where did you gain all this knowledge, Raven?”
“My mother’s people believed that I was—special. I was trained to heal.” She turned to face him. “Does that bother you?”
“After what has happened so far, I don’t know what to believe. I fall over a cliff and hit my head. The rain wakes me up and there you are, next to me. I don’t know where you came from or how either of us got there. Everything about you is an illusion. I think you and that horse must have flown here.”
“No. I’m very real. Actually, I rode the stage almost to Santa Fe before I left Raven Alexander behind and became an
Almost afraid, she opened it, slipped her fingertips inside, and examined the contents. Small stones, a piece of smooth wood, several roots, berries, leaves, and a black feather. As she held the feather the vision of a little girl sitting at an old man’s knee slipped into her mind.
The child was she. But the man she thought was an Indian had become a big, red-haired laughing man who was singing an Irish song. Then, as she continued to hold the feather, the child became a bird and flew away, taking the vision with it.
With a surety that came from her past, Raven broke off a piece of the root and removed a berry from the pouch. The kettle of water inside the fireplace was already growing hot. She crushed the berry in a tin cup, which she then filled with a small amount of the water.
“Open your mouth and drink, guardian of the past.” She held up his head while she forced the liquid into his mouth. A sip at a time, he swallowed. She dropped the root into the kettle and let it boil with the remainder of the water while she searched for a rag and something to make a bandage.
She found nothing.
The door opened and Tucker entered, the bucket in his hand and the two saddlebags over his shoulder. He put the bucket by the fire and laid the pouches on the floor. Quickly Raven opened the one from Onawa’s back, drew out a fancy ladies’ petticoat, and stared at it in disbelief. Her travel dress. It seemed almost foreign to her here. Savagely she ripped the ruffle from the bottom.
“Not only did you fill my head with sand,” Tucker grumbled as he rimmed his collar with his finger, “but you used my bandanna when you had an entire wardrobe of your own you could have destroyed.”
“I forgot it was there.” She poured hot water into a tin pan she’d found by the fireplace. She should have known. That thought racked her. It was as if she’d been born the morning she awoke in Tucker’s arms.
They’d been lying like spoons, her bottom pressed to him, her head on one arm, her knees bent slightly so that his thighs were planted against her own. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair. For a long time she’d lain there, the wind singing a lullaby in her ear. Like a child, she’d felt safe. She’d grown drowsy and slept.
Now her blood stirred. She shook off the intruding presence of Tucker as she had for most of the morning. If the old man had any chance to live, she had to invoke all her healing powers. She ripped a swatch from the ruffle, dipped it in the bowl of water boiled with the root, and began cleaning the old man’s wound. Finally satisfied that she’d washed away all the dirt, she poured out the dirty water and filled the bowl with that remaining in the kettie. Soaking a second piece of cloth in the mixture, she squeezed the water into the wound, then pressed a sliver of the soft root into the hole and bound it with the remaining strip.
“What’s that?” Tucker asked.
“A root which takes away the infection.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“I had it with me.”
Tucker walked over to where she knelt by the bed and studied the old man. “He looks quieter.”
“It was the juice of the red berry. It takes away the pain and brings restful peace.”
“Where did you gain all this knowledge, Raven?”
“My mother’s people believed that I was—special. I was trained to heal.” She turned to face him. “Does that bother you?”
“After what has happened so far, I don’t know what to believe. I fall over a cliff and hit my head. The rain wakes me up and there you are, next to me. I don’t know where you came from or how either of us got there. Everything about you is an illusion. I think you and that horse must have flown here.”
“No. I’m very real. Actually, I rode the stage almost to Santa Fe before I left Raven Alexander behind and became an
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