Christine Dorsey Read Online Free

she knew it would be hot even before she touched him. Leaning the musket well out of his reach and hanging the lantern on the hook overhead, she bent over to confirm his fever.
    But just as her fingers grazed his cheek, he reached up and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her knees in the straw beside him. Samantha screamed, trying to twist away, but his hand clamped tight, and his grip was like steel.
    “Let me go.” Samantha pried at his long fingers but he held her firm.
    “Stop it!” His words rang loud in her ears as he dragged her closer. “I don’t want to hurt you. God knows I don’t want to saw off your leg. God knows I don’t want to. God knows...”
    Saw off her leg? Samantha scurried to get as far from him as she could, but he still held her wrist fast and he didn’t seem inclined to let her move even an arm’s length from him. What kind of man was he to talk of cutting off her leg? Bile rose in her throat and she opened her mouth to scream again. Maybe Will would hear.
    Before she could make a sound, he yanked her across his body. His eyes were open, but Samantha didn’t think he saw her. But then she was so scared, how could she be certain of anything? All she knew was a primal need to escape him. But now he clutched her shoulder with his other hand, and pulled her even closer.
    “I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, and Samantha began to tremble. Was he going to talk about cutting off her leg again? How could he be wounded and still be so strong? “I never wanted to hurt any of you,” he continued. “I only wanted to help. Oh, God.”
    Samantha kicked and squirmed, pushing against his chest, but stopped suddenly when she heard the sob. It seemed to come from his soul, but it reached out and touched her heart. Samantha’s breathing came in harsh rasps, but she stopped struggling and looked at him. He turned his face to the side, but she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes. His sad, sad eyes.
    Then before she realized what she was doing, her hand splayed across his cheek. He was ranting about hurting people again, beseeching God to understand he only tried to help. Then he rolled his face into her palm. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, and her fingers curled.
    “Hush now. It’s all right. Everything is all right.” Her softly spoken words accomplished what all her struggles had failed. His face relaxed and he dropped her wrist. The hand on her shoulder seemed more caress than hold. She could move away from him with no trouble at all. Maybe that’s why she stayed pressed against him.
    “Lydia? Is that you, Lydia?” His voice now low and sensual, and before Samantha could answer him, he continued, “I knew you wouldn’t leave me, Lydia.”
    Samantha jerked her hand away, scrambling back against the rough wood of the stall. He thought she was somebody else, and suddenly it seemed wrong for her to be snuggled against this wounded stranger. Who was Lydia anyway? Whoever it was, this man wanted her. The moment Samantha pulled away, his voice became more frantic.
    “Lydia! Lydia!” He struggled to sit, falling back against the straw-covered planks with a thud that made Samantha suck in her breath. She wasn’t surprised to see fresh blood soak through the bandage. “Don’t leave me, Lydia. God, don’t leave me all alone.”
    “I won’t.”
    Samantha closed her eyes on the look of relief filling the stranger’s face. He quieted instantly, allowing her to pull the blanket over his bare chest. His skin scorched the back of her knuckles. He was so hot with fever.
    He was going to die if she didn’t do something.
    Samantha leaned back on her heels, studying him. She wasn’t sure why she pretended to be Lydia, but maybe it would help. Maybe he’d drink for Lydia.
    Standing, Samantha brushed straw from her skirt, only to have the deep timbre of his voice pull her back to his side. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, and she bent closer.
    “I’ll be right back. You need