Rachel's Choice Read Online Free Page B

careful aim at the gelding’s head. “A man never had a better friend,” he murmured.
    Gallantly the horse pricked up his ears. He nickered, wrinkling the velvet-soft nose that had nuzzled Chance a thousand times.
    I can’t do this, Chance thought.
    Kentucky took a hobbling step toward him and whinnied plaintively.
    Chance squeezed the trigger.
    The earth swayed under him as the scent of rotted leaves and sweating horseflesh evaporated. In its place he smelled lye soap and the sweet, clinging odor of opium.
    â€œEasy.”
    A woman’s voice … What was a woman doing here inthe midst of a battlefield? And why were the big guns quiet?
    â€œChance. Open your eyes.”
    Slowly, with great effort, he fought his way up from the thick morass of unconsciousness. A dream … he’d been dreaming … reliving the skirmish at Gettysburg where he’d been captured by the Yankees nearly a year ago.
    As Chance’s mind began to clear, pain swept over him in waves. His stomach clenched, and bile rose in his throat.
    â€œWake up.”
    He felt something cool and damp press against his forehead. His arm throbbed with heat. His arm … Groggily he fumbled with his good hand, trying to find what hurt him so badly.
    And found only space where his left arm should have been.
    â€œNo!” he screamed. His eyes snapped open and focused on the woman hovering over him.
    â€œEasy,” she murmured. “You’ll—”
    He seized the collar of her dress. “What have you done to me?”
    â€œShhh,” she soothed, untangling his grip with more strength than he imagined a woman might possess. “Your arm is there. It’s not gone. I’ve bandaged it tightly to your side to keep you from moving it.”
    â€œWhere? Where?”
    She guided his right hand to touch the fingers of his left. “I did what I could,” she said, “but I’ve probably done you more harm than good. You will die if the infection spreads.”
    Relieved, he sank back and closed his eyes. Immediatelyimages of Kentucky flashed across his mind. “My horse …”
    â€œWhat horse? There’s no horse here. I wish to God that there were,” she replied.
    He forced open his eyes and found himself in Rachel Irons’s kitchen again. “Nothing,” he answered. His eyelids were heavy; he wanted to close them, but he was afraid to. If he did, he knew he’d see Kentucky again … running, tossing his mane, and kicking up his heels.
    His friend that he’d been forced to shoot … “I had a horse,” he whispered.
    â€œWell, I had a team of horses and they’re gone. Soldiers took them.” Her tone was bitter, but her touch soothed him.
    He swallowed and tried to rise. “Soldiers?” It was hard to tell what was real and what was his mind playing tricks.
    He closed his eyes and let the past sweep over him.
    He’d lain there near Kentucky’s body for a long time. The last of his platoon galloped past, and the barrages of gunfire became an occasional shot.
    He propped himself up against a tree, wondering what kind of man would mourn a horse so deeply when his friends were dying at the top of that rise.
    His leg continued to swell, but he was certain it wasn’t broken. There was nothing to do but wait. If they’d won, some of his unit would be searching the area for their dead and wounded. If the blue-bellies had been victorious, he’d know soon enough.
    Hours passed, and the day faded into darkness. With it came an unnatural quiet, broken only by the boom of artillery far away. He heard no moans from the dying, no horse’s whinny, not even the call of a night bird.
    Just before dawn Chance saw the first bobbing lantern in the distance. He strained to hear voices, hoping that they’d be familiar Southern accents rather than clipped Yankee speech. But his wishing was in