My Desperado by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page A

whispered. "Just fine." Tears swelled in the tide of her terror. What if he died? He could have escaped more easily without her. Her gaze strayed to his arm. It was bleeding, as was his leg, and she knew she must stanch the flow.
    Tearing the hem of her nightshift with her teeth, she ripped it upward, then sideways, until she had a long, frayed strip of soft once-white fabric. His arm was limp and heavy, his thigh as thick as a tree trunk. She tied the cotton carefully around his upper leg, praying it was not too tight but just tight enough.
    That task done, she settled back on her bare, raw heels and cried.
    She cried for Ryland, who would probably die trussed up in a rag from her nightshift. She cried for her mother who would be heartbroken when she learned of her only daughter's fate. She cried for Soldier, for Daisy, for Patterson, for her deceased aunt, Dahlia, and finally, and most loudly, she cried for herself.
    Crying turned to sobs. Sobs turned to chest-heaving gasps and finally to hiccupping wails.
    "Can I take this to mean things ain't going good?"
    Katherine jumped at Ryland's words. "You're awake!"
    "Am I?" Ryland's voice was tortured and weak as he winced. "I was hoping it was only a dream."
    "No!" She shook her head, taking his words at face value. "It's not a dream, Mr. Ryland." She scurried closer. "We're in a great deal of trouble. They think you killed the mayor. You were shot." She hiccupped, swiping at her tear-streaked face. "Twice. We got to the river but nearly drowned. We have nothing to eat, you need a physician, and I'm lost." She paused for a breath before continuing, but noticed with a fresh spark of horror that his eyes had fallen closed. "Mr..." She touched his arm gently. "Ryland?" she said softly. "What do we do now?"
    No answer came, and she felt a sob jerk at her chest. "Mr. Ryland?"
    His eyes opened groggily. "You been flaying me with an oak sapling?"
    She winced, her hand still on his arm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You were too heavy for me. I had Soldier drag you into the woods."
    Travis bent his neck slightly, noting the wet leather still tied about his chest like an instrument of torture. His brows rose, and he leaned back again, his mouth turning up in a shadow of a pained smile. "Always were," he whispered, lifting a hand weakly to touch Katherine's cheek, "a clever girl."
    The afternoon stretched on interminably. Fear and fatigue battled in Katherine's shocked system. It was cold in the shadowed ravine, and she shivered. It had taken a bit of doing to get Soldier to join them, but he stood now, chomping on the dried grass she had gathered for him, his bit rattling quietly as he chewed.
    Ryland was covered with his thin bedroll, which was slightly wet but better than nothing. He moaned in his sleep, and she moved nearer.
    Perhaps she should try to wake him again, but her previous efforts had been to no avail and only seemed to increase his pain. And even if she managed to wake him—what then?
    Katherine studied Ryland's face. It was broad at the cheekbones then narrowed in gaunt lines to be hidden under the mass of his beard, which was trimmed and similar in color to the weathered leaves that covered the forest floor. His nose was straight, his eyebrows sun-bleached, as was his long, unkempt hair, which had dried and remained swept back, away from his forehead. She found herself wondering at his heritage. Scandinavian perhaps. There was something about him that reminded her of the Vikings she had studied with her schoolchildren not so many months before.
    A scraping in the woods above scrambled Katherine's thoughts, causing her breath to freeze in her aching chest. Seconds stretched her nerves into raw bands of tension as she watched the slope above.
    A squirrel scurried over a log and into view, jumping at the sight of them before settling down on its haunches to scold her for its fright.
    Katherine drew a deep, quivering breath of relief, but could not still the thundering of her