The Tracker by Mary Burton Read Free Book Online

me?” he said.
    “You are safe. You must drink.” She held a spoon up to his mouth and poured cool water into his mouth. The water trickled down the side of his face to the pillow.
    “No!” He felt as if he were drowning.
    “You must drink. It will break the fever.” Again she held the spoon to his mouth. This time a bit of water seeped through his lips to his swollen tongue. It tasted refreshing. The next time she brought the spoon to his mouth, he opened his lips a fraction.
    “That’s good,” she coaxed.
    “Where am I?” he asked. He swallowed, his throat as dry as dust.
    “You are safe, Marshal. Don’t worry.” She cradled his head in her hand and raised a cup to his mouth. The cool water soothed his parched throat and dry lips.
    Why did she call him marshal?
    The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t manage to speak the words.
    His hand slid down his hip to where his gun normally hung. He realized the weapon was gone. He always had it with him, even when he slept. Without it he felt naked, vulnerable.
    What the devil had happened?
    Anger goaded him to sit up. The fire in his leg forced him back against the pillows. His eyelids felt very heavy.
    Gregory, Crystal and finally the redheaded siren started to drift away. Sleep clouded his mind.
    He didn’t want the redhead to leave. He had to tell her something. But as hard as he tried to remain awake, the waves of sleep washed over him.
    So many details escaped him, but one point was clear in his mind.
    He and the siren were running out of time.

CHAPTER FOUR
    B Y DAWN of the third day, the marshal’s fever showed no signs of letting up. He continued to thrash and to call out to the woman named Crystal.
    Red-orange light streamed through the window as Ellie moved across the cabin with a basin of fresh water. The baby still slept and she was careful not to make noise.
    Water sloshed on Ellie’s hands as she set the bowl beside the bed. She glanced down at the marshal. His olive skin remained sickly pale. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. So hot.
    She pulled clean cloths from her frayed apron pocket and sat on the edge of the bed. He murmured something she couldn’t understand as she dipped a rag in the cool water and wrung it out. Gently she dabbed the cloth on his forehead.
    She’d worked so hard to save him these last two and a half days. But fear of the hangman’s noose no longer drove her. Pride had kept her going past exhaustion.
    This man would not die. And she would win.
    After rinsing the cloth in the water again, she pressed it to his cheek. Immediately his head turned toward her. His eyes remained closed and he mumbled more words that made no sense.
    Ellie wiped his face, moving the rag over his strong jaw covered in a thick mat of dark stubble. She brushed his black hair off his forehead.
    Even in sleep, his full lips curved down into a frown. He reminded her of the bare-knuckle boxers who fought in front of the saloon when the circus came to town.
    He was so different from the boy she’d seen in the picture. What had happened to change him so?
    Despite her better judgment, her curiosity about the man grew each day. She took the few clues she had to his past and wove story after story to explain how he’d ended up in Montana so far from his wife. He spoke of Crystal often in his sleep. A beautiful wife, a sound education and a marshal’s badge. None of it made sense.
    She continued to wipe his neck and chest. Keeping his body cool would be critical. If she could have, she would have dunked his entire body in cold water to break the fever.
    She glanced at his torn pants. She’d left them on these last couple of days, but the time had come tostrip him down. She chewed her lip as she stared at his belt buckle.
    “Oh, for pity’s sake, Ellie,” she said. A girl born and raised in a brothel, she had seen her share of men in all states of undress. And she’d heard the girls talk about their customers, often