I’m a doctor. The statement almost spilled out of him. She needed reassurance, no doubt. But those three words shouldn’t reassure anyone. And they weren’t even true. Not anymore.
He clenched his jaw tighter and focused on how best to move her. “Your leg is broken pretty badly, so I think I need to lift from your waist. We’ll let your leg follow behind and ease the brace along as we can.” He’d have to be careful about her injured rib, too. There was no easy way to go about this.
Her chin bobbed a slight movement, and her eyes pressed shut again, as though she were already bracing for the agony likely to come. “Do it.” The words came out in a tiny whisper.
He slipped his fingers under her back, taking care to stay well above the bruising in her midsection. Using both hands, he lifted her enough to work his arm so she almost leaned against his shoulder. This position would be awkward, but he could crawl backward and let his body carry most of her upper weight, leaving at least one of his hands free to help support her braced leg. He couldn’t let the limb bounce as it dragged over the terrain.
She’d tensed the moment he touched her but didn’t make a sound until he moved the first step backward. Then only a gasp through her teeth. He clenched his own, imagining the pain that must be surging through her damaged limb. Through her entire body.
Go easy. One inch at a time. When his shoulder bumped the cart, he let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. Little by little, he slid her onto the boards, upper body first. “You’re going to have to lie on your left side and bend at the waist so your leg fits.”
He helped her work into that position with one hand while lifting the splinted leg onto the cart with his other. When they finally had her in place, she let out a slow, achingly long breath.
A lock of hair rested across her cheek, and he brushed it aside. Her soft skin sent a jolting warmth through his work-worn fingers. He pulled his hand back. “That should be the hardest part. Now you get to ride a while.” Not that traveling on this old wagon frame would be anything close to a padded carriage bench, but something in him felt the need to keep her spirits up. Knowing her name would help, too.
That tiny pointed chin bobbed again, enough that he caught the slight movement. At least she was trying. And she hadn’t complained once. Most people would be curled in a ball, wailing. Maybe she was stronger than she looked.
With a final glance to make sure she was secure, he stood and gathered the harness around him. Regardless of how much he’d accomplished in the past hour, in truth, the worst of the journey still lie ahead.
four
Ingrid gripped the sides of the cart, her fingers digging into the rough wood. If only the splinters poking her skin could distract her from the searing pain in her leg and midsection. Icy snowflakes prickled her face—a welcome chill to offset the flames eating her insides. Every breath intensified the ache, and she focused on taking in shallow bits of air.
For hours the cart bumped and jostled over the rough ground—or at least it felt like hours. The contraption tilted upward at times, then leaned so far down as they descended an incline that only her fingers clamped around the side kept her from rolling out.
If she had enough breath, she would call out to the man pulling the rig. Find out where he was taking her. How much farther. But enduring the blade in her middle and the fire in her leg took all the strength she had. Her vision kept blurring, maybe from the tears stinging her eyes, or maybe she crept toward the edge of unconsciousness.
She couldn’t swoon though. The risk was too great that she might roll out of the cart and down the side of this mountain.
Micah strained into his load, the effort burning his midsection all the way down to his legs. Camp wasn’t much farther, just over this rise and down into the nook at the base of the mountain. Protected on three sides, it was the best campsite he’d found since the cave at the end of last winter. Nothing like what this woman was accustomed to, but it would have to do for now.
As he crested the ridge, he turned to grab hold of the conveyance to keep it from rushing downhill. The woman lay where he’d placed her, but her eyes squeezed shut and her white-knuckled grip on the wood proved she hadn’t dozed off.
“Just a few minutes more.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, pain lines grooving their edges. She nodded, and seemed to be taking quick, shallow breaths. Maybe he should let her rest a few moments.
He dropped to his knees beside her, keeping hold of the cart’s edge so it didn’t tilt. “We’ll stop a minute.”
She shook her head, an intense, jerky motion. “Just go.” She must be eager to finish this torturous ride and cease the jarring.
He pushed back to his feet, his legs protesting at the effort. “If you’re sure.”
As answer, she squeezed her eyes shut again, preparing for the renewal of torment.
He did his best to avoid stones and shrubs that would jostle the wheels, but a layer of snow had settled over the landscape, making it harder to discern a rock from a clump of winter grass.
To the woman’s credit, she cried out only once, when the cart bumped over a low ledge of rock into a gully at the base of his camp.
“We’re almost there,” he called over his shoulder.
She didn’t answer, and he didn’t stop to check to see if she’d passed out. Just dug in for the last uphill slope. He didn’t even slow as he reached the edge of the little space he called home, just pulled her toward the brush lean-to that housed his supplies and bedding. The wheels barely missed the ashes of his campfire, and he was able to pull her right next to the sleeping pallet.
Exhaustion washed through him as he straightened, keeping tension on the harness to hold the cart level. “We made it.” He sucked in air, ignoring the burn in his lungs from the chill.
They both needed water, but not until after he transferred her to the bed. Otherwise, she might spew the liquid back on him with the pain of moving. He should probably steep a bit of willow bark for her, too.
After shucking the harness, he studied the woman’s position relative to the pallet of furs he used as bedding. He’d only need to transfer her a few feet, but that movement would be excruciating for her.
Crouching beside her, he settled a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to move you to the bedroll under the shelter so you can rest out of the snow. It’ll hurt, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and her brown eyes met his for a brief moment. Those orbs held so many shades, giving them a depth that felt like he was looking all the way to her soul. Her dark lashes sank shut again before he could read the emotion there. Certainly pain, but much more.
Pushing aside the distraction, he looked to the rough splint peeking out from under her skirt. “I’m going to move your leg down to the ground first, then I’ll lift you.”
He did as he promised, and her only response was a squeak as he eased her up from the cart. By the time he laid her on the wolf fur, her face was as pale as the snow powdering her coat. He positioned her injured leg so the foot rested at a natural angle, then rolled a blanket alongside her to hold the limb secure. Finally, he draped the extra buffalo and bearskins over her body to protect her from the cold.
A glance at her face showed her eyes open in narrow slits, her dark pupils watching him.