Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted her name loud and long. “Hannnnahhh!”
He waited, straining to hear some kind of response. Anything. But all he heard was the rush of the angry river.
She must have been washed over the side. J.T. ground his teeth. Hannah was strong—stronger than any woman he’d ever known. Physically. Mentally. The buggy had collapsed near the bank. Despite the fast currents, she might have made it to shore. That’s where he’d start the search.
He angled his arm through the coil of rope and shoved the lariat up to his shoulder. Leaving the bridge behind, he sunk into the mud lining the west bank. He wove around trees and brush, grabbing limbs and roots to maintain his balance as his boots continually slid out from under him. Twice, he nearly ended up in the river himself.
About a quarter mile from the bridge, he spotted a snippet of color in the distance. There, where the river dipped slightly to the right, a fallen tree stretched out over the edge of the water. Something pink lay in its arms. Pink!
Heedless of the risk, J.T. rushed toward the log. Thornbushes scratched his face and hands. His downhill leg throbbed with the effort of keeping him upright. Mud sucked at his boots and dragged him down, but he charged on.
When he reached the uprooted tree, he lodged himself behind the circular base and unwound his rope. A small cedar stood nearby. J.T. looped the end of the rope around the cedar’s trunk and knotted it. He shrugged out of his slicker, folded it up to keep the inside dry, and then tied the free end of the rope around his waist. Taking a deep breath, and petitioning God for an extra measure of strength and agility, he climbed onto the log and began making his way to Hannah.
The log narrowed the farther J.T. went. Not trusting his footing, he lowered himself to his belly and crawled.
He could see her now. Pale hands lying outstretched and limp, alarmingly white against the dark, wet wood. Her face down. Yellow hair strewn every which way, tangled with twigs and soggy leaves. She wasn’t moving.
Please be alive. Please.
He inched closer, the river now licking his knees. Nearly there. He could almost touch her. Then the rope snagged, halting his progress. With a growl, he grabbed the cord and yanked. A stub of a broken branch held the rope captive. He yanked again, harder. “Come on!” Finally the branch snapped. J.T. turned back to his goal.
“Hannah?”
She was less than a foot away, but she gave no sign that she heard him.
“Hang in there, darlin’. I’m coming.”
The log split into a V with Hannah wedged in the middle. J.T. reached for her hand and clasped it. The coldness of her fingers chilled his heart. He folded her hand inside his palm and squeezed. His eyes closed on a wordless prayer, then burst open as determination gripped him. He would compel the river to relinquish its prize. Hannah was not dead. Only unconscious. She could still be revived.
Clinging to that bit of faith, he released her fingers and latched on to her wrist. Once he found a grip on both of her arms, he dug his heels into the side of the tree and pulled. A groan tore from his throat as his muscles strained against the river’s hold. Hannah’s lower half was still submerged, her skirts weighing her down. He managed to lift her only a short distance before he had to stop and rest.
He needed more power.
Slowly, without releasing his grip on her arms, J.T. scooted his hips forward until he was sitting upright. His balance teetered, but the grip of his legs kept him from falling. Once secure, he unclenched his knees, lifted his bent legs forward, and locked the heels of his boots onto the branches on either side of Hannah.
J.T. kicked at the wood to make sure it would hold, then with a mental count to three, he leaned back and pushed with all his might. His legs straightened little by little as Hannah came to him. He dragged her higher until he could tuck her lolling head onto his shoulder and wrap his arms around her middle. With a final thrust of his legs, she was free.
He wiggled out from under her and drew her backward until he could reach an arm around her knees. Carefully, so as not to throw them both into the river, he lifted and twisted her position until she sat sidesaddle across the log in front of him. He cradled her to his heaving chest and, with a shaky hand, combed the hair out of her face.
“Hannah? Can you hear me? Open your eyes.”
He felt along her throat for a pulse. A weak vibration tickled his fingertips. Hot moisture pooled in his eyes. He blinked it away and gathered her close, rocking her back and forth, for his own comfort as much as hers.
“Thank you, Lord.”
Turning her body so her back lay flush against his chest, he wrapped an arm around her middle and started shuffling back toward the base of the tree. Once there, he laid her along the length of the log, collected and recoiled his rope, then tried one more time to rouse her. He pillowed her head with his arm and lightly slapped her cheeks.
“Hannah, wake up,” he demanded. Too frightened to cajole, he ordered her to comply. “This is no time to be stubborn, woman. Open your eyes.”
Her lashes fluttered, and his breath caught in his chest. Then they stilled. He gave her a shake. “Look at me!”
Blue eyes peeked through tiny slits beneath her lids.
“That’s it. Come on, Hannah. Look at me.”
She blinked and her lashes parted a little more. “J-Jericho?”
He decided in that moment that he loved the sound of his given name. “I’m here, Hannah.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe.”
“I’m c-c-c-cold.” Her eyelids drifted closed again.
J.T. frowned. She needed a hot bath, dry clothes, and a doctor before she came down with some kind of lung fever. Hadn’t Cordelia told him she’d had weak lungs as a child? What if she had a relapse?
He wrung as much water from her skirts and petticoats as he could while still preserving her modesty, then retrieved his slicker and wrapped it around her. He doubted it held any residual warmth from his body, but it would block the wind. After buttoning her in, he took her in his arms and started the muddy trek back up to the road.
By the time he made it to his horse, it had stopped raining. J.T. eased his precious burden down to the ground to give him a minute to regain his strength. He knelt behind her so she could lean against him. To keep her head from flopping forward, he cupped her jaw in his hand. His thumb stroked her cheek.
“You’re not going to like this next part, darlin’, but it can’t be helped.” J.T. plucked a twig from her hair. “I’m hoping you won’t remember it. If you do, I promise to let you upbraid me as much as you like. I won’t even frown while you do it. Okay?”
Being as gentle as he could manage, he hoisted her onto his shoulder and pushed to his feet. Then, with a whispered apology, he slung her facedown across the saddle, climbed up behind her, and headed toward town.
CHAPTER 23
“Delia! Open up!”
J.T. kicked at the front door, his arms full of a still-unconscious Hannah. It was probably for the best that she hadn’t awakened during the bumpy ride back to town, but he would’ve felt a lot better if she had.
As soon as Delia unlatched the door, J.T. pushed his way in.
“What on earth are . . . ?” The question died on her lips, a horrified gasp taking its place. “Hannah?”
J.T. didn’t stop to offer explanations. He strode into his bedroom, ignoring the caked mud that clung to both him and his charge, and set Hannah down on his bed. Delia dogged his steps.
“What happened, J.T.? Where’d you find her? Is she alive?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “She’s alive. I’ll tell you what I know later, but right now we need to get her warm and dry.” He opened the chest at the foot of his bed and started tossing every blanket he owned onto the floor. “Get one of your flannel nightgowns for her to wear and heat some water for tea in case she wakes and can drink something. I’ll fetch the doctor, and while I’m gone, I want you to strip every piece of wet clothing off of her. Every
thing. Understand?” He waited for Delia to nod. “Good. Dry her with a towel, and tuck her into my bed. If she stays overnight, I can sleep on the cot at the livery.”
Delia scrambled from the room to do his bidding, and J.T. stole a few seconds to just look at Hannah. In his bed. Wrapped in a man’s bulky coat, her skin smeared with mud, her hair matted and dripping river water on his pillow, she wasn’t exactly a picture of feminine enticement. Nevertheless, his heart ached with tenderness.
He hunkered down beside the bed and clasped her hand. “You will not sicken, Hannah Richards. Do you hear me?” His throat clogged as he spoke. Then, before his sister could return, he pressed a kiss into Hannah’s palm and returned her arm to her side.
Delia met him in the doorway carrying a steaming basin of water, a nightdress, and two towels slung over her shoulder. The shock that had dulled her eyes when he first arrived had sharpened to a gleaming fortitude. Hannah would be in good hands.
“Take good care of her, sis.”
“I will, J.T. Now go get the doctor.”
After one last glance at the delicate woman in his bed, he did just that.
Hannah came awake slowly. Flashes of remembered sounds and touches penetrated the fog of her mind. Delia’s concern and gentle hand as she combed out Hannah’s snarled hair. A man’s no-nonsense voice and blunt fingers prodding her ribs. Jericho’s arrogant demand to get well and a mysterious softness in her hand. They were no more than vague impressions, yet they lingered with a sense of reality no dream could instill.
The overwhelming weariness that had ruled her lifted. Awareness of her surroundings seeped in little by little. She noticed the quiet first. The angry roar was gone. But so were the voices she remembered. Was she alone? She didn’t want to be alone.
Hannah tried to move, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. If she could just open her eyes and see where she was . . .
Her lashes parted enough to reveal a flat ceiling, not the sloping roof that sheltered her bed above the dress shop. Panic gripped her, and a whimper vibrated in her throat.
“Hannah?” A masculine voice echoed near her ear. A familiar voice, one that reached beyond the fear and calmed her. “It’s all right. You’re in my house. Delia cleaned you up, and she’s in the kitchen heating some broth. Doc said nothing was broken. You should be fine after a day or two of rest.”
She struggled to follow the stream of words. Willing her eyes to focus, she blinked and pried her lashes farther apart. A dark blur materialized above her. Then he touched her. The backs of his knuckles whispered against her cheek, and she turned into his caress. When the features of his face finally converged into a recognizable image, she started to wonder if this wasn’t a dream after all.
“Jericho? You’re smiling.”
“Am I?” He stroked her cheek again. Warm tingles coursed through her, and instinctively, she followed his touch a second time. His smile widened. “I must be happy.”
The change in him was quite startling. His amber eyes glowed with an inner light she’d not seen before, and the worry lines that creased his face faded into the background. He looked younger, more vibrant, more . . . everything.
“You’re quite handsome when you’re happy.”
Jericho trailed the back of one finger under her chin. “I’ll make note of your preference.”
Heat rose to her face as she realized she had spoken the thought aloud. She’d better get a grasp on her faculties before she completely humiliated herself in front of him. Hannah turned her head away in a pointless attempt to hide her embarrassment and heard him scrape a chair closer to the bedside. Only then did she recall the words he had said earlier.
She was in his house.
In a bed, in his house.
Her eyes darted about the room. A shaving mug and razor sat next to the ewer and bowl on the bureau. A pair of men’s boots lay discarded in a muddy heap by the door. A battered brown hat hung on the bedpost.
She was in his bed, in his house.
“I shouldn’t be here.” Hannah clutched the blankets to her chest and bolted upright. Pain ripped through her head. She moaned and squeezed her eyes shut, releasing the covers to press her fingers against her temples.
“Easy now,” Jericho said. “You’ve got a pretty good knot on the side of your head. If you move slower it won’t hurt so much.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently laid her back on the pillow.
The soreness retreated under his tender ministration, and she opened her eyes again. Just in time to see that she was in a nightdress. Before she could do more than gasp, Jericho covered her back up to her chin.
“J.T.?” Footsteps sounded in the hall. “Is Hannah awake? I thought I heard her voice.” Cordelia entered the room, carrying a cup full of something that smelled of herbs and beef. “I brought some broth, if you think she can manage a few sips.”
Jericho rose from his chair. “Here, take my seat. I’ll get some more pillows to prop her up.”
Hannah relaxed her grip on the blankets. Having Cordelia in the room restored the propriety of the situation, and the irrational panic that speared through Hannah upon waking in Jericho’s bed diminished. There was sure to be a sensible explanation for why she was in their home. She simply couldn’t remember what it was at the moment.
Jericho returned with an armload of cushions. He laid them on the foot of the bed and came around to the far side. “I’m going to help you sit up, but we’re going to do it slowly this time.”
He supported her head and shoulders, lifting her with exaggerated care. Cordelia plumped the pillows and arranged them behind Hannah’s back. Jericho eased her down, and she sank gratefully into the cushioned softness.
“Here you go.” Cordelia placed the broth cup in her hand. “I let it cool some, so it’s not too hot.”
Hannah let the warmth seep into her fingers for several seconds before taking a drink. The well-seasoned stock flowed over her tongue and enlivened her sluggish senses. Her nostrils flared to take in more of the aroma and to inhale the heat of the steam.
“Mmmm. It’s delicious. Thank you.”
She finished most of the broth before her stomach began to churn. Deciding to extend Jericho’s advice to eating as well as moving, Hannah didn’t push herself to drink the rest. Lowering her arms to her lap, she looked from sister to brother. “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” Cordelia reached forward to claim the cup.
Hannah scrunched her forehead. “I’m not sure. Things are jumbled in my mind.”
She looked to Jericho for a clue. He’d put distance between them again, leaning against the wall near the doorway, seemingly content to let his sister take over her care. His smile had retreated, too, although warmth still radiated from his eyes. Hannah loved Cordelia dearly, but she missed the unguarded man who had stroked her face and hovered over her with such tenderness moments ago. Would he ever come to her again?
“J.T.,” Cordelia said. “Tell her what you know. Maybe it will spark a memory.”
One side of his mouth quirked upward. “You went for a swim, and I had to fish you out of the river.”
The river.
Images shuffled in her brain, some sharper than others. The storm. The bridge. The flood. An unseen hand pulled mental pictures out of the scrambled deck that was her brain and set them before her in an order that finally made sense. The carriage tipping. The horse running off. The river sweeping her away.
Water everywhere. Over. Under. Currents dragged and flipped her. Which way was up? Her lungs threatened to burst. Flailing her arms, she finally broke through the surface and gulped a breath. She glimpsed the bank. Swim! She stroked with all her might but made little progress. Her legs tangled in her skirt. Debris from the flood crashed into her, bruising her body and jarring her off course. I’ll never make it. Exhaustion sapped her strength. Her muscles rebelled. Unable to do more, she submitted to the river’s will. Her shoulders, then neck, then chin sank beneath the surface. As she
begged the Lord to take her swiftly, the arms of a fallen tree stretched out to catch her.
“It’s coming back to you, isn’t it?” Cordelia’s soft voice brought Hannah back to the present.
“Yes.” The word scratched against her fear-swollen throat.
“J.T. told me you were caught in a flash flood.”
Hannah nodded and glanced at Jericho. He watched her with an intent expression yet remained silent in the background. She returned her gaze to Cordelia and drew in a deep breath. She was safe. The river was gone.
“I . . . ah . . . was on the bridge when I realized what was happening.” Hannah squirmed beneath the covers. “It was too late to go back. We tried to outrun it, but it crashed into us before we could reach the other side. I managed to get the horse unfastened and tried to hold on to his harness so he could pull me free of the carriage poles, but he was too fast. Then the river knocked the shaft into me. I lost my balance. I tried to hang on, but there was too much water. I couldn’t breathe. The next thing I knew, I was hurtling down the river.”
“How frightful! It’s a wonder you survived.” Cordelia clasped her hand. “Surely, God sent his angels to protect you.”
Hannah smiled. “Yes, he did. Two as a matter of fact. One that resembled a tree with long arms, and one who looked an awful lot like your brother.” Hannah turned her smile on Jericho, who frowned and pushed away from the wall. He’d shuttered his face, withdrawing from her. Why?
“Thank you for pulling me out of the river,” she said, trying to scale the wall he was reconstructing. “I’m sure my story would have ended much differently had you not come looking for me.”
“I figure you would have found a way to crawl out eventually,” Jericho grumbled. “You’re too stubborn to let a little thing like a flash flood best you.”
Hannah’s smile faded at his surly tone. Though he’d played the gallant hero for her, it seemed his attitude hadn’t changed much regarding her character. Then she recalled the busted carriage. If someone had borrowed her sewing machine and broken it, even unintentionally, she’d be grumpy, too. Perhaps her accounting of the afternoon’s events had reminded him of his financial loss. She’d rather believe that to be the cause of his sudden irritability than a continued disapproval of her as a person, even if it meant shouldering the blame for the buggy’s destruction. Besides, it was her fault. She never should’ve driven onto that bridge.