Renegade's Heart by Michelle Kidd (best ereader for students .txt) 📖

Early morning light pushed its way into the dark cabin, slowly inching up the walls to paint them dismal gray. Daniel woke with a start and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes burned from lack of sleep.  "Misty?"

His tongue felt thick and tasted stale. He arched his back and spotted his daughter snailed up with a quilt in the rocker across from him. She must be exhausted. They were awake half the night laboring over the feverish stranger.

Daniel placed a hand along the woman's cheek and frowned. Still hot. Not raging, but far too warm.  He hadn't expected her to make it through till morning. Her tenacity surprised him.

"Daddy?" Misty bolted upright. Instantly alert, she looked ashamed for having fallen asleep. "Is she . . .  she's going to be okay, right?"

He regarded her and sighed. "She's very sick. I don't know, but we'll do our best." He attempted a smile for her benefit and gave her a wink. "It's early. Get some rest. You're going to need it." 

Concern crossed Misty’s features as she studied the still figure of their patient.

"It’s okay, Misty. She's fine for now. I'll cook breakfast, and you keep an eye on her while I get chores done."

***

Over the next few days, Daniel and Misty fell into a pattern. Most of the care settled on her small shoulders during the day. She seemed to relish her new role as nurse, prattling to her patient while she tended to her. The young girl changed bandages, spooned warm broth between dry, cracked lips, and brushed and preened the woman's hair until it gleamed and lay into a curtain of curls against the pillow.  Misty read to her from the Bible, taking pains to find the particular ones on healing.

Daniel took the night watch when heat from her slender young body radiated hot enough to swell blisters on her otherwise flawless skin.  He labored over her, bathing her flesh with the foul smelling vinegar to keep down the temperature. His heart filled with pity as he watched her battle delirium-induced demons. Her anguished pleas cried out in the night for the unknown Seth. The slip of a girl was a fighter.

The first few nights he hardened his emotions. Anger burned towards the young woman and her band of renegades. He clenched his jaw when he thought of how close Misty had been to danger. But there was something in the stranger’s raw cries for the unknown Seth that clawed at his soul. He wondered if Seth was the name of the boy he’d buried on the ridge. An unwelcome jealousy snaked through him.

***

Spring rains rolled in later in the week, pelting the small windows of the cabin. Unable to work in the fields, Daniel excused himself with the explanation of mending harnesses, oiling equipment, anything to put distance between himself and the beautiful redhead. She stole into his thoughts more than he cared to admit.

Daniel opened the barn door breathing in the scent of animals, leather, and hay. The dampness intensified the loamy smell. It was a familiar odor although he’d never managed to embrace it. Farming was not the dream he’d envisioned for himself, but it was honest work that left him too tired to think. Regret couldn’t change history.  

The ghost of the past had no place in his life. Better to bury them along with the dead and focus on the present. Daniel gathered his tools and proceeded to the stall where Mabel stood placidly chewing. Jamming his hands inside the gloves, he approached the Holstein with a rope, secured her, and begin the odious task of trimming her hooves. His voice was soothing as he worked, starting with the hoof knife to remove part of the toughened soul, working from the heel to the front.  Satisfied the toe was sufficiently pared down, he went to work with the rasp smoothing the rough edge.

He expelled a mirthless laugh. How easily the sharpened instrument cut through the unwanted growth. He wished his uninvited demons could be just as effortlessly removed. Despite his best effort, his mind drifted. Feelings had a way of invading when he least expected them, but dwelling on the past made him weak. He had no use for feebleness—not when Misty’s life was at stake. It was a self-indulgence he could not afford. His last mistake had been fatal.

Mabel's bellowed protest drew him to the present.  "Sorry, old girl. I got a little carried away." He patted her on her rump. She rolled her brown eyes at him and went back to her chewing. He finished with the task and worked on the remaining hooves as the afternoon passed. Before he knew it, Misty was ringing the dinner bell. He’d just up his gear and bring in fresh milk. 

Daniel entered the cabin, shaking the rain from his hat and coat. "Good day to be a duck," he commented. He hung his dripping slicker on a peg on beside the door. "What smells so wonderful?"

"Beans. Figured pinto beans and cornbread would taste mighty fine on a day like this."

"You’re right about that." He smiled broadly and cupped Misty's chin. She stood on the small stool he had made for her and stirred with a wooden spoon.

"There’s fried ham too."

The muscles worked over the lump in his throat. She presented a miniature replica of her mother dressed in the oversized apron. "I'm a lucky man; that's what." She was growing up too fast.

"How's our patient?" He washed his hands in the sink and accepted the towel Misty offered.

"Better, I think.  Her color's improved."

"You say that every night."

"See for yourself."  Misty pointed with the wooden spoon. She poured the beans from the pot to a bowl, releasing a fragrant aroma and trotted towards the table. She careened to a stop. "Look."

Daniel's quick reflexes kept dinner from crashing to the floor, as Misty came close to allowing the dish to slide from her hands. As it was, the beans sloshed over the side burning his hand. He winced, choked down a word he didn't regularly use and deposited the hot bowl. Misty held out a towel to him, which he wrapped around his throbbing injury and followed her gaze.

His stomach did a somersault when he spotted the green eyes staring at the ceiling. He hopscotched across the room. Close up, his brows knit with concern. At once he noted something wrong.

Daniel squeezed the pale, cold fingers. "Miss?" No response. "How are you feeling?" Still no answer. Her eyes fixed blankly with no indication she was aware of them.  "Misty, hand me that candle." He waited until he had a firm grasp on it before bringing the light close to her face.  Her gaze never wavered.

"What is it . . . What's wrong with her . . . is she awake?"  Misty fired off questions from his side.

"I'm not sure, sweetheart."  He continued the examination. Her pupils responded slowly. "I think, perhaps, she is improving.  But the brain is a funny thing." He looked at his daughter with a grim expression.  "I wish I knew."

This small sign was proof enough for the young girl.  Her faith took wings, and she refused to be denied.  "God wouldn't bring her here just to die."  

"I hope you're right."  His voice softened as ran his knuckle along her flushed cheek.  "We'll pray she continues to make progress." 

"Oh, I'm praying every night. I know she's going to get better. Wait and see."

"Misty, she isn't a stray puppy." Daniel cautioned. "We can't keep her. As soon as she is well enough .  . . We'll have to turn her over to the sheriff. I don't want you getting attached."

"Everybody deserves a second chance."

"Agreed. But, honey, this girl was running with outlaws. She robbed a bank. God forgives, but there is still the law of the land."

"If He forgives that's good enough for me." She folded her arms and jerked her chin.

Daniel pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. "Like I said, don't get too attached. Now run and fetch me the ointment." 

She sniffed but obeyed.

What was he thinking? His words were for Misty, but he should be preaching to himself. In the beginning, he prayed she'd improve for his daughter's sake, but as the days passed, he discovered a growing concern for her welfare. It was hard not to as she lay there so weak, so helpless, so beautiful.  How easy to forget the circumstances of their meeting in town.  He hoped he was wrong. But the truth nagged him.  Trust in the Lord and lean not on thy own understanding. The inner voice startled him.  How long had it been since he heard it?

Over the next few days, she grew more responsive.  Involuntarily, she moved her arms and legs, although she seemed unaware of her surroundings.  When they gripped her hand and squeezed, she responded in kind.

Daniel was hopeful she might awaken with a plausible excuse why she'd been running with outlaws, why she'd been on the ridge, and who was the boy was he found shot beside her.  Regardless, he wanted the woman out from under his roof. Misty was growing far too attached. Yeah, it's Misty you're protecting, he told himself as he looked down at those delicate features and coppery curls. He tried to ignore the bitter twist in his stomach. The sooner she woke up, the faster life could return to normal. 

Frankie groaned. She tried to move, but her bruised muscles refused to cooperate. A heaviness in her limbs weighed her down. Her head hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced. She opened her eyes. Why was it so dark?  Had she died and gone to hell? The blackness surrounded her, seeming to suffocate her. 

“You’re awake.” A small voice from somewhere in the murkiness spoke.

Frankie strained to make out a face in the darkness. Why couldn’t she see? Panic threatened to seize her until cool fingers pressed inside her own. 

“You’re okay.  I’m here.”  The voice sounded young, reassuring.

 Here? “Where’s here. Who are you?” The words crashed inside Frankie’s head like thunder but were little more than a cracked whisper. Each moment that passed her anxiety rose.

“I’m Misty. My pa found you and brought you back to the cabin. Don’t worry, you’re getting better every day.”

The pain racking her body said otherwise. “What happened to me? Why can’t I see?”

“You can’t?  I-I don’t know . . . . you were hurt real bad.  Pa didn’t think you’d make it. You were shot twice, but I knew God wouldn’t bring you here just to die. Pa and I fixed