Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,72
to your mother’s house.”
“No, Agent Singleton is bringing up the grain wagon.” Connie sighed. “I wish he’d hurry. I don’t know how to help.”
Tom’s eyes opened. He blinked a moment, then closed his eyes again. “You all right, Connie?”
“I’m fine, Tom. You’re bleeding, so lie still.” He didn’t reply, and Connie’s eyes filled with tears. “Tom?” He was unconscious again. “Please hurry, Clint.” Her voice was hushed. “Please, God, help us.”
Clint made short work of getting Tom loaded and the horses tied to the wagon. He started the wagon for the Browning house and every so often glanced over his shoulder to see what was going on. Connie fussed over the barely conscious young man and murmured prayers. Clint had been wrong about her. He’d thought Tom’s feelings were unreturned, but it was clear now that she was in love with him. She hadn’t even thanked Clint or asked how he was feeling. He might as well not even have existed.
He drove in silence, thinking back on the girl who used to follow him around, begging for his attention. Connie had thought he hung the sun and the moon. She had once told him he was the most admirable man she knew. The thought almost made him laugh. If only she knew.
“What . . . happened?” Tom asked.
“Lie still. That soldier back at the Menard house hit you with his gun. Christine went to get her husband, so they’re safe. Clint showed up in the nick of time and knocked that hoodlum out. He told James to bind him and deliver him to the government house so he can’t hurt anyone else.”
Clint glanced over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. “We’re nearly to the Browning house. Try not to bleed to death in the meantime.”
Tom squeezed his eyes shut and then reopened them. “I’ll do my best.” Clint saw Connie smile at this. Tom continued in a whisper, “Hurts like the dickens, though.”
“Of course, it does. Faith will stitch you back up, however. She’ll know exactly what to do.”
“What were you two doing out this far?” Clint asked.
“Interviewing the Menards. My folks are good friends with them and thought it would be a nice, easy encounter for us. I have to admit it was nice not to deal with hostility.”
“You’re prying into their lives. I can’t blame them for being hostile,” Clint said, snapping the lines to encourage the team to pick up the pace. “I wouldn’t want anyone prying into my life—recording the details about me and my kin.”
“It might be interesting to know all about you and your kin, Clint,” Connie retorted. “It might answer a lot of questions.”
He laughed. “I didn’t know you had any about me. With our lengthy history, it seems you would have already found answers for all of your questions.”
She said nothing in response.
After delivering Tom to Faith, Clint joined Connie in the Brownings’ living room. Connie’s mother and aunt were busy helping Faith and had forbidden a very pale Connie to join them.
“Are you doing all right?” he asked her. “You look a little green.”
Connie had been gazing down at the blood on her dress. “Mama says I’m pale, and you say I’m green. Stop worrying about me. It’s Tom who needs our prayers.”
“Did that soldier hit you?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. There was a clear handprint on her face.
“Yes.” She put her hand to her cheek. “Goodness, I must be a sight.”
He frowned. “Did he hurt you otherwise?”
Connie looked confused. “What?”
“That fool of a soldier. Did he do anything else to you?”
“He kicked me, but my satchel took the brunt of it.” She pulled the strap of the bag over her head and set it aside. “I’m sore, but I’ll be all right.”
“Well, that’s more than I can say for that idiot.” Clint got to his feet. “Which reminds me—I have business to tend to. Let me know how Tom makes out. He’s a lucky man.”
Connie’s confusion did nothing to convince him that she wasn’t in love with Tom. Her concern over Tom’s wound and worry over his recovery was enough evidence to convince Clint that she had definitely put away her childish infatuation. He’d kind of hoped that by having her on his side, he might be able to accomplish even more than he’d planned.
He made his way out to his wagon and started to climb up.
“Clint!”
He turned to find Connie racing after him. He smiled and stepped down. “Yes?”