Dangerous Heart by Tracey Bateman

both arms could meet at the wrists. “Barbarians,” she said, blinking back tears of pity at what she knew had to be excruciating pain. “Hang on, Buddy, I’ll have you out of that knot in a hurry” She knelt beside his pallet and yanked her hunting knife from her belt.
    Buddy gazed up at her, his blue eyes filled with worry. “It won’t get you into any trouble will it?” His voice sounded so weak, Ginger fought the urge to tear up. How could anyone tie up a boy that was not only hurt but also so sick? Just waituntil she got her hands on that idiot Grant. He would have been the last person to see Buddy. It had to have been him.
    â€œLet it. I’m going to cut you loose. My brother isn’t going to be tied up like an animal.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Worse than an animal. The horses and oxen roam free. How are you feeling?”
    â€œAwful, Ginger,” he said, moaning. “I think I’m gonna die.”
    â€œDon’t you dare say that, you hear?” The blade made short work of Buddy’s bindings. He sighed and rubbed his shoulder where it had been stretched.
    â€œThanks,” he mumbled as though speaking was too much effort.
    Brushing aside his thanks, Ginger adjusted her position so that she sat cross-legged on the ground next to his pallet. “What were you doing out there, Buddy? Why did you stay behind after Web and the rest of the gang rode off?”
    His eyes remained closed. “I told you…” he said weakly.
    Memory washed over her, taking her back four months to late spring. Buddy had held Tulip’s halter and stared up at her as he said, “If you don’t get home before harvest, I’m coming after you.”
    Funny how they measured time the same way the farmers in Missouri did. How often had Ginger gone to bed in some rowdy, bawdy house or shivering in the cold of a winter camp, wished for a home with parents who tilled the ground, planted, and brought in the harvest? Honest pay for an honest day’s work. She and Buddy used to lay close and dream aloud about the sort of man their dream pa might be. Their dream ma. All they’d had was each other. And Clem.
    Someone had brought in a washbasin of water and strips of cloth. She dipped the cloth and squeezed. “How’d you know I was with the wagon train?”
    â€œWeb.” He closed his eyes, and his face took on peace as Ginger pressed the cool cloth against his feverish forehead.
    Ginger shook her head at a stinging realization. Even though Web had assumed she was with the wagon train, he hadn’t thought twice about raiding them? He either hadn’t thought about the possibility of someone’s bullet connecting with her skull, or it was a risk he’d been willing to take. Probably the latter.
    More troublesome, though, was the fact that Buddy was in the middle of the whole thing. “You were part of the raid?” Buddy had never done anything illegal. If he had ridden with Web’s people and drawn a gun, he was guilty, too.
    He shook his head once. “Snuck off to find you.” He moaned, the sound tugging on Ginger’s heart.
    â€œDon’t try to talk anymore, Buddy. You need to save your strength.”
    â€œOne more thing…The doctor…he’s a good man.”
    Ginger released a deep sigh. “He is. I know he is.” It was the first time Ginger had admitted such a thing—even to herself. But hearing the words from her brother’s lips, she knew he was speaking the truth. And he’d only known the man a few hours.
    The more Ginger saw things with this new perspective, she realized that no matter what had happened that day so long ago, she wasn’t unreasonable enough not to realize the man was mourning his own wife. No one but an out-and-out saint would have dragged himself away from his wife to help one of the men responsible for her death. She knew that now. Still, there was a lot