Patricia Rice by Wayward Angel Page A

river tonight."
    Grudgingly, the band of men backed away and clattered back the way they came. The young man was the last to go. He tipped his hat politely and said, "Tell Pace he owes me one," before spurring his horse after the others.
    Closing her eyes briefly to control her shaking, Dora urged the horses back to a trot. He'd known. Whoever that young man was, he'd known she harbored a fugitive, that Pace had brought her here. She could have been caught at any moment. They could have found Pace and had him arrested.
    She murmured something reassuring to the child beneath her feet and continued toward the river.
    By the time she delivered the girl to the fishing cabins, saw that she was filled with hot coffee before being ferried across the river, and turned the cart toward home, Dora had reached a state of utter panic. Pace remained out there in the cold night with a gunshot wound in his ribs and a pack of hounds on his trail. She could find him, but her presence would only lead those bounty hunters right to him. Could they do anything to him now that the child was gone?
    By the time Dora returned the horse to the barn, the panic had dissipated. An odd calm had descended, and she carried her bag up the front stairs with firm decision. She hoped she knew what her odd calm meant. She sincerely did not wish to go back out into the night again.
    She ignored the angry voices from the newlyweds' chambers. Josie objected to Charlie's drinking and hadn't learned yet to control her disappointment. Perhaps there was still hope for their marriage. The sounds emanating from their chamber by the time Dora reached Harriet's room didn't seem argumentative any longer.
    Her stomach clenched with ancient buried memories, but this was none of her affair.
    Harriet tossed restlessly in laudanum-induced dreams. Dora settled her as best as she could, straightened her covers, filled her water glass, and when she lay still again, slipped back to her own room.
    She uttered no gasp of surprise as a large figure loomed out of the darkness when she opened the door.
    Pace had made it home.

 
     
     
    Chapter 6

     
    It is not known precisely where angels dwell—
    whether in the air, the void, or the planets.
    It has not been God's pleasure that we should be informed of their abode.
    ~ Voltaire, "Angels," Philosophical Dictionary (1764)
     
    "You really are an angel," Pace muttered, falling back against the pillows on Dora's narrow bed. "How in hell did you know we were out there?"
    "God sent me," she answered simply, lighting a candle and closing her curtains against the darkness. Even as she said it, Dora knew he would take her words as part of the standing jest between them. It didn't matter.
    Pace made a grunt that could have been a laugh and began stripping off his shirt in the flickering light. "I don't suppose you're carrying bourbon in that bag."
    "No, I don't suppose I am." Dora poured water into the basin and tried not to look too closely at the half-naked man baring himself before her in the flickering candlelight. She usually used her nursing skills on women, not men, but the bloody gash marring his side kept her mind focused.
    "Just cover it up with something so it will stop bleeding. I'll see the doc in the morning," Pace winced as she applied cold water to the wound.
    He had already lost a lot of blood. His face was pale against the dark auburn of his hair. This close, Dora could see the whiskers sprouting from his jaw, visible proof that he was a man and not the boy she first remembered. She turned her attention to the bleeding. "Thou must have stitches," she murmured, probing the gash.
    He grimaced at her touch. "Careful, girl. The flesh is weak."
    She laughed softly and reached for the needle and grain alcohol. "Let us hope it is also thin. I do not relish wrestling thread through tough hide."
    Pace gave her a mocking look as he sat back on the mattress and raised his hand to grasp the bars of the headboard, leaving his wounded side