Chapter 13

Faith knelt on one side of Grant as White Horse sank to the ground on the other, his own chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Grant coughed, then turned more fully onto his side as his body ratcheted with a spasm. A second cough came, bringing a squirt of water from his mouth. He coughed once more, then again and again, struggling onto his hands and knees as the fit consumed his body. Splashes of water spewed with some of the heaves.

She could do nothing to help him, so she rested her hands on both of his sides to keep him from toppling with the force of each retch. Had the water entered his lungs? Would it bring on pneumonia or something more permanent?

At last, Grant's coughs subsided, and he sank back onto his side. He'd begun to shiver now, and no wonder, with his clothes soaked with icy river water.

She glanced around them. She should have thought to bring blankets instead of sliding empty-handed down the slope.

"I throw blanket down." White Horse stood, reading her mind. "We camp here. I start fire. Hot water."

She sent him a grateful look. "Thank you. I'll stay with him and help him get warm."

"I'm all right." Grant opened his eyes and moved one arm like he was going to push himself up to sitting. His elbow trembled with that small action.

She laid a hand on the arm. "Rest until we have a blanket. Then you can sit up to wrap in it and get warm."

White Horse strode to the trail she'd used to descend.

Grant's teeth were chattering now, so she scooted closer to wrap her arm over his side. "You can share my warmth until the blanket comes."

His arm dropped against his body, and she half wondered if he would wrap it around her waist, as she was doing with him. Should she recommend he do so? She couldn't quite bring herself to do something so forward, even when he was suffering from such cold.

She didn't breathe much as she waited for White Horse to call from overhead. She was practically hugging Grant, after all. They'd never been this close, not for anything longer than the second it took him to save her that day they first met.

Maybe that was a memory that would distract him from his misery. She smiled. "This reminds me of that first time I saw you, when you helped me at the waterfall."

He let out a hoarse chuckle that turned into a wheeze.

Perhaps best he didn't speak, so she offered another comment. "It seems the two of us aren't very safe around water."

He didn't offer a response, and she couldn't see his face from this angle. Should she find something else to say?

A call from above saved her the struggle. "Blanket."

She scrambled to her feet and moved to catch the coverlet as it fluttered down. This was one of Grant's wool counterpanes that looked like the kind men purchased in St. Louis when they outfitted themselves to go west.

White Horse appeared again with another, this time a folded fur from his own belongings. She stepped to the side so she wasn't under the heavy elk skin, but caught it with her outstretched hands. "Thank you."

With her arms full, she turned back to Grant. He sat up, leaning against the rock wall, and reached for them. He looked more alert now, though his wet hair stuck out in odd angles.

She handed him the wool blanket and helped him wrap it around his shoulders. Then she draped the warm fur over his legs.

"Thanks." His voice was still hoarse from the coughing. Or maybe something worse. Could pneumonia set in this quickly?

She sank down beside him, facing him as he leaned back against the rock wall, his legs stretched before him. This stretch of the path was just wide enough that his feet didn't dangle into the river.

He met her gaze with an exhausted look that he might have meant as a smile, but his jaw still trembled from the cold. It looked like he was clamping his teeth to keep them from chattering.

She leaned forward to pull the blanket more securely around his shoulders so it covered his front too. "What made you jump into the water?" She was too near to meet his gaze, so she focused on the blanket.

"I didn't jump. I was pushed."

She froze, taking in the words. He couldn't mean ... She drew back and studied his face, met his gaze so close the gold flecks glimmered amidst the green of his eyes. "Pushed?"

Did he mean his horse nudged him from behind? She'd been the only one standing next to him, and she hadn't touched him.

But his gaze hardened, and his jaw tensed even more. He looked away from her, toward the rushing river. "Someone came from behind and slammed into me with both hands. I only caught a glimpse of black shirt as I went over the cliff."

Her chest tightened, her breath stalling. But she managed enough air to shout upward, "White Horse!" Her voice came out unsteady, more high-pitched than she intended.

He heard her, for he replied from above, "Yes?"

She swallowed to strengthen her tone. "Grant said someone pushed him into the river."

White Horse's expression darkened. He didn't speak for long moments, just turned slowly as his gaze searched the land around them. At last, he glanced down again. "Stay until I come back."

Faith nodded. "We'll stay down here."

White Horse disappeared from the edge above, and she settled in to wait. This would give Grant time to regain his strength.

It was hard to keep from looking at him. Hard to keep from worrying about what might have happened to him in the water—both the possible outcomes that could have happened in such a quick-flowing rocky river and also the potential long-lasting effects that might still come.

"Does your chest hurt?" She studied his face for signs of pain.

"Nah." Grant stared out at the river behind her.

"Are you able to breathe fully?"

He cut her a look that said she was being annoying. "Yes."

His grumpiness made her want to press harder, just to bring a smile to the tight line of his mouth. "Are you getting warm? How about your hands and feet? The extremities can be much harder to heat than the rest of you."

He let out a noise that rumbled suspiciously like a growl as he turned to fully look at her. Those thick brows pulled down in a scowl. "Sometimes a man doesn't want to be coddled. Sometimes he'd rather a woman look at him like he's still capable of taking care of himself. And not just himself. Of her and anyone else around too."

She sank back, his tone shaking her confidence a little. But as his words drifted back through her mind, she couldn't help but grin. He'd called her a woman.

Which she was. But Grant hadn't spoken of her that way since ... well, since he discovered her true identity that second day on the trail.

As though he could read her mind, his eyes darkened, turning emerald with intensity, the air between them thick with ... could it possibly be desire? Grant swallowed hard, the knob at his throat working.

Her insides curled, and longing burned through her. Would he ever want to lean forward and kiss her? She would do the leaning if that made it easier on his exhausted body.

"Faith, I ..." He spoke in a voice so rough, his words were barely understandable. He hesitated, studying her as if unsure whether he should continue.

She should say something to encourage him. "Grant, I..." But the words jumbled in her mind. "I don't ... I don't want..."

That wasn't right. She did want. She gave her head a little shake. "I mean I do. I do wish ... But I—"

Her words seemed to close off something inside him, and he pulled back. Disappointment sluiced through her, nearly stealing the strength from her body. Why had she said that? Should she tell him she'd not meant to stop him?

But his expression turned guarded. "I need to tell you something, Faith. I think it's better if I speak plain."