Luke's Cut

“What?”

She said it again. He had to bend closer to hear.

“His name’s Glory.”

That again? “As in glory be to God?” he asked drily. “Or Glory be, will he make it through the day?”

She frowned up at him, a little of the fight coming back into her expression. “Neither.”

At least her voice was getting stronger.

“Are you sure?” He hitched her up to move her back. Her nails dug into his arm. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh no!”

He’d been on the back end of too many benders not to know that look. He turned her just in time. She vomited. All over his boots.

“Son of a bitch!”

If her moan hadn’t been so pitiful, Luke would have dropped her right there. Instead, he set her gently on the ground. She scrabbled to her hands and knees. He supported her with an arm around her waist as she vomited up all the water he’d just poured down her throat. Between heaves, she swatted at her bonnet. Since he hated the drab, ugly thing, too, Luke tugged it off and tossed it aside. His own stomach lurched, but he held it back, until finally, with a last retch, she slumped. With another sympathetic “Pobrecita” Tia handed him the cup. Water sloshed as he held it to Josie’s lips. She shook her head.

“Rinse your mouth out.”

She took a sip. “Don’t swallow, spit,” he ordered.

She did with an utter lack of self-consciousness that said more than anything about how horrible she felt.

“Good job.”

When he was sure she was done, Luke pulled Josie back until she sat on his thighs. Her head flopped limply against his shoulder. Her breath shuddered out.

“I’m so hot,” she whispered. “Just so hot.”

“I know.” He stood and turned to look into the wagon. It was dark and still, likely still stifling. “Stefano!”

“Yes?”

“Open the front panel, please.”

The wagon slouched with the vaquero’s weight. The panel rattled as it opened.

“It is done.”

A little bit of light and air moved through the interior. Hopefully, more air would flow once the wagons were moving. Josie braced her hand on a trunk as he set her down on the thin mattress sandwiched between her belongings. Tremors vibrated from her to him. He started unbuttoning her dress. Her fingers wrapped weakly around his wrist. From behind him, Tia said, “I can do that.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You cannot undress a young, unmarried woman.”

He didn’t spare her a glance. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Tia placed her hand on his arm. “No, mi hijo, you cannot.”

Her resolution flicked at his determination. “Dammit. It’s not the first time I’ve seen undergarments.”

Tia’s chin set. “You would mortify her.”

“She should be mortified for being so stupid. Why the hell is she wearing so much?”

Tia elbowed him aside. “It is proper.”

Dammit. There was no fighting with Tia when she got that set to her mouth. He stepped back. She didn’t have to say it as if he were an idiot. “Proper will get her killed.”

“Women are taught proper is what saves their lives.” Tia glanced over her shoulder. “Turn your back.”

Even more reluctantly, he did. “You’re not wearing that much,” he pointed out, tipping the cup and rinsing the vomit off his boots. It was going to take more than the cup he held to get the job done. Son of a bitch. His cobbler was going to be pissed.

“I should have talked to her,” Tia fussed.

He could hear the sounds of clothing being removed. The slide of a sleeve down an arm. The rustle of petticoats being removed. His imagination pieced in the removal of the corset. At any other time his imagination would be running rampant. But right now, all he could think about was the Comanche, the delay and the risk to everyone every minute they were stopped here. A trunk opened and a minute later it closed.

He hated being forced to cool his heels. “Does she at least have something lighter to wear?”

Tia sighed. “Do you not have something else to do?”

“No.”

“Then you can come make yourself useful.”

“Uh-huh.” Turning, he saw Josie drooped on the pallet, half sitting, half propped against a crate. Her eyes were closed. She looked pale and lethargic in the yellow dress. In need of support. “I could have been useful all along,” he muttered, helping Tia down.

Tia just rolled her eyes as she stepped back.

Luke slid his hand between the rough wood and Josie’s head. Her hair was silky against his palm. Her breath an airy caress as he tilted her face up. “You gave us a scare, my darling.”

She blinked at him, whether at his endearment or his touch, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. She was still a little green around the gills.

“Sorry.”

He smiled at the weak apology that could have covered anything. “You’ve got to be feeling pretty badly not to be taking a swing at me right now.”

She licked her pale lips. “At least the darn wagon has stopped moving. All that back and forth...” She shuddered. “It’s worse than being on a ship.”

“You get motion sick?”

She nodded and swallowed hard.

He scooted back a bit. Just in case. His boots couldn’t take another attack. “You feeling sick now?”

“Not yet.”