Free Head in the Clouds by Karen Witemeyer Page A

frozen in shock. Gideon looked back to Bella. Then to Miguel. Then Bella. His daughter’s eyes were locked on the vaquero . More specifically, on his bloodstained shirt.
    “Please, señor. If she sees that you are unharmed, it might calm her.”
    The governess’s instruction roused Miguel from his stupor. He started yanking the shirttails out of his waistband, then hesitated when Miss Proctor spun around, turning her back to him.
    “¿Patrón?”
    Miguel waited for permission. Gideon wavered. A man never disrobed in front of a lady, let alone a young girl. However, Miss Proctor seemed to think it would help, and right now he would do anything to break Bella free from her torture.
    “Do it.”
    Miguel complied. A feminine squeak emanated from somewhere off to Gideon’s right. Only then did he realize that Bella’s screams had brought the rest of his staff to the kitchen, as well. Mabel Garrett, his cook, turned the color of a ripe tomato and disappeared through the door connecting to the dining room. A calmer Mrs. Chalmers followed Miss Proctor’s example and turned her back while her husband slipped his arms out of his morning coat and handed it to the herdsman. The butler then collected the soiled shirt and took his wife’s arm.
    “We’ll launder this and have it returned to Mr. Ruíz.” The two quietly exited into the hall.
    Gideon turned his attention back to Bella. She stared blankly at Miguel. He wanted to shake her and force her to wake up from her nightmare, but what if that made it worse? His palms grew moist where he held her arms. God, help me. He knew nothing about healing little girls with wounded souls. Then again, he knew next to nothing about anything having to do with little girls.
    Miguel approached them, holding the edges of the borrowed coat together. Gideon stood and stepped aside, but he grasped Bella’s limp hand, unwilling to sever his connection to her. He hated being helpless. Where was Miss Proctor? Wasn’t she supposed to be an expert on dealing with children?
    Then he heard her voice, and some of his tension eased.
    “Show her, Señor Ruíz. Talk to her.” Her soft voice projected patience and confidence, diluting the panic in the room.
    The herdsman tentatively lowered himself down on one knee in front of Bella. “Is all right, chica . Estoy bien . See?” He took Bella’s other hand and lifted it to his chest where the blood had stained his shirt—directly over his heart.
    Gideon felt Miss Proctor’s warm breath near his neck. “Did her mother die violently?” she whispered. “From some kind of wound that would cause a great deal of blood?”
    Their thoughts obviously ran along the same lines—a past trauma had elicited Bella’s panic. However, it couldn’t have been her mother’s death. There were no similarities to this situation at all.
    “No,” he whispered back, careful to turn his head away from Isabella. “She died in her bed, from an illness.”
    She frowned a bit at that. Her confusion mimicked his own. He knew so little about Bella’s life before he met her. What had she seen that a bloody shirt should trigger such a horrific reaction?
    Just then, Bella tugged free of Gideon’s grip and began scraping at Miguel’s shoulder with both hands. Her movements grew more and more frenzied, as if she were trying to unearth something. The truth?
    “Open your coat, Miguel.”
    His foreman shot him an uncertain glance, but complied. Bella immediately shoved the fabric to the side and patted his chest with her hand. Once she convinced herself there was no injury, she turned back to Gideon with tears welling in her eyes—eyes that were once again cognizant of her surroundings.
    “Papa.” The rusty sound broke his heart the instant before she buried her face in his stomach and sobbed.
    Gideon lifted her into his arms and hugged her close, his breath catching as her small arms tightened about his neck. She had spoken. Only one word … but, oh, what a word. She’d