Free Sarah's Heart by Ginger Simpson Page A

Scout.”
    He’d seen stranger
things left behind by travelers; he laughed and patted Scout’s neck. “Lot a good one boot will do me.”
    The mysterious item
in the road revealed itself as a carpetbag, and then just beyond, as the Pinto
plodded by, Wolf glanced down at what he considered discarded footwear. “Whoa,”
he yelled, forgetting his injury and leaping from the animal’s back. There was
a body attached to the boot. Wolf crouched beside the fallen figure, checking
for signs of life.

Chapter Eight

 
    Wolf swept the
woman’s long blonde hair aside and felt her neck, checking for a heartbeat. He
chewed his bottom lip, repositioned two fingers and pressed deeper into her
flesh. The action struck an eerily familiar cord, almost like someone had done
the same to him recently. He brushed the notion aside and prayed for a sign of
life. He found it—a faint thudding against his fingertips. She was alive, but
barely.
    His gaze raked up
and down her body, searching for obvious signs of injury. There was no blood,
at least none visible, but his eyes widened. Canteens! There were two lying at
her side, He licked his parched lips and carefully lifted her head, slipping
the leather strap of one container over it. She felt limp as a rag in his arms,
and looked beautiful, too. His gaze stalled on her creamy complexion and
perfectly shaped features… until her small moan slapped his senses back.
    As he laid her back
down, he noticed the rawhide tied around her leg. There could be no other
reason than snakebite. His thirst forgotten, he responded to his quickening
heart and inched down the length of her body, giving a futile yank at her pant
leg. It was no use. The material wouldn’t budge past the apparent swelling.
      Wolf reached for his knife and quickly sliced
the side seam of her denims, freeing her leg from its encasement. Her calf
abnormally bulged but he saw no bite marks. Rolling her, he scanned the
backside. Two angry, red puncture marks showed where the snake had injected
deadly venom, something Wolf had seen many times before. He couldn’t tell when
this bite occurred, and it was important to draw the poison from the body as
soon as possible. His heart pounded like Lakota drums.
    With no time to
waste, he rushed to her belongings, still in the middle of the trail, and
carried them back to where she lay. Hunkering next to her, he pulled a shirt
from her bag and spread it beneath her head, then rolled her over to tend to
her wound. With his knife, he cut an ‘x’ directly over the snakebite, causing
the swollen pressure to erupt into a river of blood running down her skin and
soaking the hem of the material beneath her. He used the sleeve to wipe away
the excess, and then placed his lips against her calf, sucking with all his
might to pull the toxins from her. The gush of thick, warm liquid inside his
mouth made his stomach roil, and he turned his head and spit several times.
Opening the canteen, he took a long pull of water, swished it around and spit
again. A second draw from the hide-covered tin quenched his thirst.
    Wolf clawed away a
small patch of grass, exposing the earth beneath. He poured just enough
precious water on the ground to create a paste, screwed the cap back on the
container, and using his fingertips, spread the muddy concoction over the
bite—where his lips had been only moments ago.
    Scout ambled over
and sniffed the woman. Wolf patted the Paint’s nose and spoke to her as he
would any other friend. “It’s all right girl, I’ve done all I can. Now we just
have to wait and hope it was enough. Let’s hope the mud works as good as the
Shaman’s drawing salve.”
    After using the
reedy grass to wipe the excess muck from his fingers, Wolf searched the woman’s
bag for something to wrap around her leg. His hand grazed something cold and
metal and he withdrew a gun. “Look what I found, Scout. The lady’s armed.”
    Curiosity clouded
his mind. What would a beautiful woman be doing