Texas Healer Read online

  His pain was his penance. He would honor his men, would remember them with every halting step, every dark night without sleep.

  “Come on, boy,” he murmured. “Let’s run that water.”

  Lobo walked halfway back to him, then sat as if understanding Rafe’s need to stand alone. When Rafe reached his side, Lobo turned and escorted him the rest of the way, a silent, sturdy guardian.

  Diana flipped on the light over the kitchen sink and eyed the old enameled coffeepot, wondering if she could figure out how to make a decent cup with it.

  She glanced at her watch. 2:00 a.m. She’d slept the afternoon away, slept past dinner, slept more hours at one sitting than she had in years.

  You have not rested well in a very long time, have you? Rosaria wasn’t kidding when she’d said that tea would help Diana sleep. She glanced at the teapot Rafe had used to brew the tea for her and took one step away. If that was chamomile, it was a wonder the Victorians hadn’t all been in comas.

  She could brew some coffee—if she could figure out the pot—and use the quiet hours of the night to get some of her reading done.

  Quiet hours. Right. All the hours were quiet here.

  Diana whirled and began to pace. What was she going to do with the time she had to fill? She wouldn’t need physical therapy after a month of this; they’d be locking her up in a padded cell.

  You could make rounds with me.

  Rafe’s accusing eyes rose before her. It’s like riding. You never forget how.

  But he didn’t understand. She couldn’t ride and she couldn’t practice medicine. She’d lost everything that meant anything to her, all in one moment of negligence, one instant she would give everything she owned to have back, to be able to do over.

  If only she hadn’t relaxed. Hadn’t closed her eyes to soak in the bliss that seemed light-years away now.

  Diana shook her head and started toward the coffeepot. She couldn’t undo what had happened, but she could use what had served her well for years, far better than relaxing ever had. She could work, even if work now meant only reading. Sharpen the mind and the body will follow. Get back in the game one step at a time.

  But when she reached the stove, making coffee seemed a waste of time, too, so she reversed her steps and grabbed as many professional journals as she could hold in one hand. She sat down on the weary green sofa, opened the first one and began to read.

  When the print blurred, she blamed the lousy lighting in this back-of-beyond cabin. She kept reading until her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

  Just for a minute, she thought. I’ll just rest them for a minute.

  The next thing she knew, it was morning.

  Diana adjusted the shower head as water drummed against the sides of the old tin shower stall. Rustic didn’t begin to describe this place, though she had to admit that everything worked and the cabin was spotless.

  Washing her hair was still an adventure, but at least she had regained enough grip in her right hand to manage it herself. Accustomed to quick, efficient showers that took little time out of her busy life, she had found it excruciating to have to wait on others to help her in the months when she’d had no use of that hand. Buttons and zippers might as well have been the Himalayas for all the chance she’d had of conquering them. Simply donning clothes had been an undertaking of epic proportions.

  She looked in the mirror over the ancient pedestal sink as she dried herself. Her hair, always short and razor cut for the sake of time, was shaggy now and neared her shoulders in the back, too much a symbol of the disorder of her life.

  She should get it cut. Shape up or ship out, Morgan. But where would she find a substitute for her hairdresser Gregory, here in the middle of nowhere?

  Dogs barked outside and drew her notice. She saw the foal from yesterday out the window, in high spirits once again. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip as she watched—

  Gad. With a shudder, Diana set the cup down. Maybe Rosaria could explain to her how to make coffee in that pot.

  It was Rafe’s coffeepot, but she didn’t want to talk to him.

  She heard a whinny and glanced out the window. She did want to see Rafe’s horses, though. She poured the coffee down the sink and left the bathroom to dress.

  A few minutes later, she stood out on the porch, drawing in deep breaths of crisp air, scenting all manner of aromas she didn’t know but found very agreeable. Okay, so it was rustic as the devil and not her kind of place at all, but there were some good things about it.

  Joyous barking greeted her as Dulcita waddled around the corner.

  Diana smiled. “Well, hello there.” She descended the steps and crouched to pet the old dog. “I didn’t know you could walk this far. It’s good for your girlish figure, though.”

  Dulcita’s tail wagged as she pressed her head into Diana’s hand. “Oh, aren’t you a soft touch?” Diana said.

  A big, dark shape materialized around the corner and drew her attention. Huge. A wolf or—The beast growled deep in his throat.

  Diana took a step back. “Dulcita, come here. Come away. That thing might—”

  But Dulcita abandoned her and headed straight for the menacing stranger.

  “Dulcita—” Diana called. “Come back—”

  The huge beast stepped between them, and Diana readied herself to rescue the old dog—

  Dulcita nudged him, tongue panting and tail wagging as though fast friends.

  “Don’t hurt her—” Diana took a step toward him.

  The growling increased. Diana halted, every nerve on edge. She looked around for something to defend herself with, something to hit him with if he hurt Dulcita—

  He growled once more, then did an amazing thing.

  He sat down. Placing himself between her and Dulcita as if to protect the elderly dog, the huge black beast settled on the ground, yellow eyes on alert.

  “Dulcita?” Diana called.

  The old brown dog nuzzled against him, then looked over at Diana with calm patience.

  Diana backed up the steps, then leaned against one post, staying alert in case he attacked.

  But the dog—if that was what it was—merely cocked his ears high and studied her, his body language majestic, warning implied.

  She had the oddest feeling that both of them thought they were protecting Rosaria’s fat old dog.

  A whistle pierced the air. “Lobo—” called a voice Diana recognized only too well.

  The black dog also recognized it. Ears pricked, he rose, sparing one last glance for Diana as if prepared for attack.

  “Lobo—” The whistle again.

  The black beast, who must be Lobo, nudged Dulcita to rise and herded her out of sight around the corner. A bemused Diana descended the steps to watch them.

  She didn’t have to go far.

  The huge, menacing animal leaned into Rafe’s side, his eyes closing in rapture as Rafe’s hand slid into the ruff, scratching and stroking. On Rafe’s other side, Dulcita wagged her tail as the tall man leaned down to pet her more gently.

  Diana rounded the corner, and the black dog exploded into action, his powerful muscles surging into a leap that placed him squarely in front of Rafe and Dulcita, a far deeper and more dangerous growl erupting from his throat.

  Diana froze.

  “Lobo—” Rafe’s sharp command stopped the dog in mid-motion. “Heel—”

  Lobo stopped, but he didn’t return to Rafe’s side as ordered, his big body coiled with power, trembling to be set free.

  “Lobo—” Rafe snapped. “Down—”

  Lobo dropped to his belly, his ruff bristling, his growl unending.

  Diana started to back up.

  “No,” Rafe commanded. “Don’t move. Stay where you are.” He walked toward her, crouching at Lobo’s side and placing one hand in the dog’s collar, talking softly to him. The dog never took his eerie yellow gaze from her, but his muscles relaxed somewhat.

  “Walk over here slowly,” Rafe said to her.

&nb
sp; “Are you kidding me? I’m not getting near that beast.” Diana could feel her heart pounding. “He should be locked up. He’s dangerous—”

  “Stop shouting. You’re only making him more nervous.”

  “I’m not—”

  Rafe shot her a warning glance, and she saw the dog’s muscles coil again.

  Diana lowered her voice. “He has no business running loose. I was only going to pet Dulcita, and he—”

  “He was abused. He’s afraid of people.” Rafe kept his own voice low and calm. “And he isn’t running loose. He’s on his own land.”

  Diana glanced at the dog and saw him edging on his belly to place himself once again between her and Rafe. “He’s trying to protect you, isn’t he?”

  Rafe nodded. “We’ve been through some hard times together. When he came to me, he was starved and filthy, covered in scars from beatings. He’d been attacked by a mountain lion and almost died from his wounds.”

  The animal she saw now glowed with health, his coat shiny and dark, his frame powerful. “Is he a wolf?”

  Rafe smiled at that. “No one knows. He’s not purebred. The vet says he’s got some German shepherd in him but isn’t sure what else.” He let go of Lobo’s collar and resumed stroking his head, looking up at her. “I can’t stay down like this much longer. If you’ll come closer and let him get your scent while we’re together, he’ll understand that you’re a friend.”

  Diana recalled now that Rafe’s gait had been slower this morning, the limp more pronounced. Crouching like that had to be tough on his hip. She wasn’t eager, however, to get close to that beast. “Couldn’t we just give each other wide berth?”

  Rafe shook his head. “It’s not a good idea. I can’t be around all the time, and I don’t want to pen him up for the month you’re here.” He glanced up, and she could see the strain on his face. “Don’t be afraid. I may be crippled, but I’m still stronger than he is.”

  Remorse set her feet moving, if slowly. “What do I do?”

  “Stop being so scared of him, for one thing.”

  She jerked her gaze away from the beast. “Easy for you to say.”

  “You know horses. They pick up on your emotions. You relax, they relax. Dogs are no different. Are you afraid of them?”

  She shook her head. “Only when they’re giants and look as though they’d like to tear out my throat.”

  Rafe chuckled. She wished she thought it was funny.

  “Okay.” She drew in a deep breath of air and looked to the sky for inspiration. “Okay.” He’s a dog. Just a dog. With slow steps, she approached him.

  When she came near enough, Rafe took her left hand in his and drew her down beside him, keeping his own body between her and Lobo. “Friend, Lobo,” he said, his voice deep and soothing. His other hand never stopped stroking the dog’s head.

  The dog still quivered, but his body relaxed a bit.

  “Now let him smell your hand, just as you’d do with a horse.” He let her hand go and didn’t force her.

  “Where’s an apple when I need one?” she muttered.

  Rafe laughed. It was only a faint laugh, low and soft, but it relaxed something inside her, too.

  “Lobo’s not much on apples. Now, if you’d brought him a nice rabbit…”

  Diana jerked her gaze to his, seeing genuine amusement sparkle in those unusual eyes. Laughter looked good on him, lightening the shadows that always hovered around him.

  She grinned back. “Would a doggie treat do?”

  Rafe chuckled again, his eyes never letting hers go. “He can only be seduced if he trusts you.”

  For an insane instant, Diana wondered if the same could be said of Lobo’s master.

  Something changed in his expression, as though he wondered, too. For a breathless moment, she stared at him, feeling something inside her stir to life.

  Dulcita waddled over just then, nudging Diana to pet her. The touch on her injured right hand yanked Diana back to the world. She jerked the hand into her body, nearly losing her balance.

  Rafe steadied her. His touch on her upper arm was too much. Too real. She started to rise and saw Lobo’s frame stiffen.

  Rafe removed his hand from her. “Hey…” he soothed. “Relax. Don’t undo our progress.”

  She was rattled and only wanted to get away, but she could see Rafe’s knees settle to the ground and knew she must be taxing his weakened hip. “Okay—” She blew out another breath. “Here goes nothing.”

  Rafe’s smile was more strained now, but he never stopped stroking Lobo. “Put your hand in mine and we’ll do it together.” He held out his right hand.

  With trepidation not solely due to the dog, she placed her left one in his. He kept his hand flattened, his touch impersonal, but she was still all too aware of him.

  She leaned forward to bridge the distance, and her thigh slid against his. She could feel the outer muscle in his leg trembling with exhaustion and knew he couldn’t kneel much longer. She couldn’t hesitate anymore.

  Lobo sniffed the back of her hand, eyes still wary, body still tensed. Rafe spoke to him in Spanish, the words soft and lovely, his other hand stroking the dog.

  Dulcita wriggled into the middle of them, and both Diana and Rafe laughed. The tension of the moment evaporated.

  “Should I pet him?” Diana asked.

  “Do you want to?”

  “No…well, yes, but—” Then she removed her hand from Rafe’s and extended her hand very slowly toward Lobo’s head. “He’s really magnificent, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Rafe slid his hand over hers, “Beautiful and damaged.”

  Together they stroked Lobo, and Diana thought again that the master and the beast shared a resemblance in that way. There was something deeply sad about Rafe, immense personal power wielded with surprising gentleness. He might be physically damaged, but he was so striking, so strong and vital. So compelling.

  She slid her fingers into Lobo’s ruff and felt the scar tissue beneath.

  Rafe’s body no doubt bore the marks of his injuries, but there were other scars, as well, not visible to the naked eye.

  Rafe shifted, and Diana drew her hand away, remembering his hip. “Let me help you up,” she said.

  His jaw clenched. “I can do it.”

  “Of course you can, but what’s wrong with accepting help? I can tell your hip is hurting you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Lobo tensed as the air around them filled with Rafe’s pride and Diana’s challenge.

  She rose, shifting her attention to the dog.

  Lobo stood but didn’t leave Rafe’s side. As if they’d done it many times before, the dog helped the man, taking some of his weight as Rafe made his way to his feet, his coppery skin noticeably pale as he straightened.

  For a moment he stood staring out at the distance, shifting his weight around until his damaged leg could adjust.

  “You’re a very stubborn man, aren’t you, Rafe Sandoval?”

  He turned those pale seer’s eyes on her then. In them she saw pain and pride and chagrin.

  “Takes one to know one, Dr. Morgan.”

  Looking at his hard jaw, she suspected he would walk all the way back to—She realized she didn’t know how far away his house was, but it was not within eyesight.

  He wouldn’t accept help, but he would give it; that much she already knew.

  She could give him a chance to rest first. “I made the worst coffee I’ve ever drunk in my life. Do you have a minute to show me how to operate that ancient pot?”

  Suspicion narrowed his eyes, but all he said was, “You’re not supposed to be drinking coffee. My grandmother advised you—”

  “I’ve already slept nineteen hours,” she interrupted. “Surely your grandmother is merciful enough to allow me one decent cup of coffee in the morning.” She cocked her head and smiled. “You’re not going to make me beg, are you?”

  He studied her, and she had the sense she hadn’t fooled him. After a long moment, he
nodded. “All right.” The a quick grin chased over his mouth. “City slicker.”

  “Cowboy,” she teased back, with a cheer she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Chapter Five

  Rafe cursed in silence as he ascended the porch steps. Only three, but they might as well have been mountains. He’d been foolish to walk all the way to her cabin this morning after one of his bad nights.

  His grandmother would have told him to return to bed following the soak in the whirlpool, he knew, but she made no such allowances for herself. He’d hoped to carve out a few hours before nightfall to continue repairs on the burned-out house in the village he intended to make into a clinic, but his late start made that unlikely.

  He didn’t have time to be teaching Diana to make coffee.

  Dr. Morgan, he corrected. To think of her that way was safer. To remind himself that no matter her current fragility, she came from another world, one where he no longer fit. One where he likely never had fit, except in his own mind.

  “It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed over her cup of coffee. “Strong enough to melt the spoon, but I like it that way.”

  “But not good for you,” he lectured. “You should be relaxing and letting your body heal, not jazzing it up with caffeine.”

  Rebellion flared in the green eyes. She sank back against the counter. “I’m sick of people telling me what I need to do.”

  “Can’t stand not being the one in charge,” he observed. “Too used to having godlike powers?”

  “Don’t say that,” she snapped.

  “Say what?” The flip from rebellion to fury intrigued him.

  “I don’t think I have godlike powers,” she said.

  “Oh, really? Then how did you get to be a surgeon? Don’t you have to swear a blood oath? Comes right after the Hippocratic oath—’first, do no harm,’ then ‘I know all, see all—’”

  She slammed her mug down, then caught his grin. “Oh—you’re joking. Sorry.” Her fair skin bloomed rose red.

  He chuckled, enjoying the advantage. “Sore spot, Dr. Morgan?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Yeah. You sound too much like a fellow surgeon who thinks he’s God’s gift to both medicine and womankind—”