Page 7 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
“Eric.” She shook his shoulder, praying he’d rouse and push up and be all right.
But he didn’t budge.
She shook him again, this time more forcefully. “Eric. Wake up.”
He lay absolutely still and silent.
The children were at the edge of the strawberry field now, having raced after her.
She held up a hand to them. “Wait there.”
Bianca stopped right away, but Dieter bounded into the field.
Clarabelle hefted Eric, trying to roll him over. As she did so, she saw the blood—lots of it on his temple.
Oh, sweet heavens. He was injured.
“Dieter, stop.” This time her voice was commanding enough that it halted the boy in his steps. His breathing was labored from running, just like hers was, and his eyes were wild, as if he knew something was terribly wrong.
She had to say something to him. “Your father is injured.”
“How badly?” The boy’s voice shook.
She tried to roll Eric again, and this time she managed to get him on his side. His eyes were closed, and dark blood ran from his head, matting his hair, smearing his forehead, and causing soil to stick to his face.
She searched for the source of the blood and found a long, deep gash just beyond his hairline. The flesh was split open, and his skull was indented, as if he’d taken quite a blow. The oozing wound was ghastly, but she had to do something for him—if he were even still alive.
She pressed her fingers against his neck and mouth, searching for a pulse and for breathing, but she couldn’t feel any signs of life.
“He has an injury on his head.” She tried to keep her voice calm so that she wouldn’t worry the children more than they already were. “Dieter, take my horse and ride back into town. Go straight to the doctor’s office or his house and tell him that your father’s been injured.”
She knew the boy could ride well. Since they still had a couple hours of daylight left, he’d be able to accomplish the task.
He hesitated.
“Hurry now.”
Dieter gave a nod, then began to run back to where she’d left her horse.
“Bianca, I need you to go into the house and bring me some rags and clean water.”
Bianca was staring at her father’s bloody face, her lips wobbling.
“You’d like me to wash up your father’s face, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then do as I’ve instructed and bring me rags and water.”
Bianca scampered away too.
As soon as the children were far enough away, Clarabelle laid her hand against Eric’s chest and willed his heart to beat.
But the only thing that beat a rhythm was his declaration from a few days ago:“I fear for mine safety.”
She scanned the cleared fields that surrounded the cabin.
Beyond the strawberry patch, sunlight glinted off the hay that had already begun to grow and turn green. A scraggly woodland lay in the distance beyond the fields, gradually rising into the hills and rocky slopes of the Front Range Mountains that separated the high country from Denver.
