Faith and Love Found Read online

  The months passed peacefully, if loveless. It had taken her some time to learn his routine. Growing up on her family’s ranch, they’d had their own way of doing things. Year after year, season after season, her entire life had been spent doing things a certain way. Sheep, she learned, were far different creatures to manage from cattle. Fortunately after only a couple of weeks, Clint had finally had enough of what he considered to be mistakes and insisted she manage the house and the vegetable garden in the back acre of the house.

  It was just as well for her, since their small run-ins weren’t her favorite part of any day. Even at his worst, he was never belligerent or disrespectful. She could simply see his unhappiness in his eyes and the stillness of his face. Somehow those quiet reprimands were worse than any yelling or bellyaching he could’ve done. It was almost as though she wasn’t worth yelling at. There was no hope in his eyes ever since that first day, and spoke to her as though they were both just resigned to their fates together. It gave her a sinking feeling in her gut. Was this truly to be her future?

  He was incredibly handsome, and on the days she was fortunate enough to see him cooling himself down by the water trough, she found herself lost in the hard lines of his body. The way the water dripped from his hair and traveled down the definition of his muscles were like blessed rivers.

  Then he would catch her looking, and the lack of expression on his face would kill any desire. He would simply stand and stare, frozen as though he were stone, until she finally would turn away and continue about her day.

  They rarely spoke. When he did, he was polite and to the point. He asked her needs and always made sure they were met, no matter what they were.

  When she had attempted to make small talk one morning over breakfast, she mentioned her bed was smaller than she was used to. It hadn’t meant to be a complaint, but there was no further conversation after that.

  Three days later, he pulled her bed apart and dragged it from her room. At first she believed her new husband was punishing her. Refusing to allow him to intimidate her, she simply stood on the porch and stared at him. They locked eyes as he dragged the last piece of her bed from the porch and out to the barn.

  Moments later, he was pulling in the pieces to a brand new bed made of polished oak pieces. When she realized that he’d spent the last three days building her a new bed, she was speechless. This time when he looked at her as he walked into the house, she gave him the respect of looking away. What she had taken to be a challenge of authority was simply his attempt to make her happy. She was so ashamed by her assumptions, she found herself unable to think of anything to say.

  It took four trips for him to get all of the pieces inside. Once they were all in her room, he spent the last few hours of the day to finish assembling it.

  That night, she made sure to cook what she had learned was his favorite meal. They ate in silence, but it lacked the usual anxious tension between them. He had good food, she had a new bed she hadn’t meant to ask for. Things were cold, but at least she believed they were finding a groove.

  Everything changed one late summer morning. Valentine was busy sweeping the dirt from the floor and out to the porch when she heard a Clint cry out. A horse screamed, followed by the crash of wood timbers falling. Valentine dropped the broom and rushed out, finding herself actually scared for his safety.

  Clint’s mind was lost in panic as the horse reared too far back. It’d been spooked by something, and though he’d tried to hold on, the instant he felt the horse rear back past the point of stability, he knew it was too late. He’d tried to jump free, but his boot was caught in the stirrup and they went down together. When they hit the ground, he heard more than felt his leg snap. There was a momentary panic, the true fear of death, when he felt the horse begin to roll up his body. All it had to do was roll over his head and his skull would be crushed against the hard packed dirt. Like Death’s pendulum, the horse reached a certain point and then rolled back the other way. That was when his leg erupted in agony as the horse crushed it again before standing. In the second best luck he’d had in the last few seconds, his foot had come free of his boot, and the horse didn’t drag him behind it as it bolted.

  Clint lay on his back trying to control his breathing. That was the important thing. If he lost control of his breathing, he would lose control of everything. His mind would be swept away in the agony of his leg, and he’d rot out there in the sun. He had to get back to the house. Food, water, all of his needs were back there. If he stayed here, he’d die of thirst in a day, his body drying up under the pounding heat of the sun. Reaching out, he tried to move, to drag himself across the ground, when he heard the sound no cattlemen ever wants to hear.

  A rattle.

  Quick, dangerous. Threatening.

  Clint cried out in frustration, and then bit his lip to silence himself. If he startled it, it’d bite him. That would seal his fate even more than lying out in the sun. Lifting his head, he looked around his immediate area and saw the snake coiled up near his unprotected right foot, the boot still caught in the stirrup of his horse. He didn’t even have that to rely on.

  Then he heard the second worse sound he could’ve hoped for in that moment. Footfalls running in his direction.

  Of all the things, a mewling, crying woman cooing over his injured body was the last thing that could help. He just didn’t have the patience inside of him to calm her while dealing with the single worst pain he’d ever experienced in his life. The cattle were gone, stampeded from the pen, his horse was who knew where. A snake was poised near his foot, and now he had to calm down this woman who he was certain couldn’t have cared less if he were alive or dead.

  He tried to tilt his head back to see her, but couldn’t move his body enough. Not only was his leg injured, but something was happening with his back and he couldn’t move at enough of a curve to see her. He held his arm out in the direction she was coming.

  “Snake!” he cried out, risking getting bit.

  If she came up on him as fast as she was though he’d be all but guaranteed a bite. There were metal jingles as she was coming, but she didn’t even slow down.

  “Damnit woman, I said snake!”

  A mass of something hit the ground at his head as she passed him. Leaping over his body, she reared back with a piece of wood and without a moment’s hesitation, swung it in an arch and cracked the snake in the head. In its dazed state it was unable to strike as she brought the piece of wood down again and again on it.

  Clint watched, unable to believe what he was witnessing. He was a tough man, but he had to admit he would not have been brave enough to simply come at it head on like that. Valentine stood, the tip of the wood in the dirt as she leaned on it, panting.

  “Are you bit?” she asked between breaths.

  Clint was stuck, his mind frozen as he watched her.

  “Are you bit!” she screamed.

  “No,” he answered quickly, realizing dumbly that the question had been meant for him. Of course it had been, who else would she be talking to out here? “Not bit. Horse fell on me. My leg’s broke, maybe something else.”

  She picked up the wood and walked over to him. “Maybe something else?”

  “I can’t tell. It hurts everywhere. I can’t tell what’s hurt.”

  Her face took on a hard look as she looked at his leg. “Leg’s broke for sure.” She poked his exposed foot. “Can you feel this?”

  He moved his leg away, the motion upsetting his other leg. “Yes, stop.”

  “Leg’s broke, but back is fine. That’s good. I’d have to put you down otherwise.”

  Clint looked at her in disbelief, but she just gave him a small smile and walked over to what she’d dropped near his head. Unable to watch, he just listened to her rustle around with a few things and then started wrapping leather straps under his armpits and around his chest.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I have to get you back to the house. Set your leg. Where’s the c
attle?”

  “Gone. Back to the house? You can’t lift me.”

  “I don’t need to lift you.”

  “Stop,” he said, more out of fear of the pain that would come from being moved than anything. “Just stop. I don’t need your help.”

  Suddenly her face took up his entire vision. “No? You don’t? Like with that snake? You’ll turn into a corpse out here, and I’d have to drag you anyway. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather do it before you start stinking.”

  “I don’t need your help,” he said again, trying to undo the straps. How had she done this so quickly? They were tight, and he couldn’t figure out how they were attached. There were no knots.

  Suddenly he was in the air, the pain in his back and leg exploding to unbelievable levels. He reached back to try and stop her, but then he was being dragged. One step at a time, she pulled him from the pens and back to the house. Getting dragged up the steps of the porch was the worst part all the way until they reached his room. For a moment she paused, panting, struggling to breathe.

  “What is it?” he asked, his own breathing coming his short, fast gasps. Sweat poured down his face, the cold frigid kind that came from mountainous amounts of pain.

  “The bed,” she said. “Trying to think… of how to get… you into it.”

  Clint tried to take a few deep breaths. Just control the breathing; that was the key. “Get me close. I’ll push myself up with my good leg. Remember the chest and the cart?”

  “You want me to climb over your bed and pull you up? Clint, that’s going to be too much.”

  “Yes, but we don’t have a choice.”

  He bounced as she readjusted him. Then, two strong steps, she pulled him forward till he was right next to his bed. Taking his cue, he pulled his good leg under him and pushed himself to standing. His back nearly crushed itself under his own weight, but then Valentine was already over his bed and pulling him up onto it. Together, they got him onto the mattress. When the back of his knee hit the mattress, he cried out as his entire body went rigid. One last pull and Valentine had him up on the bed. She hopped down the other side, came around the foot of the bed, and got him situated on the bed properly.

  Even through the pain, he noted the stoic firmness she used as she moved him. She wasn’t rough, but nor was she squeamish about his cries of pain.

  “I’ll be back,” she said sharply and marched from the room.

  All he could do was lie there, shaking from the pain, sweating bullets down his face. His shirt stuck to his torso, and everything from the waist down felt like it was being dragged through broken, sharp stones. Valentine’s boots pounded along the hardwood floor as she stomped from room to room like an angel of death on a mission.

  As she came back into the room, she produced a knife and came at him with it. Clint brought up his hands to fight her off, his addled mind unable to comprehend what was happening. Slapping his hands away as though he were a child, she brought the edge of the blade to his pants and sliced the pantleg cleanly down his leg. Peeling the canvas pants from the wound, she hissed as she saw the full damage.

  “That’ll have to be set, but it can wait. For now we have to deal with the bleeding.”

  “What? Set? We need to get the Doc.”

  Valentine looked at him and shook her head. “No need. I know what to do.”

  “H-How?”

  “I wasn’t born on that train, you know. I led an entire life before I met you.”

  “I—“ he tried to say, but a crash of anguish swept over him, pulling the sounds from his mouth before they could form words.

  “This is going to be unpleasant,” she said as she pushed a length of fabric under his thigh and wrapped the pieces around. “Brace.”

  Clint’s hands flew above his head and grabbed onto the posts of the headboard. Valentine wrapped the fabric around her hands to ensure her grip didn’t slip, and then she pulled the tourniquet tight around his muscle. Clint cried out again, shaking his head with the need to act in some way against the pain.

  Despite it being tight, she gave it three sharp tugs and then knotted it. With another rag she dipped it in a bowl of water and spilled it over the wound. Cleaning it of the blood that had dried and clotted, she watched it for a few seconds. From his angle, he couldn’t see the damage, but if it looked anything like it felt, he thought maybe the fact he couldn’t see it wasn’t such a bad thing.

  “Now we set it?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I have to go. I’ll be back.”

  “Go? You’re just going to leave me here like this?”

  Valentine put the rag in the bowl and set it on his clothes chest at the foot of his bed. “Priorities. Your life, the cattle, then the bone. The bone can wait. Not long, but it can wait. It’ll take time, and the cattle are escaping.”

  “But you don’t…” he said, but the words died as he watched her turn and walk from the room. Some part of him was sure she would come back, ask him what to do, or where something was. The front door closed, and then she was gone.

  In that vast land of pain that he lived in, time passed unnaturally. Every second was an eternity, yet before he knew it the sun had moved across the sky. Hooves pounded the ground in the distance. It was faint, but he knew the sound of his herd when he heard it. The mass of them passed by the house on the way to the pen. Moments later he heard a hammer pounding against the timbers as Valentine rebuilt the pen. Clint rested his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Who was this woman? How had they been in such close proximity to one another for so long, and he had no idea she was capable of this?

  Moments later she came back into the house. He followed her movements based on the sound. She was washing up, changing clothes, then gathered a few things. When she reentered the room, she had the stick and the straps from before along with a few other pieces.

  She set these down on the floor beside the bed and then inspected the wound. “Hurt still?”

  “Yes.”

  She pulled the blade from the top of the clothing chest and prodded his leg. “Feel this?”

  “I… some. Not much, though.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Good. If you can still feel it, it lives. We shouldn’t have to lose the leg. We’ll set the bone, stitch the skin, and bandage it properly. Time will tell if it’s enough. Here.” She approached him with a small roll of hardened leather. “Bite down on this or you’ll break your teeth.”

  Clint looked at the roll and back up to her. “Who are you?”

  “Valentine. Your wife.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could ride?”

  She tilted her head at him as though he’d asked what the sun was that rose every morning. “You never asked. Bite.”

  It was a bluntly fair point. At a loss of what else to say in that moment, he opened his mouth and adjusted the roll to where it was comfortable.

  With a deep breath, he prepared himself for the long night ahead.

  For the first time since arriving, Valentine felt at home. Cattle were different beasts than the sheep she had grown up with, but the principles were the same. For weeks, Clint was bedridden. The damage to his back was fortunately limited to a bruising of the muscles, but his leg was too severely damaged for him to even think about moving around and ordering her about. Still, he didn’t seem too keen on doing just that anymore.

  She took care of him and the ranch. It was rough at first as she learned the schedule. The animals had very specific needs, but if she went too long taking care of them, then Clint starved or went hours without water in the height of the day’s heat. Barring that, the house quickly became dusty as she tracked dirt through the house with every meal or change of clothes.

  As time went on, however, she figured out the most efficient method for keeping track of needs. Clint accepted her caretaking with dignity, showing her proper respect as he always did. For such a tough man, he seemed at peace with the fact she had seen him in suc
h pain. In her experience, men hated anyone seeing them in a state of weakness such as that. Not Clint. It was clear he wasn’t pleased about it, but it had happened, and there was nothing further to be done. They were married, after all.

  She could tell that as time went on, his restlessness was getting the better of him. He tried a few times to get out of bed with detrimental results to the health of his healing leg. Recognizing this, she began asking him for advice on some aspects of the ranch that eluded her. Unlike before when he reprimanded her for performing something not to his liking, this time he gave her examples of what he did and asked her how she had been performing the tasks. When she told him, instead of telling her all the ways she was wrong and why his way was better, he tried to find a middle ground. They were able to discuss solutions together. For the first time, it felt to Valentine that they were becoming a team.

  As time marched on, and Clint’s leg healed, a true bond had formed between them. She looked forward to speaking with him every day. On each outing she tried to find some other chore around the ranch to ask him about just so that they had something to talk about.

  For the most part the ranch was self-sufficient. The vegetable garden, the cattle, and the handful of chickens that ran around provided just about everything they needed to survive. Still, the animals had needs that weren’t quite as sustainable, and of those supplies, they were running low.

  Clint was to the point he could make it out of bed and hobble about on some makeshift crutches she had cobbled together for him. It let him roam the porch and get some sun instead of staying cooped up in the room all day. Valentine was doing everything around the house as it was, so when she volunteered to go to town to get what they needed, Clint had little room to argue. She could tell he was uncomfortable by the prospect, claiming it was her safety he was most concerned about.

  Still, there was something else behind his eyes. That night when she prodded him about it, he shrugged it off and turned strangely distant. The reaction was surprisingly hurtful for her. They’d grown closer while he recovered, or at least she had thought so. Now it felt he distanced himself from her and it left her feeling strangely alone and lost.