3

Teresa was finding the lack of communication unbearable. Her innate stubbornness stopped her from initiating a conversation, yet she could not bear the atmosphere of tension the silence created. She wanted Johnny to ask her about the bag so that she would have an excuse to tell him- but he would not oblige now. The unfairness of the situation cut into her; why had he lost interest in her affairs? Really, men could be far too complicated and unpredictable in their behaviour. How much more dependable were women. Of course, she could not count Murdoch amongst those inconsistent men; he never let her down. Tomorrow she planned to ask Scott to take her in to town for he would surely show more interest in her affairs than his brother was doing. It was getting to the stage that Murdoch would be asking her what was going on; and it was inevitable that he would find out sooner rather than later. It was not easy to keep secrets in a small community and Murdoch in particular seemed to have a very wide circle of contacts. There had been a close call only last week when she had aroused his suspicions by asking for help with the cooking on Maria's day off. She was still uncertain if her excuse of needing a rest from all the chores for a while in lieu of a vacation had been totally accepted. Nevertheless, Murdoch had conceded and had arranged to employ a young niece of Maria's in short order.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Johnny pulling sharply on the lines bringing the buckboard to a sudden halt by a scrubby clump of mesquite and some cottonwood trees. He was bending awkwardly over his stomach, his knuckles white where they gripped the leather straps and she could see now how dishevelled he was, his clothes more than usually dusty, his hand crooked and dented, a stain of blood on his jacket. Bent double as he was, she could not make out the expression on his face, however the hurried panting issuing from his mouth was cause for a little alarm. Was he having difficulty breathing? Although he did not respond when she called his name, she was still cautious. Johnny was not averse to playing tricks on her-pretending he was hurt then coming to life suddenly and unexpectedly to frighten her. There were times when she found his sense of humour totally incomprehensible.

Turning from him in irritation, she gazed over at the cool shade of the cottonwoods, noting how the leaves waved lazily in the breeze. The gentle sound of running water was borne on that breeze and it seemed to her the most compelling urge was to go cool her hands and face in its freshness and rub away some of the cloying trail dust.

Her reverie was broken by Johnny's muffled complaint about having a sore head and wanting a drink of water. Teresa wondered if this was a ruse to get her to leave her bag unattended so she held on to it with one hand, twisted round in her seat and hooked a canteen from out of the back of the buckboard with her free hand. She shook it and heard the satisfying splash of water before offering it to him as she turned back.

"Much obliged," he whispered as he received it, then he proceeded to unscrew the cap one handed in a manner that impressed her, took a couple of sips then bent back his head, his hat falling backwards, to pour the rest of the water over his face. He shook his wet hair like a dog does then turned and grinned at her. She couldn't suppress the thought that whatever hurt he was feeling was well deserved. Then the grin faded, his face went completely colourless in the space of a heart beat and peculiar noises issued from his throat. He dropped the canteen as if it were on fire and groped blindly at her precious bag. She whisked it away deftly and pushed his head down between his knees. There was no way he was going to empty the contents of his stomach into her bag.

Johnny's response to her brusque action was to yelp in pain. Thankfully, he managed to hold onto whatever noxious brew he'd consumed in the saloon thus sparing her the indignity of cleaning him up. He remained bent over and groaning in a pitiful way. Teresa hardened her heart; he did not deserve her sympathy. After all, she had seen him the worse for drink far too many times.

When the groans finally stopped, she took the opportunity to address his bowed head and the hat dangling from its straps, still secured to his neck.

"What's going on?"

He spoke into his linked hands, "I saw yer."

"What do you mean, you saw me? Saw me where?" She could not stop her voice from quavering. What on earth had he seen?

"In the hall. I saw yer…with that old feller."

She bent to hide her reddening cheeks and told him she had no idea what he was talking about.

His voice was a whisper as if it hurt him to say the words, "I saw you holding his hand - a feller as old as Murdoch. It ain't proper. You ought to be ashamed."

Teresa finally responded with indignation, "Johnny Lancer. How could you see anything? You must have been peeping. Why the windows on the outside must be eight feet high; you'd have to have climbed up-"

The realisation dawned on her as soon as the words left her mouth. "It was you - that noise and commotion. It was you! Why you peeping Tom-you were spying on me!"

Johnny turned his head round to look at her with a blue-eyed stare. Teresa stared back unwilling to back down, a face off. How dare he spy on her? The fingers of his right hand were by his gunbelt, twitching. She got the impression that had she been a man he'd have most likely drawn on her.

Jumping down from the buckboard seat in annoyance, she walked over to the shade of the cottonwoods and turned her back to him.

"You had no right. No right at all."

Johnny did not follow her; rather he remained seated, his posture stiff, left arm hugging his midsection. Teresa folded her arms across her body and toed a clump of sagebrush with her boot.

"I have a right to privacy." She hoped her voice would carry to him and not be caught by the wind. "I don't pry into your dealings. I respect your privacy."

His reply showed that indeed he had heard, "It ain't right you keeping secrets."

Teresa was angered even more by this. "And why not? You are a fine one to talk about secrets. Why your whole past is one big secret. Not to mention your present. You are always going off after supper to who knows where. And no one pries. Why can't I have a life of my own without you men poking your noses in?" She kept her back rigid towards him, unable to look at him for fear of bursting into tears.

"Cos yer just a girl, that's why."

There, he'd said it. She'd been expecting just that comment.

"You make me feel trapped. I feel sometimes as if I have three fathers and when Jelly starts fussing, I feel like I have four. I want you all to start trusting me to be able to make my own decisions." Now she'd unburdened herself she felt she could face him, so she turned round to see him begin to rise from his seated position. She watched him forsake his usual grace to struggle down as if from a fractious horse. He tottered unsteadily before regaining his balance and taking a hesitant step towards the trees, towards her.

Teresa was so cross with him she chose to ignore the fact that he was still hugging his side with his elbow and that his head was bowed, chin tucked tightly into his throat. If he'd banged himself up falling off a ladder spying on her then he deserved every bruise, ache and pain. He would get no sympathy from her-she was the real injured party when all was said and done.

"Ouch!"

She steeled herself to disregard his squeals of pain, turning to pick at the bark of a tree for distraction. She could hear him suck in his breath and the uneven tread of his boot step as he approached. Then his soft drawl close to her ear.

"It's because we care for you."

Teresa bit down on her lip hard, drawing a salty bead of blood, in an attempt to halt the tears of frustration brimming in her eyes.

"Don't"

He was so close now she could feel the moistness of his breath on her ear. She raised her knee and kicked the tree trunk with unusual force then leant her forehead against its roughness.

"Don't, Johnny." She hadn't noticed before how warm his breath was, how soft his voice.

"It ain't right, Teresa. You carrying on like that with a man old enough to be yer Pa. Who is he? I sure haven't seen him around before now. He got a name?"

His hand was on her shoulder now and she shivered. Brushing it off she pulled her shawl tighter over her arms. She wasn't going to let him sweet-talk her into revealing anything. She'd witnessed him many a time using that honeyed tone to reduce girls to pathetic simpering puddles of mush. It wasn't going to sway her, she was made of sterner stuff than the girls he was used to and besides, she was wise to his ways.

"You won't get round me, you weasel, Johnny Lancer. If I tell anyone before I am good and ready it most certainly won't be you."

She expected a witty and cutting retort from him, but when none came, she was disappointed. The only sounds were the soughing of the wind through the cottonwoods, the rushing water and the scrape of the horse's hooves as it waited patiently on the trail. Then the chink of spurs and the uneven tread of his boots as he turned away. She felt cooler almost immediately. He was obviously returning to the buckboard where she had left her bag. Admonishing herself for giving into anger, she whipped round from her refuge and sprinted after him. He already had his hand on the bag as she reached him.

"No!" she squealed, pushing him out of the way with a well-placed elbow in his ribs. As she pulled the bag into her stomach, she heard him give a grunt, which she ignored in favor of checking her treasures to ensure they were all intact. Sighing relief at finding them undamaged, she clicked the clasp firmly shut and placed the bag in the buckboard.

"Leave it alone. Don't you ever touch my things again. It's not funny-"

She was working herself up into a full flow of vitriol when she realised he was not rising to the bait as he normally did. She was disappointed, she'd been hoping for a good verbal sparring with him. Maybe she had been too harsh on him, maybe he was hurt worse than she thought.

Crossing round to the other side of the buckboard, she climbed into her seat to wait for him.

Johnny did not follow her. He was leaning against the wooden side of the buckboard by the wheel, resting his forehead on his arm, obscuring her view of his face. She wondered if he was he laughing at her, but as there was no sound coming from him apart from the hitch of a gasp, she reconsidered. Perhaps he was really hurt. She smiled. If he was suffering that was a good thing. She was quite willing to wait as long as it took for him to come to his senses and apologise.

Of course Teresa was too impatient to wait long. The sun was hot and her stomach was groaning. She wanted to be home in the shade drinking hot coffee and eating fresh baked cookies.

"You coming?" She finally asked.

He replied uncharacteristically, with a grunt and levered himself away from the support of the wheel. The obvious signs of his distress gave Teresa some degree of satisfaction, enough to soften her a little and rub the edge off her anger.

He was still favoring his side as he crept to the front of the buckboard where he paused swaying slightly. As he steadied himself by clawing at the rail, she could not suppress a giggle. He scowled at her to reveal a face flushed and damp, his eyes oddly bright.

"You can't say you don't deserve it."

He grimaced, "Hurts some."

"Where?"

"Not sure I care to tell ya, if you're jus' gonna laugh at me."

He truly looked miserable, battered, bruised and forlorn. She asked him if a doctor had looked him over.

"Sure. After a bunch of old women folk told me off for lookin' in the window. Tried to tell 'em I was doin' some mendin'. They wouldn't have none of it- said my reputation preceded me."

Teresa told him she agreed with them and that he was wrong to do what he did. "And you still haven't apologised to me."

"Ain't apologising till you explain yourself. I have a right to know."

Scooting nearer, Teresa studied him, incredulous. He was determined, that was certain. Even more certain was the fact that the more he asked; the less likely she was to tell. She could see now that he was closer that his face was lined in an effort to control the pain and that he seemed to not even have strength to climb up, let alone drive. He rested his head on his hands and sighed loudly.

"What did the doctor say when he saw you?"

She had to strain to hear his hoarse reply, "Well he weren't 'xactly a doctor."

Teresa's grin widened in delight as she asked him just who did look at him. His answer set her to chuckling aloud-the doc was out of town so Johnny had to make do with an examination from the vet. He complained to her that this vet had been very rough in resetting his dislocated shoulder and had told him to rest up a while. He added that he had goaded him so much that he would have drawn on the sorry excuse for a horse doctor if he hadn't have been in such agony. Even a glass of beer hadn't deadened the pain and now he was feeling mighty sick.

Teresa's resolve weakened as it always did whenever Johnny cast that hangdog look at her reminding her of the puppies she never had the heart to give away. She leant over to feel his forehead, which was slick with perspiration. His skin was clammy and overly warm- a possible indication of fever. She could feel heat radiating through his shirt where she held his shoulder, and the strong curve of muscles beneath the skin. She was near enough to smell his leathery musty scent and was surprised at the trembling this set up in her hands. She quickly drew them away and recovered the canteen in order to avoid letting Johnny see her unusual reaction to his nearness. She held the canteen tightly whilst her heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm. This was a strange sensation and she was unable to make any sense of it.

As Johnny gulped at the water, Teresa questioned him further. She was amused to hear from him that he had only allowed the vet to look at his shoulder and not his ribs. He hadn't realised how much he'd banged them until they went over the bumpy ground. And now that he was on his feet, he found himself unable to uncurl enough to get back up next to her. Teresa's amusement turned to concern as he doubled over again making small hurting sounds. She jumped down to stand next to him.

"Let me look, Johnny."

Turning his back to her, he shrugged the hand she had placed on his shoulder away and wiped his forearm across his brow. Teresa noted how he kept the other arm close in against his ribs.

"Leave me, I'll be fine, just give me a minute."

"You didn't let the vet look? Why Johnny, you could have cracked a rib. Why do men have to let pride stand in the way of looking after themselves?"

She could tell from the way he looked down at the ground that she had hit the mark. He had been too embarrassed to reveal how hurt he was.

" You must let me look."

The soft and earnest tone of her voice must have soothed his ego, because Johnny finally did look up at her from his bent over position. His eyes were unfocused at first, but then with effort he seemed to manage to fix her in his sight and give in to her with a deep sigh.

"Feels like I been stepped on by a bull."

"Here, let me help you sit under the tree."

Teresa took the canteen from the firm grip of his hand and led him carefully to the shade. He slid slowly down the trunk of the tree and rested legs outspread, almost boneless. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through clenched teeth. "Whoooweee, Teresa, it hurts some."

Wincing in sympathy, she gently pulled away the arm that was fixed tightly against his middle as if he were trying to hold something in. He resisted her at first, but then, in response to the no nonsense look she gave him, he relaxed, allowing her to pull his arm away. "Let me see."

He pulled his shirt slowly out of his pants then paused to catch his breath. Teresa wondered how falling off a ladder had caused so much damage. She continued to watch as he undid the buttons, starting at the bottom, and pulled the two pieces of cotton aside to reveal tanned skin overlaid with colourful bruising on one side.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, more to break the tense silence than anything. She could see how he was hitching in his breaths as if afraid of the pain of filling his lungs too deeply. His face was turned away from her now; he seemed to be gazing at a far off point, making out something of great interest in the haze.

She raised a hand to probe the area, and with the contact Johnny sucked in his breath with a little gasp and turned back to look at her.

"It needs binding."

He nodded in response, seemingly too busy coping with the throbbing in his side to find energy to speak. Leaving him to recover from her probing, Teresa crossed to the buckboard and looked around for suitable binding material. There was a little sacking in there, a couple of canteens, Johnny's saddlebag and her precious bag. The only thing that would be of use was in that holdall. There was no alternative but to use it - Johnny's ribs needed binding and the material was more than suitable. She would just have to ignore the probing questions it would provoke. She picked out her bag in resignation and carried it back to the cottonwoods where Johnny sat waiting for her. She was starting to feel a little guilty now for her harsh treatment of him earlier. She resolved to try to be more sympathetic towards him from now on.