Chapter Two

Donovan knew without opening his eyes that he was safe. Everything from the soft pillows and mattress to the fresh-smelling sheet and the steady breeze on his cheek told him that he had found not just refuge but luxury. He hardly dared open his eyes for fear it would turn out to be a dream, but the rumble of his stomach and the soft tearing sound nearby told him that this was no fevered illusion. Slowly he opened his eyes. His gaze fell upon a woman, her smooth blonde hair drawn into a knot at the nape of her neck. She sat in a chair at the side of the bed, her head bent over a basket from which she took clumps of wool and tugged them into little puffs, hence the soft sound he had heard. This task seemed to completely absorb her, but she sensed she was being watched and looked up.

"Hello, stranger." She set her work basket on the floor and put a cool hand on his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Donovan tried to answer but found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The woman took a glass off a nearby table and helped him sit up. He tried not to cry out from the pain in his ribs and shoulder, instead focusing on the glass she held to his lips. He sucked at the liquid greedily, even though it tasted strange, both sweet and salty with an odd grassy flavor he couldn't place.

"Enough." The words were terse, but she pulled the glass away gently and smoothed his hair. "Let's make sure you hold this down before you have any more." She eased him back onto the pillows. "How are you feeling?" she asked again.

"Thirsty. Hungry."

"Does anything hurt?"

"Everything."

"What's your name?"

"Donovan."

"I'm Carina. Do you know where you are? Do you remember how you got here?"

"I'm at a house in the desert. A place with a creek. I walked a long way from the main road to get here."

"You were lame from your injuries. You should've stayed on the road."

"No. They would've found me. They would've shot me for stealing their truck and deserting."

"You nearly died anyway." Carina pulled back the sheet and examined his bandages.

"At least in the desert I stood a chance. I got lucky."

"Lucky my sister Amalia didn't shoot you. Lucky you didn't displace one of these broken ribs and puncture an organ. Lucky that the infected gunshot wound in your shoulder didn't gangrene, and lucky you didn't bleed to death from the cut on your leg. It looks more recent than the other wounds. What happened?"

"A stupid accident after the truck ran out of gas."

She fussed with the ends of the bandage binding his rib cage. "How's your stomach feeling? Any pain? Nausea?"

Donovan shook his head. "Does this mean you'll give me something to eat?"

"Yes, but no solid food today. And if you feel at all sick, let me know." She went into another room and came back with extra pillows. With a bit of effort on her part and a lot of gasping and pain on his, she got him into a sitting position, resting against the mound of pillows. She handed him the glass he had been drinking out of before. "Think you can manage it yourself this time?"

Donovan took it gingerly and lifted it to his lips. Carina smiled. "I'll get you some food."

He drained the glass and let it fall into his lap, then he looked around. The room was small, its plastered walls nearly bare of decoration. Through a window framed by blue curtains he could see a shady courtyard, and another window offered a view of scrubland and distant mountains. Bookcases lined an entire wall, and in the far corner a tabby slept curled on an upholstered chair. Beside the bed was a table with an oil lamp, a book and a surprise luxury-- a small electric fan. This and not the open window was the source of the steady breeze he had been enjoying.

A wonderful smell suddenly riveted his attention— a tempting aroma of chicken and garlic. His stomach growled so violently he had to put a hand on his belly to quiet it. He had been groggy before, but now he was fully awake, straining for the sound of Carina's footsteps. He didn't have long to wait. Carina stepped briskly into the room carrying a tray. "I hope you're hungry."

"I'm so hungry I could eat your cat."

"Don't try it. She's probably stronger than you are right now." Carina set the tray on the nightstand. "You're going to have to let me feed you, so please cooperate. I don't think you're ready to handle a spoon." Donovan submitted to the indignity of being fed with as little self-consciousness as a baby bird. He couldn't make out what he was eating, but it seemed to be some kind of gruel flavored with chicken stock and garlic. He was so hungry it could've been mud and he would have been grateful. When he finished, he was given the added treat of a cup of cool herbal tea, slightly sour and sweetened with honey. He could handle the cup on his own and Carina watched as he sucked it down.

"You'll probably start feeling sleepy in a few minutes. I put some things in there that should help you rest."

Donovan handed back the cup and lay back against the pillows with a sigh. "I don't think I need any drugs to help me sleep. You've been very kind. I don't think I can ever do enough to repay you."

Carina placed a hand on his forehead. "Don't think about that right now. I'm going to do some work around the house, but if you need me, just call."

Donovan nodded and started to say something, but the effect of the tea and warm food was overwhelming. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

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