All or Nothing Read Online Free PDF

her struggle, a vain attempt to conserve her strength, though it left her nonetheless. She allowed herself to drift, helpless in his arms.
    The next thing she knew, the soldier carried her through a carved wooden gate guarded by a fence of thorny branches and into an adobe-walled courtyard. He moved toward a low structure, one of several buildings within the outer wall.
    Hammered tin lanterns hung from wrought iron hooks embedded in the mud brick walls. They glowed steadily against the darkness, their flames flickering in the slight breeze. Someone shut heavy, carved wooden doors behind them, and she pulled her head off the man’s shoulder with a start.
    “Put me down. Please.” Her raspy voice held strength.
    “If you’re certain you can walk, ma’am.” He lowered her to her feet, holding her waist as she found her balance, his touch feather-light. She read his concern with her condition in the furrow of his brow. He kept her elbow cupped with his strong hand.
    “I can walk, sir.” RuthAnne swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat.
    He took a long look at her before turning to walk into the adobe casita . He didn’t glance back to see if she followed. After only a moment’s hesitation, she entered the dimly-lit room.
    Mara lay on a cot, a white blanket drawn up to her chin. An egg-sized bruise rose at her hairline. Her breath drew steady and even. She slept the deep sleep of one who might not wake again. RuthAnne fell to her knees, hands searching her sister’s body. Feeling blessed warmth in her skin. Too much warmth. A fever. “The gunshot wound?”
    A dark-haired, dark-skinned woman stepped forward out of the shadows, rosary beads clacking in her hands. “This is not a fatal wound, though loss of blood may be. We removed the bullet, cleaned her. She hasn’t woken since the captain brought her to me. Her bleeding has slowed, which is a good sign. Time and prayers are what she needs now.”
    RuthAnne noticed the native woman chose her words carefully as she explained Mara’s condition.
    The woman’s slender fingers absently stroked and then moved on to the next bead on the strand, each one a prayer. The action mesmerized RuthAnne, along with the gravity of all that had transpired.
    “Oh, merciful Father...” She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
    “She is your...sister?” the woman said.
    “Yes. Her name is Mara. I’m RuthAnne Newcomb. We came from Kansas City, on our way to Tucson, when...” A fist of emotion welled in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
    “Ah. I am Mariposa Cruz. You’ve been delivered to our chapel. Misión Rincon Del Sol .”
    “A chapel. Here. In the middle of nowhere?” RuthAnne’s mouth dropped. First the soldiers above, and now this place? Words escaped her at the miracles. She let the tears openly fall down her cheeks, gratefully clasping the tanned and gentle hands of Mariposa Cruz.
    The woman’s profile suggested a heritage of mixed descent; both Mexican and Indian, with her thick braid of ink-black hair streaked with gray and her strong but lovely profile lined with age and sun. She moved to cool Mara’s forehead with a damp cloth and crooned to her in a language RuthAnne didn’t understand.
    “You and your sister were attacked, on your way to Tucson.”
    RuthAnne jumped at the deep voice that shattered the mystery and commanded immediate attention.
    She turned for a better view of the soldier who had brought her to this place. His hazel eyes were heavy-lidded, his face lined and tanned with the sun. He loomed larger than life as he stepped toward her. His military issue gray shirt and blue trousers were dusty and worn from days of use; in need of a bath, from the scent of him. Grief welled in her throat as she realized how closely death had touched her, and this man saved their lives. He seemed uncomfortable with her scrutiny, shifting his weight before he spoke.
    “You were far from the road. It’s lucky we heard you.”
    “Luck had nothing to