Whirlwind Cowboy

His thumb brushed her chin. “I see you were able to clean up.”

“You, too.” She smiled, quite aware that he was still touching her. She stood motionless so as not to break the connection.

“You’re awful pretty.” His gaze moved from the flat plane of her chest bared by her neckline to her mouth. His eyes darkened.

She remembered that look! And the answering flutter in her stomach. Before she realized it, she had taken a step toward him.

“Damn.” He shifted closer too, muttering, “Ought to kiss you and see if you remember that.”

His voice was so low she barely caught his words, but when she did a wave of heat flushed her body. Nervous now, she let her tongue come out to moisten her lips and a nearly pained look came over his face.

For a split second she thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to because she suddenly, shockingly, recalled the feel of his mouth on hers. She wanted to feel it again….

About the Author

Like many writers, DEBRA COWAN made up stories in her head as a child. Her BA in English was obtained with the intention of following family tradition and becoming a schoolteacher, but after she wrote her first novel there was no looking back. An avid history buff, Debra writes both historical and contemporary romances. Born in the foothills of the Kiamichi Mountains, Debra still lives in her native Oklahoma with her husband.

Debra invites her readers to contact her at PO Box 30123, Coffee Creek Station, Edmond, OK 73003-0003, USA, or visit her website at: www.debracowan.net

Previous novels by this author:

WHIRLWIND BABY

WHIRLWIND BRIDE

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

AUTHOR NOTE

This is the eighth and final book in my Whirlwind, Texas series. As such, I had a difficult time writing this letter. It took me a while to realise that the reason I had so much trouble knowing what to say is because I’ve ‘lived’ in Whirlwind for almost ten years.

The series was originally conceived as three books, but I soon discovered there were other characters with stories to be told. Over the last couple of years I’ve had quite a lot of mail about the romance of Bram Ross and Deborah Blue, so it seems fitting to end the series with their story. These two are destined to be together, but before they can have a future they have to deal with their past, and Deborah doesn’t remember it—or Bram—at all. I hope you find their story as special as I did.

This series has been a delight, and these people have become like family to me. It is my wish that they have brought you a fraction of the joy they brought to me.

Happy Trails!

Whirlwind Cowboy

Debra Cowan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the readers who love Westerns

as much as I do and so enthusiastically embraced

the Whirlwind series—this one’s for you.

Prologue

West Texas May 1886

The sharp crack of gunshots still echoed in Bram Ross’s ears as he urged his horse away from the shoot-out at the Eight of Hearts ranch. Wincing, he wiped at the blood running down his right cheek. He could smell it on the warm May air.

Only minutes ago Bram and his friends had been in a confrontation with a band of cattle rustlers and the man who had given them their orders. Dr. Annalise Fine had been smack in the middle of it. Thankfully, she was unhurt and safe now with Matt Baldwin.

The sheriff and two other men were taking the dead bodies of the outlaws and their boss back to Whirlwind.

Only one man had gotten away.

Now Bram rode hell-for-leather after Cosgrove, the snake who had slithered off in a hail of bullets after one of his shots had plowed a furrow in one side of Bram’s face. He barely kept his fury in check as he followed Cosgrove’s tracks southwest across the prairie from Eight of Hearts land and onto the Baldwins’ property.

Considering how many men had been firing weapons, it was lucky only the outlaws had been killed.

Bram was beyond angry that Cosgrove had escaped. He had more than one score to settle with the rustling bastard. The skunk hadn’t only injured Bram, he had stolen so many Circle R cattle that Bram’s family had come close to losing their ranch.

In moments he reached Ross land, passing the small cabin his brother had spruced up last year before his wedding. Grass and dirt flew from under his gelding’s hooves as they thundered across the prairie. Bram realized Cosgrove was headed toward the west edge of Circle R property.

And the house where Deborah Blue lived with her mother and three sisters.

Why was the lowlife going this way? Foreboding snaked up Bram’s spine. Did it have anything to do with Deborah? It was no secret that Cosgrove was interested in her, but to come here on the run from the law and Bram? The closer he got to the house, the harder his gut churned.

Though the tracks stopped a good distance from the roomy log house, Bram urged his mount there anyway. If Cosgrove was fool enough to stop here, he wasn’t leaving. Bram quietly dismounted, pulled his rifle from his scabbard and slipped carefully to the corner of the house. No sign of anyone in the garden at the side of the house or in the corral or barn. No one riding through the tall prairie grass behind. There was no sound from inside and no one answered his knock.

If Cosgrove had stopped here, maybe no one had been home. The tightness across Bram’s chest eased slightly—until he heard the rattle of an approaching wagon. He raised his rifle, then quickly lowered it when he saw Mrs. Blue in her wagon with three of her four daughters. No sign of Deborah among them.

His gut knotted. Instead of waiting for the women to reach him, Bram strode toward them.

Recalling the row he’d had with Deborah last night, he wondered if perhaps she hadn’t answered his knock because she was still angry.

“Hello, Bram.” Deborah’s mother, a tall, thin woman, gave him a wobbly smile. Seeing his bloody cheek, she drew in a sharp breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I’m fine, ma’am.” He yanked off his hat, quickly explaining that there had been trouble at one of the neighboring ranches.

There was no sign Cosgrove had been here, no sign that Deborah had left with the bastard. So where was she? “Deborah isn’t with you?”

“No,” Jessamine Blue said. “She stayed here while the girls and I went to town.”

Apprehension drummed through him. “I knocked, but got no answer.”

Mrs. Blue frowned, touching the knee of the raven-haired daughter beside her. “Jordan, go check the house.”

The sister closest to Deborah in age, with the same black hair and blue eyes, allowed Bram to help her from the wagon, then hurried inside.

He had just handed down the older woman when Jordan returned with a piece of paper. She sent Bram an uncertain look before reaching her mother. “She’s gone! She left a note.”

Gone? For a moment Bram’s thoughts stalled. Gone where?

Mrs. Blue quickly scanned the note, shaking her head, sounding bewildered. “She’s gone to Abilene to meet with the school board about her new teaching job.”

The words hit him like a kick to the head. “Why? Why would she do that now? School doesn’t start until September.”

After their heated argument last night, she had agreed to think about turning down the job and staying here with him.

The job was for only two school terms. She’d sworn she would return to Whirlwind. And him.

His ma had said the same thing one day when he was four and Jake was five. Bram hadn’t seen her again until he managed to track her down eleven years later. She had refused to come back to Whirlwind with him. He’d never told Jake about that—who needed to hear that their own mother wanted nothing to do with them? Bram had lived that minute over enough for both of them.

And now Deborah had left Bram, too. That cut too close to the bone. He had asked her to consider staying here, with him. She had considered it all of thirteen hours. He had her answer.

Nothing and no one meant enough to her for her to stay.

Her mother’s blue eyes, faded from age and illness, filled with tears. “I don’t understand why she felt the need to leave now.”

Neither did Bram. He might want to go after her, but what was the point? Besides, he couldn’t lose Cosgrove’s trail.

Cold, sharp fury sliced through Bram. Fine. He was done with her. And he was wasting daylight.

He vaulted into his saddle and bid the Blues goodbye as he rode off. After promising to give his proposal some thought, Deborah had up and left instead.

That hurt every bit as much as the searing pain in his cheek.

Bram could forget her. He would forget. But he wouldn’t forget Cosgrove. He would hunt down that lying, thieving thug and have his revenge, no matter what he had to do to get it.

Chapter One

West Texas June 1886

Where was she? The ground was hard beneath her back. Her head pounded as she stared up at a gray sky and the sun hidden behind red-tinted clouds. Carefully pushing herself up on her elbows, she winced as sharp pain speared through her skull. Her shoulder ached, too. She was behind a two-story white brick building she didn’t recognize.

She touched her temple, and her fingers came away bloody. She inhaled sharply. Blood also streaked her pale blue floral bodice. What had happened?

A creaking sound had her looking over her shoulder. A saddled black horse watched her with dark eyes. Then she saw a wet stain a couple of feet away.

She eased over and touched it, startled to realize it was more blood.

Cold, savage fear ripped through her and she got unsteadily to her feet, fighting back panic. Whatever had happened here had been deadly. She couldn’t remember it, but she knew it.

Her head throbbed as she looked around wildly, trying to identify something, anything. Not the building hiding her or the store across a dusty street or the railroad tracks beyond. Nothing was familiar.

Alarmed and confused, she felt tears sting her eyes.

From the front of the building she heard the heavy thud of boots. A man muttered in a low, vicious voice. The hairs on her arms stood up and fear rushed through her.

There was no thought, only instinct. She gathered her skirts and hurriedly mounted the waiting horse, riding astride. Her skull felt as though it was being cracked open and she thought she might pass out from the pain.

Urging the animal into motion, she rode hard away from the unfamiliar buildings and headed for the open prairie. Someone yelled after her. She wasn’t sure what he said, but she didn’t stop.

Gripping the pommel with sweat-slick hands, she kept the horse at a full-out run until she was assured no one was behind her.

Then she slowed the horse to an easy pace. As far as she could see there was an endless sea of golden-brown prairie grass, dotted here and there with a few evergreen trees. The landscape looked familiar, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything.

A forceful gust of wind had her grabbing the pommel. Bits of dirt and grass pelted her face as well as her mount’s. The animal slowed, but kept moving.

Dust whirled across the prairie. The horse’s hooves pounded in a steady lope. On and on. Daylight turned to gray. They crossed a dry creek bed, then topped a small rise. Through the swirling light and dirt, she spied a small cabin and a barn. As she rode up to the front of the house, she called out, but no one answered. There was no sign of anyone at all.

Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at a boiling mass of clouds sweeping across the ground. The first stirrings of a dust storm. Being caught out in it could be deadly.

Fighting back panic, she decided to take shelter in the small cabin. She wasted no time settling the horse in the barn. After filling the trough with water from the pump just outside, she closed the animal inside and ran to the cabin, praying she would be able to get in. When she tried the door, it opened and she slipped inside with a big sigh of relief.

Shaking out her skirts then brushing off her hair and bodice, she took stock. A Franklin stove sat in the corner to her left, along with a sink and a pump and a short work cabinet. There was a small but sturdy-looking table, and straight ahead an open door revealed the foot of a bed.

The windows, real pane glass, shook as the wind gathered force. Her shoulders and neck throbbed, but she searched for candles or a lamp in case she needed light later.

Though small, the cabin was solid and would offer protection from the storm. Looking down, she stared at the bloodstains on her bodice. Her mind was empty. Why couldn’t she remember anything?

A shiver rippled up her spine. Not only was she completely alone and lost—she had no idea who she was.

After a week of tracking Cosgrove, Bram had lost him and returned home. Whirlwind’s sheriff, Davis Lee Holt, had wired every lawman in the state and promised to send word to Bram if he received any news.

Bram had duties at the ranch, but he still checked with Davis Lee every day about Cosgrove. Two weeks after the trail had gone cold, Bram got news. Surprisingly it was from his uncle, not the sheriff. Uncle Ike had witnessed Cosgrove robbing a bank in Monaco.

Bram had ridden straight to the small town located northwest of Whirlwind, where he discovered Cosgrove had murdered a man during that robbery.

Bram had picked up the outlaw’s trail again, this time headed east toward Whirlwind. Cosgrove would be a fool to go back there and probably hadn’t, but the approaching dust storm had erased any sign that he might have changed direction.

The past three weeks had been hell, and Bram laid that on Deborah as much as the outlaw he chased. He hadn’t spoken to her mother or sisters again, though Bram’s brother, Jake, had. He had felt it his duty to let Bram know Deborah still hadn’t returned home.

Bram tried to tell himself he didn’t care. She’d made her choice and it wasn’t him.

The spiraling wind swirled across the prairie, flaying his face and body with sharp bits of dirt and grit. The gunshot graze on his cheek was healing. Dragging his dark bandanna up to cover his nose and mouth, he knotted it tightly.

He was worn slick, dirty and madder than hell that this dust storm would force him to briefly suspend his search for Cosgrove, but he would find the low-down dog again. He wouldn’t stop until he did. In addition to being a rustler, Cosgrove was now a murderer. Bram wouldn’t be the only one out for the bastard’s blood. If possible, he hated the cattle thief even more than he had three weeks ago.

The wind swept around him and he barely caught his hat before it blew off. The small cabin on the edge of Circle R property was less than a mile away, so Bram directed his mount there.

By the time they reached the building, the red dust was thickening, spreading. At the barn behind the cabin, he dismounted and slid open the door. When his mount balked at entering, Bram grabbed the bridle to lead the animal inside. He understood the dun’s wariness. This storm made him uneasy, too.

The dust swirled inside, the wind noise escalating to a steady hollow hum. Bram quickly pulled off his saddlebags, unsaddled his horse, then removed the bridle.

Scout stomped, shifting nervously. Bram spoke softly, trying to calm the gelding. A clothesline stretched from the barn to the cabin and would enable Bram to find his way if the dust became too thick to see the house. Just as he bent to pick up his saddlebag, the horse backed up, almost pinning Bram to the wall.

“Whoa.” He laid a calming hand on the animal’s hindquarters and edged away from the weathered wall. That was when he saw another horse deep in the shadows.

Not just any horse. He blinked.

That looked like Cosgrove’s black mare.

No way in hell. Bram couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was.

He eased closer, noting that the animal was unsaddled and had been brushed down. Speaking softly to the horse, he lifted its left front leg, then the back one. A C had been crudely carved into the top of the mare’s rear shoe. It was slyly done, the top of the C coming out of the tack’s head, but this was Cosgrove’s horse!

The damn brand blotter had been forced to take shelter, too. Here!

Bram’s lips twisted. This was too good to be true, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to catch the bastard. Or kill him. After the murder committed by Cosgrove during that bank robbery, Bram would have no qualms about taking in a dead man.

Satisfied that there was enough water in the trough near Cosgrove’s animal for both horses, Bram returned to his things in the corner and slid his Spencer rifle out of its scabbard.

After checking his gun, he stepped outside. The wind nearly shoved him to his knees as he shouldered the door shut. Gripping the clothesline for support, he slowly made his way to the cabin’s back stoop.

He had the advantage of surprise, but because both the front and back doors opened into the large main room, he wouldn’t have the drop on Cosgrove for long. Once Bram opened the door, the wind would sweep in, alerting anyone in the cabin.

He slowly turned the knob, then flung open the door. He leveled his weapon, aiming straight at … a woman!

She screamed, stumbling back against the dining table and folding her arms protectively around herself.

“Sweet mercy.” Bram froze, his mind trying to catch up to what he was seeing.

There in the flickering lamplight stood a half-naked Deborah.

Deborah.

What the hell?

Chapter Two

Struggling to recover from the shock of seeing her, Bram kicked the door shut and advanced. Had Deborah been with the outlaw since she had left her home? During the whole time Bram had been tracking the bastard?

She looked terrified, her gaze darting around for an escape. That blistered him up even more. “Cosgrove, show yourself!”

Visibly trembling, Deborah eased back, putting the small dining table between them. She hit the corner, jolting the burning lamp there as she did so.

“Don’t move!” he ordered, shoving down the gritty bandanna.

She froze, looking as though she might cry. Closed inside as they were, the wind had faded to a low vibrating hum. Keeping his gun trained on her, Bram yelled again, “Cosgrove!”

In the hazy yellow light he could see Deborah go pale. That wasn’t all he could see. Thanks to the soft amber light, the sleek lines of her body were plain through the thin fabric of her summer chemise. The undergarment and a pair of sturdy brown shoes were all she wore. Where the hell were her clothes?

Just the thought that the man who had taken so much from him might have seen her half-naked or more had Bram’s finger twitching on the trigger.

His gaze leveled on hers. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?” she asked shakily.

“You know who.”

Inching away, she shook her head. “I don’t.”

Her delicate features were pinched with fear and her raven-black hair slid around her bare shoulders like a cloud of midnight. Looking at her made Bram hurt. And filled him with cold fury.

She reached for the nearest chair.

“I said don’t move.”

“I need to get my dress.” Her voice quivered.

Considering how his traitorous body was reacting to the sweet curve of her hip and the fullness of her breasts visible through her chemise, he saw the merit in letting her put on her clothes.

“Stay put. I’ll get it.” He walked toward her, keeping his back to the cabin wall and one eye on her. Bits of grass and rock pelted the front window.

The dress hung over the back of a chair, a pale blue floral he recognized. He tossed it to her, dust drifting from the garment as she spread it protectively over her front, covering most of herself.

He dragged his gaze from her. “Cosgrove!” he called again.

“There’s no one else here,” she said quietly.

He gave her a withering look. “I saw the bastard’s horse in the barn.”

“I’m the one who rode that horse.” Her voice shook.

Rifle trained on her, Bram motioned her out from behind the table, keeping her in his sights. He herded her to the corner then looked into the bedroom, where a fine silt covered every surface. The room was empty.

He knew Cosgrove hadn’t gone out the front while Bram was coming in the back. The horse Bram had tracked also hadn’t been carrying two people. Deborah was telling the truth. About that, anyway. He still couldn’t believe she had been with Cosgrove.

Sheer terror darkened her blue eyes. She was probably afraid of what he would do or say about her running off with the man he hated.

The force of his anger when he thought she’d left to take the job in Abilene had been strong enough to sear his insides. But learning she’d been with Cosgrove drove a hole right through Bram’s chest.

His gaze swept over her and she clutched the dress more tightly to her. The strap of her chemise had slipped down, baring the silky skin of one shoulder. Skin he knew tasted as sweet as cream and felt that way, too.

The heat he always felt around her burned him from the inside, made him want. But since he’d realized she had left with Cosgrove, Bram could hardly stand to look at her.

“Get dressed,” he snapped, lowering his weapon. When she blinked those frightened blue eyes at him, it went all over him. Did she think he was going to hurt her? She’d just spent the past three weeks with a thief and a murderer! “Dammit, put your clothes on.”

She nodded, taking a step toward him and the bedroom beyond.

“Uh-uh. Right here, sweetheart.”

Her eyes widened. “Not with you watching! ”

“Put the dress on,” he said softly. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m not likely to run out into the storm.”

“How do I know you don’t have a gun hidden in that room?”

Clearly affronted, she gasped. “Because I don’t!”

“I’m not taking my eyes off you. Now, put on the dress.”

A spark of temper masked the uncertainty in her eyes. She angled her chin at him, clearly prepared to argue, then she seemed to realize he wasn’t bluffing about dressing her himself.

She backed into the corner and stepped into the garment. When she bent to pull the dress over her hips, Bram got a tantalizing view of her breasts, plump and pale and perfect.

He bit his cheek. Hard. Once she was covered and buttoning her bodice, he said, “Now let’s try again. What are you doing here?”

Looking uncertain, she said, “There’s a storm.”

He made an impatient sound. “Don’t play with me.”

“I—I’m not.”

“Why are you here?” Fine grains of dirt floated in the hazy light. “In my cabin?”