Whirlwind Wedding

At first Jericho had sagged against her in pain, but that had changed. Even with her limited experience she recognized the awareness that thickened the air between them. She tensed. His body was no longer rigid with agony. Now his hard lines molded to her curves; his thighs caged hers.

She had to be smart. She could get away if she were smart.

She didn’t think Jericho would hurt her, but she hadn’t believed that man in New York City would, either. Until it was almost too late.

Panic exploded inside her. “Get off,” she said dully, dragging in air. “Get off.”

The Ranger eased back until he was no longer touching her. His arms still kept her against the wall. “Catherine?”

She thought she might be sick. Not from the way his body had felt against hers—it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant—but from the way her stomach rolled over. “Get off. Please.”

“You better do it, mister.”

Both Catherine and Jericho jumped at the sound of Andrew’s voice in the doorway. The sharp cock of a shotgun ripped through the room like the crack of a whip. She jerked toward her brother and saw pale light skimming the barrel of their father’s shotgun. “Andrew!”

“Put that gun down, boy.” Jericho lifted his injured arm. “There’s no call—”

“Back away from her or I’ll shoot.”

He slowly pushed away from the wall and Catherine saw pain slash across his face. Sweat gleamed at his temple. She realized he had truly needed her support. “Andrew, everything is all right. Lieutenant Blue hurt his leg again and I was helping him back to bed.”

“That ain’t what it looked like. It looked like he was trying to take advantage of you.”

“I wasn’t.” Jericho hobbled back a step, his hands raised to shoulder level. “Son, you shouldn’t be pointing that gun. See, I’m moving away.”

“Not far enough.” Andrew gestured with the weapon, indicating Jericho should go farther.

“Andrew, please.” Catherine went to him, shaken as much by what she had felt with Jericho as she was that her brother held a gun on her patient. “Lieutenant Blue is in no shape to harm me. Certainly the gun isn’t called for.”

Andrew glared up at her.

Jericho reached the bed and sagged down upon it with a grunt.

Catherine turned toward him, concerned at the paleness of his face.

Agony carved his features. “Your sister’s right, Andrew.”

“Then what were you doing to her?”

“I fell. She was between me and the wall. That’s all.”

“He heard a noise and got up to check,” Catherine said. “Please put that gun down.”

Andrew kept the weapon leveled at the Ranger.

Though Jericho sat and Andrew stood, neither broke eye contact. She stood between them, trying to decipher their silent communication. “The lieutenant hit his injured leg on the table in the kitchen and I was helping him back to bed.”

Her brother’s gaze narrowed suspiciously on the big man behind her.

“I wouldn’t hurt your sister.” Jericho’s voice was gritty with pain, his silver gaze locked on the boy. “Not after all she’s done for me.”

Finally Andrew lowered the weapon, and Catherine let out a deep sigh. She felt Jericho’s relief as keenly as her own. Her heart thundered in her chest as she considered whether to hug Andrew or shake him until his teeth rattled.

She had never seen her brother be protective of her. Since her arrival three weeks ago, he hadn’t appeared to care about her. Why now? Did Andrew feel Jericho was a threat because he had witnessed her own panic?

“Let me have that thing.” She took the gun from him and gingerly carried it to its place behind the front door. “You scared me to death.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She returned to find him still eyeing Jericho with distrust.

“I think you should apologize to Lieutenant Blue.”

Andrew’s chin came up.

“No,” the Ranger said. “He was protecting you, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Her brother’s eyes widened and Catherine searched the Ranger’s face. Compassion was something she hadn’t expected from the rough-looking man. But perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. The death of his friend, Hays, the Ranger who had arrived with him, had visibly affected Jericho.

“Very well. You don’t need to apologize, Andrew.” The Ranger’s pallor was too marked for further argument. She would have words with Andrew alone, though she wouldn’t be harsh. He had been protecting her, and she wondered if perhaps they might develop a closeness, after all.

She slid an arm around his shoulders, surprised when he allowed her touch. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for tonight,” she murmured. “Let’s get back to bed.”

“All right.” Her brother gave Jericho one last warning look before letting Catherine nudge him toward his room.

Even though her pulse slowed, she still felt the imprint of the Ranger’s body against hers. Chills rose on her arms. They had nothing to do with fear, a fact that unsettled her to no end.

In Andrew’s room, she straightened his sheet and patted the husk-filled mattress. “I appreciate what you did, Andrew—”

“But you’re mad at me.”

She paused. “I’m concerned. You held a gun on a man.”

He frowned as if he couldn’t understand why she worried.

“What if that weapon had gone off?”

“I know how to use it.”

“Would you have?”

He shrugged. “If I had to.”

“Oh, my.” She paced around his bed. “Are you saying that you could kill if necessary?”

“If that Ranger had hurt you, I would have,” he said fiercely.

“But he didn’t.”

“You acted like he did.”

“I was taken aback when he fell against me.” She didn’t want to recall the pleasant warmth that had spread through her after the initial jolt of panic. His entire body had hardened against her. As he was clad only in his lightweight drawers, Catherine had been keenly aware of his body’s reaction. Every rigid inch of it.

“While I appreciate that you would protect me, I think bringing in the gun was ill-advised.”

“Don’t fret,” Andrew grumbled. “I didn’t shoot him. Yet.”

She cut him a sharp look. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t like him being here.”

“I don’t believe he’s a threat to us. And his injuries are too severe for him to leave, so we’ll just have to make the best of it.” She didn’t know how to handle Andrew or his apparent willingness to take a human life. “You could’ve hurt someone. It seemed so easy for you to threaten the man.”

“He was threatening you. Wasn’t he?”

“No.” Her denial sounded weak. “I don’t think so.” With some distance between her and the Ranger now, she didn’t believe he would have assaulted her. But he did dissolve her peace of mind. She was not going to explain to a twelve-year-old boy about the violent episode she’d experienced all those months ago.

“I know how to use the gun, Catherine. I can help you if I ever need to.”

“I know. Thank you.” She turned down the sheet and motioned him into bed.

She wanted to kiss him good-night, but the scowl on his moonlit face told her it wouldn’t be welcome. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” he muttered.

When she reached his door, she turned. “I do thank you, Andrew. I’m glad to know we can depend on each other.”

“Yeah.”

She closed his door, still jarred over the appalling sight of her brother holding a gun on someone. A Texas Ranger. Her patient. A guest in their home.

What had roused Andrew’s protective instincts? Since the lieutenant’s arrival, her brother had kept closer to home, but she hadn’t realized it until now.

“Is he all right?”

Catherine started at the sound of Jericho’s voice coming from her bedroom. She didn’t want to go back in there. The giddy flutter in her stomach told her that would be asking for trouble.

But she couldn’t ignore him, either. She walked the few steps to the doorway. The lamp on the bedside table had been lit, and filmy light washed over his bare chest. He sat on the edge of her bed. “Yes, I think so. I do apologize for him.”

“There’s no need. He did the right thing.”

The sight of Jericho’s muscles brought home to Catherine how he really could have hurt her. She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the resulting chill. “I’m not certain I agree.”

“Out here he may have cause to protect himself or you. It’s good he knows how,” Jericho said quietly. “Where did Andrew learn to handle that gun, anyway?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Have you ever seen him use one before?”

“No.”

“Who do you think taught him to use it?”

“My mother, maybe? I don’t know. Why are you asking so many questions?”

“He did have a gun trained on me,” Jericho said lightly.

Catherine studied him, not sure if her lingering unease was due to seeing Andrew with the gun or the strange warmth that had moved through her when Jericho Blue’s body had pressed against hers. That warmth stirred her even now. “I think he would’ve shot you!”

“I do, too, if I’d been a real threat.” In the soft light, his gaze held hers. “Which I wasn’t.”

Perhaps he didn’t think so, but for those long seconds she had.

“I would never hurt you, Catherine. Certainly not after you saved my life.”

She believed him. Or wanted to. “It’s forgotten now.”

“Is it? You’re pale and you were afraid of me.”

“It’s over. Why don’t you rest—”

“C’mon, Catherine. I know something was going on in that head of yours. What did I do to make you tense up like I was going to take a whip to you?”

“Nothing. You startled me. And I certainly didn’t expect Andrew to come charging in that way.”

“Something happened in here, Miz Donnelly.” The Ranger’s voice turned soft and coaxing. “I’d like to know if it was because of me.”

“And if it was?” She didn’t like being pressed on this issue. She had no intention of allowing herself to get so close to him again. “As I said, I was startled. There was no harm done.”

“Someone hurt you. A man you knew? Or didn’t know?”

She wasn’t stirring up those memories again. “I was raised by nuns, Lieutenant. There were no men there.”

His narrow gaze said he didn’t believe her, but Catherine didn’t care. She wasn’t about to tell him he was the first man to excite her more than frighten her.

Fear was the least of what washed through her right now. The sight of him sitting on the side of her bed turned her insides soft and warm. Hazy lamplight sculpted the hard muscles of the wide shoulders and chest that had been pressed against her only moments ago.

His gaze bored into hers, then dropped to her lips, sparking that unfamiliar warmth low in her belly.

She couldn’t seem to stop remembering the undeniable press of his arousal. Her gaze went there involuntarily and a curious heat swept through her. Even now, he strained against the cotton of his drawers.

“Your leg,” she gasped, stepping reflexively into the room. “It’s bleeding again.”

Blood glued the fabric to the corded muscles of his thigh and molded the part of him that had frightened and excited her only minutes ago. “I’d better change your dressing.”

“I’ll do it,” he growled, grabbing the pillow and putting it in his lap.

“But what if you’ve torn the stitches?”

“I’m fine.”

“I think I should—”

“I can’t imagine you’re that eager to get so close to me again, Miz Donnelly. I can change the bandage myself.”

His words stung, but they were true. “Very well. I’ll bring you some fresh dressings with some soap and water.”

He nodded curtly.

Knowing that he wanted her should’ve scared her senseless, but her apprehension was outweighed by the curiosity that had nagged since he had arrived at her front door. Curiosity she had no intention of indulging.

Turning, she walked out to get the things Jericho would need to change his bandage. The nurse in her insisted on tending him; the woman in her couldn’t get close.

He slept poorly. Blood soaked through his fresh bandage and his drawers stuck to him. The pain didn’t do much to keep his mind off the fact that he’d been powerfully aroused last night and Catherine had borne witness to it.

Jericho couldn’t recall the last time he had taken his ease with a woman. Now, thanks to the brush of Catherine’s breasts against him, that was about all he wanted.

Since he’d started chasing the McDougals, his focus had been solely on the outlaws. He’d spent more time contemplating a woman in the last week than he had in nearly two years. Not just any woman, but one who had kindly taken him in and tended his wounds. One whose brother had most likely given Jericho those wounds. The terror in Catherine’s eyes was as much to blame for his sleeplessness as the discomfort of his freshly opened wound. But it was her words that pricked at him.

“Get off,” she’d said.

He hadn’t been on her, hadn’t been touching her at all right then. Jericho found it strange that she hadn’t asked him to “step back” or “back away,” as Andrew had. The Donnelly boy wasn’t the only one hiding secrets. So was his sister.

Jericho wanted to know who had hurt her. Was it someone she’d loved? She was sweet and, judging from her skittishness last night, most likely untouched. Her innocence drew him even though he knew his concern should be about what it hid.

Was she involved with one of the McDougals? Had one of them hurt her?

The thought of a McDougal putting his hands on Catherine had Jericho’s fist balling. A savage protectiveness sprang loose inside him.

He didn’t understand the ferocity of the emotion. What difference did it make what had happened to her? Losing so much blood had tangled up his reason. He was here to find the McDougal gang, not muse over the arousal triggered by his nurse. Something Jericho wouldn’t act on because of her link to the outlaws.

Even though the image of her in bed with him came too easily, he needed to stay away from her. But for now all he could do was lie in her bed and hope his leg didn’t rot off. He levered himself to a sitting position and leaned against the headboard.

Through the door he caught the sounds of her and Andrew moving around, the low murmur of their voices. His window was open and he heard the pair step onto the porch.

“Have a good day, Andrew.”

The boy grunted, then darted past. After a few seconds, the front door shut and Catherine’s light footsteps sounded on the wooden floor.

After seeing Andrew with that gun last night, Jericho was certain he’d spotted the boy at the ambush that had killed his friend and fellow Ranger, Hays Gentry. Andrew had been right up front with Angus McDougal. Either Catherine was a mighty good liar or she really didn’t suspect her brother of being involved with the gang.

She walked in, interrupting his thoughts. She was a sight today. His gaze hungrily took in the silky fall of black hair over her shoulder. Her pale blue dress with its white apron made the blue of her eyes startlingly bright. She smelled clean, with a hint of verbena; he was so sick of his own smell.

“Good morning.” Her voice was subdued and she didn’t meet his eyes. “How did you sleep?”

Like hell. “Fine.”

Moving to the right side of the bed, she aimed a smile in his direction but still didn’t look at him. Beneath her cool competence, she was embarrassed, he realized. And his damn body responded to her even now.

“I trust you changed your bandage?”

“Yes.” He wanted to set her mind at ease, but keeping his distance was probably best.

She frowned at the sight of the bloodied sheet. She drew it away from his hips and made a strangled sound in her throat. “Lieutenant!”

His leg muscle went into spasm and he winced, cursing.

“How long has this been bleeding?”

“Not sure.”

Her gaze cut sharply to him as she carefully peeled the blood-soaked sheet from his drawers.

She looked so alarmed that he felt a jolt of concern himself. “It probably just needs a new bandage. I’m not too good at that kind of stuff.”

“It’s been bleeding all night, hasn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just breezed out of the room and returned in a few minutes with a bowl of water, a rag and a tin of soap.

“I knew these stitches were torn. I should’ve tended to you last night,” she muttered under her breath.

Jericho didn’t like to see her blaming herself. They both knew why she hadn’t gotten close enough to him to see the damage. “It’s not your fault. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“You’re not going to die now, either.” Determination firmed her lips. “I was afraid of this. I had Andrew go to the fort early this morning, but Dr. Butler was off tending a man who was crushed by a horse on his ranch. I’ll have to restitch you, but it should be bearable, since I have laudanum for the pain.”

“No laudanum.” Jericho didn’t fancy being knocked out when he had so many suspicions about her and her brother.

“I don’t have anything else. I’m so sorry.”

“You do what you have to and I’ll be grateful. Got any whiskey?” he asked hopefully.

“No, but I can get some in town.”

“I’ve got some in my saddlebag.”

By pressing a warm cloth to his leg she eventually loosened his stiff, bloodied drawers. She stared uncertainly down at his leg, her neck growing pink.

“What?” Jericho’s gaze shifted there, too, as he tried to figure out why she was blushing. His manhood was behaving, so he wasn’t sure why Catherine seemed so embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I’ll get that whiskey.” She wiped her hands down the front of her clean white apron. “Do you think you can get out of your drawers by yourself?”

So that was it. She didn’t want to undress him. Why did he find that amusing? “Yeah.”

His blood started humming and he could feel himself grow hard. Thanks to the pain that would come when she started to restitch his wound, that wouldn’t last long. Still, he didn’t want to scare the lady off again.

She walked to the corner and bent to rummage through his saddlebags, looking for the whiskey. Using his left hand, he pushed his drawers to his knees, then managed to tug them off with his foot. He was naked by the time she returned to the bed.

She passed the bottle to him without meeting his eyes.

“If you want to wait for the doctor, you can,” he offered.

Distress drew her features tight. “No, I don’t think we should wait. I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”

He nodded, uncorking the whiskey and swallowing a hefty amount. Maybe if he got drunk he wouldn’t rise to the occasion the way he seemed to every time she got within a foot of him.

She crossed herself, then pulled a chair up to the bed. Gingerly she folded the sheet away from his injury, careful to keep his manhood and vital parts covered.

The first cool touch of her scissors between his skin and the bandage caused him to twitch.

Her gaze flew to his and she grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just do it.” He took another gulp of whiskey.

She quickly cut the bandage; it took her a few minutes to pry it away from his skin. Her touch was firm and capable as her fingers moved over his flesh.

His arousal grew, mounding the sheet. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

A flush rose on her neck, up her cheeks, and still she worked. That same flush heated his body. His jaw working, he closed his eyes until she removed the bandage.

He noticed her hands were shaking, and he set the whiskey bottle inside the vee of his thighs so she couldn’t go poking that needle into any vital areas if she slipped.

She cleaned the wound carefully, frowning as she leaned over him.

“What do you think?”

She looked up, her gaze sober and earnest. “I’ll do the best I can, Lieutenant.”

He wanted to relax her a tad. It wouldn’t help either of them if she stabbed too deep with that needle. Or too far to the north. “Maybe now would be a good time for you to call me Jericho, seeing as how we’re getting pretty familiar here.”

“All right.” Her hands trembled.

“You’re steady, aren’t you?” he asked. “I won’t have to worry about you sewing that sheet to my leg?”

“I—I’m fine.”

He was nearing the end of the whiskey and still feeling more than he liked, pain and otherwise.

She picked up a bottle marked Carbolic Acid and poured a small amount of the liquid on the needle. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He gritted his teeth, hoping he would pass out once she got started.

It didn’t reassure him that she flinched before she even began.

He looked away, guzzled down another burning swallow of liquor. He felt a sharp prick, then a red-hot sting slicing through his flesh. “Damn!” he roared.

She bit her lip as she pressed his flesh together to take her first stitch.

Sweat trickled down his temple and his vision hazed. With a shaking hand, he lifted the bottle and downed the rest of the liquor. Pain throbbed through his body, razor sharp.

“Try to breathe. It will help.” Catherine didn’t look up from her task. Even though her voice shook, she was reassuring.

She took another stitch and another. The hurt layered upon itself until Jericho grabbed the edge of the bed with his good hand. His knuckles burned. His arm quivered.

Her skirts brushed his hand, her warmth reaching out to him. He tried to focus on the fresh clean scent of her, and wished again he could pass out.

“Last night, I noticed you walked without your hip dipping. That’s a good sign there’s no nerve damage.”

He grunted.

“Where are you from, Jericho?”

Her voice seemed thick and heavy, as if coming through a wall. “Southeast Texas. Outside of Houston.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Far.” A lifetime away.

“How long have you been a Ranger?”

How the hell was he supposed to remember? “Since I was nineteen. Thirteen years now.”

“And before that?”

“I apprenticed with a gunsmith in Uvalde. Took me two years to get a commission.”

“What made you want to be a Ranger?”

He appreciated that she was trying to distract him, and he struggled to force his mind on to something other than the pain. “My pa was one.”

“Is he tracking the McDougals, too?”

Jericho watched her through slitted eyes. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

She kept stitching with a single-mindedness he envied. “He died when I was twelve. My ma raised me and my sisters.”

“You have sisters?” She didn’t glance up. “How many?”

“Four.”

“Bless the saints!” She kept stitching. When would she finish? “Older or younger than you?”

“All younger.” Agony made his voice crack. “How’s it coming down there?”

“Just a few more stitches. Luckily, you didn’t tear the wound all the way down.”

He didn’t feel so lucky right now, but if he lived through this, he probably would.

“What are your sisters’ names?”

“Deborah, Jordan, Michal and Marah.”

“All Bible names?”

“Yes, like mine. My pa was Noah, and he wanted us to all have a name from the Bible like he did.”

“I know Jericho is a city and Jordan is a river, but Michal was a person, wasn’t she? King David’s daughter?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed his eyes shut, using his flagging energy to focus on Catherine’s voice.

“What about Marah? I’m not familiar with that name.”

“My ma says it’s the first camp of the Israelites after they crossed the Red Sea.”

“And your other sister?”

“Deborah was named after a judge in the Old Testament. She’s the oldest of my sisters.”

“Do they all live outside of Houston?”

“Yes.” He struggled to focus past the pain. “They’re all still in school except for Deborah. She’s a teacher.”

Catherine tied a knot in the thread and snipped it with her scissors. “Do you miss them?”

Jericho’s leg throbbed like blue blazes. He did miss his ma and Deborah. The other girls had been small when he’d left, and half afraid of him. “Yeah.”