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Matt moved from Isabel to Esme. “Mornin’, Nana. It’s not cold, you’re just always cold.”
“That I am. It is because I am an old woman.”
“I like you old.”
Nate rolled his eyes at his brother. “That’s ’cause you never knew her any other way,” Nate interjected. “Mama says Nana was a real beauty when she was a girl. Isn’t that right, Mama?”
“Of course it is right,” Esme answered for Isabel. “That’s why your Mama is so beautiful. When she takes time to brush her hair and change her dress, that is.”
Instinctively, Isabel tried to smooth her wayward mass of hair. She realized in her rush to get up and dressed this morning she’d forgotten to braid her hair. Deftly, she twined heavy locks into a long braid and tied it with a bit of ribbon she kept in her apron pocket.
“Better?”
Esme answered with an ambiguous shrug.
Katlyn stifled a giggle, smiling back ruefully at Isabel as she put a hand to her own wayward hair. Though they looked very different—Isabel favoring their father and Katlyn her mother—they both laughed often over their shared inability to ever look neatly polished.
While the boys and Katlyn devoured the biscuits, Isabel organized her thoughts, deciding what medicines to take to the Silver Rose. She glanced outside, looking over the bunches of herbs, withered and faded by the sun, swinging on the long poles outside her windows. A dozen chimes, made from broken glass, bones, and stones, hung from the eaves and sang odd faraway music in cadence with the wind. The air smelled like pine and wood smoke and the scent of the drying herbs.
The chimes sang, a lark called, and Isabel suddenly felt fiercely glad to be here. This was her home, her family, and nothing and no one could take them from her.
Intending to take care of her chore at the Silver Rose before the town was in full swing, she packed up her basket. She then quickly did the dishes, and scurried the boys out the door with her, watching them until they disappeared around the corner on their way to lessons with Katlyn.
At this time of the morning, there was no one about to care whether she came or went or what business she had at the saloon. Isabel walked straight in the front door. Three cowboys and a man she recognized as a fur trader, drinking Elish’s dubious coffee and laughing with Chessie and Anita over the night’s escapades, barely glanced her way. Elish, unpacking a crate of whiskey bottles, looked up and grinned when the slatted wooden doors swung shut behind her.
“Well, if it ain’t our angel of mercy. You must be here to tend to our one-legged guest. I hope he’s still livin’. I hate it when they breathe their last in one of our beds.”
Isabel smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry about this one dying. He seems to me the kind of man who’ll live just to spite everyone.”
“Even you? From the way Chessie tells it, it was even odds whether you was gonna cut out that bullet or his heart.”
“He wasn’t particularly glad to see me, but he doesn’t have a choice.”
Isabel climbed the stairs and, at the top, didn’t hesitate in going to the man’s room. She knocked lightly at his door and, getting no reply, pushed it open and went in.
He lay sprawled out on the narrow bed, half covered by the thin quilt, his clothes in a heap on the floor, one arm flung over his head. He looked asleep but when she moved beside him and laid down her basket, his eyes snapped open and he half rose up. They stared at each other, his wary dark eyes meeting her cool blue ones.
For a moment, Isabel had the uncomfortable feeling of being stripped bare, from skin to soul. His eyes, she noticed, weren’t brown, but a deep gray, and from the look in them she got the impression he was a man who kept secrets, and who guessed them in others. Nana was right. A dangerous man.
Several beats of silence ticked off before he ended the standoff between them, flopping back down against the pillow, not bothering to pull up the quilt bunched around his waist. The morning light gilded his skin, defining the planes and valleys of his bared body, and picking out a scar running diagonally from shoulder to collarbone, and another slashed horizontally, just under his rib cage.
“You again. I thought you were a bad dream.”
“Did you also dream the bullet out of your leg? If so, I wish you would teach me the trick. It would make my work so much easier.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to make sure you hadn’t died in Elish’s bed. He hates that.”
“Then you’ve done your duty. You can leave me to suffer in peace.”
Isabel ignored his nasty expression. “I fully intend to, after I take a look at that leg.” She rummaged in her basket for a jar of salve and the ingredients for a new poultice. Without asking his permission, she pulled back the quilt enough to bare his leg to her scrutiny.
“Anything else you’d like to see while you’re down there?” Jake asked, annoyed when she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Are you still in pain?”
“It’s nothing a bottle of whiskey won’t cure. Look, lady—” Jake propped up on one elbow and trapped her wrist with his free hand “—I’m sure you do a real nice job soothing stomachaches and curing skinned elbows, and you did get the bullet out of my leg. For that I’m much obliged. But your weeds are more likely to kill me than do any good and I’m not anxious to be knocking on hell’s door any earlier than necessary. I’ll send one of the girls along to pay you for your trouble.”
“Mister, for what I’ve been through trying to help you, you can’t afford my trouble. Now let go of me or I’ll yell loud enough to bring Elish and every cowboy in the saloon up here with guns drawn.”
He held on hard for a moment, his pulse thrumming against her skin. Isabel knew he sized her up with his eyes before releasing her wrist. She resisted the urge to rub at her skin, feeling the impression of his strength long after his physical touch.
“I’ll give you one thing, lady, nothing much seems to rattle you. Remind me to never play poker with you.”
“I’m not interested in playing any game with you. I came here to check your wound and that’s what I’m going to do. Now be still. Is this tender?” Isabel ran her fingers over the wound, probing gently.
Jake started at the touch of her, jolted more by her tenderness than the pain. “It hurts like hell. Did you bring any whiskey?”
“No, Mr.-whatever-your-name-is—I didn’t. I’m not a saloon keeper.” She thrust the jar of salve at him. “Here, put this on it daily for the next few weeks, if you have any desire to keep your leg from rotting off, that is.”
Jake eyed the thick, yellow-colored grease warily, then sniffed at it, drawing back with a grimace.
“It’s Coulter, Jake Coulter, and what is this stuff? It smells like horse dung.”
“Mouse.”
“Mouse what?”
“It’s mouse dung,” Isabel said matter-of-factly. “Mixed with butter, horsetail and a little turpentine. It’s quite useful.”
Jake stared at her, wondering if she meant it or if she were trying to bait him into asking a dumb question. “You’re not serious.”
“Of course I am. I use it often.”
“To attract flies? Do you have a jar of leeches around somewhere as well? No—don’t answer that. Whatever this is, I sure as hell don’t want it smeared on me. Look, I’ve no doubt you mean well, you did a fair job cutting that bullet out—”
“Such generous praise. And I’m overwhelmed by your gratitude.”
“—but my leg probably needs stitches and definitely a good dose of sulfur powder and someone who knows how to administer both without a shaking hand.”
“Ah, I see. And did you gain this knowledge from some drunken fool who’s only claim to being a doctor is that he can cut off limbs and pour whiskey faster than the man before him?”
“And where did you get yours? From a vision after chewing peyote?”
“Well, if I did, it’s too late for you now. You’ve drunk my potion. Perhaps you’re already under my spell.”
The look she gave him, a little mysterious smile, a flash of laughter, roused in Jake a sudden, sharp awareness of her nearness. He could smell the wildflower scent of her, feel her warmth almost as a touch. It had been a long time since he’d let a woman get close to him.
This woman…He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Am I?” he said, his voice rough-edged.
Piercing gray eyes locked with hers and for a moment, Isabel could think of nothing to say in reply.
She realized she hadn’t taken time to study him fully yesterday. There was certainly an almost frightening strength in him, and an unflinching directness in his eyes. But there were also lines in his face left by an experience of bitterness or suffering, she didn’t know which. It left her intrigued, wondering exactly what he was and why he was here. It also left her disconcerted, questioning her reaction to him.
Feeling shaken, Isabel took her jar of salve from him and jerked the quilt back up over his leg. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll go.”
She started to gather up her basket and Jake watched her hands move over the jar and cloths, efficient, graceful. She riled him to the point of fury, but he liked looking at her, though he couldn’t have said why. He preferred his women lush and pliant, but with her delicate fairy face and her quick tongue she was neither. She didn’t even go out of her way to make herself particularly attractive the way most women did.
Her hair hung in a loose braid down her back and, as far as he could tell, she wore nothing but a thin cotton dress that looked as if the sun had scorched all the color out of it. There was nothing deliberately provocative about her. She seemed indifferent to the way she moved, except when she plied her dubious trade and then all the sensuality was in her hands, the intimacy in her touch.
“You aren’t coming back, are you?” he asked suddenly, surprising them both.
“I’m not a glutton for punishment. If you’re bored, I’m sure Chessie or Anita can find some way to amuse you.”
“Maybe I should have been more careful. I’ll be wondering now what spell you have cast over me.”
“I wouldn’t let it trouble you. I’m not adept enough to charm serpents into your room. Yet.”
She walked to the door and turned to give him a tight smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Coulter. I promise you, the only sorcery you’ll find here will come from the hands of one of Elish’s girls.”
Jake stared after her, torn between following her just to take away her advantage of getting the last word or trying to forget she ever lived to annoy him. Before he could decide, Elish Dodd appeared in the doorway, stopping Isabel from leaving.
“If you’re lookin’ for magic, you’re gonna have to find it somewhere else,” he said, stepping past Isabel to face Jake. “I just got word a dozen or more men finishin’ a cattle drive will be ridin’ in tonight lookin’ for whiskey and girls and I’m gonna need all the rooms I have. Since you ain’t in no condition to be takin’ advantage of the amenities here, you might want to consider a room in the nearest thing we got here to a hospital.”
“And where might that be?” Jake asked, already suspecting he knew the answer and not wanting to hear it.
“Why, in Mrs. Bradshaw’s house,” Elish said, flashing a grin between Jake and Isabel. “You know, the woman you’ve managed to rile enough for her to turn a knife on you. I’m sure she’ll take you in, she has this fondness for strays no matter how ornery they are.” Before he left, Elish winked at Isabel then turned to Jake. “But if I was you, friend, I’d sleep with one eye open ’til you get back on her good side.”
Chapter Three
“I’ll make room for you, cowboy.”
The purr of Anita Devine’s voice broke the awkward silence between Isabel and Jake. Caught in the moment of suspended tension, Isabel jumped at the sound, jerking around toward the doorway.
Anita posed there, her dark eyes roving over Jake with slow deliberation. Raven tresses spilled over her bare shoulders, a few spiral curls catching in the lace at her low-cut bodice. As her gaze slid over Jake’s body, a satisfied smile curved the edges of her painted mouth.
She sauntered into the room, petticoats swishing at her ankles, brushing past Isabel as though she didn’t exist, heading straight to the edge of the bed. Bending down far enough for her ample bosom to spill over the black lace at the scooped neckline of her dress, she smoothed a heavy wave from Jake’s brow.
“Elish told me about your dilemma, Mr. Coulter. And I’ve come to offer a solution. I’d be quite happy to make room so you can stay with me while you recover.”
Isabel stood to the side, caught off guard by Anita’s brazen proposition, though she didn’t know why she should be. Anita’s reputation was well-known all over the high country towns surrounding Whispering Creek. Women around town called her the Black Widow because she had a way of seducing a handsome man and using him up, leaving him with little more than his boots when she sent him walking.
Isabel tried to judge Jake’s response, but his expression gave nothing away. Only his eyes showed any reaction and the coldness there almost forced her back a step.
“What a generous offer,” he drawled, raking Anita with a dismissing glance that was far from flattering.
Anita’s eyes narrowed, but her smile stayed in place. “I’m part owner in this place, so my offer is sincere, I assure you.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Jake shifted and looked directly at Isabel.
The moment his eyes settled on her, Isabel itched to turn her back on both of them and leave them to haggle over the living arrangements without her witness.
What did he want? For her to make him a better offer? Did he expect her to beg for his company?
Perversely, part of her wanted to insist he return home with her. She supposed the ridiculous urge was nothing more than instinctive feminine competition though normally she wasn’t at all given to that sort of nonsense.
Especially when Jake Coulter was the last man she should want sleeping under her roof.
Still, he looked at her with that faintly challenging glint in his eyes and she felt herself responding even while common sense called her a fool. He’d done nothing to indicate he needed or wanted her help, in fact he’d practically thrown her out when she offered.
Then again, she did have a vacant room and heaven only knew how long she might have to wait to find a new boarder. And she could ill afford a long spell with no rent on that room. Even with her shop, she barely made ends meet.
Aware both Jake and Anita now stared at her, Isabel drew herself up. “Well, Mr. Coulter, I was going to tell you I did have a room open up yesterday, but it sounds as though you have a fine offer for a very comfortable room right here—”
“I’ll take it.”
“What?” Isabel and Anita blurted out in unison.
Anita slapped her hands to her tightly cinched-in waist. “Are you sayin’ you’d rather go and stay with the witch and her brats than here with me? I’ll have you know I don’t make a habit of offerin’ to share my room with just anyone!”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Jake said. “A man’s got to be willing to pay the price and I’m sure your price is high.”
“I’ll make an exception for you, darlin’.”
“No, thanks.”
“No—!”
“I want someplace private, where I can find a little peace and quiet.” He looked back to Isabel. “You can promise that much, Mrs. Bradshaw, can’t you?”
“Not particularly,” Isabel said lightly. “I can offer you a measure of privacy. As for peace and quiet, once my boys get home from their lessons, the noise in my house could easily rival with a raucous crowd on a good night at the Silver Rose.”
“See there.” Anita leaned a little farther over, maneuvering closer to give Jake the best view of her voluptuous body. “Now is that what you call peace and quiet?”
Jake scowled at Isabel. “Can you give me a room or not?”
“I’ll rent you a room.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll move in today.”
Anita stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “Suit yourself, but don’t come back here knocking on my door when you find out you’ve moved into a hornet’s nest.” Her eyes narrowed to catlike slits. “I won’t forget this insult, Mr. Coulter.”
Isabel couldn’t suppress a small grin as Anita flounced out of the room in a snit.
“You look pleased with yourself. Did you want me that bad?”
Jake nearly regretted the jibe when her smile upended and she frowned. He’d surprised himself in flatly turning down Anita Devine. He’d done it not because of the obvious services she offered in his recovery, or because Isabel could get him on his feet faster than anyone, but out of some instinctive reaction to protect Isabel Bradshaw.
Why she provoked that reaction he couldn’t say. She didn’t seem the type to want or need a man’s shelter. Yet he sensed some unseen vulnerability in her. Despite himself, she’d inspired a response even he didn’t expect.
Now he found himself enjoying the fire he’d sparked in her.
“Want you?” she sputtered. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Coulter. You were practically begging me to rent you that room.”
“Dodd says you have the only place in town that takes wounded strays.”
“I’m sure Anita would have given you her undivided attention.”
“I don’t want her attention. I want yours.”
“Really? I can’t imagine why. You haven’t missed an opportunity to insult me. And I can hardly offer you the same amenities as Anita.”
Jake let his eyes rove over her in deliberate suggestion. To her credit, she didn’t flinch away, but gave his bold appraisal back in full measure. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve got those wonderful weeds.”
“I’m tempted to give you a double dose of them and have you hauled off to my house, with or without your blessing,” Isabel said, not really understanding his sudden faith in her healing ability and not certain whether she should be flattered or good and riled at him.
“You’re the only one in this town who can tell if this wound’s getting better or worse,” he reasoned. “And I’ll be helping you out by keeping your room rented until a more permanent border comes along.”
“So you’re doing me a favor now. I see. How kind of you, sir.”
“Let’s just say we can help each other out for the time being, okay? I have business here and I don’t want to get it done from a saloon.”
Isabel immediately stiffened. She’d been afraid of this. Still it was better to face the truth about Jake Coulter now. “Business? What business, may I ask?”
The look he gave her might have daunted a strong man, let alone a woman armed only with her wits and a single knife. Isabel, though, refused to back down. If she planned on taking Jake Coulter into her house, she needed to know who might come looking for him, guns drawn.
“You can ask,” Jake said. “I don’t have any answers for you right now. Don’t worry though, in this condition, I’m not too dangerous.”
“That’s not good enough.” What was he hiding, and more importantly, why? Her eyes strayed to the gun belt looped over the bedpost. “I have a family to think of.”
Jake followed her gaze but said nothing, only smiled, a faint, sardonic twist of his lips that made Isabel shiver and at the same time roused her irritation.
“I’ll be long gone before I’d put your family in harm’s way. Now, I could use another shot of that magic potion of yours. I don’t think I can get down the stairs without it and a large bottle of whiskey.”
“You won’t be able to get down the stairs with that combination, I guarantee it.”
“You have a better idea?”
Isabel had several, but she kept them to herself. I’ll learn your secrets, Jake Coulter, she told him silently, one way or the other.
Out loud, she told him, “I’ll give you something that’ll put you to sleep for several hours and from the look in your eyes, that will be a relief to both of us.”
Not waiting for his retort, she plunged ahead, taking refuge from his disturbing presence by organizing his release from the Silver Rose. “Besides, you’re going to need something for the ride home. I’ll ask Elish to help move you to his cart, but it’s a rough ride to my place.”
“So’s life,” Jake said with a short, mirthless laugh. “Go ahead and bring me my poison, witch.”
Jake woke to the voice of an angel singing and wondered if he’d died in one of Elish Dodd’s beds after all. Heaven, though, surely must be a lot less painful, he decided as he shifted a little in the direction of the sound. His leg ached and when he forced open his eyes, the glare of afternoon sunlight through an open window knifed his head. Wincing, he turned away, focusing instead on the unfamiliar room.
Heaven or hell, it was definitely not the Silver Rose. The high-pitched ceiling of the upstairs log cabin loft reflected a woman’s touch, from the woven, multicolored rug on the pine plank floor and the lace curtains at the window, to the earthenware jar of rosemary and lavender on the dresser. Her touch. Chessie’s witch; his angel of mercy.
She meant it, he thought, remembering Isabel Bradshaw’s threat to pack him off to her “hospital” with or without his permission. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed that she’d pulled it off.
Before he could decide, a hot drift of breeze carried the angel’s song into the room again, a clear, pure voice raised in a soulful Spanish ballad. Ignoring the wash of pain and dizziness, Jake flung back the quilt and limped to the window to look down on the garden below.
Isabel was there, singing to herself and a large raven perched on the rock wall beside her. As he watched, she bent to pluck a few sprigs from some leafy plant. She rubbed them gently between her fingertips, then cupped the leaves to inhale their scent before adding them to the collection in the basket looped over her arm.
Sunlight washed her dark-golden hair and Jake found himself wondering what it would look like, freed from its confining braid, spread over her shoulders and—
He cut short the thought, shaking his head to clear it. Whatever potion she’d given him was clouding his thoughts, making him crazy. He turned to move away from the window and shut out her vision. The stiffness in his leg made him awkward and he knocked against a small table, rattling the pitcher and bowl there.
The clatter, in the late day stillness, brought Isabel’s head up and for a moment, their gazes locked. Jake could almost hear her catch her breath and he felt himself holding his.
“What are you doing on your feet?” she called up, breaking the spell. She shook her head, giving an exasperated sigh. “I hope you aren’t going to be this stubborn over everything or I’ll never be rid of you. Get back into bed, I’m coming up.”
“Now there’s an invitation I can’t refuse,” Jake said, unable to resist baiting her.
Isabel only glared at him then quickened her step to the door below his window. Jake heard it slam behind her and smiled.
She found him propped up against the pillows, the quilt pulled carelessly up to his waist as if he’d just tossed it there after hearing her footsteps. He’d flung his shirt and it lay in a heap in the corner. She chose to ignore the reality he now wore nothing but the quilt.
Putting down the tray she’d carried up on the dresser top, Isabel turned to face him, determined not to give him the upper hand.
“If you’re going to lecture me about staying in bed, save your breath,” Jake said before she could open her mouth. “I’m beginning to regret even opening my eyes.”
“I’m not surprised. Do you always make a habit of acting before you think, Mr. Coulter?”
“Usually I don’t have the luxury of time to think.”
“Does that mean you’re usually on the run?” Isabel could see her bluntness surprised him. But it was obvious he wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
“I see subtlety is one art you don’t practice. And no, ma’am, I’m not usually on the run, although I’ll confess I’ve worn out a few saddles in the past years.”