“Woman, if I stay in that house with you, something’s gonna happen between us.”

The words erupted from him.

His words sank in and her mouth formed an O. Her cheeks pinkened, but she didn’t run.

She plucked nervously at the top button of her bodice and he said tightly, “Go on back to the house.”

She didn’t. Looking uncertain, she drew in a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance.”

He nearly swallowed his teeth. “You can’t say things like that to a man, Catherine. To me.”

‘It’s true.”

“I don’t think so.” Want thrummed inside him. He gripped his crutch so tightly that his knuckles burned.

Her skirts whispered around his legs, between them, and her pulse fluttered wildly in the hollow of her throat.

“Dammit, woman! Back up. I may be injured, but I’m not dead…!”

Praise for new Historical author Debra Cowan’s previous titles

“Penning great emotional depth in her characters, Debra Cowan will warm the coldest of winter nights.”

—Romantic Times on Still the One

“Debra Cowan skillfully brings to vivid life all the complicated feelings of love and guilt when a moment of consolation turns into unexpected passion.”

—Romantic Times on One Silent Night

“The recurrent humor and vivid depiction of small-town Western life make Debra Cowan’s story thoroughly pleasurable.”

—Romantic Times on The Matchmaker

Whirlwind Wedding
Debra Cowan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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In memory of my cousin, Billye Su Watson

For our shared love of words

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

West Texas, 1884

C atherine Donnelly had never been adept at handling men, and now she had to admit she was no better with boys. After more than a day spent searching in and around dusty Whirlwind, Texas, until well past dark, she’d finally located her oft-missing younger brother, Andrew, and marched him home.

Now Catherine sat alone at the small dining table in the front room of what had been her mother’s house. A loud knock sounded on the door. After the harrowing span of time she had spent worrying over her twelve-year-old brother, she wasn’t inclined to be charitable to whoever was calling so late.

Picking up the kerosene lamp from the small kitchen table, she opened her door to one of the tallest men she’d ever seen. The mild May night seemed to swirl around him. He wore a dark hat pulled low, and was dressed all in black except for his blue shirt, which looked nearly white in the filmy amber glow from the lamp. Moonlight sliced a sharp cheekbone and a whiskered jaw, making him quite possibly also the most intimidating man she’d ever seen.

Eyes that might be either blue or silver stared flatly at her. He braced a shoulder on her doorjamb, regarding her as if she were the one invading his territory. His dark, ragged hair and a tangible determination gave him the look of a man unused to niceties.

“Name’s Lieutenant Jericho Blue.” He held up an official-looking piece of paper. “I’m a Ranger and this is my Warrant of Authority issued by the Adjutant General’s Department under authority from the government.”

Apprehension skittered through her and her grip tightened on the lamp. The Sisters of Mercy had taught her too well for her to dismiss anyone out of hand. Still, she would dispense with him quickly. She smiled and asked as kindly as she could, “May I help you?”

He seemed to have trouble getting the paper back into his trouser pocket.

“Sir?” Out beyond him, at the edge of the lamplight, she saw a riderless horse, and another one beside it with a dark shape slung across its back. A body? The warnings about nearby outlaws she had heard only hours ago, as she had looked for Andrew, rushed back.

According to Sheriff Holt, the McDougal gang had ambushed a pair of lawmen yesterday. Catherine had been nearly ill with worry over the possibility that her brother might run into the outlaws. The sheriff had offered to look for the twelve-year-old with the posse he’d formed to track the gang. She’d accepted, but continued her own search, frantic that her brother might have gotten in the way of the brutal men and suffered a fate far worse than her denying him any more of her apple pie until he stopped sneaking out of their house at night.

The Ranger said huskily, “I’m on the trail of the McDougal gang.”

“Our sheriff said they were nearby.”

“Very near.”

She had to lean closer to hear. His voice was grainy and flat, and his skin had a waxy sheen. He didn’t look well. “Are you all right?”

Catherine had worked with enough patients at Bellevue Hospital in New York City to know when someone was ill. Something was definitely wrong with the man.

He stared over her shoulder into the house, as if searching for something. “Do you mind if I look around?”

“In the house?”

He gave a sharp nod.

She didn’t want to advertise that she and Andrew lived alone. If one or more of the McDougal gang were hiding around her house, she certainly didn’t want to be the one to find them. But neither did she want to let this strange man into her home.

“So, you don’t mind then?” He straightened sluggishly and made to move inside.

A bit surprised, Catherine stepped back. A shotgun was out of sight behind the door, but she felt more confident about using a skillet if necessary. “All right.”

He mumbled something and swayed, his eyes glazing. As if being pushed from behind, he toppled to the floor with a crash.

The wood shook beneath her and for a moment Catherine stared disbelieving at the long length of man stretched out at her feet. He had fallen over the threshold, half of him still outside.

In a flash, Andrew, his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes drowsy, appeared beside her. He wore only the droopy cotton drawers she had seen when she’d checked on him an hour ago after marching him home. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure.” Shaking off her shock, she knelt, holding the lamp high. He’d said his name was Jericho. “Help me turn him over.”

Andrew was stocky and strong. With his help, she got the Ranger on his back. Blood smeared the weathered wood floor.

Her brother drew in a sharp breath and Catherine glanced up. He was pale, his eyes huge. “What’s he doin’ here?”

“Looking for the outlaws that Sheriff Holt told us about.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. Not yet.”

“He’s mean-lookin’.” Andrew stood frozen, staring warily at the stranger.

Catherine turned her attention back to Jericho. The man’s black vest fell open to reveal the waistband of his trousers and a lean torso, but her gaze was drawn to the dark bandanna tied below his elbow. His shirt was torn and she could see a nickel-size hole in his forearm. Gunshot. “He’s bleeding.”

She reached for the chambray cloth, intending to roll back his sleeve.

“He’s bleedin’ there, too.” Andrew’s finger shook as he pointed to the man’s leg. “Is he gonna die?”

“I don’t know.” She tempered her impatience. Her brother’s sharp unease was undoubtedly due to witnessing the recent death of their mother.

Summoned by Mother’s urgent letter, Catherine had spent two weeks traveling by train and stage from New York City to Whirlwind. By the time she arrived, Evelyn Donnelly was dead from consumption, and the brother Catherine had never known was fending for himself.

She shifted the lamp to get a good look at the Ranger’s leg. A blood-soaked length of rope was tied high on his right thigh. Catherine had thought it was the leg strap for a gun belt, but he wasn’t wearing one. An egg-size hole tore his denims. She spread open the fabric with gentle fingers. A low groan escaped the man.

“It’s okay,” she said, automatically soothing him while she continued to examine his leg. His blood-caked flesh gaped. Raw, ragged and still oozing, the wound was deep.

She glanced up at Andrew. “We need to get him all the way inside.”

“Our house?”

“Yes. There’s no one else to help him.”

Her brother swallowed hard.

“Andrew,” she said sharply.

“He’s big!”

“You pull one arm and I’ll pull the other.”

With considerable effort, they dragged him across the wood floor, angling around the table to position him a few feet from the stove. Catherine knelt, checking the injury to his arm again. It would keep, but his leg needed immediate attention. His pants were torn on his outer thigh several inches above his knee, and she discovered two small holes in his leg there, where the bullets had entered. Blood still seeped from the open flesh where the slug had exited. Because his trousers were stuck to his skin, she couldn’t tell if the wound was on the top part of his thigh or the inside.

She stood and retrieved a pair of scissors from the free-standing cupboard behind the table, and cut through the rope. Laying the rope and scissors aside, she pressed her hand firmly to his leg, finding the rock-hard muscle hot and feverish beneath her touch. She ignored the flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t generally nervous around unconscious men.

“Andrew, get me a clean cloth and some water. Put one of the brick pieces from the stove in the water to warm it up.”

It was something the Sisters had taught her, and Andrew followed her instructions as carefully as she had always followed the nuns’. She cleaned the Ranger’s injury as best she could, applying pressure when fresh blood seeped out. His denims stuck to his leg and Catherine knew she might have to cut them off in order to see the damage. Despite working with the Sisters for four years at Bellevue Hospital and around New York City, she didn’t have all the skills needed to tend such a severe injury.

“You’ve got to ride to Fort Greer for Dr. Butler,” she told her brother. “This man has lost a lot of blood. We can’t let him die, and I’m afraid if we don’t get the doctor here soon, he will.”

In the wash of lamplight, the furrow of pain between the stranger’s brows seemed to be permanently carved. An old scar ran high on his left cheekbone.

“Don’t dally, Andrew.” She got to her feet and took him by the shoulders. That she was his only family had thus far meant nothing to the boy. Quietly belligerent, he came and went as he pleased no matter if Catherine cajoled, threatened or bribed. “Don’t disobey me in this, I beg you. This man’s life could depend on it.”

He nodded solemnly. For the first time since she’d come to Whirlwind, there was no hint of defiance in his face. Just a sober understanding and a hint of fear.

She walked to the corner behind the door and picked up their father’s old shotgun.

“What’re you doing?” her brother breathed.

She turned, her hands trembling on the stock. “Do you know how to use this?”

He nodded.

“Take it and go for Dr. Butler.”

“Okay. Moe’s fast—”

“No.” The Ranger had said the outlaws were near. Until she knew where the McDougals were, she had to be careful. She didn’t want Andrew taking any chances by getting their horse from the barn, where any or all of the gang might be hiding. “Take the Ranger’s horse and don’t disappear. Come straight back.”

The boy rushed to his room and returned wearing his brown homespun trousers and buttoning the placket of a brown-and-white checked shirt. He stomped his feet into his worn shoes. At the door, he took the gun. “I’ll hurry.”

“Good.” She began to roll up the sleeves of her plain white bodice.

“What will you do?”

“See if I can stop the bleeding.”

He grimaced and disappeared into the night. His shoes scudded across the porch, then silence fell. Unease at being alone with the man tightened her shoulders, but she calmed herself by observing that he was unconscious. He couldn’t hurt her.

Catherine knelt again, dragged in a deep, steadying breath and unfastened his pants. Her hands trembled so badly it was difficult to tug the heavy material down his hips. She abandoned that, fearing he might die before the doctor arrived. Picking up the scissors, she cut at the denim just below the rip so she could press her hand fully against the wound on the inside of his thigh.

She dipped the rag in water again and gently cleaned away more dried blood. Fresh crimson seeped out and she applied firm pressure.

He was lean and hard and his body burned with fever. Even in the pale light she could see the angry red of infection around the wound before fresh blood covered it again.

Maybe it was the fact that her mother had been buried two days before she’d arrived, but Catherine was determined that no more death would happen in this house so soon.

She kept the cloth in place, pressing with her hands. She closed her eyes, praying Andrew would reach Fort Greer and the doctor in record time.

When a rough, callused hand grabbed hers, her eyes flew open. Her stomach dipped to her knees as she stared into his pain-filled silver eyes. Then they closed.

“Hurts,” her patient croaked.

“Yes,” she murmured soothingly, telling herself to stroke his brow as she’d done to so many patients these last few years. But she couldn’t.

Something about this man’s voice, or maybe his touch, shook her inside, setting off a spark of fear mixed with an anticipation she didn’t understand.

His hand went limp and she stared at his pale, whiskered face. Relief eased out in a long breath. Hurry, Doctor.

Half an hour later, Dr. Butler helped get the man into her bed. The Ranger was so tall his booted feet hung off the end, so they laid him at an angle.

After examining the patient, the doctor turned to her, compassion in his tired brown eyes. “He’s lucky he ended up on your doorstep. Not everyone has your skill at nursing.”

Thanks to the nuns who’d raised her. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don’t expect him to make it. There’s a lot of tissue damage, possibly nerve damage, as well. Infection has already started and he may have gotten help too late. Looks like he was shot twice in the leg, so I’m going to check and make sure there are no bullets left inside. My poking around can’t make things any worse for him.”

She nodded, hoping he was wrong about the stranger dying. Maybe this Texas Ranger was as tough on the inside as he looked on the outside. “I’ll heat some water and get some soap for you to wash your hands.”

“I’ll need your help.”

“All right.” She stepped out of the room and wrapped a cloth around her hand, reaching into the stove for one of the brick pieces she kept inside. She dropped it into a bowl, which she pumped full of water, then scooped up a tin of lye soap and carried everything back into the bedroom.

In the two weeks she’d worked for Dr. Butler at the fort, her aid had been confined to helping deliver babies and stitching the toe of a little boy who’d cut himself with his daddy’s ax. But during her work with the nuns, she had assisted in surgery a few times.

After the doctor washed his hands, he removed the blood-soaked pad Catherine had placed on the Ranger’s thigh. Dr. Butler’s fingers probed the gaping exit wound. Catherine looked away, took a quick steadying breath, then stepped up beside him. She wet a folded square of linen with the carbolic acid Dr. Butler sometimes used for sterilizing wounds.

He cleaned around and inside the wound, then Catherine handed him a pair of forceps. He located a bullet quickly, but it took several minutes to dig it out. Though still unconscious, the Ranger moaned. This time Catherine reached up to stroke his brow.

Finally, Dr. Butler dropped the bullet into the soap tin’s lid. The ping sounded sharply in the quiet room. “There’s just the one. Looks like the other one in his leg and the one in his arm went on out.”

With one hand, Catherine held the lamp for the doctor and with her other she continued to stroke the Ranger’s forehead. His skin was flushed and burned her palm.

She counted each of the twenty-seven stitches it took to close the wound. She knew the danger lay in how deep the injury had gone, the degree of infection and the risk of the man ripping open his stitches.

Dr. Butler cleaned the wound again. He washed his hands, then, as he stared down at the patient, dried them on the fresh cloth she’d laid on the bedside table. “I fully expect he’ll go, Catherine.”

“Maybe not.” She could only think that her fervent desire for the man to live was due to the fact that her mother had died so recently. “He could pull through.”

“Maybe.” The doctor looked doubtful. “I’ll leave some laudanum in case he wakes up at all.” He placed a small brown bottle on the washstand next to the bed. “That will ease his suffering. Just try to make him comfortable. I’ll check back tomorrow.”

Catherine nodded, then glanced at her bed. Even unconscious, Jericho Blue made her leery. She didn’t care to have the big man under her roof for a prolonged period, but whatever her intention when she’d answered the door, she wasn’t getting rid of this man tonight.

Chapter Two

D arkness shifted into light. Day into night. Jericho was swept along on a vicious red tide of pain. He burned, then froze. Searing agony gripped his leg and throbbed in his arm. Images floated through his mind. The face of his partner, Hays. A dark-haired boy. A woman with a soft voice and gentle hands that soothed his blistered flesh. He rocked on the ebb and flow of hurt before sliding into sweet surrender.

Something woke him. Pain or the light spilling through the window?

He struggled to open his eyes against the glare of the sun, awareness trickling back. A sharp ache pierced his skull. His right leg felt as if it were on fire. And he was naked. He didn’t recognize the soft bed that held the clean, comforting scent of a woman. His gaze tracked from the right, noting a tall, dark-wood wardrobe in the middle of the wall, an open door, a small dressing table, a stand to his left holding a pitcher and washbasin. None of it was familiar. The window stood open a few inches to let in fresh, warm air, and a lacy curtain fluttered there. He was in someone’s house.

He sorted through the blur of memories in his head. The ambush outside of Whirlwind, a young boy shooting with the McDougal gang. Bullets tearing through his arm and leg. His partner’s scream of surprise. Hays Gentry had been dead by the time Jericho dragged his own lead-riddled carcass over to his side.

Using a length of rope from his saddlebag, he had fashioned a tourniquet for his thigh. He had wrapped a bandanna around his bleeding arm, then clumsily secured his lanky partner onto Hays’s dun mare, and trailed the McDougal gang as far as he could while the tracks were fresh. Hours later, he’d lost them and returned to the scene of the ambush, picking up a single set of hoofprints. Hoofprints that had led him here.

His gaze shot to the open doorway and he tried to sit up. Agony clawed through his lower body and he cursed. Easing down, he panted with the effort not to cry out. A clean white bandage wrapped his right wrist up to the middle of his forearm.

He recalled waking a couple of times and a woman holding a cup of cool water to his lips. Cool dampness on his forehead and chest. He’d been shot in his gun arm. And his right leg. With his left hand, he weakly patted his way across the sheet and felt the bulk of bandages beneath.

His thigh was wrapped tightly and throbbing as if a coyote had made two meals out of it.

“Sir?” The sweet, lilting voice was tentative. The speaker sounded breathless, as if she’d hurried to him. “Oh, good. I thought I heard you.”

Jericho struggled to focus on the figure in the open doorway. Her voice. “You helped me.”

“Yes.” She moved toward him, concern drawing her finely arched brows together.

Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked. She was pretty. More than pretty. Was he conscious? Her long black hair was pulled back with a white kerchief and flowed over one shoulder like ebony silk. He registered strong features and porcelain skin before his vision hazed. She leaned over him, smelling of sunshine and soap. A low humming sounded in his ears. She was talking.

“Dr. Butler removed a bullet. There was one in your leg, but not in your arm. You were shot twice in the thigh.”

“What’s my leg look like?” The room spun and he felt himself sliding away. He’d seen men with the same injury lose their leg to rot. “Will it keep?”

“I think so. You seem to be fighting off the infection.” She smiled and he could see her eyes were blue. Clear blue like that fancy bird made of colored glass his ma had.

“I made it to Whirlwind.”

“Yes. You were tracking the McDougal gang.” Her hand fluttered over the bandage on his arm. “Dr. Butler will check your leg when he comes.”

Jericho’s head swam and he felt himself slipping away. “I came to your door.”

“Yes. You told me your name, then went unconscious.”

“How long have I been here?” The pain pulled at him, dragging him into a black hole of helplessness.

“Three days.”

He grunted. “Your name?”

“Catherine Donnelly.”

“Cath—” Everything went black.

The next time Jericho awoke, the sun was setting. His mouth was as dry as wool, the pain deep and gouging. He felt someone in the room and turned his head to the right, staring into the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

“Hello,” she said softly.

“Hello.” His voice sounded rusty and dry. He remembered her. “Miz Donald?”

“Donnelly.”

“Catherine.”

“Your fever broke.” Triumph underscored her words as she fussed with the blanket draped over his body.

Pain pushed the fog from his mind. He felt as weak as a newborn babe.

“Let me get you something to eat.”

“Was I out a long time?”

“You woke earlier today. Do you remember?”

He nodded. Three days he’d spent in this bed. Useless. Helpless.

“Dr. Butler will be pleased when he comes by to check on you.” She seemed to glide out of the room, her fluid movements economical and controlled.

The plain gray dress and white apron draped her body in long, sleek lines. Curved in all the right places, she had full breasts and a slim waist. If a man weren’t careful, her blue eyes could draw him in, distract him enough to forget why he was here.

She returned with a thick crockery bowl and a spoon. Pulling a ladder-back chair close to the side of the bed, she set the bowl on the bedside table. A fragrant steam drifted to him and made his mouth water.

“Do you think you can sit up?”

He tried, bracing his weight on his left arm. The movement had his thigh jerking in agony, but he managed to get his shoulders against the wooden headboard at his back. Sweat broke across his face.

The woman carefully spooned soup into his mouth. He hadn’t thought he was hungry, but the rich chicken broth made him ravenous. Still, being forced to let someone feed him made Jericho feel as useless as a teat on a boar hog. His good hand clenched into a fist. “I can feed myself.”

Her face didn’t change, but he felt her doubt. “I’ll hold the bowl if you want to try.”

He nodded, taking the spoon from her. His hand shook as if he had the palsy.

Regarding him steadily with a hint of wariness in her eyes, she held the bowl. He dipped the spoon into the broth and brought it to his mouth, dribbling half of it down his chest. “Damn.”

“Here.” She rose and leaned toward him, using her apron to blot up the liquid.

Her touch was brisk and impersonal, but as she swiped the cloth from his chest to his belly, Jericho felt a jolt of heat. His grip tightened on the spoon.

She sat down, her fresh scent teasing him. “You’re very weak. Please let me help you.”

He didn’t have any choice if he wanted to eat his food rather than wear it. What little energy he did have had been used to sit up. Frustration rolled through him, but he relinquished the spoon. “All right.”

He sounded grudging even to his own ears, but she didn’t seem to mind. She took the spoon and fed him another bite.

“My partner?”

“Sheriff Holt took care of the man who was with you. The sheriff said you were his cousin.”

“Davis Lee buried Hays?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Jericho’s mouth tightened. If he and Hays hadn’t already been single-mindedly pursuing the murderous McDougals on special commission from the governor, yesterday’s ambush would’ve assured that Jericho would hunt them down and exact justice for all the people they’d killed. The gang had unleashed hell throughout all of Texas, parts of Kansas and Indian Territory. Jericho had no intention of letting them continue any longer than it took for him to heal.

“I want to pay you, ma’am.”

“Your cousin has already taken care of it.”

“And my horse?” He swallowed the last bite of broth.

“In my barn. The sheriff took your friend’s to the livery.”

“Thank you.” What the McDougals had done to Jericho was the least of it. He itched to lift the sheet and peel back the bandages on his thigh to judge for himself the damage those murderous bastards had wrought. His entire lower body was a throbbing mass of pain.

Alarm pricked him. Just what all had gotten shot off down there? It felt as if his leg was still attached, but what about his manhood?

“Are you all right? Maybe you should rest again.”

“I’m wonderin’ about my injuries. When do you think the doctor will come?”

“He’s been stopping by late in the afternoon, but it depends on his patients.”

“Humph.” Jericho wished Miz Donnelly would leave the room so he could just look at himself and get it over with.

“I can probably answer any questions you have.”

With that virginal face? “I doubt it.”

“I’m a trained nurse. Are you concerned about your leg?”

“I’ll just wait until he gets here to ask my questions.”

“I helped him remove the bullet. I’m more than capable of telling you what you need to know.”

Her clear, guileless eyes hinted that she had no idea what he really wanted to ask. “Somehow I don’t think so,” he muttered.

She pursed her lips and looked affronted. “You had lost a lot of blood by the time you showed up here. Part of your wrist bone was chipped, but there was no bullet. The tissue inside is damaged.”

“You say the doc will be by sometime this afternoon?”

She rose from the chair. “Yes, but there’s no need for you to wonder and worry. I’m sure I can put your mind at ease.”

She might be soft-looking, but she was as persistent as a hungry mule. He gritted his teeth and stared her right in the eye. “Was my manhood shot off?”

She nearly dropped the bowl in his lap. They both grabbed for it. Her hands fumbled over the top of his and she pulled away with the crockery.

Her face flushed bright red and she choked out, “You’ll have to ask the doctor.”

“That’s what I figured,” he growled.

She hurried out of the room. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

While she was gone, he patted his groin but all he could feel was bandages.

A few minutes later, she returned with a tin cup, which she held for him. Jericho sipped at the cool water as he studied her. Slight pink still tinged her lovely face and her eyes were bright. She kept her gaze averted. For some reason, her embarrassment caused him to smile.

He’d thought a trained nurse would be more pragmatic about the human body. Her obvious discomfort sparked a long-buried need in Jericho, a purely male urge to find out how much experience she’d had. Man-to-woman experience.

Where had that thought come from? His brain was muddled from the injuries, that’s all. The questions he needed to ask had to do with the ambush that had left him laid up and Hays dead.

Jericho glanced around the room. “I think I remember seeing a boy in here a couple of times.”

“My brother, Andrew.”

“How old is he?”

“Twelve.”

That could be about the age of the boy he’d spotted riding with the gang at the ambush. Was Andrew Donnelly the one who’d shot and killed Hays? Jericho needed to see that kid and examine the horses around here to check if any of their shoes matched the tracks he’d followed.

A knock sounded on the front door and Catherine placed the tin cup on the bedside table. “I’ll be right back.”

He closed his eyes as she left, as much to rest as to try and make out her words in the next room.

She reappeared with a thin, brown-haired man who appeared to be a few inches shorter than Jericho’s six-foot-four.

“This is Dr. Butler,” she said. “He couldn’t believe it when I told him you were awake.”

Jericho wasn’t sure how much longer he’d stay that way. Reaching out with his good hand, he awkwardly clasped the other man’s. “Thanks for what you did.”

“Captain, you should be thanking Catherine.”

“It’s Lieutenant, Doc.”

The doctor aimed a warm, affectionate smile at her. “Well, Lieutenant, you’re lucky to be alive, and it’s because of her. She saved your life.”

A slight blush stained his nurse’s cheeks as she moved to the left of Jericho’s bed. He looked over and nodded. A brief smile touched her lips before her gaze skittered away.

The doctor eyed Jericho critically. “You surprise me, sir. I didn’t expect you to survive.”

“You can call me Jericho.”

“Your color is much better and your fever seems to have gone down a bit. I’d like to take a look at your wrist and leg.”

“All right.” Jericho wasn’t too keen on having anything looked at, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

The doctor moved around the foot of the bed and up beside him. He cut away the bandage wrapping Jericho’s wrist and forearm. The flesh was raw and torn. His hand lay limply, curled inward on top of the clean white sheet.

“Can you move your fingers?”

He could, but couldn’t straighten out his hand.

“Hmm. Can you bend your wrist?”

Jericho tried and jagged pain flashed through him. “Can’t. There’s no give in it.”

“Don’t force it.”

“What does that mean, Doc?”

“Some tendons were torn by the bullet.”

“But I’ll still be able to use this hand again, won’t I?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I will. I have to.” Jericho was a lousy left-handed shot. He had every intention of making the McDougal gang pay for what they’d done, and to do that he had to be able to use his gun hand.

“I need to see how it heals up,” the doctor said.

“How long?”

The other man raised an eyebrow. “Longer than three days. You’re getting stronger. I sure didn’t hold out hope for that, not like Catherine did. Let’s check your progress in another couple of days.”

“I’m gonna be gone by then. The gang’s trail is already cold. The longer I’m laid up, the harder they’ll be to find.”

“You listen to me, Lieutenant.” The doctor’s brown eyes turned stern. “You lost a lot of blood. By all rights, you shouldn’t be drawing breath right now. If you get out of that bed before Catherine or I tell you, you could rip open your stitches and bleed like a stuck hog. I can’t put any blood back in you. Understand?”

“Yes.” Jericho didn’t like the doctor’s words, but he appreciated straight talk. He did need to get on his way, but just the little time he’d been awake this afternoon had left him weak and shaky. He probably couldn’t even saddle his horse.

“I want you to give me your word you won’t try to leave.” Dr. Butler unbuttoned the cuff of his white shirt and rolled it back. “And that you’ll follow my orders.”

Jericho wasn’t used to following anyone’s orders, but he did owe Butler and Miz Donnelly something for saving his life. Besides, he wouldn’t be worth spit if he saddled up and rode out of here, then passed out. “You have my word.”

“Good.” The doctor glanced at the woman who stood quietly on the other side of the bed. “Catherine, let’s change the dressing on his leg.”

“I’ll get the bandages.”

As soon as she stepped out of the room, Jericho said in a low voice, “Hey, Doc, just what all was shot off down there?”

The other man grinned. “You still have your private parts.”

“Will they work?”

“I believe you’ll be fine, but there is some tissue damage. I’m also concerned about damage to your nerves. That shouldn’t affect your manhood, but it might be a while before everything is back to working order.”

Just as Jericho exhaled a relieved breath, the Donnelly woman returned with a handful of white strips torn from a sheet. Her face betrayed no emotion, but her eyes had darkened to near purple and her hands trembled. Since his manhood was still intact, Jericho didn’t care to tempt fate by letting this woman near him with a pair of scissors.

“Uh, Doc, since I’m awake now, I’d just as soon the lady not see me in the altogether.”

“She’s a nurse, Lieutenant. She’s been trained to ignore embarrassments.”

“Well, she ain’t never seen my embarrassments and I don’t aim for her to start. No offense, ma’am.”

“None taken. I’ll wait outside.” She left, and he thought she looked relieved.

Just what kind of woman had taken him in? Her voice smiled, but she didn’t. She obviously had nursing skills, but not the drawl of Texas. Where was she from? Jericho wondered if there was a Mr. Donnelly. Children? Was her brother the boy Jericho had seen with the McDougals at the ambush? And if so, was his pretty nurse involved with the gang, too?

As he nodded in response to the doctor’s instruction to stay in bed tomorrow, it wasn’t the boy who had ahold of Jericho’s mind. It was the blue-eyed woman who made him feel as if he mattered.

Catherine didn’t want to think about Jericho Blue’s manhood. She shouldn’t be thinking about it. But even the next day, as she drove the wagon back from Fort Greer, the memory of his blunt question brought heat to her face. She had been the one to insist she could quell his concerns. But she had nearly dropped the soup bowl in his lap.

Thinking about his—him—in that way opened up other thoughts, sharpened her unsettling awareness of the Ranger. Why couldn’t she simply think of him as another patient? Saints knew, she’d tended plenty of those.

Dr. Butler had told her it would take some time for Jericho to regain his strength. As much as Catherine wished for the man in her bed to get better and move on, she had no desire to see him at full strength. Just the taut, ropy muscles in his arms and legs hinted at the power he must possess when in good health. He was a big man. The idea of him regaining his strength reminded her too much of men who used brute force to intimidate.

She liked Jericho Blue much better when he was asleep. He wasn’t handsome, but she found his stern, chiseled face compelling. A sense of purpose and command surrounded him, as if he was a man who knew what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. She shuddered to think how he would be if he wanted a woman. No man had ever made her heart race from anticipation one second, intimidation the next. She didn’t understand it.

Around him, she felt skittish and on guard. When he’d woken, those silver eyes had been soft, then gone as sharp as a honed blade when he talked about the gang who had murdered his friend. Catherine didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that dangerous gaze.

She’d finally seen a smile, albeit at her expense. His blunt question and her catching the bowl that had nearly dropped in his lap had somehow amused him. If he ever turned a charming smile on a woman, Catherine suspected that woman might surrender her virtue and thank him for taking it.

Her own four years of nursing experience had brought her into contact with men in various stages of undress, some completely naked. Yet not one of them had ever put flutters in her stomach or made her dread the return of his strength. It had only been in the last year and a half that she had become so wary around men.

She didn’t like thinking about Jericho, but couldn’t seem to help herself. What she needed was to focus her thoughts toward helping him get better and out of her bed.

Softly clucking to Moe, she drove the wagon back from the fort. Catherine had talked to Dr. Butler about one of her patients in New York City who had injured his foot and ankle. The doctor had agreed to her plan of working with the Ranger’s hand, massaging the tissue and muscles in an effort to see if he could improve and eventually bend his wrist again. She hoped the Ranger would be able to fully recover.

The spring day was warm enough to cause a light sheen of moisture across her neck beneath the heavy mass of her hair. Still, she welcomed being outdoors.

She had left her patient in the very capable care of his cousins, Davis Lee and Riley Holt, along with Riley’s wife, Susannah. Riley’s petite wife had told Catherine they had an infant daughter whom they’d left with a friend named Cora. Catherine had thought Jericho and his family might appreciate the privacy to visit freely, and she could use a respite from his probing silver gaze. Just what did he contemplate so hard when his eyes narrowed on her?

Her gelding, Moe, plodded up the gentle swell of ground, his sorrel haunches glistening in the sunshine. They topped a rise that looked out over town. Fort Greer, where she worked with Dr. Butler, was about two miles northwest of Whirlwind and much farther than the distance Catherine had traveled in New York to reach the hospital, but she didn’t mind. The fort was self-contained, and because of that, its residents rarely came into Whirlwind. The town had been a natural outgrowth of people who weren’t with the Army, but wanted to settle on the prairie.

Catherine liked the distance between her house and the fort. She also liked the small, charming town where her parents, emigrating from Ireland, had come to join Catherine’s widowed uncle. He and Catherine’s father had pooled their money to buy the house, though her uncle had died in his sleep shortly afterward. Father had never gotten all the farmland he’d wanted so desperately, but at least his family had had a nice roof over their heads. Catherine’s mother had still wanted her to stay in New York with the nuns who’d taken her in at the age of six, so she would know Catherine was being fed and clothed.

In the letters she’d written to Catherine over the years, Evelyn had hinted that Robbie Donnelly’s drinking had become frequent and worse. Her father losing job after job had convinced Mother that Catherine needed to stay where she had a secure home and food. With money so tight, Evelyn could barely afford to feed and clothe Andrew. And so the family had remained separated. Catherine sometimes wondered if the hollowness at missing so much time with her family would ever be filled. She knew she would always regret that Mother had waited so long to send for her. They’d had neither hello nor goodbye after waiting fourteen years to reunite.

Whirlwind’s general store and telegraph office might be simple by New York standards, but she felt more significant in this town than she had back East despite all her hospital work.

She liked the vast open spaces. In New York, the sidewalks were always crowded and the streets always loud. Out here, a soul-soothing quiet settled across the prairie at night, broken by the occasional howl of a coyote or the chirping of crickets, the coarse call of a raven or whistle of a whip-poor-will. The town was laid out in the shape of a T, with the church on the east end toward Abilene. Catherine had attended three of the four Sundays she’d been here, and Andrew had grudgingly shuffled along with her.

Thoughts of her brother made her sigh. He had no interest in reuniting with a sister he’d never known. He appeared only at suppertime, and as she had learned a few nights ago, he habitually slipped out of the house after she sent him to bed. Thank the saints, the May nights on this West Texas prairie weren’t bitterly cold.

What was she going to do about Andrew? His sneaking out at night disturbed her, especially with the recent shootings by the McDougal gang. But since the night the Ranger had arrived, Andrew had been around more. She checked on him several times during the night, pleased and grateful to see him asleep in bed. He asked a lot of questions about Lieutenant Blue, wondering if the man were improving, and what he’d been doing at their house in the first place.

She thought he probably admired the Ranger, which was fine if Jericho Blue was a good man. Except for the unsettled sensation he put in her stomach, Catherine couldn’t point to any specific bad thing about him.

Her mother’s pale yellow house sat at the northeast end of town, on the outskirts. The nearest neighbors were in Whirlwind. Beside the small house was a fenced herb and vegetable garden, a root cellar and a spring house. The barn stood about fifty yards behind.

Whirlwind was visible from her bedroom window and an easy walk. Catherine felt secure and independent at the same time. The sheriff’s office was one of the closest buildings if she found it necessary to go for help. So far it hadn’t been, but since the Ranger’s arrival, she had found Sheriff Holt’s nearness comforting.

She would do well to keep her thoughts on Whirlwind’s handsome sheriff rather than the ragged stranger in her bed, but too many questions about Jericho Blue chased through her mind. The pain and regret in his silver eyes when she’d told him about burying his partner conveyed that Jericho had been close to the man. Who else did he care about? Was there a woman somewhere wondering what had happened to him?

The possibility caused a strange twinge that Catherine defined as nerves. The man unsettled her, though logic told her he was too weak to be a real threat. Yet.

Still, something inside her tensed up when he was awake. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, she felt his attention as if he were waiting for something. Something from her.

She was being fanciful. She’d been cooped up too long without fresh air. As she approached the frame house her father had built for her mother, Catherine noted the buckboard and black mare out in front. The Holts were still here.

Good. Catherine didn’t relish the idea of being alone with the Ranger. The quick introduction she’d had to the sheriff’s brother and sister-in-law told her she would like Riley and Susannah Holt. The powerfully built rancher and his petite wife were newly married. Susannah had told Catherine that she had taught Andrew in one of her charm school classes. Catherine had been thrilled to hear that her brother didn’t run away from everyone the way he did from her.

She unhitched Moe from the wagon, then unharnessed and quickly brushed him down, leaving him with some fresh hay before going to the back stoop of the house.

The sound of laughter met her at the door, bringing a smile to her face. She walked up the narrow hallway to the front room. As she stepped around the corner, Susannah Holt peeked around the doorframe of Catherine’s bedroom. Her blue eyes were kind and warm. “Hello! Was your trip all right?”

“Yes, fine. Thank you.”

The woman’s silvery-blond hair was piled on top of her head, stray curls teasing her neck. She wore a smart red-and-white gingham dress, making Catherine self-consciously aware of her plain chambray dress and apron, sprinkled with rusty Texas dust.

“How’s the patient doing?” She walked into the room behind the other woman and stopped in front of her dressing table.

Jericho sat up in bed just as she had left him, wearing the clean white shirt she’d found in his saddlebag. A dark beard covered his chiseled jaw, testifying to the fact that he was still too weak to shave. So far, he’d waved off Catherine’s offers to do the chore for him.

Secretly she was relieved. Just being in the same room with him put that strange heat in her belly. She didn’t want to be within inches of him. His dark, ragged hair was brushed back, drawing her eye to the scar on his left cheekbone. Though he still looked gaunt, there was a bit of color in his face.

Davis Lee Holt, the sheriff, smiled broadly at Catherine. His blue eyes sparkled. “I think Jericho’s on the mend, Nurse.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She glanced at her patient, but couldn’t hold his gaze, which had turned hot and measuring.

“We sure appreciate you taking him in.” Riley Holt, a handsome, broad-shouldered man, flashed her a dimpled smile that made her wonder how his cousin would look if he smiled that way. “We’re gonna owe you a lot for this. We know he can be difficult.”

“Humph,” Jericho grumbled.

“If you have any problems at all, you send for me.” Davis Lee’s eyes twinkled.

“And you’ll lock him up?” she teased.

“If I need to.”

“Is this the kind of nursing you were taught?” Jericho’s tone was light, but Catherine felt his intense regard like a touch.

She smiled as the others chuckled.

Susannah touched Catherine’s arm. “I brought a few things. Flour, eggs and milk.”

The Holts had already done too much by paying for her mother’s burial before Catherine had arrived. “That wasn’t necessary, but thank you.”

“I also brought some biscuits. I thought Jericho might like them.”

“Do you like honey with them?” she asked her patient. “Haskell’s General Store had some fresh yesterday.”

“He’d eat honey on everything if you gave him a chance,” Riley said with a grin.

“Yeah, even tree bark,” Davis Lee added.

“Biscuits and honey sound good,” Jericho said to Catherine. Pain drew his features taut, but he didn’t appear in any hurry for his family to leave.

She saw him glance at his injured arm for the third time since she’d arrived. “I talked to the doctor about your hand.”

That blade-sharp gaze shifted to her. “What about it?”

“I had a patient in New York with a similar injury to his foot and ankle. He eventually recovered the use of both.”

“Surgery?” Jericho asked tightly.

“No. I massaged his muscles every day and he worked on trying to bend his ankle.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “And it worked?”

“Yes. He was finally able to walk. He did limp, but he was pleased with his progress.”

“It’s worth a try,” Davis Lee said.

Jericho’s gaze measured her. “And you’d be willing to do that for me?”

“Of course.”

For a long moment, he was silent.

Catherine added, “If you want.”

He gave a curt nod. “Thank you. When do we start?”

“Dr. Butler wants to check you again tomorrow. He can tell us then when to start and how often it needs to be worked.”

“Good.” Jericho’s gaze went past her to the door. “Hello.”

She turned to find Andrew standing there. By the saints, the boy moved as silently as a ghost. No wonder she hadn’t known about his nightly disappearances.

“Hi.” She smiled warmly and stepped toward him. “How was school today?”

“All right.” His blue gaze locked on Jericho.

“Hello, Andrew,” Susannah said.

The boy’s gaze jerked to the blonde and he smiled, one of the few Catherine had seen. “Hi, Miz Holt.” His gaze moved to Riley and Davis Lee. “Mr. Holt. Sheriff.”

The two men greeted him warmly.

Catherine put an arm lightly around her brother’s shoulders, pleased and a little surprised when he didn’t pull away. “This is Lieutenant Jericho Blue. I don’t think the two of you have been formally introduced.”

“Hello, Andrew.” Jericho’s voice was nearly hoarse.

Beneath her touch, her brother stiffened slightly. “Hello.”

“So you’ve been to school today?”

He nodded, staring in rapt fascination at the big man.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

Catherine thought Andrew’s voice shook slightly. Maybe he was as intimidated by Jericho Blue as she was. Well, the man was imposing, even laid up in bed.

As Jericho thanked Riley and Susannah for coming, Catherine noticed how her brother studied the Ranger. Perhaps his interest was due to the fact that Jericho was a lawman. Or the way he dwarfed the bed with his door-wide shoulders and long legs.

Jericho didn’t seem to notice her brother’s unrelenting study, but Catherine gave his shoulder a warning squeeze. She walked Riley and Susannah to the door, biting off the silly urge to ask them not to leave her alone with the big man in her room.

She wouldn’t be alone with him. The sheriff was still here. And so was Andrew, though she instinctively knew it would take more than those two to discourage Jericho Blue if he decided to cause trouble.

Surprisingly, Andrew followed her to the door.

Riley helped his wife into the buckboard. “Please let us know if you need anything,” Susannah said.

“Or if Jericho gets restless.” Riley walked back to where she stood on the porch, tapping his gray hat lightly against his thigh. “We really appreciate all you’re doing. He said the doctor advised against moving him because of all the blood he lost.”

She nodded.

“He also said you saved his life.” The big man extended a hand. “We’re much obliged.”

“I’m glad I have some nursing skills.”

“Thank goodness,” Susannah interjected.

“Davis Lee or I will check in every day,” Riley said. “Don’t want him wearing you out.”

“Visitors will be nice. That will help him along.” Their presence would also keep her from being alone with him.

The younger Holt leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “Don’t feel obliged to eat those biscuits. My wife hasn’t quite mastered the recipe.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.”

He chuckled. “If you break a tooth, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Riley Holt, I can hear you.”

Catherine smiled at the saucy grin on the blonde’s face as she shook a finger at her husband. The affection between the two glowed on both their faces.

“Good day.” Riley levered himself into the buckboard and picked up the reins. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right.” She waved as they drove away, then turned to see her brother standing uncertainly with his hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers. “What is it, Andrew?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and moved with her into the house. “I thought maybe they would take him.”

“Shh.” She glanced toward her bedroom. “You know Dr. Butler said he’s too weak.” Why did her brother’s young face look so solemn? “Would you take the milk Miss Susannah brought and put it in the spring house?”

He hesitated. “Will the sheriff be here for a while?”

“I’m not sure. Did you want to ask him something?”

“No. Just curious.” He picked up the crockery jug and started out the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Bemused, she nodded. What was going on in that head of his? She stepped into her bedroom doorway and saw that Davis Lee had pulled a chair over to the bed.

Sweat glistened on Jericho’s face, giving witness to the effort it cost him to sit up for so long. She walked across the room. “You should probably lie back down.”

He nodded, grimacing as he braced his weight on his left arm.

She dipped a damp rag into the bowl of clean water she’d left on the bedside table. “Sheriff, would you like to stay for supper?”

“I can’t, Miz Donnelly, but thank you. Maybe another time?”

“Of course.” She reached over to gently wipe Jericho’s face with the damp rag.

He grabbed her wrist with his left hand. “I can do it.”

Her gaze jerked to his and she released the rag. “Of course.” Her voice sounded shaky and she curled her fingers into the pleats of her apron. “I’ll go start supper.”

“I won’t stay long, Nurse,” the sheriff said.

She walked out, her skin burning from Jericho’s touch, her nerves as raw as if he’d hooked an arm around her throat. It took a minute to steady herself, and as she stoked up the fire in the stove for cornbread, she tried to dismiss the stamp of his touch on her skin. Had that jolt to her bloodstream been fear? Or something else?

The sheriff could stay all night as far as she was concerned. She was in no hurry to be alone with Jericho Blue.

Chapter Three

D avis Lee raised an eyebrow and gave him a steely-eyed look. “What was that about?”

“What?” Jericho said. He shouldn’t have touched her. Her skin was every bit as silky soft as it looked. She smelled like spring rain with a hint of lemon verbena, while he probably smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months. At least his drawers were clean.

“You were harsh. All she did was try to cool you down.”

“I can still do some things by myself,” he muttered, unsettled by the quick surge of blood he’d felt when she reached for him.

“So it was just pride?” The doubt in his cousin’s eyes echoed inside Jericho.

“Yes.” The plain fact was that every instinct he had honed over the last thirteen years as a Ranger screamed at him to keep as far away from Catherine Donnelly as he could. But even if he’d been able to move, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Andrew Donnelly was the boy he’d seen at the ambush. Maybe the one who’d shot and killed Hays. And Jericho had known by the flare of wariness in his eyes, clear blue like his sister’s, that the lad had recognized him, too.

Did his pretty nurse know that baby brother was riding with the McDougals? Was she protecting him? Was she involved, too?

Davis Lee leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “I suppose you’re watching that door like a hawk because you don’t want her coming back in here to tend you some more?”

“Actually, I don’t want her coming back in here.” Jericho jerked his gaze to his cousin, relying on his ears to keep him apprised of her movements. “What do you know about her?”

“Not that much.” His cousin grinned. “She’s pretty.”

Jericho’s thigh throbbed and he grimaced. “How long has she been here?”

“Not quite a month. Her mother suffered from consumption, and toward the end, she sent for Catherine to come to Whirlwind and care for the boy.”

“Sent where for her? Where was she?”

Davis Lee frowned. “What’s got you all het up?”

“Where?”

“New York City. With some nuns.”

“Nuns?” His leg burned like blue fire and he felt more than half-spent. Still, he forced himself to concentrate. Besides their age, he and Davis Lee shared an interest in the law. And justice. His cousin’s instincts, except for one unfortunate incident, had never failed him. “Do you believe that?”

“I suppose.” Davis Lee paused thoughtfully. “Evelyn, her mother, talked about her a lot. Said she and her husband left Catherine with the nuns when they came to America from Ireland.”

“Why wouldn’t they bring their daughter to Texas with them?”

“Evelyn said she didn’t believe they’d survive here. At least with the nuns, Catherine would be fed, clothed and educated.”

“What about later?” Jericho was intrigued in spite of himself. “When the family had become established here?”

“I’m not sure. Evelyn never said.” He flashed another grin. “If you’re not interested, then where’s all this goin’?”

“Her brother was at the ambush.”

“What?” Davis Lee’s dark brows snapped together and he threw a quick look toward the kitchen.

Jericho heard the squeak of the stove door, the hollow tap of Catherine’s shoes on the wooden floor.

“Are you sure?” The other man lowered his voice.

“I’m not likely to mistake it.”

“You didn’t see the boy afterward? Here maybe? You weren’t very alert.”

“He was there. And when he came in a while ago, he recognized me, too.”

Davis Lee shook his head. “My posse has chased the McDougal gang several times and I’ve never seen the kid. Why would he be involved with those bastards?”

“I mean to find out.”

“You’re positive he was there? That he didn’t ride up on the scene afterward?”

Jericho kept his voice low, as well. “He had a shotgun. It was long for him, but he had control of it. He may have been the one who killed Hays.”

Davis Lee frowned. “Did you track him here?”

“After I lost the gang, I followed a set of tracks from the ambush. They led here, and Catherine—Miz Donnelly—answered the door.”

“Did you tell her? What did she say?”

“I keeled over before I could say anything about the boy. She’d probably protect him, anyway.”

“If he was with them—”

“He was.”

“She may have no idea.” Davis Lee shook his head. “Andrew went missing the day before and she was out looking for him. I’d say she was near panic.”

“Maybe because she knew exactly where he was.”

Davis Lee still looked doubtful.

Jericho shifted in the bed, trying to relieve the sharp pressure in his thigh. Weakness washed through him, but he fought it. “You believe her story about the nuns and New York City?”

“Yeah. Her mother was a good woman.” Davis Lee dragged a hand down his face. “And Catherine seems like a good woman, too.”

“Why? Because you think she’s pretty?”

“Don’t you?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“You were shot in the leg, not the eye,” the other man pointed out wryly. “What do you want to do about Andrew? Want me to get him in here?”

Jericho felt himself sinking beneath a wave of pain. “Any news about the McDougals?”

“No. Nothing since the ambush. They’re holed up somewhere.”

“That’s my guess, too. And that kid probably knows where. I want to watch him for a while. His sister, too.”

“Are you telling me everything?” his cousin demanded. “Has she given you a reason to be suspicious?”

“If the boy’s involved with the McDougals, she may be, too. Does she have a beau?”

“No.” Davis Lee thought for a minute. “In fact, I haven’t seen her show interest in any man around here. She’s always polite, but that’s about it. The Baldwin brothers usually have some luck with the ladies, but I don’t think she’s accepted one of their invitations.”

“I can see why a man would be interested in her. Have you had any luck?” The thought of Davis Lee setting his sights on Catherine Donnelly struck an uneasy chord inside Jericho, but he didn’t know why.

“What makes you think I’ve tried?”

“You always try.”

Davis Lee grinned. “No luck. Yet.”

“And if she’s not interested in you, she must not be interested at all,” Jericho said dryly.

“Well, it does make a man wonder.”

“It makes me wonder if she already has a man.”

“Like a McDougal,” Davis Lee concluded. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think so. Wouldn’t we have heard if one of them had a sweetheart?”

“Probably, unless they found a woman who can keep her mouth shut. And maybe they did.”

“I guess if your commission from the governor is still active, you’re gonna see this through to the end.”

“I’m assuming it’s still active.” Because of the gang’s rampage throughout the state, the governor had issued a special commission for Jericho and Hays to work strictly on catching the outlaws. “But even if it isn’t, I’m going after them.”

“Because of Hays?”

“And the others they’ve murdered.”

Davis Lee stared hard at him. “Are you sure? You’ve wanted nothing but to be a Ranger your whole life, ever since your pa died and left you that old badge he had made out of a Mexican coin.”

“It was criminals like the McDougals who killed him,” Jericho reminded him with some effort. “He wouldn’t have stood by and let some politician tell him he couldn’t pursue outlaws just because of a piece of paper.”

“True enough.”

“So you’ll help me?”

“You can count on it.”

Jericho shook his cousin’s hand to seal the deal. “Before I forget, would you send a wire back East for me, to those nuns?”

“All right.”

“Could you do one other thing for me?” Jericho told him about the tracks he’d followed to the Donnelly house, made by a horse carrying a lightweight rider, and sporting a chipped shoe.

“You want me to check the barn for this horse?” Davis Lee asked.

“Yeah.”

“All right.” He rose from his chair and scooted it against the wall. “I’ll let you know what I find out, and I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

“Could you hand me my gun and gun belt?”

Davis Lee did so and Jericho tucked them under the sheet next to his uninjured leg. “Thanks for coming.”

“You sure you don’t want me to wire your ma and sisters?”

“No. I’ll do it when I’m stronger. No need to worry them.” Jericho didn’t want Jessamine Blue making a trip from Houston to Whirlwind, a journey that would surely aggravate her rheumatism. His ma had already spent herself, single-handedly raising him and his four sisters.

“I’ll check the barn real quick,” Davis Lee said. “Then I’ve got to get over to Haskell’s. Someone broke in there last night.”

“Was anything taken?”

“Some food and maybe bullets. I’m sure Charlie, the owner, will know down to the last nail by the time I get there.”

Jericho’s energy flagged and he felt a quick flare of frustration at his weakness. Just the effort of thinking, trying to determine what Catherine Donnelly knew about her brother’s activities, sapped the little energy he’d had when his cousins had arrived.

“Take it easy, Jericho.” Davis Lee settled his fawn-colored cowboy hat on his head. “I don’t want to see you chasin’ that pretty nurse around.”

“Don’t worry. Wouldn’t be even if I could walk.”

The other man grinned and sauntered out.

A wave of fatigue and pain rolled over Jericho. He closed his eyes, hearing Catherine bid his cousin goodbye. He wished she would come in and wipe his face with a cool rag. Or bring him something to eat. Or plump up his pillow.

He wasn’t asking for her help, dammit. He had all he could handle when she did come in here. For all his denial to his cousin, Davis Lee was right. Jericho was more than aware of the beautiful woman who’d taken him in and cared for him. More aware than he liked.

Her clear blue eyes seemed to see to the depths of his black soul. And as much as he tried, he couldn’t dismiss her soft, lingering scent.

It didn’t matter what she looked like or that his body surged to life when she touched him. What mattered was her involvement with the McDougals.

“Hey.” Davis Lee’s low voice drifted through the window just behind his head.

Jericho craned his neck to see his cousin framed in the open space.

Concern darkened the other man’s eyes. “You were right. Their sorrel wears a chipped shoe on its right back hoof.”

The triumph Jericho had expected didn’t come. Instead, a weary resignation sighed through him. “Thanks.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Wait to see what you find out from New York City. Watch and listen until I can carry my own weight again.”

Davis Lee nodded soberly. “I’ll be back tomorrow and bring news if I have it.”

“All right.”

As the chirp of birds and the sawing of the wind carried into the room, Jericho felt himself giving out. Would Catherine Donnelly really be helping him if she were in cahoots with the McDougal gang?

His left hand curled around the butt of his revolver and he tried to make a fist with his right hand. He couldn’t even touch his palm with his fingers. Until he could protect himself, he’d better hope Catherine Donnelly was as innocent as she appeared.

A noise woke him. Night air flowed through the window as Jericho opened his eyes and listened hard. He’d heard the creak of a plank. It had to be from the front porch. The bedrooms were built off the side of the house and set back several feet from the porch.

A soft grunt sounded in the room next to his, then the sigh of a rope bed. It was Andrew coming home from somewhere. Did his sister know? Perhaps she’d been with him. But if she had, why would he come in through his bedroom window?

Jericho strained to hear more, but there was no further sound. Where had the kid gone, and why? Had he returned alone?

Jericho pushed himself up with his good hand and slowly swung his legs to the floor. Pain arrowed up his right thigh, but he steadied himself by holding on to the bedside table to help him stand. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning, he gripped the wooden edge until the room stopped rocking.

This was the first time he’d been up, and his leg burned in agony. Nauseous and trembling from weakness, he limped to the wall and flattened his hand against the pine, feeling his way to the door. It opened silently and he leaned against the jamb, breathing hard from his short trip. Sweat trickled down his bare chest and beneath the waistband of his light cotton drawers.

A full, fat moon sent light slanting into the front room that also comprised the kitchen. His gaze searched the shadows to his left until he saw Catherine. She lay on a pallet beneath the front window, her hair a curtain of midnight black flowing over her shoulder. The windows in his and Andrew’s rooms had been left open, but not in here. Stuffy air clogged Jericho’s lungs and he wondered how she could even breathe.

Her white, sleeveless nightdress shone in the darkness. Pale moonlight fell across one cheek; gilded her straight nose and smooth skin. One slender hand pillowed her cheek; the other lay across her waist, almost as if she were protecting herself.

As his eyes further adjusted to the dim light, he saw a sheet draped low over her hips. Her breasts were in shadow, but Jericho had a good imagination. He looked away, blinking to focus in the darkness and search the corners of the room. Everything was quiet and calm.

He shuffled closer. If Catherine had been out with the boy, she showed no signs of it. Her breathing was slow and steady. There were no hastily discarded clothes. Her dress and apron hung neatly on a wall peg next to the fireplace opposite Jericho’s side of the room. Beside them, a tin bathtub stood against the wall. Her wrapper was draped over the back of a rocking chair in the corner.

Pain snaked through him and ate away his strength. He could make out the cupboard against the wall to his right, the dining table in front of him. He gripped the edge. A moment of silence passed, then another. Andrew seemed to be in for the night, and Catherine appeared to have slept through her brother’s absence and return.

Trying to gather what little strength he had, Jericho turned to go back to bed. And hit his thigh on the table’s edge. Sharp, keening pain nearly drove him to the floor. His vision hazed and he cursed.

“Who’s there? What do you want?” Catherine cried out, startling him.

“Shh.” His fingers dug into the wood as he fought to drag in a breath. “It’s me.”

“What’s happened?” She rose, a hazy figure pulling on her wrapper and coming toward him.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you.” Pain was a vicious band around his thigh, and Jericho braced himself against the table. “I’m sorry.”

She stopped about a foot from him, her clean, fresh scent reaching through the thick night air. He wanted her to stay away, but it took all his energy to stay upright.

“What are you doing?”

At her accusing tone, he growled, “I’m on my way back to bed.”

“You shouldn’t be up. If you needed something, you could’ve just called out to me.”

Her voice was cool and guarded; he could feel her wary gaze. What did she think he was doing—coming out here to have his way with her?

“I heard a noise,” he snapped.

“What was it?” She looked around, alarm plain in her voice.

His lips twisted. “I’m not sure. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

Had Catherine really not heard her brother return? Or did she know he’d been out and was now protecting him? Jericho couldn’t stand here much longer. The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, and the heat in his thigh made him wonder if it were bleeding.

“Let me help you.” She was once again the calm nurse who’d taken him in.

He wanted to refuse her assistance, but if he did he might fall at her feet again. Surely one time was enough for any man. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

The agony in his leg had subsided to a dull, bone-pinching throb. Catherine moved to his uninjured side and braced her shoulder under his arm, then put an arm firmly around his bare waist.

For just a moment, he balanced there and let her cool beauty soak into him. He hadn’t allowed himself to be this close to a good woman in a long time. His arm rested on her shoulders and she gripped his wrist with her other hand. Her touch unleashed a longing he could scarcely admit. A long-denied part of himself greedily took in her clean scent, the brush of her unbound breast against his side.

“Ready?” Her body tensed to move.

He fought to keep his hand from drifting down her arm. “Yes. Ready.”

He took slow, halting steps, fresh pain tearing at his leg. She served as a crutch and let him set the pace. But the press of her body against his sparked a savage heat inside him. He tried to move faster, get back to bed so he could stop feeling it. Stop wanting to feel more.

He inched forward awkwardly, ignoring her teasing scent and the satin of her hair tickling his arm. An almost giddy relief washed through him when they shuffled through the doorway and he saw the bed. He stepped toward it, releasing her at the same time.

“Wait—”

His leg gave out. She clutched at him as he grabbed for the wall behind her. Agony wrenched his leg, rattling his teeth.

“Damn,” he muttered raggedly. Nausea rolled through him and sweat broke out across his forehead.

After long seconds, his breathing still uneven, he leaned against the wall.

Not the wall. Catherine Donnelly.

Bracing his weight on his good arm, Jericho eased back enough to look at her. She stood motionless, her gaze trained on his bare chest. Beyond the pain of his leg, a different kind of throbbing moved into his groin. Well, he could rest easy about the question of his manhood.

He felt every inch of her, and those inches felt damn good. The reason for his being here jumbled with the quicksilver reaction of his body to hers. Hard man to soft woman. Through the light fabric of her wrapper, her breasts teased his chest, while her hips and thighs pressed to his. Her breath fluttered against his throat, making his blood pound. He wanted to kiss her, peel down the straps of her nightdress and see the breasts shadowed beneath the fine lawn fabric. He wanted to run his hands through her hair, over her body.

“You are so sweet.” It took a second for him to realize he’d whispered the words. In that instant, he registered something else, too.

Though she stood rigid against him, she trembled—not fighting him, but warning him off all the same.

He shifted so that moonlight fell over his shoulder. She stared straight ahead, her face ghostly pale, her lips compressed.

“Catherine?” His whisper sounded harsh in the silence.

Her gaze lifted slowly to his and Jericho drew back. Terror swam in her eyes. He recognized that fear, and it had nothing to do with what he knew about her brother and the McDougals. She didn’t fear him as a Ranger. She feared him as a man.

Chapter Four

C atherine wasn’t going to scream; she wouldn’t panic. She needed to breathe.

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.”

If his ma were here she would make him a pecan pie and spoil him lazy.

“I grew up wanting a sister or a brother,” Catherine said.

“You’ve got Andrew.”

“I heard about him after he was born, but didn’t meet him until about a month ago. My mother talked about him in her letters.”

The whiskey finally took hold, just enough to blunt the fierce discomfort in Jericho’s leg. “Why weren’t you with your family?”

“My parents came to America from Ireland. They were to meet my uncle in Texas, but not knowing what was in store down here, they left me with the Sisters of Mercy in New York City.”

“How long?”

“Fourteen years.”

Jericho frowned, resting his head against the wooden headboard as he struggled to draw in deep breaths. “That’s a long time.”

“My mother lost her parents in the potato famine in Ireland in the late forties, and she nearly starved to death when they did. She didn’t want to bring me to Texas until she knew if she and my father could survive here.”

Jericho certainly understood a mother’s concern over raising her children. His own mother had grown old years before her time because of it. “And did they survive?”

“Until recently. They’re both gone now.”

“So there’s only you and Andrew?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave someone special behind in New York?”

“Special?”

“A beau.”

Horror chased across her delicate features. “No.”

Did that mean she didn’t have a beau? Or just not one who was back East?

“There, I think I’m finished.”

He wanted to know more. Told himself he needed to learn as much as he could because of her possible connection to the McDougal gang. But in truth he was curious about her. He gingerly poked at his leg. “What do you think?”

“I did the best I could.”

“I’m grateful for that.” He touched her hand, which rested near his knee. “I meant do you think I’ll keep my leg?”

“Yes.” She smiled into his eyes for the first time since coming into the room. “I didn’t see any signs of infection.”

He found himself smiling back. Her hands were small, but there was nothing weak about them as she rebandaged the wound. The throbbing ache in his leg was fierce, but she had most likely saved his limb. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I hope I didn’t scar you.”

“It’s fine if you did.” He touched the scar on his cheek. “You can see it won’t be the first.”

“How did you come by that?”

“Bullet creased me.”

“While you were chasing the McDougals?”

“No.” He smiled weakly. “I was in a shoot-out about five years ago with another gang, down in Round Rock.”

“I have a feeling they ended up worse off than you.”

She smiled, and he thought this much pain might be worth it if she would do that more often. “I appreciate you putting me back together.”

She deftly folded a bandage and tied it around his thigh, somehow managing not to touch anything but his leg. “I should’ve tended you last night. I’m sorry.”

There were other ways Jericho would like her to tend him, but he knew there was no future in that. He was glad to see the sheet now lay flat in his lap.

“Do you think you can eat?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get you some biscuits and ham.” She picked up the bowl of water. “And some coffee. Unless you’d rather sleep for a while?”

“I’d like to eat.” He felt drowsy and weak; maybe some food would help. She was a good woman. He didn’t see how she could be mixed up with the McDougal gang, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted by her sweet curves and compassion.

“Later I’ll wash those sheets and your unmentionables.”

He grinned. “If anyone can mention them, I’d say it’s you, Miz Catherine.”

She smiled shyly, turning away to pick up his saddlebags and carry them over to the chair beside the bed. “Maybe you’d like a clean pair.”

“Thank you.”

Jericho waited until she left before he pulled out another pair of drawers, along with a folded piece of paper. The page contained the McDougals’ names, as well as Andrew’s, along with physical descriptions, height, speech peculiarities, eye colors. He had copied everything down from the “Crime Book” or “Bible Two” as his captain called it.

The gray paperback booklet was made up of information sent by sheriffs to the adjutant general, then furnished to each Ranger camp. Jericho studied his notes, but he saw Catherine’s sweet face in his mind.

He shouldn’t tease and try to coax her pretty smile out of hiding. She could make him forget why he was here, forget that he needed to heal as fast as possible and get back on the trail of those murderers. The McDougals and Andrew were the ones Jericho needed to worry about. Not the woman whose touch played havoc with his body. That was reason enough to leave her be.

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