Lone Star Lover Page 2

  At his truck door, he paused and glanced back toward Barney’s. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to spend New Year’s Eve here. He didn’t have anything else to do since he’d already turned down invitations from two rangers he worked with. Nice guys but they were married and their parties usually involved other couples, which always made Jake feel like a third wheel.

  He didn’t have to decide now. Tomorrow he’d see if he felt like company or just sipping a cold beer in front of the TV. He climbed into his truck, popped in a Tim McGraw CD and headed down the highway toward Houston.

  One thing he hated about the drive to Appleton was that for over fifty miles the landscape was boring, with nothing to look at but mesquite and yucca and scrub oak. About twenty minutes away from town, and not having passed a single car, he had to crank up the volume of the CD to help him stay alert. That’s why he almost didn’t hear the gunning of an engine behind him.

  By the time he checked the rearview mirror, the enormous black 4x4 was bearing down on him so fast he thought he’d have to swerve off the road to avoid being hit. At the last minute, the truck swung into the other lane and passed him.

  Jake swore loudly, and then watched in amazement as the other truck slowed down, made a U-turn, and headed straight toward him. He applied the brakes and cut to his right. The other driver did the same, but instead of pulling off the road or around Jake, he stopped his truck so that it effectively blocked traffic either way.

  Was the guy drunk? Or just plain nuts? Jake saw the driver’s door open, and he hesitated before opening his own door, wondering if taking his gun out of the glove box would only make the situation worse. In the next second, he saw the sun glint off a 9mm in the man’s hand. He raised the barrel and aimed it at Jake through the windshield.

  “No sudden moves, boy. Just get out of your truck nice and slow.” Short, heavyset and balding, the man looked familiar.

  Jake didn’t budge. “You want money, my truck? What?”

  “What I want is for you to get out of that damn truck and into mine. Now, Malone. I ain’t gonna tell you again.”

  It suddenly registered where he’d seen the man. In court, during Levi Dodd’s trial. That meant he either worked for Dodd or Wellsley. Shit. No way in hell was Jake getting into that truck. If he did, he was as good as dead.

  “I know you,” he said, stalling, while he slowly moved his booted foot off the brake and toward the accelerator.

  The man walked closer, leveling the gun, his face flushed. “Put your hands where I can see them and get out of that damn truck.”

  Jake made his move. He grabbed the steering wheel at the same time he pressed his foot onto the accelerator. The truck shot off the pavement into the brush. The man fired, and the bullet shattered the door window, missing Jake by inches. He ducked from the flying glass, trying to maintain control of the wheel. The truck bucked and dipped over the uneven ground. Two more bullets whizzed past the side of Jake’s head.

  He couldn’t see a damn thing in front of him. What the hell was going on? He blinked, felt something wet on his face. Blood. Shit. He blinked again, saw the big mesquite tree at the last moment and jerked the wheel. The truck rolled once, and then again.

  Jake’s head hit the top of the cab. He thought he’d rolled again, maybe five times, he wasn’t sure. It felt as if he was spinning, being pulled down. Drowning in a sea of dust and wind. His vision blurred and his lids drooped even as he fought to keep his eyes open. He had to get out. Away from the shooter. His gun. He needed to get to his gun. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t keep his eyes open. The darkness took over.

  THE SUN WAS HOT. Too hot. Yet he was shivering. Jake struggled to turn his face away from the sky. His head throbbed. His lips and throat were so dry they felt blistered. God, he needed water. He tried to get up on his elbows but the pain forced him back down.

  Where was he? Why couldn’t he…

  A flash of memory jolted him. He forced his eyes open. Managing to peer through slits, he stared at the sharp-needled yucca not five feet away. He was in the desert. But where? How had—? He’d been driving from Appleton. That’s right.

  His truck. Where was it?

  His head and back hurt like a son of a bitch but he forced himself to roll onto his side. He squinted to cut the sun’s glare but all he could see was open country. No truck. No highway. Nothing but miles of blue sky, endless stalks of yucca, clumps of cactus and an army of scraggly mesquite.

  He tried in vain to moisten his lips. He needed to get out of the sun. Using all his might, he pushed himself up on one elbow. But the pain was too much. He fell back onto the hard ground and surrendered once again to unconsciousness.

  2

  “REBECCA, stop your woolgathering, girl, and fetch me some more warm water.”

  Rebecca Swanson blinked, and took a step back from the dark-haired man she’d been so rudely gazing upon. “Yes, Miss Kitty. Right away.”

  “If I have to tell you one more time to stop calling me Miss Kitty, I’ll give you back to them Rangers.” The older woman glared, the heavy black kohl around her eyes making her look as fierce as a Comanche warrior.

  Rebecca hid a smile as she scurried across the small cramped room to the kettle of water she’d left on the fire. Two weeks ago she would’ve run and hid had she heard such a threat. But she knew Kitty didn’t mean it. She’d been nothing but kind to Rebecca. More than kind, she’d protected her. If not for Kitty, Rebecca was certain she’d be dead.

  Kitty wagged a finger at her. “I told you before, I’m not but six years older than you.”

  It was more like twelve, but Rebecca didn’t correct her. Besides, the other whores were always gossiping about one thing or another, in a rather mean-spirited way at times. Just because they claimed Kitty was thirty-six didn’t mean it was so.

  Rebecca used a rag to pick up the kettle and carry it to the basin sitting beside the cot. As she poured the water, her gaze went back to the stranger with the long dark hair. Even though his eyes were closed, she knew they were blue. Not a murky greenish-blue like hers, but a darker, more mysterious blue she’d never seen before. He’d opened them twice in the two days he’d been here, but with his fever so high and the amount of blood he’d lost, he’d stayed conscious for only a minute or two.

  “Do you think he’s going to die?” she asked Kitty.

  From her seat beside the stranger, she blinked up at Rebecca in surprise. “No, honey. He’s gonna be all right. I wouldn’t be wasting my time on a dead man.” She looked over at him and wrung out the cloth she used to bathe his wounds. “Even one that handsome.”

  Rebecca stared down at the man. He was handsome, she had to admit, with his square jaw softened by a dimple in his chin, and his perfect mouth. At the direction of her thoughts, her insides clenched. How horrible for her to notice such a thing.

  Had she no decency left?

  She saw that Kitty was waiting for the fresh dressing, and Rebecca handed her a piece of gauze. “I overheard the doctor say he’d lost a lot of blood.”

  “It’s like that with head wounds. Don’t you worry. I’ve nursed more than my share of men back to health. He’ll come around, you’ll see.” Kitty patted her arm, and then met her eyes, Kitty’s green ones darkening with worry. “You’ve got to eat more, honey. Starving yourself isn’t gonna help matters.”

  Rebecca moved her arm. “I’ll get more water.”

  “I’ve got enough to worry about. Don’t make me fret over you, too.”

  Rebecca managed a small smile as she reached for the kettle.

  “No more warm water. He’ll need a cold compress once I’m done.” Kitty finished applying the fresh dressing and then got to her feet. “I have to run over to the saloon. You keep the cloth pressed to his forehead.”

  She nodded, not happy about being left alone with the stranger, though he was in no condition to do her harm. If Kitty had asked her to go to the saloon for her it would have been worse. Rebecca shuddered thinking about those horr
ible Rangers who leered at her and made awful remarks. She hated those times that she had to be in the same room with them, or had to pass them on her way up the stairs. How very much she wanted to hide a knife in the folds of her skirt, but she’d promised Kitty she wouldn’t do that again.

  “I won’t be long.” Kitty threw a wool shawl around her slim shoulders. “He won’t cause a fuss. I reckon he’ll sleep into the night. When Doc Davis gets back, he’ll take over.”

  Rebecca watched her friend disappear out the door, and then perched on a stool near the wood-burning stove and rubbed the chill from her hands. The cloth had stayed put on the man’s forehead so she saw no harm in keeping a small distance away from him. It wasn’t that she was afraid. The man was so weak that the scout who’d found him in the desert had had to carry him over his pack mule to town.

  He’d had no horse, no hat, and no gun, not even a gun belt. Kitty thought he might be one of those city slickers from back East who couldn’t ride worth spit and didn’t have enough sense to strap on a gun. She held that belief on account of his fancy boots and store-bought shirt.

  Rebecca’s gaze drew to the man’s bare broad shoulders and upper chest, showing above the sheet that had been draped over him. His skin was tanned and hard, his chest and arms corded with long lean muscle. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men, whether they came from the city or not, but she didn’t reckon he looked like a greenhorn. She’d helped bathe him some, so she knew his hands weren’t soft either, kind of tough and calloused.

  She glanced at the well-tooled boots sitting on the floor near the foot of the cot. They didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen with the stitching so even and perfect, but then it had been a long while since she’d been around civilized society. It was a shame about his fine shirt. She’d tried to get the blood out, scrubbing so hard that her fingers ached. But the stains barely faded.

  Outside, a loud bang came from the direction of the saloon. She jumped up and ran to the window. The noise sounded like a gun. But the Rangers allowed no one but themselves to be armed in town. If someone had broken the rules, it would get ugly out there.

  Parting the curtains slightly, she peeked out. Not a soul was on the street. An eerie calm had settled. Rebecca prayed Kitty was all right. For her friend’s sake, and for her own.

  A man walked out of the saloon, and she immediately released the parted curtains, afraid to call attention to herself. Silly because a person would have to strain to see her, and it certainly wasn’t a secret that she’d been helping Kitty here at Doc Davis’s place, but living in the shadows had become second nature to her since being brought to the small town.

  “Ahh…where…ah—” Behind her the man groaned.

  She spun around, her heart racing.

  He was trying to push himself up on one elbow. The cloth that had been swathing his forehead lay on the plank floor, and he’d shoved the sheet down to his waist.

  “Don’t,” she said, rushing toward him, and then abruptly stopped a couple of feet away. “You’re hurt. Please, don’t try to get up.”

  He looked up at her, a dazed expression on his face, the pain in his beautiful blue eyes twisting inside her like a knife.

  JAKE STARED at the woman with the long blond hair. Who was she? An angel? Was he dead? Pain gripped his head and side, and he sank back, battling the darkness that threatened to claim him again. His eyes closed but he forced them back open. He couldn’t be dead. There wouldn’t be so much searing pain. His mouth wouldn’t be so friggin’ dry.

  “Water,” he whispered, slowly turning back toward the woman.

  She stood there, staring at him, her hand pressed to her belly. “Water,” she repeated, nodding, while backing away.

  He closed his eyes, only briefly, then opened them again to see her standing over him holding a tin cup.

  “I’ll help you,” she said softly, and crouched beside him. She gently slid her hand under his head, paused when he winced, and then slowly lifted his head enough for him to take a sip from the cup.

  The cool water felt good on his lips, even better as it trickled down his throat. But the stingy amount she doled out frustrated him. “More,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice.

  “You have to take it slow.” She moved the cup away from his mouth.

  With the scant amount of strength he still had left, he grabbed her wrist.

  She gasped, and broke free, spilling the water down the front of her dress.

  “Sorry,” he rasped. “Didn’t mean to scare—” He struggled to breathe. “So thirsty.”

  She turned away, and he thought she might be leaving, but she quickly returned with more water. “You can take only small sips or you’ll be sick.”

  He stared at the front of her blue dress. The outline of her nipples beneath the wet fabric had drawn his attention, but it was the dress itself that startled him. He blinked to clear his bleary vision, which helped little. Although not particularly modest, the dress was odd, kind of old-fashioned.

  The woman glanced down and hunched her shoulders.

  “Where am I?”

  She didn’t respond right away, but finally said, “Doc Davis’s sickroom.”

  “In Appleton?” At the rough unfinished walls and ancient wood burning stove, he frowned. Even that hurt, and he gritted his teeth. This wasn’t Appleton, which was quaint and old, but not to this extent.

  “This is Diablo Flats. Do you want more water?”

  He nodded, then decided a simple ‘yes’ would’ve been less painful.

  She inched closer, the slight tremor in her hand making him regret grabbing her earlier. He tried to raise his head but he didn’t get far without her help. Again she propped his head while tipping the cup to his lips. He stayed still while she controlled a small stream of water into his mouth. When she withdrew the cup, he didn’t argue, though he craved more. She guided his head back down, and then promptly backed away.

  He licked his chapped lips. “Where did you say this is?”

  “You were supposed to sleep into the night,” she said, staring at him with accusing blue-green eyes.

  He slowly drew in a breath, pulling the air as deep into his lungs as he could without stoking the fire that raged in his head and along his side. What the hell had happened to him? Why couldn’t he remember? He fought against the fog but the only memory he could summon was driving away from Appleton in his truck.

  An accident. That had to be what happened. Unaware that he’d closed his eyes, he opened them to see the woman watching him with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

  “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”

  She blinked, and some of the fear disappeared. “Doc Davis and Kitty have been doing most of the doctoring.”

  Odd word, he thought, fighting the darkness that beckoned him. The room was strange, too. Cramped, dim, rustic. Maybe he should let go. Fall back to sleep. “How long have I been out?”

  Her brows drew together in a slight frown, as if she didn’t understand his meaning.

  The water had helped, but his mouth was still dry, his voice hoarse. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Almost two days.”

  “Damn.”

  She tensed, drawing back.

  He tried to smile reassuringly. It hurt like the devil. “May I have more water?”

  She glanced toward the door. “Just a little.”

  He stayed still while she went through the ritual of gently lifting his head and bringing the cup to his lips. After she gave him his ration, she immediately moved away. Then her gaze went to the floor, and sighing, she picked up what appeared to be a rag. She dipped it in a basin of water and then wrung it out.

  “We need to keep this across your forehead,” she said, hesitating as if she dreaded touching him again. “For the fever.”

  He gave a small nod, and then closed his eyes, soothed by her featherlike touch. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You’re an angel.” He tried to open his eyes again, but
his lids were suddenly too heavy, and the numbing darkness seduced him like the welcoming arms of a lover.

  THE DOOR OPENED and a blast of cold air followed Kitty into the small room. “Holy Mother of God, a body could freeze her titties clean off out there.” Kitty shuddered, drawing her shawl more tightly around her big bosom. She headed straight for the fire and rubbed her hands together over the dying flame, while glancing over her shoulder at the man. “How’s he doing?”

  “He woke up.” Rebecca laid down the book she’d been reading, and hopped off the stool to gather logs, ashamed that she’d let the fire get so low.

  Kitty’s eyebrows shot up. “Did he say who he was?”

  “No, he seemed confused.”

  Kitty stepped back to let Rebecca add the pair of logs and stoke the fire. “Was he up for long?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “He still have a fever?”

  She was embarrassed to admit she hadn’t been checking.

  Once he’d fallen back to sleep, she’d moved the stool a fair distance away, planted herself on it, and stared at the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. In her head she heard his voice over and over again, calling her an angel. If he only knew.

  “Rebecca?”

  She jumped, and turned to Kitty. “Yes?”

  The other woman frowned and moved close enough to flatten her palm against Rebecca’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you sure are acting peculiar.”

  “I reckon I’m a bit tired.”

  Kitty nodded sympathetically. “I’ll sit with him awhile. Have you eaten?”

  Rebecca glanced guiltily at the two cloth-wrapped biscuits sitting on the dresser. Kitty would fuss if she didn’t eat them, so Rebecca picked up the small bundle and unwrapped her long overdue breakfast. She already knew they’d be hard and tasteless but she nibbled at the edges.

  “Cook is frying up some chicken for supper,” Kitty said, eyeing her. “I’ll bring over a piece with a fresh biscuit. I think we still might have a jar of honey, too.”