Deborah Camp (21 page)

Ice mumbled in his fever, the words running into each other and making no sense. They angled him to the foot of the bed and then let him fall back on it.

Andy roused in his crib, and Cassie patted his tummy until he dropped off to sleep again.

“Maybe I should move his crib out to the kitchen,” Drew said. “Ice might make some noise once you start working on him.”

She nodded. “The bullet’s still in him?”

“As far as I know. I didn’t stop to look him over real
good. I figured the best thing to do was to get him here quick as I could.”

“Am I supposed to dig the bullet out of him?”

He looked at her with a glint of challenge in his steel-blue eyes. “You seem handy with a medicine kit.”

“You have to help me.” She examined her patient. “Strip those clothes off him, boots and all. I’ll gather up what I need in the kitchen.” Turning, she bumped into a wide-eyed Oleta. “Put the kettle on, Oleta, and keep this door shut. He’ll probably start moaning and wake up the baby. I’ll leave little Andy to you, seeing as I’ll have my hands full.”

“He was shot?”

“Yes.”

Oleta chewed on her lower lip and wrung her hands. She scuttled backward, cowering into the kitchen shadows. “You think whoever shot him followed him here?” She cast a nervous glance at the door and windows.

“I doubt it. Oleta, quit shaking like a leaf and do as I asked.” Cassie gave the girl a push. “Get along now and make yourself useful.”

Thunder rolled and shook the roof. Oleta let out a squeak.

“It’s only a storm, ‘fraidy cat.” Cassie rummaged through the shelves for her medicine box and some stained tea towels. She located a dusty bottle of whiskey in the back of the potato bin and uncorked it. The fumes made her eyes water. “I knew this would come in handy one day.” Armed, she marched back into the bedroom.

Drew had removed Ice’s clothing and was pulling a sheet up to his waist Clothes lay in an untidy pile on the floor. She reached down and picked up the leather
vest on top and examined the bullet hole in its back.

“This is yours.”

Drew looked over his shoulder at her. His brows met in a scowl. “Yeah, but Ice was wearing it. He fancied it and I let him try it on.”

She dropped it back onto the pile. “Maybe the shooter was aiming for you. Maybe he thought he shot you.”

“Because of that vest?” Drew asked in a scoffing tone.

Cassie moved to the side of the bed where she could see Drew’s face. His expression told her a different story. “You wear the vest most of the time. Anybody who has watched you lately knows it. And nobody else around here has one anything like it.”

“What’s your point?”

“I made my point and you know it.” She held his gaze and he looked away first. “Could be the shooter plugged the wrong man.”

“And it could be he meant to rob us and chickened out or maybe he meant to scare us, send us a message. Didn’t matter who he shot. The bullet was the message and he delivered it.” He looked into her face, his features carefully schooled now. “What do you want me to do, hold him down?”

“For a start, yeah.” She lifted the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, then handed it to him. The liquor burned and smoked her insides. Her eyes teared. “Take a swig and then get ready to pour it over the wound when I tell you.” Her voice came out gruff, roughened by the whiskey.

“Are you okay? You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

“I’m not planning on it.” She gathered in a deep
breath and moved the candles and lanterns closer to the edge of the bedside table, throwing more light onto Ice. “Flip him over onto his stomach.”

Drew’s gaze remained on her face, worry etching lines into his. He took a drink from the bottle and coughed. “That’s strong stuff.”

She nodded. “I learned a long time ago that whiskey’s only good for one thing—making the world go away when it gets too ugly.” She picked up a knife and passed its blade several times through a candle’s flaming heart. “This is gonna get ugly.”

Drew emerged from the bedroom first. Oleta had left a lamp burning on the kitchen table. Outside it was still dark, but he knew it was past dawn. Fat storm clouds obscured the new sun. Rain beat frantically on the window panes. Drew glanced toward Oleta’s room. Sometime during the night she had taken Andy and his crib in there with her and closed the door. Drew hoped she and the baby were asleep. It had been a long, noisy, bloody night.

But Ice was alive and should keep on living. And he had Cassie to thank for that.

Cassie. Drew sat in one of the rockers near the fireplace and let his head loll back against the cushion. He closed his eyes, and his feelings for Cassie Dalton poured over him, chasing away the gloominess. Cassie the strong, the beautiful. Cassie, the woman of rocksteady hands, of sterling courage, of iron will.

The removal of the bullet from Ice’s back had been tedious. The lump of lead was buried so deep in muscle that Cassie had whispered a fervent prayer as she’d extracted the lead. When she held it up, her eyes had shone
with triumph and her lips had trembled with relief.

In that moment Drew had realized that not only had he grown to respect this woman, to admire her, to want her, but he was damn close to being in love with her, too. In that crystal-clear moment she was incredibly beautiful to him, so beautiful that his eyes had watered.

He sat forward in the chair now, elbows propped on his knees, and scrubbed his face with his hands.

Damn it, man, get hold of yourself!

The words were spoken sternly in his mind, but they could not penetrate his heart. Had his father ever felt this for her, even an ember of it?

He doubted it. Couldn’t imagine it. Not any more than he could imagine Cassie feeling tenderness for A.J. Dalton.

Boots scuffled on the porch and a soft knock sounded on the door. Drew stood and went to open the door, knowing who it was before he peered out into the grayness at T-Bone’s craggy face beneath his wet hat.

“Saw your horses.”

“We got back sometime after midnight.”

T-Bone scratched his beard. “There was blood on your tack.”

“Ice was shot in the back. Cassie got the bullet out of him a little while ago. It was tough going, but I think he’ll be all right.”

“Holy Moses! Who shot him?”

“We didn’t get a look at him. The shot came from a blind of trees.” He stepped out onto the porch and stretched his arms over his head. “You and Gabe go ahead and do what you can today. Cassie hasn’t had any sleep and I won’t be fit for much.”

“Yeah, sure, you two get some rest. I’ll make sure
Gabe breaks a sweat. Between the two of us we ought to finish up the branding and tagging.”

“That’s good. How do they look?”

“Better than I thought they would. They’re all healthy and fat.”

“Good breeding will do that.” Drew clapped a hand on T-Bone’s shoulder. “After I get some shut-eye, I’ll pitch in.”

“Like I said, we can handle it for today.” T-Bone jumped off the end of the porch and hunched his shoulders against the rain. He ran toward the bunkhouse, dodging puddles along the way.

When Drew entered the house again, he saw the bedroom door open. Cassie slipped out and closed it behind her. Her steps were unsteady, and she braced herself against the kitchen table before lowering herself into one of the chairs.

Drew came toward her. “You okay? How about I make us some coffee? Could you eat something?”

She smiled wanly. “Just about anything,” she assured him. “And coffee sounds mighty good.”

She cocked her head to one side, and he realized she was listening to the patter of rain on the roof. He was content simply to look at her, to admire the sheen of her hair, the smoothness of her brow, the delicate coloring of her skin. He had never enjoyed the sight of a woman more. While he prepared the coffee and heated up some leftover stew, he glanced at her from time to time, unable to understand the upheaval of his feelings for her. After a few minutes, she sighed and cleared her throat.

“His fever has broken,” she said, her voice raspy, strained. “I was afraid… But he’s breathing easy now and his skin is damp. That’s a good sign.”

“He’ll make it,” Drew told her.

“He sure lost a lot of blood.”

“But he’ll make it.”

She nodded. “Yes, I believe so. You think a lot of him, don’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s had it tough. His family is poor. Some of them are in jail. Some are running from the law. He could have gone that way, but he didn’t. He’s a good man, a good friend.”

“And he took a bullet for you, whether he realizes it yet or not.”

“We can’t be sure of that.” He didn’t like that flicker of fear in her eyes.

“How was Quentin with you?”

“Cautious.” He set a cup of coffee in front of her, then ladled stew into two bowls. “We ran into a couple of his men who were headed here.” He placed the bowls of steaming beef and vegetables on the table and located a hunk of bread in the warmer.

“They were headed here? What for?”

“They were looking for stolen cattle. Quentin said he’d heard I was out of prison, so he figured his cattle would end up on my ranch.”

She set her coffee cup down on the table with force. Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. “Why, that mangy, no-good—”

He laughed under his breath and sat down across from her. “I told him what I think of him. He was surprised that I’d brought the cattle back, but I couldn’t say for sure that he believed my version of how they got to the Square D.”

“I think he sent one of his men after you to shoot you.”

“No. That doesn’t add up.”

“He didn’t believe you. He wanted to make sure you didn’t steal any more cattle.”

“The way I figure it, some old boy was going to shoot us and rob us, but he lost his nerve. Or maybe we moved quicker than he expected, and he couldn’t get off another clean shot. I don’t know. I never got a look at the man. Could have been somebody who thought he was shooting at a deer and found out too late that he’d shot one of the two-legged variety.”

She frowned and ate ravenously for a few minutes. “I don’t like what’s happening around here. The sheriff and a couple of his men came by looking for those cows.”

A cold uneasiness settled in Drew. “How’d he know about them?”

“He said some men told him they saw tracks. He didn’t know the men, he said.”

“That sounds suspicious.”

“Don’t I know it. This whole business is stinking to high heaven.”

“Maybe I should clear out until—”

“No.” She set her spoon down and delivered him a level gaze that made his loins burn. “Don’t leave.” She lowered her lashes and pink color stained her cheeks.

“You’ve changed your tune,” he said, wanting to stroke her shimmering hair and draw her gaze back to his. “Not too long ago you were telling me to clear out.”

“I’ve gotten to know you since then.” She shrugged and finished the stew in her bowl, then wrapped both hands around the coffee mug and brought it to her lips. “You’re useful,” she whispered. “You’re a good…
worker.” Her lashes lifted and her brown eyes were soft and luminous, telling him things her words had not conveyed.

She went to his head like whiskey, and Drew’s breathing sped up and he felt himself harden with desire. He told himself he had to move in a different direction, or he’d regret this night for the rest of his life.

But she was the one who moved—in his direction. She set her empty bowl and mug on the sideboard, but she didn’t move away. She was within easy reach, and she didn’t move away.

He shook his head, forbidding himself the pleasure, but his arm hooked around her waist and she poured herself into his lap like honey. As sweet as sin, her mouth covered his, and he forgot his denials, his promise to keep himself from her, his decision to be a loner and never give his heart to a woman or accept another’s heart to break.

“I sure missed you,” she whispered, lifting her lips from his and combing his hair back with her fingers. “Andy took his first steps without holding onto anything and—”

“No kidding? Damn, I wish I’d been here to see that.”

“I wanted you to be here, too, Drew. Oh, how I wanted—” She moaned and pressed her full lips to his again, her arms twining around his neck, her soft breasts flattening against his chest.

Her hair felt like satin, and he buried his fingers in it and crushed her mouth to his. He thrust his tongue inside, and she groaned and touched his tongue with hers, sliding and stroking, advancing and retreating. He opened his mouth wide, taking her in, but still not satisfied.
He pulled open her robe and cupped her breasts in his hands. Her nipples hardened under the thin veneer of her cotton gown. There was an instant when he thought about tearing the fabric, ripping it from her body in a mindless act of possession, but then she was kissing his neck and murmuring in his ear, distracting him with sensations that were foreign and delightful.

“… so strong … touching me, yes, yes …”

Her words buzzed in his ears. He stroked her back and hips, then her hair again. Her mouth returned to his and she dropped lush kisses there, one after another. He closed his eyes, drifting in the sensations of having her pay attention to him, touch him, caress him, as she had so many times in his dreams.

“Drew … Drew …” She said his name, making him smile. “I’ve thought about this… about us being together…”

He made a humming noise in his throat where her lips nuzzled his skin.

“… falling hard for you … loving you …”

The words splashed through him, cooling his ardor. She felt the change, or perhaps the words had the same effect on her. She straightened from him, and her eyes cleared slowly until all passion was gone from them.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and she looked up at the log ceiling, then over at the loft where he slept. She smoothed her hands across his shoulders, but absently, not ardently, as she had done moments ago.

“I… I…” She smiled briefly and stood up. “I’m glad you’re back and I want you to stay. If I couldn’t run you off this land, then nobody else should be able to do it.” She rearranged her clothes and retied the belt of her robe. “What I said just now …”

“I know you didn’t mean it.”