Whirlwind Groom

“I don’t know,” he said evenly. “Was she like this the last time you remember?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her wilted bun wiggling loosely on top of her head.

“Do you know what time that was?”

“No.”

Josie made more of those choppy sobbing noises. A hardboiled knot lodged in his chest. Was she dreaming or in pain? Catherine had said she might be disoriented, not that she might be delirious. It had to be due to the fever. He placed a hand on her forehead. She was burning up.

“I came by to check on her.” A rag floated in the bowl of water and Davis Lee scooped it up, squeezed it. He moved Josie’s arm down to her side so he could wipe her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to reassure the older woman, but all he could think about was Catherine saying that breathing might become difficult for Josie. She might have suffocated before Esther ever woke up.

He forcefully dunked the rag again, wringing it out before moving it gently over Josie’s face. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Esther? I’ll stay with her.”

“Oh, Sheriff, I’ll be fine now. I really didn’t mean to—”

“I insist,” he said quietly.

“But someone might find out you’re alone in here with her.”

And doing what? he thought ruefully. The woman was practically unconscious. He gave her a flat stare. “In light of things, I don’t really care.”

“She might.”

“I’m staying. Leave the door open. Hopefully Miz Webster will recover enough to take me to task herself.”

Esther hesitated, watching him wet the rag again and repeat the stroking motions on Josie’s face. “All right.”

She walked to the door. “I’m truly sorry, Sheriff. I don’t know what happened.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention on the slight figure in the bed.

Esther’s footsteps sounded down the stairs then faded away. The rag warmed with the heat of Josie’s flesh. The nearly transparent garment she wore wasn’t a chemise as he had first thought, but some one-piece thing that looked like a chemise and drawers combined. Except it wasn’t loose and shapeless like any shift he’d ever seen. This undergarment was fitted. Edged with delicate lace, it curved to her body like a second skin.

Especially damp as it was from repeated efforts to cool her down. The thin fabric clung to her breasts, revealing the darker flesh of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were small but full, and the perfect size for her petite frame. There was nothing wanting about them at all.

His mouth went dry and he grabbed the sheet, pulling it up over her. He dipped the cloth and ran it over her face, her neck, her chest. The faint tang of kerosene drifted from the lamp, but it was the scent of soft warm woman and honeysuckle that filled his lungs. Secluded with her like this, cornered by the night and the heat, Davis Lee felt his body harden. He lost track of how many times he wet the cloth, soothed her skin then repeated the motions.

He lifted her, applying the cool rag to her nape and the patch of skin on her back not covered by that infernal sheer piece of nothing. Her sobs quieted, but she twisted on the bed, kicking off the sheet.

He pulled up the cover and she moved it again. He couldn’t tell if her fever was coming down. High color still flushed her cheeks and chest. Her hairline was wet, her underwear and the sheets damp. He reached out and stroked a finger lightly against her temple.

She turned into his touch, moaning, “William.”

Who was William? Husband? Lover? Brother? She had never answered his questions about her family.

She mumbled incoherently, her arm slanting across her face again.

He murmured soothing words, lifted her arm to draw the wet cloth over her face and chest. She twitched beneath his hand, her head turning from side to side on her pillow. Her hair slid across her face and Davis Lee nudged the wet strands away.

“Blood,” she whispered brokenly. “So much blood.”

Another sob choked out of her and his heart caught at the deep-reaching agony of it. Blood? What was going on in her head? Just another question to add to the others he had about her.

He wished her fever would cool, that Catherine would return. He took her hand and dipped it into the water up to her wrist, spreading the wet rag on her chest for a moment. The tiny mole he’d glimpsed before at the edge of her collarbone teased him. And so did that damn transparent undergarment.

Davis Lee stared at her plump breasts and the dusky nipples that had drawn up like shy buds. Despite the fact that he knew she was lying about something, want pounded through him, low and fierce and hot. He moved his gaze from the flat of her stomach to the dark shadow between her legs. His breath hitched on the same sharp edge of desire he’d felt for another woman with lies in her eyes.

Davis Lee dragged a hand down his face, wishing he could erase this picture of her from his mind. He had no doubt he would carry this image to his grave. What he needed was to focus on getting her fever down, helping her through this. Then finding out her connection to Ian McDougal and why she had really come to Whirlwind.

Chapter Five

T he pain woke her, a searing agony that pulsed just below the surface of her skin. Her eyelids were heavy, and when she finally got her eyes open, her vision was slightly blurry. The tight heaviness against her lower left leg confirmed the splint she vaguely remembered Catherine fashioning. A bulky wrap of white cloth kept the poultice in place. The snakeroot must be drawing out the poison because her leg burned like fire.

Pale gray light tinged with the sun crept into the room. Trying to get her bearings, she stared at the dresser at the foot of the bed. She became aware of the damp sheets beneath her, the thick cotton feel of her mouth. The door was open.

Even with her senses dulled by pain and weakness she knew she wasn’t alone.

Her head felt too heavy for her neck and it was an effort to look over at the window. Davis Lee. Her mind stalled on that for a moment. She remembered shooting with him, resting against him on the ride here. Catherine Donnelly had put the poultice on her leg then the splint. That was the last thing Josie remembered.

Where was Catherine? How long had the sheriff been here? His back was to her. One broad shoulder braced against the wall as he stared out the window. He wore the same light blue shirt he’d worn yesterday. At least she thought it was the same.

The lamp’s low flame burned beside the bed, giving a golden haze to the watery daylight seeping into the room. Her gaze skimmed involuntarily down the dark trousers that molded his lean hips and long legs entirely too well. She remembered how it felt to be cradled between his hard thighs, held against that brawny chest. Only then did Josie’s numbed brain realize that she was nearly naked.

The fine lawn of her combination suit clung to her body like wet tissue. The sweats that she and Catherine expected now slicked her still-fevered flesh, causing the thin cloth to cup her breasts and the tops of her thighs. Who had undressed her? Him?

The fabric was transparent. Josie could see her nipples, her navel, everything she owned. Which meant he had, too.

The heat that flushed her from head to toe had her easing herself up and reaching for the sheet.

“You’re awake,” he said, turning around.

How had he known that? Startled, she made a desperate grab for the linen and caught the corner, drawing it up to her chest.

“Every time I did that, you kicked it off.”

She frowned at the tired rasp of his voice. Dark stubble shadowed his too-strong jaw, sharpening the angles of his face. His eyes burned with blue fire and his coffee-dark hair was furrowed from his fingers. His hat hung on the chair beside her bed.

He moved over to her. She pressed the sheet to her breasts, mortified at the thought that Davis Lee had seen her nearly naked.

He reached for the pitcher on the bedside table. After pouring water into a glass, he bent down and slid one hard, hot hand under her neck to hold her head.

His touch was gentle, at odds with the no-nonsense line of his lips, the cool knowing in his eyes. She sipped, looking down to escape his intense gaze. The liquid soothed the parched heat of her mouth but didn’t quench her thirst.

She drank greedily and he pulled back a little.