Jake's Angel

“The same business I’ve had for over six months, only now I intend to finish it.” Pushing himself up out of the rocker, Jake limped over to the corner where Isabel had propped his saddlebag and fished out a mud-spattered badge. He turned and handed it to Cal.

Cal rubbed away the dirt and shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Answering the question on Isabel’s face, he smiled broadly and said, “It looks as if we were paintin’ us a devil’s face on an angel, Belle. Mr. Coulter here is a Texas Ranger.”

“He’s a…” Isabel stared at Cal a moment, trying to decide if she felt relieved Jake Coulter wasn’t an outlaw or angry for how thoroughly she’d been taken in by his appearance.

As Cal’s words sank in fully, she whirled on Jake, her eyes blazing. “I suppose you enjoyed playing the wounded gunslinger, letting me believe I’d let an outlaw into my house, around my boys. You have a strange way of amusing yourself, Mr. Coulter.”

“If I wanted entertainment, I’d have stayed at the Silver Rose, Mrs. Bradshaw. I came here for rest and privacy. I’d just as soon Grey didn’t hear that I’m laid up. None of us want him to come looking for me under your roof. I don’t know how much you know about Jerico Grey, but you can trust me when I say he’s not the kind of man you’d ever turn your back on.”

All traces of warmth had vanished from his face as if they’d never been there and Isabel felt a shiver up her spine looking at the ice in its place.

Jake Coulter might be one step on the right side of the law, but Cal was wrong. He was dangerous, maybe even more so than the man he vowed to bring to justice.

Jake watched her, trying to decipher the odd play of emotions on her face. Anger, worry, he could understand. What confused him was the strong sense that Isabel Bradshaw’s interest in Jerico Grey was more than concern a woman alone would have for herself and her family knowing an outlaw was somewhere in the area.

She seemed strong-willed enough to face down the devil if necessary to protect her own. Yet one name washed the color from her face and put fear in her eyes. At least he thought it was fear.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring at her, trying to figure her out, until the sheriff cleared his throat.

“I’d like to talk to you more about this, when you’re feelin’ up to a walk to my office,” Cal said. “Until then, you’re right, it’s probably best everyone in town thinks you’re another drifter Belle’s taken under her wing for a spell.”

He said something else but Isabel didn’t hear the rest of the conversation between the two men. Jerico was coming back to Whispering Creek and Jake Coulter wanted him dead. What kind of man had she taken into her home? Yet how could she turn him out when he was wounded?

“…you tomorrow, Belle.”

She started, realizing Cal was talking to her. “Yes, yes of course.”

“I’ll see myself out, let you get back to your business.” Shoving his hat back on, he nodded to Jake and gave Isabel’s arm a reassuring pat before clomping back down the stairs.

As his footsteps receded Isabel turned to look fully at Jake.

“I’ll leave. Tonight if possible.” He limped toward the bed and shoved the badge back into his saddlebag. “I’ll see if I can sweet-talk my way into Anita’s room at the Silver Rose.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go walking around town in your condition. Lie down before you fall down,” she commanded, coming to him and pushing a hand flat against his chest.

“I’m going. I had to tell the sheriff the truth. But now that he knows why I’m here, word’s bound to get back to Jerico. I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“I don’t recall asking you to be my protector. You’re hurt, I can help you. That’s the end of it.”

“Is it? Well, I don’t recall asking for your help. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you to stay out of my life. Yet, here you are.” He gestured to her hand, still pressed against his bare chest.

Isabel suddenly became acutely aware of the hard wall of muscle under her palm, and that she stood close enough to him to feel the heat and tension in him.

“Get back into bed,” she said, jerking her hand away. “I refuse to let you go wandering around Whispering Creek, making yourself an easy target for any drunk with a gun. A dead patient isn’t good for business.”

Jake said nothing and for a moment, Isabel thought he would ignore her and limp away anyhow. But finally, he sat down heavily on the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t count on me.”

“For what?”

“For anything. Anything at all. I’m here to do this job and then I’ll be moving on to the next one. That’s all I can promise.”

“Do you think I’m so desperate for male companionship I’ll be begging for your attention by week’s end?” Isabel nearly laughed at his arrogance except the shuttered look on his face stopped her. His expression told her he hadn’t made the comment lightly and she wondered what meaning she was supposed to find in it.

“Let me assure you, the only promise I want from you is that you’ll pay your rent on time. Five dollars a week for the room, breakfast and supper. I do laundry and linens once a week.”

“Does that include your weed potions, too?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing with a corner of his mouth.

“Those are on the house. I couldn’t charge for anything you take so much pleasure in.”

There seemed to be nothing else to say, but in the hush that suddenly fell between them, Isabel sensed there was much more, yet neither of them knew how to give it voice. She finally forced herself to end the strange, tense silence, and, murmuring a quick good-night, left him alone.

Jake leaned back against the pillows. He felt completely thrown off center by her. It was a disarming, unsettling feeling unlike any he’d ever known with any other woman.

Not even his wife. It irritated him, like a splinter just under the skin. And it annoyed him even more that he had to depend on her to get back on his feet.

Nothing about Isabel Bradshaw was easy, he was discovering. Except the way she touched him. And that, if he was honest, disturbed him most of all.

Chapter Four

Golden-yellow afternoon sunlight streamed down between snowy clouds, and Matt danced a hopscotch path on the patches of light and shadow across the backyard.

“I get to do it! I found her!” he cried, glancing over his shoulder and picking up his pace as he heard Nate catching up behind him.

Lagging in their wake, Isabel glanced across the stone path to her rose garden and sighed. She had planted the bushes shortly after her marriage, her one indulgence. Some years roses flourished in the high country; other times the extremes of hot days and cold nights, fierce sometimes even here in the valley, drained the life from their fragile petals.

Better to be sturdy than beautiful in this wild place, she thought, looking at several tender new pink and silver blossoms and wondering if they’d have the stamina to survive.

“Mama, hurry!” Matt yelled over his shoulder. “Nate is going to let the roadrunner loose before I even have a chance to say goodbye to her.”

Nate gave a disgusted snort. “Am not! You’re just trying to get me in trouble.”

“I think this is something we can all share,” Isabel said, ruffling Matt’s hair and rubbing Nate’s shoulder. She moved up directly between them and released the wire latch on the cage. “Go ahead, Nate. You can take her out. Gently now.”

Gingerly, Nate reached into the cage and cupped his hands around the bird’s wings so the small creature wouldn’t panic. He spoke softly to it as he eased it into his arms, stroking its tiny head.

“Come on, little one. You can go home today.”

Pride surged through Isabel as she watched him. He was learning. Learning as she had from her mother and Nana that healing was more than medicine; it was also touch and the power and music of the voice. Learning that sharing another’s pain meant sharing their hopes and also rejoicing in their recovery.

An image of her new reluctant patient flashed across her mind. Absently, she glanced upward to where the white lace curtains fluttered in the open window of the room where Jake slept. She’d given him another dose of a willow powder elixir for pain, and had started applying hourly mashes of blue corn to his leg. Despite her care, the wound seemed to want to fester and she worried infection and fever might set in, delaying his recovery, possibly jeopardizing his leg.

And having Jake Coulter under her roof longer than necessary wasn’t something either of them wanted, she reminded herself.

“My turn. My turn,” Matt insisted beside Nate, wriggling with his eagerness to hold the roadrunner.

“Slowly, now,” Isabel encouraged. “Hold her firmly.”

As though lifting a priceless treasure, Matt wrapped his small, sun-browned fingers around the bird and squatted to set it on the earth beneath them.