Lone Star Lover (3 page)

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.

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.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“If your patient wakes up again, maybe we can get a little broth down his gullet.”

Her patient? Rebecca followed Kitty’s gaze to the man. She wished she had at least asked him his name, but she’d been too flustered to think clearly. “When’s Doc Davis getting back?”

The man moaned.

Kitty pulled off her shawl and tossed it onto the coat rack before going to him. “Easy, mister,” she said, when he tried to roll onto his side.

He moaned louder, and slowly opened his eyes. He looked straight at Kitty, alarm flaring in his face, and then his gaze went to Rebecca, and he seemed to relax. “Water,” he said hoarsely.

Rebecca quickly filled the tin cup and passed it to Kitty, who shook her head. “You go ahead,” she said. “He seems to recognize you.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Kitty gave her a stern look, and helped by lifting the man’s head. “Go on.”

Rebecca brought the cup to his lips, and he met her eyes while he sipped slowly. Amazingly he seemed stronger than he had just an hour ago. He didn’t wait for her to drizzle the water into his mouth, but actually sipped.

“That’s enough,” Kitty said.

Rebecca moved the cup.

“No. More.” His voice seemed stronger, too.

Kitty gave Rebecca a small shake of her head. “Let’s wait a few minutes, sugar. You can have another sip, and then we’ll get you some broth. How does that sound?”

The man half sighed, half groaned. Kitty guided his head back to the pillow, and he stared grimly up at the ceiling.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Kitty asked.

He hesitated, his brows creasing before he said, “Jake. Jake Malone.”

“Well, this here is Rebecca. You already know her, and I’m Kitty.”

His gaze stopped on Rebecca for an indecently long spell, and she looked away, the heat of embarrassment stinging her cheeks.

The damp cloth slipped off his forehead. Kitty caught it and passed it to Rebecca while she checked his forehead. “Your fever broke.”

“Where am I?” His voice was still gravelly but not so weak. “What town?”

“This is Diablo Flats.”

“Diablo Flats,” he repeated, his face creasing as if trying to puzzle something out. “Right, you said that.” He lifted his hand and touched his head where it was bandaged. “I don’t remember a town called—” He stopped, his face screwed up as if he’d just recalled something frightful. “My truck. I was in my truck. Was it totaled?”

Kitty and Rebecca exchanged worried looks. “What’s a truck?” Kitty asked.

His eyebrow raised in question, and then his gaze slowly slid toward Rebecca. “A truck,” he repeated. “You don’t know what that is?”

Kitty shook her head. Rebecca just stared.

“You were hurt real bad, Mr. Malone,” Kitty said. “A bullet grazed your head, and it looks as though you might’ve taken a nasty fall. That’s why things seem a bit muddled.”

He pushed himself up to his elbows, grimacing and moaning with the effort. When it seemed as if he might try to swing his legs to the floor, Kitty got up close and blocked him.

“You best not do that,” she said. “You’re likely to end up on the floor and I don’t expect Rebecca and I would be able to lift you.”

“I think I’m okay.” Although he sounded stronger than the first time he’d awoken, his breaths came quick and shallow. “I just want to—” He fell back onto the cot.

“Ornery cuss, ain’t ya?” Shaking her head, Kitty helped get him settled again. “You haven’t had anything to eat in two days, probably longer. You’ll need something in your belly before you try to get on your feet. Rebecca, why don’t you go tell Cook we could use that broth now?”

Rebecca stiffened, feeling a bit light-headed herself. She’d rather do just about anything than walk through the saloon to the kitchen. Yet how could she refuse Kitty a single thing? The woman had risked a beating to protect Rebecca. Kitty had even talked Doc Davis into letting Rebecca temporarily stay here and help with his patients.

Without a word, Rebecca lifted her shawl off the coat rack. At least it wasn’t dark yet. Most of the men were probably still out patrolling south of town or washing up for supper. Those that bothered to wash, that is. Mainly they were a dirty bunch, both in mind and body.

After sundown it got real bad. The Rangers did most of their drinking then, their whoring and gambling, too. And if the cards didn’t go their way, God help everyone because they got downright mean. Lola and Trixie still had bruises from last Saturday night.

Rebecca stopped near the window while she threw the shawl around her shoulders and tried to sneak a peek through the part in the curtains, praying no one was on the street.

“Wait up, honey. I changed my mind.” Kitty moved away from the man. “I need to talk to Cook, anyway. He don’t need to make that broth too spicy like he does.”

Relief flooded Rebecca. She didn’t have to look at her friend to know Kitty had probably seen her cowering near the window and was taking pity on her. Rebecca knew she’d have to move back to her room above the saloon at some point. That is, unless she could steal a horse first.

He scanned the room the best he could without moving too much and making his head pound again. The rough unfinished walls and the wood plank floors baffled him. The place looked more like a fishing cabin or a line shack than a doctor’s office. He could’ve sworn that’s where the woman said he was, but maybe his brain was still foggier than he thought.

He itched to see what was behind him, but straining to glimpse the antique chest of drawers sitting in the corner and the large tub beside it had fired up the pain in his left temple. Anyway, he’d seen enough. No way this was a doctor’s office. The place wasn’t even sterile. Jake had to have misunderstood.

“Rebecca?”

She spun around, her hand going to her throat, and regarded him with wide wary eyes.

The swishing sound of her full skirt startled him. He blinked away the sudden fuzziness clouding his vision, and then peered more closely at the old-fashioned dress that was too big for her. If not for the low neckline, the garment looked as if it were something a Quaker or Amish woman might wear. But he didn’t know of any religious settlements near Appleton. Besides, not with that neckline…“Your name
is
Rebecca, right?”

She nodded, and closed the stove door, but kept hold of the poker like a weapon. Her hair, tied back at the nape, was so long and thick that it flowed over one shoulder nearly down to her waist.

“Do you live here? Is this your home?”

She moistened her lips, and he noticed the small curved scar near the right corner of her mouth. “For now,” she said finally.

“How close are we to Houston?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”

“Is it an hour from here? Two hours?”

Rebecca glanced toward the door. “Kitty will know.”

Jake knew he made her uneasy, but there was nothing he could do but offer verbal reassurance, which he suspected would do no good. Even if he were so inclined, he was in no condition to harm anyone, and she had to know that much. “Were you the one who found me?”

“Goodness no.” Her eyebrows went up in surprise, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Slow Jim found you.”

“Slow Jim?”

She nodded gravely. “Good thing he was headed this way or I heard Cook say that the buzzards would’ve got you.” She went to the window and carefully pushed the curtain to the side about an inch, then glanced out before turning back to him. “I expect it’s all right to give you more water, if you want some.”

“Yes, please.”

Studying him with a thoughtful frown, she slowly moved toward a white pitcher sitting on a three-legged stool.

“Is something wrong?”

She blushed. “You have real nice manners, is all,” she murmured, and concentrated on pouring some water in a tin cup.

Man, he had to still be asleep and dreaming. The way she spoke and dressed, the roughly made furnishings and the apparent lack of plumbing…

He knew there were folks who lived off-grid, shunning modern conveniences and the use of public utilities, but they’d have to live close to a river or spring, not out here. Except the crazy thing was, he didn’t know where “out here” was. But he had to be somewhat close to Houston.

She started toward him with the cup, and he noticed her boots. They were old, worn and laced up the front. She had to be part of some kind of religious sect. The dress was still a mystery though. It wasn’t indecent, just not modest enough to appease a religious order.

When she got to his side, she looked uncertain. “Do you think you can raise yourself up a bit?”

“I’d like to try and sit if you’ll help me.”

She nibbled at her lip. “Miss Kitty might not like that.”

“Then she can yell at me.”

Rebecca almost smiled as she set the cup next to the basin. “You best be careful. She’s not one to take any sass.”

“I’ll remember that.” He winked, and she blushed a pretty pink. “If you give me your arm, I’ll try and pull myself up.”

“All right, but if you start to hurt—”

“I’m sure it’s gonna hurt like a son of a—” He cut himself short, and offered a conciliatory smile. “But I’ll feel better sitting up.”

She gave a small nod, and faced him, holding out both arms.

Damn, she was small. He had to outweigh her by a good hundred pounds. Fine thing if they both ended up on the floor. He reached up and circled her forearm with his hand. She was small-boned and too thin. At her wrist, where she’d pushed back her sleeve, he saw a scar, as if she’d been bound at some point.

He released her. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Maybe we should wait.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m stronger than I look.”

The movement caused the neckline of her dress to slip, exposing the creamy pale skin of her left shoulder. She didn’t pull the sleeve back into place, and didn’t seem to notice.

He thought for a second that it might be better if she took his hands and pulled him up, but then decided she wouldn’t have the strength. At least if he used her arm for leverage he could handle the heavy lifting. Hopefully. He took hold of her arm again, careful not to squeeze too tight. “You tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

She nodded, and braced herself.

Jake slowly lifted his shoulders off the bed and then paused. With the slight exertion, sweat dampened the back of his neck and the effort hampered his breathing. The pain that stabbed his temple he tried not to think about, but it messed with his vision and he blinked the room back into focus.

“Mister?”

Damn, he wasn’t sure he could do this.

“Mister?” She sounded frightened, and her arm started to tremble.

“I’m okay.” He breathed in deeply, though it hurt like a mother. “You?”

Her eyes darkened with concern, making them more blue than green. “I don’t want you harming yourself further.”

“You’re the one I’m worried about.” He tried to relax his hold on her. “Am I hurting your arm?”

She seemed a bit taken aback, but quickly shook her head.

“Call me Jake, all right? Mister makes me sound old.”

One corner of her mouth actually twitched this time, and she shifted, straightening her shoulders, ready to bear more of his weight.

“Okay, I’m ready if you are.” It took everything he had to haul himself upright and not curse a blue streak.

Pain shot down his side, and exploded in his skull like a bomb had gone off. Sweat coated his chest and popped out above his upper lip. He swayed to the right, but Rebecca stood firm, cupping her hand over his and steadying him.

“Oh, my, you’re awfully pale,” she whispered. “Maybe we should lay you back down.”

“No.” His voice sounded weak. “No,” he said again, with more force. “Please.”

“All right.” She stood as still as a statue, waiting, watching for his cue.

But he had to rest before he made another move. The movement had caused his breathing to labor and each deep pull of air was torturous. He felt as if he’d just run a marathon. Rebecca, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat. She wasn’t kidding about being stronger than she looked.

“I might be able to reach the cup,” she offered.

“Okay.” Water sounded good. Damn good. His mouth was dry and his throat raw from talking.

She stretched toward the table, and fearing he was about to fall backward, he slid an arm around her waist. She gasped, jerked hard to get away, shoving his shoulder.

He howled in pain and fell back.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to catch him, but it was too late. “I thought you—I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Tears burned the back of his eyes. He closed them. “Bad idea, huh?”

“Please forgive me.” Her voice caught on a sob.

“Hey.” He reached out blindly, brushing her arm, and she gingerly touched his hand. “I’ll try again later,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to—I think I’ll grab a short nap.”

“I’ll sit with you,” she said softly.

He heard the legs of the chair scrape the wood floor, and then there was blessed darkness once more.