Whirlwind Wedding (16 page)

“It's
your
investigation.”

“You want to catch those bastards as badly as I do.”

His cousin stared at him, so hard Jericho thought he might pop a blood vessel. “If Catherine wants to accept my invitations, then I'll continue offering them.”

Which did not concern Jericho. But his good hand curled into a fist.

“Tell me straight out. Is my seeing Catherine going to be a problem between us? Because no woman is worth that.”

Hadn't Jericho told her only two days ago that he shouldn't have touched her? That he wouldn't do it again? He had no business feeling anything for her. “No. There won't be any problems.”

“He said while taking aim at my back,” Davis Lee muttered.

Jericho wanted to laugh, but could only manage a smile.

Never mind the itch that had been under his skin the entire time she'd been with Davis Lee. Or the relentless urge to know every single thing they did together. What mattered was catching her brother with the McDougals.

Imagining the hate in her eyes when he finally caught Andrew in the act should've hardened Jericho's resolve to keep a distance from her. Knowing she liked his cousin should've reined in his hard-driving impulses about her, but the urge to touch, to
take
burned deeper than ever.

His mind tortured him with images of Catherine and Davis Lee all through the night.

 

Catherine buttoned up the front of her gray dress. The soldier sent by Dr. Butler would be here shortly, and she wasn't ready. She'd spent a restless night trying to escape thoughts of Jericho. Even though that kiss had happened three days ago, she could still feel his lips on hers, the hard lines of his body against hers. Being away from him today was a good idea.

As soon as Andrew finished breakfast, she confiscated his lunch pail and they left for school.

Sums were on her brother's mind this morning and he recited his multiplication tables as they walked. The sun warmed her neck and the scent of bruised grass followed in their wake. The pleasure she took in the lovely morning was dimmed by the fact that she had barely spoken to Jericho since rising, or he to her. She wanted to know what he and Davis Lee had talked about yesterday. Why Jericho had looked so haggard when she returned home. His limp seemed more pronounced, and his neck and newly shaved face were a deeper brown. As if he'd been in the sun all day.

She should be thinking about Whirlwind's handsome sher
iff, who was kind and charming. Who took pains to put her at ease. Who liked her.

Dr. Butler's request for her to return to work had come at the perfect time. She didn't feel completely comfortable leaving Jericho alone for these few hours, but the chance to escape this simmering awareness of him, to clear her head, was more than welcome.

After delivering Andrew to school, she rushed home. A wagon hitched to a placidly waiting bay sat in front of the house. Catherine hurried up the porch steps, noting the U.S. brand on the horse's flank. The soldier was here.

Jericho's empty chair and the bedroll neatly placed beneath his saddlebags meant he must be inside with the man. With a welcoming smile on her face, she opened the door.

The front room was empty and quiet. No one sat at the kitchen table or on the bench Catherine had moved to the corner by the rocker. The faint scent of leather and soap drifted to her. Jericho. Where was he? Where was the soldier who'd been sent to fetch her? Maybe the wagon wasn't from Fort Greer. Maybe—

A gunshot ripped through the morning stillness, and she jumped, pressing a hand to her chest. Bless the saints!

Picking up her skirts, checking that the shotgun was in its place behind the door, she ran outside and around the house. Who had fired that gun? What had happened? Where was Jericho?

Through the panicked thunder of her heartbeat, she heard the murmur of voices. Male voices. She ran past the root cellar and garden, lurching to a stop. Between the house and the barn stood Jericho and a soldier. Her frantic gaze skimmed Jericho's wide shoulders, lean legs, the ground. He wasn't shot. Neither was the brawny, dark-haired man beside him. No one was wounded. No one was bleeding.

Dragging in air, trying to calm her pulse as she walked toward them, she pressed her hand to her aching side. “What happened? What's going on?”

The men turned and the soldier snapped to attention. Flipping the rifle barrel-down against his leg, he saluted.

“Sergeant Lucas Ryan, ma'am.” Cobalt-blue eyes shone in a young, handsome face. “Dr. Butler sent me.”

Jericho's gaze slid to the man in uniform, but he said nothing.

The sergeant, who looked to be about Catherine's age, sent an uncertain glance toward Jericho. Though tall, he lacked the older man's height by three inches. The dark blue of his frock coat and trousers was spotless. He was polished and perfect from the brim of his black felt hat to his unbelievably shiny boots.

“I heard a gunshot,” she stated, her gaze going to Jericho.

“Lieutenant Blue wanted to see if I could hit a target, ma'am.”

“He did?” She frowned. Over the sergeant's shoulder she spied a bucket on its side sporting a hole the size of a fifty-cent piece. “That had better not be my water bucket.”

“No, ma'am.”

Jericho's cool gray eyes watched her steadily, unapologetically.

Heat curled through her. Refusing to let him fluster her, she said to the sergeant, “And it appears you hit it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He still stood at attention.

She smiled and stepped toward him. “Well, then. I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I got a late start this morning, but I'm ready now.”

“At your service, ma'am.”

“Dr. Butler will wonder where we are.” She turned toward
the house, expecting the soldier to follow, but he didn't. She looked back. “Sergeant?”

His gaze cut to the big man beside him. “I don't think the lieutenant is satisfied, ma'am.”

Satisfied? Catherine searched Jericho's eyes, but could read nothing. What was he about?

His jaw, shadowed with morning whiskers, tightened. “I'm sure Doc wouldn't mind us taking a few minutes to make certain of your safety.”

“The doctor said he would send the fort's best marksman,” she said brightly. “And here he is.”

Jericho eyed the other man. “The Rangers set great store by accuracy.”

“As does the Army, sir.”

“Can you shoot the bloom off that flower over there?” He pointed past the barn into the field beyond, where, dozens of yards away, a lone yellow sunflower waved above the prairie grass.

Catherine could only just make it out.

Confidence shone in Lucas Ryan's eyes as he lifted his rifle and blew the flower to kingdom come.

“You're a marvelous shot, Sergeant,” she praised.

Jericho crossed his arms over his chest, his brow lowering. “You hesitated right before you pulled the trigger. Can't hesitate.”

“I did?”

Jericho gave a curt nod. “Try something else.”

Catherine didn't know what was going on, but she didn't like it. “The doctor is expecting us.”

“I'm sure he won't mind waiting a few more minutes.”

What did Jericho want? For the sergeant to fire every bullet he had? She could read nothing in the Ranger's face as he
tossed a hole-riddled tin can in his hand. “How are you at moving targets?”

He threw the can high into the air. In one smooth motion, Ryan sighted his target, followed it, then squeezed the trigger. The bullet pinged the metal and the can fell to the ground with a soft thud, sporting a new hole.

Ryan grinned.

“Humph.” Jericho pointed past the barn into the pasture. “See that mesquite tree?”

“Yes.”

Catherine stepped up close enough to see the sheen of perspiration on the sergeant's neck.

“Knock off that lowest branch.”

“That's practically to Abilene,” she protested.

“It's only about a hundred and fifty yards.” Jericho looked at the other man. “To test your accuracy with distance.”

Ryan took the challenge, lifted his rifle and fired. The lowest branch fell cleanly to the ground.

A smile broke across his face. “You have to admit that was an excellent shot, Lieutenant.”

“Could've been lucky.”

The sergeant's smile slipped. “It wasn't.”

“Hmm. Just to be safe I think I'll ride along with y'all.”

“What?” Catherine's mouth dropped open.

“That isn't necessary, sir—”

“With the McDougal gang running around, it's a good idea to have someone at your back.”

The other man eyed him uncertainly. “I guess so.”

Catherine stepped between them, her hands on her hips as she faced Jericho. “You don't even have full use of your gun hand yet.”

“I can use a shotgun. Don't have to be too skilled with that.”

What
was he doing? “You said you were a lousy shot with your left hand. What if you shoot one of us?”

He chuckled, amusement glittering in his eyes. “I didn't know you had such a sense of humor.”

The sergeant watched them intently.

“Well, I hardly see how you'll be able to get in and out of the wagon. And all that bouncing will not be good for your leg.”

“I can ease myself into the bed. I'm going to have to start riding in a wagon sometime. And riding my horse, too.”

“You still have stitches. You could rip them open.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing. “I think Sergeant Ryan will probably drive as gently as he can, seeing as how he has to deliver you in one piece.”

She did not want to be with Jericho today. Crossing her arms, she demanded, “What are you going to do while I'm helping Dr. Butler?”

“Same things I do here.” He shrugged. “Work my hand, exercise my leg, practice with my gun. Sergeant Ryan might even want to practice with me.”

The young man frowned.

Catherine pressed her lips together, choking back further arguments. The doctor probably wouldn't care if Jericho accompanied her to the fort, but she cared. She needed some time away from him. But she had come to know that steely look in his eyes. He had made up his mind to go.

Ryan glanced from Catherine to Jericho. “So we'd better get going then?”

“Yes, we had.” Jericho gestured for her to precede them.

Lucas Ryan looked distinctly uncomfortable, and she let her own confusion show as she swept past Jericho. Yes, the McDougals were dangerous and yes, two guns probably were better than one. But there was something more, something deep in his gray eyes that she couldn't decipher.

She didn't know what to make of him, first telling her he shouldn't have
overstepped
with that kiss, then declaring he would ride with them to the fort. As if he cared for more than her protection. Which he did not.

She glanced back, saw the smug satisfaction glinting in his eyes, and pressed her lips together. And she thought Andrew was hard to figure out!

J
ericho was not letting Catherine go to Fort Greer without his protection. Lucas Ryan was a good shot, but he was just a kid. Jericho didn't understand the ferocity that had risen in him upon seeing the soldier's discreetly admiring glances, but it had come from his gut. As he had done his entire adult life, he followed his instincts.

During the thirty-minute ride out, he bounced around in the back of the wagon like corn in a popper. His leg hurt like bloody hell, and Catherine seemed to have forgotten he was even there. Ryan drew her out and she talked about her up-bringing and how she'd come to Whirlwind. Jericho had heard some of it before, but she talked in more detail about her father, about her parents' lives here before she came. Enough so that Jericho itched to know more.

Fort Greer was still a relatively young encampment, one of the few not established on a stage or cattle route. Concern from citizens in the western part of Texas had prompted the government to offer more protection. Indians weren't the problem now; outlaws were. No high walls made of split rails encircled the fort. There were no gates. Nothing enclosed the
place at all. Rather, the fort was a series of tents and buildings laid out in an open-ended rectangle.

The yard where the men trained was well trampled, the grass flattened from hours of marching. Long frame buildings made up two sides of the rectangle; they were raised on foot-high pyres, and housed the officers and Dr. Butler. The hospital took up one room at the far end of the west building. Tents set up behind the quarters were reserved for the enlisted men. The laundry and kitchen shared a building and connected the two barracks to form the third, shorter wall. Set away from the barracks, behind the tents, were the stables.

Jericho's gaze shifted to Catherine. The way the sergeant eyed her, as if he wanted to lap her up like cream, sent a sharp heat jabbing Jericho's chest. He and Catherine would return alone.

Since she had to be home in time to collect Andrew from school, they only stayed at the fort until early afternoon. As she said goodbye to a stoop-shouldered lieutenant, Jericho spoke to Dr. Butler about driving the wagon back without Ryan. Any further trips could be made in Catherine's own wagon.

The doctor agreed easily, telling Jericho he had to ride into Whirlwind the next day to collect his wife, who was returning from a visit with her folks in Dallas. It was no problem for Butler to drive the wagon back to the fort then.

After informing Sergeant Ryan that he wouldn't need to make the return trip, the doctor had the younger man lead the horse and wagon to the front of his quarters. As Butler cautioned Jericho about climbing into the wagon, he lifted a wooden stepping block from the crawl space beneath the building and placed it adjacent to the rig.

Though the stitches in his thigh would soon come out, Jericho hadn't yet bent his leg as far as he would need to to climb up into the wagon. For the trip out, he had been able to sit on the edge of the wagon bed, then scoot back. The wooden
block allowed him to step up, causing no more discomfort than walking did. He eased onto the smoothly worn wooden seat, glad he'd already gotten himself used to sitting in a chair for the past week.

He braced the shotgun on his left, butt-up against the foot-board so it would rest between him and Catherine. His Peacemaker was snug against his belly in the waist of his trousers, where he had put the six-shooter for the trip out.

Sergeant Ryan carefully helped Catherine into the wagon, one hand on her waist longer than Jericho saw fit. At least that pup wasn't going back with them.

Dr. Butler passed her a wool blanket and she folded it into a thick pad. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she leaned over Jericho and lifted his right leg, shoving the blanket beneath his thigh. “Maybe that will help buffer the rough ride.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn't even be here,” she said in a low voice. “You are a stubborn, stubborn man.”

She reached for the reins.

So did Jericho. “I'll drive.”

“Your hand isn't healed nearly enough for that.”

“She's right, Lieutenant.” Dr. Butler wore a mildly reproving look.

Jericho nodded, intending to take the lines once they were away from the fort. The wagon jerked into motion and they pulled away from the doctor's quarters, turning around in the yard to head back the way they'd come. The horse lumbered along, its mahogany coat gleaming in the hot sun.

Catherine ran a hand across her nape and stretched her back. The movement pulled her bodice taut across her breasts and Jericho curled his good hand against his thigh, studying the horizon. A faint whiff of verbena and her uniquely femi
nine scent drifted to him, along with the sweetness of prairie grass and flowers flattened beneath the wagon wheels.

Catherine's hair, up as usual, was hidden beneath a sunbonnet that protected her face from the rays, but not the tender skin of her neck.

Flicking a glance at her, he saw shadows under her eyes. He reached for the reins. “You look tired.”

“I'm fine.” She flashed him a smile. “Besides, you heard Dr. Butler.”

“You've been working all morning, Catherine.”

“If it weren't for these outlaws, I'd be driving myself, anyway.”

“My mama did teach me to be a gentleman. Some of it didn't take, but I do know not to allow a woman to drive a wagon.”

“You're wounded. I'm sure your mother would make allowances for that.”

He tried again to take the reins but she pulled them across her lap.

“I can drive with one hand.” He stretched his arm across her body. They weren't touching, but he could feel the teasing warmth of her flesh.

“And what if those outlaws did come upon us? Having the reins would slow you down when you went for your gun.”

“I put the shotgun here between us so I could reach it easily.”

“Any hesitation could be costly.” She schooled her features into a stern mask and lowered her voice. “Can't hesitate.”

She was imitating the way he'd spoken to the sergeant, and Jericho chuckled, withdrawing his hand. “All right.”

She slid him a teasing look. He smiled, taken again by the clear blue of her eyes. She jerked her gaze away. Around the edge of her bonnet, he could make out the soft line of her jaw, the way it curved to a stubborn chin. Her small straight nose.
The delicate patch of skin between her nape and the collar of her gray dress.

His gaze slipped to the fullness of her breasts and held. He flexed his hand, imagining the feel of her in his palm. A low throb started in his blood.

When she cleared her throat and a blush spread up her neck, he realized she'd caught him looking. He couldn't find it in him to apologize.

“What did you do while I worked with Dr. Butler?”

She sounded slightly breathless, her voice evoking a response he could no longer stem. “Worked on loading and unloading my Peacemaker. Took some target practice out behind the fort.”

“With Sergeant Ryan?”

He grinned. “I think he might've been there.”

He would do better to think about the targets he'd missed rather than the softness of Catherine's breasts or the taste of her. Anything other than what he wanted to do to her. “I heard you telling the sergeant on the way out to the fort that your pa and uncle pooled their money to build your house.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “My uncle died about a year after my parents arrived here.”

“When did your pa pass away?”

“When I was eight. Andrew was just a baby, three months old.”

“I was fourteen when my pa passed on.”

Sympathy darkened her eyes. “What happened?”

“He was a Ranger, too. He was killed when he tried to stop a bank robbery.”

“And you were left to help your mother and sisters?”

“Yeah. A gunsmith took me on as an apprentice and he paid me a little bit. I did odd jobs where I could, but my ma took the brunt of providing for us.”

“I would've helped my mother if I'd been here,” Catherine said wistfully. “She took in sewing and laundry.”

Jericho knew the responsibility she felt, but he also knew that his mother would've done the same as hers if it meant certain care for her children. “Your ma felt better knowing you had food and a solid roof over your head.”

“Yes. Still, I would've liked to have seen her one more time.”

Her sigh of regret tightened his chest. “Did you ever want to become a nun?”

“No.” She smiled softly. “I never felt the calling.”

“Didn't I hear you say that your pa worked for the stagecoach company?”

“Yes. He was in an accident.”

Her voice was even, but Jericho knew about pain buried beneath the surface.

“He drank off and on all through his life.” Her voice was distant, faint with memories. “After he and Uncle Colm bought the house, my father planned to buy some land and also bring me from New York City. But he spent all his money on this place. Then he started drinking again.”

“He felt like he'd failed you?”

“I think so. He shouldn't have been driving at all that day. He took a turn too fast and hit a rock. The stage toppled and crushed him.”

Jericho wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, console her in some way, but he stayed as he was. “The passengers?”

“There were none, thank goodness.”

“Did he drive Whirlwind's stage?” He didn't recall Davis Lee or Riley mentioning that.

“No, for a company in Abilene. They paid higher wages.”

“And after he passed on, your ma had her hands full trying to provide for Andrew?”

“Yes. I suggested once that she sell the house, but my fa
ther had set such store by it that she couldn't. And she said it was all of him she had left.”

“But if she had, you thought you could've joined her,” he guessed quietly.

Catherine nodded. “I could've found some way to earn money and help her, but she begged me to stay with the Sisters so she would know I was safe and fed. At first I was relieved, because I was terrified of coming out here alone. And then it was too late.”

He resisted the impulse to pull her close, rubbing his thumb absently against his thigh instead.

Catherine straightened her spine and asked briskly, “How's your leg? Are you hurting?”

“I'm okay.” The rough, jarring ride sent pain shooting through his thigh constantly, but he had to get used to it sometime.

The creak of wagon wheels and the occasional chirp of a grasshopper wove their way into the silence between them. After a moment, she asked, “What of your mother? Does she know about your wounds?”

“No.” He'd meant to wire her this morning, but he hadn't been about to let Catherine go off alone with that sergeant.

“You should let her know.” Her eyes were bright with hard-earned wisdom. “You never know when you may not see her again.”

She touched his knee, her fingertips barely skimming his trousers.

He tensed, pushing away the dangerous thought that he wanted her hands on him everywhere. “You're right,” he said gruffly. “I'll do it this afternoon.”

“Good.” She smiled as the wagon rocked along. “I miss the Sisters, but I'm glad to finally be with my brother. Even if we're getting off to a rough start.”

Andrew was the only family Catherine had left, and Jericho had every intention of taking the boy away from her. He
was coming more and more to dread that day, but the kid had killed his partner. Possibly lamed Jericho's hand for life. There would be justice for Andrew and the McDougals. Still, it tore Jericho up inside to think about the consequences for Catherine. And the way she would look at him afterward.

Her hands seemed so tiny on the reins, yet he knew they were adept and capable. Before he realized what he was about, he ran his thumb over the back of one of them. Her skin was petal-smooth beneath his touch.

Her gaze flew to his and the air went still.

“You should've worn gloves,” he said.

“Yes.” Her blue eyes were wide, startled. “They'll burn, I know. My hands, I mean.”

“And you may get blisters on your palms.” He brushed his thumb the length of hers, to the inside of her wrist.

Her hands tightened on the reins and he withdrew.

She sent him a look from under her lashes. “It's really your fault.”

“My fault?” He couldn't stop gazing at her, wanting to drown in her. “How's that?”

“I was flustered when we left the house, and forgot my gloves. I wasn't expecting you to come. I know Sergeant Ryan wasn't, either.”

Jericho smiled though his body hardened with every sway of the wagon. She was so close. He could touch her if he wanted, probably kiss her.
And then what?
a voice inside his head taunted.
Arrest her brother?

She glanced at him. “Why were you so disagreeable to him?”

Her mouth was perfect for his, soft and pink. Neither her upper nor lower lip was too full. He stopped that line of thought immediately and squinted across acres of spoke-high green grass. He could make out Catherine's house, small and yellow in the distance. “Was I?”

“You were.” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “I admit I'm no expert with a gun, but Sergeant Ryan hit everything you wanted.”

“There's more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Quickness, for one thing. He can't be so fast that he sacrifices accuracy, but he has to be fast enough to stop a bullet.”

“He's a marksman in the Army. If that isn't good enough, what is?”

Jericho removed his arm from behind her, wishing she would talk about something else. “It was a good idea to have someone cover his back. You heard him. He thought so, too.”

“I think you bullied him into it.”

Jericho was sick to death of talking about the young sergeant, who'd shown more than a passing interest in Catherine. “He was flustered easily enough when I asked him to prove himself.”