Whirlwind Wedding (5 page)

Pain snaked through him and ate away his strength. He could make out the cupboard against the wall to his right, the dining table in front of him. He gripped the edge. A moment of silence passed, then another. Andrew seemed to be in for the night, and Catherine appeared to have slept through her brother's absence and return.

Trying to gather what little strength he had, Jericho turned to go back to bed. And hit his thigh on the table's edge. Sharp, keening pain nearly drove him to the floor. His vision hazed and he cursed.

“Who's there? What do you want?” Catherine cried out, startling him.

“Shh.” His fingers dug into the wood as he fought to drag in a breath. “It's me.”

“What's happened?” She rose, a hazy figure pulling on her wrapper and coming toward him.

“Didn't mean to frighten you.” Pain was a vicious band around his thigh, and Jericho braced himself against the table. “I'm sorry.”

She stopped about a foot from him, her clean, fresh scent reaching through the thick night air. He wanted her to stay away, but it took all his energy to stay upright.

“What are you doing?”

At her accusing tone, he growled, “I'm on my way back to bed.”

“You shouldn't be up. If you needed something, you could've just called out to me.”

Her voice was cool and guarded; he could feel her wary gaze. What did she think he was doing—coming out here to have his way with her?

“I heard a noise,” he snapped.

“What was it?” She looked around, alarm plain in her voice.

His lips twisted. “I'm not sure. Whatever it was, it's gone now.”

Had Catherine really not heard her brother return? Or did she know he'd been out and was now protecting him? Jericho couldn't stand here much longer. The floor seemed to shift beneath his feet, and the heat in his thigh made him wonder if it were bleeding.

“Let me help you.” She was once again the calm nurse who'd taken him in.

He wanted to refuse her assistance, but if he did he might fall at her feet again. Surely one time was enough for any man. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

The agony in his leg had subsided to a dull, bone-pinch
ing throb. Catherine moved to his uninjured side and braced her shoulder under his arm, then put an arm firmly around his bare waist.

For just a moment, he balanced there and let her cool beauty soak into him. He hadn't allowed himself to be this close to a good woman in a long time. His arm rested on her shoulders and she gripped his wrist with her other hand. Her touch unleashed a longing he could scarcely admit. A long-denied part of himself greedily took in her clean scent, the brush of her unbound breast against his side.

“Ready?” Her body tensed to move.

He fought to keep his hand from drifting down her arm. “Yes. Ready.”

He took slow, halting steps, fresh pain tearing at his leg. She served as a crutch and let him set the pace. But the press of her body against his sparked a savage heat inside him. He tried to move faster, get back to bed so he could stop feeling it. Stop wanting to feel more.

He inched forward awkwardly, ignoring her teasing scent and the satin of her hair tickling his arm. An almost giddy relief washed through him when they shuffled through the doorway and he saw the bed. He stepped toward it, releasing her at the same time.

“Wait—”

His leg gave out. She clutched at him as he grabbed for the wall behind her. Agony wrenched his leg, rattling his teeth.

“Damn,” he muttered raggedly. Nausea rolled through him and sweat broke out across his forehead.

After long seconds, his breathing still uneven, he leaned against the wall.

Not the wall.
Catherine Donnelly.

Bracing his weight on his good arm, Jericho eased back enough to look at her. She stood motionless, her gaze trained
on his bare chest. Beyond the pain of his leg, a different kind of throbbing moved into his groin. Well, he could rest easy about the question of his manhood.

He felt every inch of her, and those inches felt damn good. The reason for his being here jumbled with the quicksilver reaction of his body to hers. Hard man to soft woman. Through the light fabric of her wrapper, her breasts teased his chest, while her hips and thighs pressed to his. Her breath fluttered against his throat, making his blood pound. He wanted to kiss her, peel down the straps of her nightdress and see the breasts shadowed beneath the fine lawn fabric. He wanted to run his hands through her hair, over her body.

“You are so sweet.” It took a second for him to realize he'd whispered the words. In that instant, he registered something else, too.

Though she stood rigid against him, she trembled—not fighting him, but warning him off all the same.

He shifted so that moonlight fell over his shoulder. She stared straight ahead, her face ghostly pale, her lips compressed.

“Catherine?” His whisper sounded harsh in the silence.

Her gaze lifted slowly to his and Jericho drew back. Terror swam in her eyes. He recognized that fear, and it had nothing to do with what he knew about her brother and the McDougals. She didn't fear him as a Ranger. She feared him as a man.

C
atherine wasn't going to scream; she wouldn't panic. She needed to breathe.

At first Jericho had sagged against her in pain, but that had changed. Even with her limited experience she recognized the awareness that thickened the air between them. She tensed. His body was no longer rigid with agony. Now his hard lines molded to her curves; his thighs caged hers.

She had to be smart. She could get away if she were smart.

She didn't think Jericho would hurt her, but she hadn't believed that man in New York City would, either. Until it was almost too late.

Panic exploded inside her. “Get off,” she said dully, dragging in air. “Get off.”

The Ranger eased back until he was no longer touching her. His arms still kept her against the wall. “Catherine?”

She thought she might be sick. Not from the way his body had felt against hers—it hadn't been entirely unpleasant—but from the way her stomach rolled over. “Get off. Please.”

“You better do it, mister.”

Both Catherine and Jericho jumped at the sound of An
drew's voice in the doorway. The sharp cock of a shotgun ripped through the room like the crack of a whip. She jerked toward her brother and saw pale light skimming the barrel of their father's shotgun. “Andrew!”

“Put that gun down, boy.” Jericho lifted his injured arm. “There's no call—”

“Back away from her or I'll shoot.”

He slowly pushed away from the wall and Catherine saw pain slash across his face. Sweat gleamed at his temple. She realized he had truly needed her support. “Andrew, everything is all right. Lieutenant Blue hurt his leg again and I was helping him back to bed.”

“That ain't what it looked like. It looked like he was trying to take advantage of you.”

“I wasn't.” Jericho hobbled back a step, his hands raised to shoulder level. “Son, you shouldn't be pointing that gun. See, I'm moving away.”

“Not far enough.” Andrew gestured with the weapon, indicating Jericho should go farther.

“Andrew, please.” Catherine went to him, shaken as much by what she had felt with Jericho as she was that her brother held a gun on her patient. “Lieutenant Blue is in no shape to harm me. Certainly the gun isn't called for.”

Andrew glared up at her.

Jericho reached the bed and sagged down upon it with a grunt.

Catherine turned toward him, concerned at the paleness of his face.

Agony carved his features. “Your sister's right, Andrew.”

“Then what were you doing to her?”

“I fell. She was between me and the wall. That's all.”

“He heard a noise and got up to check,” Catherine said. “Please put that gun down.”

Andrew kept the weapon leveled at the Ranger.

Though Jericho sat and Andrew stood, neither broke eye contact. She stood between them, trying to decipher their silent communication. “The lieutenant hit his injured leg on the table in the kitchen and I was helping him back to bed.”

Her brother's gaze narrowed suspiciously on the big man behind her.

“I wouldn't hurt your sister.” Jericho's voice was gritty with pain, his silver gaze locked on the boy. “Not after all she's done for me.”

Finally Andrew lowered the weapon, and Catherine let out a deep sigh. She felt Jericho's relief as keenly as her own. Her heart thundered in her chest as she considered whether to hug Andrew or shake him until his teeth rattled.

She had never seen her brother be protective of her. Since her arrival three weeks ago, he hadn't appeared to care about her. Why now? Did Andrew feel Jericho was a threat because he had witnessed her own panic?

“Let me have that thing.” She took the gun from him and gingerly carried it to its place behind the front door. “You scared me to death.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

She returned to find him still eyeing Jericho with distrust.

“I think you should apologize to Lieutenant Blue.”

Andrew's chin came up.

“No,” the Ranger said. “He was protecting you, and there's nothing wrong with that.”

Her brother's eyes widened and Catherine searched the Ranger's face. Compassion was something she hadn't expected from the rough-looking man. But perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. The death of his friend, Hays, the Ranger who had arrived with him, had visibly affected Jericho.

“Very well. You don't need to apologize, Andrew.” The
Ranger's pallor was too marked for further argument. She would have words with Andrew alone, though she wouldn't be harsh. He
had
been protecting her, and she wondered if perhaps they might develop a closeness, after all.

She slid an arm around his shoulders, surprised when he allowed her touch. “I think we've had enough excitement for tonight,” she murmured. “Let's get back to bed.”

“All right.” Her brother gave Jericho one last warning look before letting Catherine nudge him toward his room.

Even though her pulse slowed, she still felt the imprint of the Ranger's body against hers. Chills rose on her arms. They had nothing to do with fear, a fact that unsettled her to no end.

In Andrew's room, she straightened his sheet and patted the husk-filled mattress. “I appreciate what you did, Andrew—”

“But you're mad at me.”

She paused. “I'm concerned. You held a gun on a man.”

He frowned as if he couldn't understand why she worried.

“What if that weapon had gone off?”

“I know how to use it.”

“Would you have?”

He shrugged. “If I had to.”

“Oh, my.” She paced around his bed. “Are you saying that you could kill if necessary?”

“If that Ranger had hurt you, I would have,” he said fiercely.

“But he didn't.”

“You acted like he did.”

“I was taken aback when he fell against me.” She didn't want to recall the pleasant warmth that had spread through her after the initial jolt of panic. His entire body had hardened against her. As he was clad only in his lightweight drawers, Catherine had been keenly aware of his body's reaction. Every rigid inch of it.

“While I appreciate that you would protect me, I think bringing in the gun was ill-advised.”

“Don't fret,” Andrew grumbled. “I didn't shoot him. Yet.”

She cut him a sharp look. “What does that mean?”

“I don't like him being here.”

“I don't believe he's a threat to us. And his injuries are too severe for him to leave, so we'll just have to make the best of it.” She didn't know how to handle Andrew or his apparent willingness to take a human life. “You could've hurt someone. It seemed so easy for you to threaten the man.”

“He was threatening
you.
Wasn't he?”

“No.” Her denial sounded weak. “I don't think so.” With some distance between her and the Ranger now, she didn't believe he would have assaulted her. But he did dissolve her peace of mind. She was not going to explain to a twelve-year-old boy about the violent episode she'd experienced all those months ago.

“I know how to use the gun, Catherine. I can help you if I ever need to.”

“I know. Thank you.” She turned down the sheet and motioned him into bed.

She wanted to kiss him good-night, but the scowl on his moonlit face told her it wouldn't be welcome. “Good night. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” he muttered.

When she reached his door, she turned. “I do thank you, Andrew. I'm glad to know we can depend on each other.”

“Yeah.”

She closed his door, still jarred over the appalling sight of her brother holding a gun on someone. A Texas Ranger. Her patient. A guest in their home.

What had roused Andrew's protective instincts? Since the lieutenant's arrival, her brother had kept closer to home, but she hadn't realized it until now.

“Is he all right?”

Catherine started at the sound of Jericho's voice coming from her bedroom. She didn't want to go back in there. The giddy flutter in her stomach told her that would be asking for trouble.

But she couldn't ignore him, either. She walked the few steps to the doorway. The lamp on the bedside table had been lit, and filmy light washed over his bare chest. He sat on the edge of her bed. “Yes, I think so. I do apologize for him.”

“There's no need. He did the right thing.”

The sight of Jericho's muscles brought home to Catherine how he really could have hurt her. She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the resulting chill. “I'm not certain I agree.”

“Out here he may have cause to protect himself or you. It's good he knows how,” Jericho said quietly. “Where did Andrew learn to handle that gun, anyway?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Have you ever seen him use one before?”

“No.”

“Who do you think taught him to use it?”

“My mother, maybe? I don't know. Why are you asking so many questions?”

“He did have a gun trained on me,” Jericho said lightly.

Catherine studied him, not sure if her lingering unease was due to seeing Andrew with the gun or the strange warmth that had moved through her when Jericho Blue's body had pressed against hers. That warmth stirred her even now. “I think he would've shot you!”

“I do, too, if I'd been a real threat.” In the soft light, his gaze held hers. “Which I wasn't.”

Perhaps he didn't think so, but for those long seconds she had.

“I would never hurt you, Catherine. Certainly not after you saved my life.”

She believed him. Or wanted to. “It's forgotten now.”

“Is it? You're pale and you were afraid of me.”

“It's over. Why don't you rest—”

“C'mon, Catherine. I know something was going on in that head of yours. What did I do to make you tense up like I was going to take a whip to you?”

“Nothing. You startled me. And I certainly didn't expect Andrew to come charging in that way.”

“Something happened in here, Miz Donnelly.” The Ranger's voice turned soft and coaxing. “I'd like to know if it was because of me.”

“And if it was?” She didn't like being pressed on this issue. She had no intention of allowing herself to get so close to him again. “As I said, I was startled. There was no harm done.”

“Someone hurt you. A man you knew? Or didn't know?”

She wasn't stirring up those memories again. “I was raised by nuns, Lieutenant. There were no men there.”

His narrow gaze said he didn't believe her, but Catherine didn't care. She wasn't about to tell him he was the first man to excite her more than frighten her.

Fear was the least of what washed through her right now. The sight of him sitting on the side of her bed turned her insides soft and warm. Hazy lamplight sculpted the hard muscles of the wide shoulders and chest that had been pressed against her only moments ago.

His gaze bored into hers, then dropped to her lips, sparking that unfamiliar warmth low in her belly.

She couldn't seem to stop remembering the undeniable press of his arousal. Her gaze went there involuntarily and a curious heat swept through her. Even now, he strained against the cotton of his drawers.

“Your leg,” she gasped, stepping reflexively into the room. “It's bleeding again.”

Blood glued the fabric to the corded muscles of his thigh and molded the part of him that had frightened and excited her only minutes ago. “I'd better change your dressing.”

“I'll do it,” he growled, grabbing the pillow and putting it in his lap.

“But what if you've torn the stitches?”

“I'm fine.”

“I think I should—”

“I can't imagine you're that eager to get so close to me again, Miz Donnelly. I can change the bandage myself.”

His words stung, but they were true. “Very well. I'll bring you some fresh dressings with some soap and water.”

He nodded curtly.

Knowing that he wanted her should've scared her senseless, but her apprehension was outweighed by the curiosity that had nagged since he had arrived at her front door. Curiosity she had no intention of indulging.

Turning, she walked out to get the things Jericho would need to change his bandage. The nurse in her insisted on tending him; the woman in her couldn't get close.

 

He slept poorly. Blood soaked through his fresh bandage and his drawers stuck to him. The pain didn't do much to keep his mind off the fact that he'd been powerfully aroused last night and Catherine had borne witness to it.

Jericho couldn't recall the last time he had taken his ease with a woman. Now, thanks to the brush of Catherine's breasts against him, that was about all he wanted.

Since he'd started chasing the McDougals, his focus had been solely on the outlaws. He'd spent more time contemplating a woman in the last week than he had in nearly two years. Not just any woman, but one who had kindly taken him in and tended his wounds. One whose brother had most likely
given Jericho those wounds. The terror in Catherine's eyes was as much to blame for his sleeplessness as the discomfort of his freshly opened wound. But it was her words that pricked at him.

“Get off,” she'd said.

He hadn't been
on
her, hadn't been touching her at all right then. Jericho found it strange that she hadn't asked him to “step back” or “back away,” as Andrew had. The Donnelly boy wasn't the only one hiding secrets. So was his sister.

Jericho wanted to know who had hurt her. Was it someone she'd loved? She was sweet and, judging from her skittishness last night, most likely untouched. Her innocence drew him even though he knew his concern should be about what it hid.

Was she involved with one of the McDougals? Had one of them hurt her?

The thought of a McDougal putting his hands on Catherine had Jericho's fist balling. A savage protectiveness sprang loose inside him.