Lone Star Lover Read Free Page B

pack mule to town.
    He’d had no horse, no hat, and no gun, not even a gun belt. Kitty thought he might be one of those city slickers from back East who couldn’t ride worth spit and didn’t have enough sense to strap on a gun. She held that belief on account of his fancy boots and store-bought shirt.
    Rebecca’s gaze drew to the man’s bare broad shoulders and upper chest, showing above the sheet that had been draped over him. His skin was tanned and hard, his chest and arms corded with long lean muscle. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men, whether they came from the city or not, but she didn’t reckon he looked like a greenhorn. She’d helped bathe him some, so she knew his hands weren’t soft either, kind of tough and calloused.
    She glanced at the well-tooled boots sitting on the floor near the foot of the cot. They didn’t look like anything she’d ever seen with the stitching so even and perfect, but then it had been a long while since she’d been around civilized society. It was a shame about his fine shirt. She’d tried to get the blood out, scrubbing so hard that her fingers ached. But the stains barely faded.
    Outside, a loud bang came from the direction of the saloon. She jumped up and ran to the window. The noise sounded like a gun. But the Rangers allowed no one but themselves to be armed in town. If someone had broken the rules, it would get ugly out there.
    Parting the curtains slightly, she peeked out. Not a soul was on the street. An eerie calm had settled. Rebecca prayed Kitty was all right. For her friend’s sake, and for her own.
    A man walked out of the saloon, and she immediately released the parted curtains, afraid to call attention to herself. Silly because a person would have to strain to see her, and it certainly wasn’t a secret that she’d been helping Kitty here at Doc Davis’s place, but living in the shadows had become second nature to her since being brought to the small town.
    “Ahh…where…ah—” Behind her the man groaned.
    She spun around, her heart racing.
    He was trying to push himself up on one elbow. The cloth that had been swathing his forehead lay on the plank floor, and he’d shoved the sheet down to his waist.
    “Don’t,” she said, rushing toward him, and then abruptly stopped a couple of feet away. “You’re hurt. Please, don’t try to get up.”
    He looked up at her, a dazed expression on his face, the pain in his beautiful blue eyes twisting inside her like a knife.

    J AKE STARED at the woman with the long blond hair. Who was she? An angel? Was he dead? Pain gripped his head and side, and he sank back, battling the darkness that threatened to claim him again. His eyes closed but he forced them back open. He couldn’t be dead. There wouldn’t be so much searing pain. His mouth wouldn’t be so friggin’ dry.
    “Water,” he whispered, slowly turning back toward the woman.
    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