Tempting the Marshal: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Series Book 2) Read Free Page A

made his head pound harder than a steel mallet, so he resigned himself to staring at the empty ceiling again.
    If he could’ve relaxed, he would have been fine, but all he could think of was the woman beside him, her delicate skin being sliced open, all because of a smalltime thief who didn’t seem old enough to use a razor.
    Fletcher touched the blood-soaked dressing on his forehead and tried to fight his anger. He’d taken this job to try and stop the killing, to uphold the law, to be strong where his father had been weak. A fine job he’d done tonight. Gunfire in the streets and innocent people shot down.
    The woman moaned and Fletcher couldn’t help but turn to look. The doctor stood over her with a bloody scalpel in his hand. He set it down and began digging around with another instrument. Fletcher felt ill, but at the same time, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
    The doctor soon began to work with a needle he held in a clamp.
    The woman groggily turned her head, and at last, Fletcher saw her profile—her tiny upturned nose and her moist, full lips the color of a pale red rose. Her long, delicate lashes were swept down upon her cheeks, and she moaned again in a delirious stupor that seemed almost sexual to Fletcher, who immediately chastised himself for thinking such a thing. The doctor quickly reached for a bottle, tipped it over a white cloth and pressed it to her face. Within seconds, her head fell limp toward Fletcher. The moaning stopped and the doctor went back to work.
    Seeing her face for the first time, Fletcher took note of how pale she looked, albeit tanned. Obviously she possessed an unfashionable preference for sunshine. And her tiny, rough hands told him she had not abandoned her husband’s chores after he died. Fletcher couldn’t help but feel sympathy toward her for all she must have endured.
    Dr. Green cleared his throat. Fletcher looked up at him and saw the perspiration dotting his forehead. “You okay, Doc?”
    He nodded. “I’ve never seen such a close call. If the bullet had gone in any lower—and I’m talking the width of a thread—she would have bled to death.”
    The wound in Fletcher’s leg throbbed as he leaned up on one elbow. “Will she be all right?”
    “I hope so. There’s always the risk of infection, but like I said, she was lucky.”
    Fletcher’s blood burned at the thought of her suffering. It was so damned unnecessary.
    He would catch the man responsible for this, he swore to himself. He would see him brought to justice in front of everyone in a court of law, and he would show this town that—where their new marshal was concerned —the law was the law.
    He wondered if Mrs. O’Malley would remember what had happened to her. Fletcher closed his eyes and decided to be there when she woke to ask her that very question. If this woman survived, she would see justice.
    He would give her his word on it.
    * * *
    Consciousness bloomed slowly, as if from an empty, black abyss. Jo heard the murmur of voices, but could only lie immobile, fighting to awaken her mind from its dazed stupor, all the while becoming more and more aware of a throbbing pain in her shoulder. She had to concentrate to force her heavy eyelids open.
    Where was she? she wondered, trying to sit up. In someone’s bed, no doubt, but whose? Nothing seemed familiar. Her sleepy gaze darted from the blue gingham curtains on the window to the unpainted pine washstand, then across the small room to a kerosene lamp flickering atop a tall chest of drawers.
    She heard the voices again. They spoke quietly, probably in the next room if her ears were working properly. What had happened? Was Zeb still alive? And what about the lawman? Had she killed him?
    Good Lord, she hoped not.
    She began to sit up, but even the slightest movement gave way to her broken body’s protest. She let out a low groan, squeezed her eyes shut and touched her injured shoulder.
    “Land’s sakes,” she whispered, feeling the large dressing