“Tyrone?” she called softly, her grip tightening on the poker.
“Lost the bastards again,” he rasped, then stood up. “Got to get my horse in.”
“I can do that,” she said, but he was already disappearing into the shadows of the trees.
Deidre hesitated a moment, then hurried back inside the cabin. She quickly pulled on her clothes, knowing she could not go after Tyrone in her underthings, not in the cold and snow. Her body was shaking slightly but steadily and she knew she was finally reacting to all that had happened to her in the last few hours, but she fought against succumbing to shock. Later, she would give in to all the fear and horror bottled up inside her. Tyrone needed her sensible now.
As she stepped back outside, she caught sight of Tyrone disappearing into the small stable next to the cabin. Deidre quickly followed him. When he staggered as he took the saddle off the animal, she moved to take it from him. The man was near to collapsing, yet seemed compelled to go on.
“Tyrone, you’ve been wounded,” she said as he clutched some hay and began to rub down his mount.
“It can wait a minute,” he replied, the hoarse tone of pain in his voice putting the lie to his words. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“How can I know that?” she snapped as she grabbed some hay and worked on the other side of the horse. “I haven’t seen it yet.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? And, I sent the bad guys running.”
Tyrone did not know why he was being so contrary. He hurt and he could hardly see straight he was so weak and dizzy. Yet, he felt determined to stay on his feet, to tend to his horse, and then walk back into the cabin. He wondered if he was not only trying to deny the extent of his injuries to keep Deidre from worrying, but also to calm himself. Although he had been shot before, it had only been a flesh wound, easily mended and causing only the kind of pain that made a man curse a lot. He knew this wound was far more serious.
“Please, Tyrone,” she said, her voice trembling with concern as she watched him stagger while trying to throw a blanket over the horse.
He sagged against the horse. “Almost done.”
“Yes, you are. I don’t think I can carry you,” she said softly.
“Oh, I think you’re a lot stronger than you look,” he teased, but he knew his smile was little more than a grimace of pain.
She stepped up next to him and slipped her arm around his waist, gasping slightly when she felt the dampness there, for she knew it was blood. “Into the house. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He draped his arm over her slim shoulders and tried not to lean on her too much. “I don’t think the bullet is still in there.”
“That would be the only good thing that has happened this afternoon.”
She was nearly carrying him by the time they got inside the cabin. She dragged him over to the bed, then began to take off his clothes. The shirt around his waist was soaked with blood, and Deidre tasted fear. She was not without some healing skills, but the still too fresh memory of her father made her hands shake with uncertainty.
“Lock up the cabin,” he said, his voice a mere thread of sound as she bathed his side, trying to get a good look at the extent of his wound.
Knowing he would not rest until she had done as he asked, Deidre hurried to secure all the doors and windows. He nodded and closed his eyes as she returned to his side. To her great relief, the bullet had passed right through his right side. The loss of blood had been great, but it appeared that no serious damage had been done. If there was no infection or fever, he could well survive. Wishing he would hurry up and pass out, she busily cleaned his wound and stitched it. Taking a salve from her bag, she smoothed it over the wound, then bandaged him with a strip torn from her petticoat.
“Drink this,” she said as she helped him sit up a little and held a cup of water to his lips.
“Did they hurt you bad?” he asked as he sagged back down on the bed.
“A few bruises and a need to have a good scrubbing, but nothing else,” she answered.
“Sorry. I had to wait.”
“What?” She pulled a stool up next to the bed, sat down, and smoothed her hand over his brow.
“I saw them get you down on the floor. I waited. Thought it’d be easier to rout them if they were both busy with you.”
“It was a good plan. There is nothing for you to apologize for. How did you know where we were?”
“For all we curse the snow, it has its uses.” He gave her a weak smile as he tried to focus on her face. “It makes it real easy to follow a trail.”
“I was so afraid they had killed you,” she whispered, giving in to the urge and touching a kiss to his cheek.
“We Callahans are real tough to kill.”
“Thank God for small mercies. Do you think they’ll be back?”
“Nope. Not for a while. I took out the gun arm of one of them and they’ll want that fixed before they face us again. Maybe we’ll get lucky and reach Paradise before that happens.”
Deidre prayed they would, but luck had not been with them much so far. Since Tyrone looked as if he had finally gone to sleep, she left him. Heating up some water, she stripped down and scrubbed every part of her the men had touched. She ached to have a long soak in the big metal tub hanging on the wall of the cabin near the sink, but did not think she should take the time for that luxury yet, she decided as she put her robe on. Tyrone would need a close watch until she was sure he was well on the way to recovering.
Bringing the guns nearer to the bed, she sat back down on the stool and watched him sleep. She was terrified, and it was exhausting her to keep that fear at bay, but she had to. Although she suspected Tyrone was right, that Pete’s wound would keep the men away for now, she could not relax her vigil. Tyrone was too weak to fight the men again. It was her turn to protect him.
“Deidre?” he called, a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I’m right here,” she said, touching her hand to his forehead and stiffening with fear.
“I don’t feel so good.”
If she had not been so terrified she would have smiled. He sounded like a little boy. He was burning up with fever, however, and that stole all humor from the situation.
“Don’t worry,” she said, surprised her voice sounded so calm, almost soothing. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” she whispered, the vow coming straight from her heart.
Chapter Nine
TYRONE SLOWLY OPENED HIS eyes and then grinned. He had heard the sound of splashing water and Deidre softly humming to herself. Even his tired brain had figured out that she was taking a bath, and he was not able to resist a peek. Despite how weak four days of fighting a fever had left him, he felt his body tauten with interest as he watched her.
With her hair haphazardly pinned up and her skin flushed a delicate rose from the heat of the water, she was beautiful. Comparing her to other women he had known was foolish, he decided. Deidre had her own special beauty. If one set her next to the women most of society considered beautiful, it might take a glance or two to see Deidre’s loveliness, but a man would have to be stone blind to miss it completely. Tyrone knew a lot of it was born of the spirit contained in that small, slender body he was watching with such pleasure.
He clenched his hands into tight fists as he watched her wash herself, his palms itching with an eagerness to follow the path of the soapy rag she used. It had been too long since he had touched that soft skin, since he had held those small, taut, deliciously sweet breasts in his hands. Tyrone almost laughed. If he was not careful he would definitely be suffering a relapse. He certainly felt a little feverish.
She rinsed the soap away and put her hands on the edge of the tub. Tyrone knew she was about to get up and closed his eyes. Although it was tempting to look, he kept them closed. Seeing Deidre standing only feet away, naked and glistening from her bath, was far more delight than he could endure at the moment. It would only leave him aching more than he already was and he was too weak to sa
tisfy that particular hunger.
Tyrone was so busy trying to cool his ardor, he did not hear her approach the bed, and started when she touched him. He slowly opened his eyes as she rested her tiny hand on his forehead. She was frowning and he resisted the urge to feel his own forehead to see what troubled her.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“You are feeling a little warm,” she murmured.
“Not surprised,” he grumbled, then grinned at her. “You shouldn’t go bathing in front of a poor invalid.” He grinned even more when she blushed a brilliant red.
“And you shouldn’t be so rude as to watch.”
“I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t at least sneak a peek.”
She shook her head and plumped up the pillows behind his back, then helped him sit up. “Rogue.”
Her embarrassment was easily shaken off, a hint of excitement slipping to the fore. It made her blood warm to think of him looking at her as she bathed, but she was not sure why. His obvious appreciation of the view probably had something to do with that. Deidre almost smiled. The man was turning her into a wanton even from his sick bed.
“How’s it look?” he asked after she had checked his wound, put some more salve on it, and rebandaged it.
“Very good,” she replied. “You are obviously a quick healer.”
“Quick enough to ride out of here tomorrow?”
“Not that quick. I doubt if you can even stand up without help.”
“Let’s see. Hand me my pants.”
Even as she started to obey that command, she frowned at him. “What are you intending to do?”
He snatched his pants out of her hand and struggled to put them on without standing up right away. “Going to see if I can get to the outhouse without help.”
“Tyrone, you’ve only had one full night free of fever. One night of a restful sleep out of five. You’re going to fall flat on your face,” she warned as he stood up, clutching the bedpost as he swayed a little.
“Then you better put some boots on so you can come out and catch me,” he said as he walked slowly to the back door, yanked on his coat, and stepped outside.
“Stubborn, stupid man,” she grumbled as she yanked on her boots and coat and hurried after him.
He made it to the outhouse and she stood outside shivering as she waited. When he stepped back outside, however, he had to accept her help in getting back into the cabin. By the time she got him settled back in bed, he looked a little less pale and she breathed a sigh of relief. He did not, however, look to be in a particularly good humor, so she left him to his sulking and got him some supper.
“I guess it’ll be another day, maybe two, before we can leave,” he conceded ungraciously as he ate the beans and bacon she served him.
Finishing her own meal and trying not to think too fondly of steaks and apple pies, Deidre smiled at him. “I’m afraid so. There’s been no sign of Pete and Jim, if that is any comfort.”
“A little. I just hate losing the time. There’s not much left, not if we’re going to reach Paradise by Christmas. There’s still bad weather lurking as a means to keep us trapped.”
“So long as we reach it by the start of the year. That is really all that matters. The rest is just, well, an ‘it would be nice.’ ”
He nodded as she took his plate away and went to the sink to wash out their dishes. Tyrone was not sure why he was so eager to be home at Christmas, and, even better, to have the matter of the ownership of the Callahan lands and mine settled by then. He supposed he looked at it as a Christmas present for him and his brothers and a way to make sure his father rested easy again. The hint of this trouble had been in the air when his father had died and Tyrone knew the man had fretted about it. It would be good to have all his father had worked for secure in Callahan hands again. Christmas just seemed like the perfect time to do it and then celebrate a job well done.
Deidre returned to his side and, for a while, they played cards. Tyrone was a little amused by how well the delicate, ladylike Deidre played poker. If they had been playing for real money, she would own the ranch and the mine by now.
“Enough,” he said with a laugh as he tossed his cards down on the bed. “I concede. Remind me never to play for real money. Your father taught you?” he asked quietly as she collected the cards and put them back in her bag.
“Yes.” She smiled, pleased to feel only a slight pang, grief slowly being pushed aside by acceptance and fond memory. “He only gambled for money once in a while. Said he had seen too many men go to ruin because of a love for the gambling. However, he was very fond of the game. Maura is even better than I am.”
“Good God. Until now, I had always considered myself a good player.”
“Oh, you are,” she teased, and grinned over her shoulder as she headed out the back door. “It isn’t at all easy to beat you.”
Tyrone laughed softly as he made himself comfortable in bed. The simple walk to the outhouse had left him weak, but he had recovered from it quickly enough to restore his confidence in his recovery. It would be best to wait until his stitches were removed before riding again, but that was impossible. If they waited at the cabin another week, it would take only one more small delay to ensure that they did not make Paradise by the new year. He could rest all he wanted when he got home.
He was half asleep when Deidre returned. Tyrone listened carefully to her checking all the locks, satisfied that she had not let her guard down. When she slid into bed next to him, he sorely regretted his lingering weakness. He wanted to make love to her, but knew he still did not have the strength to do it right. A soft giggle escaped her and he was just about to ask her what was so funny when two small, very cold feet were placed firmly against his legs.
“Damnation, Deidre,” he cried, gasping a little from the shock of it. “Your feet are like two blocks of ice. Did you run through the snow barefoot?”
“No,” she said, and laughed, “but it is bitter cold out there. It cut right through my boots and I did forget to put my socks on.”
“That shock is enough to wake the dead.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, no, not really. I suppose you’re going to make us go back out in that soon.”
“I have to. You know that.”
She cuddled up to him, pressing her back hard against his front when he slipped his arm around her waist. A faint smile touched her mouth when she felt a gentle nudge of interest against her backside. One part of Tyrone had definitely recovered its full strength.
Deidre was a little disappointed that they would not be making love, and probably would not for a while yet. Not only had he stirred a greed within her with his passion, but their time together was growing alarmingly short. The end of their journey was not far away, and she still had no indication from him that that would not also mean the end of their affair. At times she thought she saw a soft look upon his face, felt a certain tenderness in his touch, but she dared not give those things too much meaning. For all she knew, he always treated women that way. He might actually feel some affection for the women who became his lovers, but affection was not enough.
As his breathing grew slower, she caught his rhythm, her chest rising and falling in time with his. It relaxed her and she closed her eyes. She realized she was going to miss this as much as she would the passion they shared. It was lovely to sleep curled up in his arms, feeling warm and safe. It made it easy for her to delude herself into thinking she was reaching him in some way. Deidre found herself constantly fighting such dreams of harmony and love between them. It was winter. Tyrone might hold her close simply because she was warm. A dog would do as well.
It was funny in a sad way. At the start of this journey all she had been able to think of was how fast she could get to Paradise. Now she dreaded that day. If it was not for the facts that the Martins were quite willing to kill them to stop them, that Tyrone faced utter ruin if they did not get to the land office by the set tim
e, and that Maura might be waiting for her there, Deidre knew she would be doing her best to delay the inevitable. She placed her hand over Tyrone’s where it rested against her stomach and sighed. Even this innocent closeness might soon end. Paradise could well prove to be misnamed, at least for her.
* * *
Passion swept over Deidre, pulling her from sleep. She threaded her fingers through Tyrone’s hair and held him close to the breast he was so avidly kissing. He groaned when he slid his hand between her thighs to stroke his fingers through the hot, damp welcome there and she echoed the soft sound of need. She was more than ready for him when he entered her, wrapping her legs around his slim hips and holding on tightly as he drove them both to the brink of madness.
She was still holding on to him when sanity returned, her still-uneven breaths matching his as her body calmed. It took another moment before she realized the full ramifications of what had just happened. It had only been two days since he had recovered from the fever that had nearly killed him, but recovered he was. Her body was still tingling with the proof of that. She stared at him in consternation when he eased the intimacy of their embrace, propped himself up on his forearms, and looked down at her.
“I have missed that,” he whispered, and brushed a gentle kiss over her lips. “Are you about to scold me?”
“For that, no,” she replied. “For what I believe you are about to suggest, yes.”
Tyrone grimaced faintly as he got out of bed and began to dress. “We can’t lose any more time, Deidre.”
“I know, but you are still weak. The stitches can’t be taken out yet.”
A Stockingful of Joy Page 9