Fire Eyes

by Pierson, Cheryl

  The contented gurgles of the baby eating oatmeal in the kitchen made him smile, despite the way his lips felt. The nearby splash of the clear creek that ran close to the cabin was comforting, and from somewhere far away, he heard a whippoorwill's song in the approaching darkness.

  He knew Jessica was standing beside him before she ever touched him. She smelled of sunshine and flowers. And talcum powder. Beautiful, like she was. Like her name, her face, everything about her.

  "You look mighty pleased about something, Marshal." Jessica sat down in the ladderback chair beside the bed and laid her palm against his stubbled cheek. "That puzzles me, greatly."

  He forced his eyes open, peering from the raw slits of pummeled flesh. It was an effort, but well worth it, just to see the obvious concern written across her lovely features.

  God, he must look like hell. He felt like it, for sure. And from the expression Miss Jessica Monroe wore, she was empathizing one hundred percent. As Kaed studied her, he realized she was desperately afraid, and trying, just as desperately, to hide it.

  "What's worryin' you?" The words were spoken before he realized he'd put his thoughts out in the open. That was dangerous, and he knew better. But the way he ached right now, it didn't much matter one way or the other.

  "You're hurt bad, Marshal Turner, in case you hadn't noticed." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and swallowed. "Don't die on me."

  "No." Kaed paused. Talking hurt. Thinking hurt. "I wouldn't do that to you." He slowly moved his left hand, reaching out to her, and she took it between her own. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, he noticed with satisfaction. He'd given them a hard fight, but the odds had been staggering. Impossible.

  "Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

  "Whenever you are."

  She stood, then bent over the seeping bullet wound, examining it. "I think a blade would be better."

  Kaed didn't reply. Hadn't he already known that? And what difference did it make? Either way, there was no getting around what had to be done.

  Chapter Four

  "Black powder might not be effective in a wound this deep, so a little knife would be just the thing…" Lost in her own thoughts, Jessica's voice trailed away. She could lay the blade across the top, or do it the better way. The more painful way. Use a smaller knife and burn into the depth of the wound. She wiped the oozing blood with gentle care. Kaed tensed beneath her fingertips as she pulled at the edges of the wound to re-open it, applying some salve to ease it wider. He drew a sharp, agonized breath as Jessica dribbled a trail of whiskey into the bloody entry.

  When he spoke, his voice was husky, rough with pain. "Do you have one small enough?"

  Jessica's head came up swiftly. Once again, he'd read her thoughts. He'd been through this a time or two. Did it ever get any easier to bear, knowing what was coming, what to expect? "Yes. The one I have in the fire's too big to go inside."

  "Just do it right, Jessica." He was silent for a moment as she got up to place the smaller knife in the flame. "You seem to know 'bout all this. Kinda eases my mind."

  Jessica returned to the chair and lifted his swollen, clumsily bandaged wrist. Standing Bear had tried to do what he could. "I had brothers." She let go of him gently.

  "You the oldest?"

  "No, the youngest. And the only girl," she said. "I've done my share of—"

  She broke off abruptly as Kaed shifted, laying his arm on the soft mattress. He gave a harsh curse, grimacing. Leaning forward, she came out of her chair, her hands gripping his shoulders.

  "Damn!" He turned his head away from her. Somehow, he'd managed to forget about his wounded wrist and hand and had used that arm to lever himself to a different position.

  Jessica reached to smooth the dark brown hair back at his temples, helpless to do anything more until the pain passed. "We'll take care of that next. Your wrist."

  His breathing was ragged. "I'm sure you mean that as comfort."

  She smiled at the wry humor in his tone. "We'll wrap it tonight, but it may be tomorrow before the swelling goes down enough to splint it."

  "Like I said, one lucky sonofabitch."

  Jessica straightened and walked to the fireplace to retrieve the knife. "Just about to get luckier."

  Her steps were slow as she came to stand near him, the white-hot knife clutched tightly in her fist. Kaed cracked one eye open the fourth-inch he was able, and looked up into her face. "What're you waiting on?"

  "Just wondering if maybe I should tie you. If you jerk, and no doubt you will, it could—"

  "No. I won't. I'll hold still for you."

  He sounded so sure, so certain, that Jessica couldn't help but believe him. She leaned over him, easing the wound open with her thumb and forefinger. His muscles were tensed beneath her splayed hand, his bruised ribcage and gridded belly hard as iron.

  She took a deep breath. "Ready?"

  "Been ready."

  Jessica pulled the edges of the opening wider, then let them close with a sizzling hiss around the heated blade. Kaed's body was rigid. Beads of sweat sheened his face and neck. She withdrew the knife almost immediately. The metallic odor of hot blood and seared flesh filled the room as a steamy wisp of blood smoke rose from the gaping wound.

  Jessica glanced at him as he bit down hard on the small roll of soft material she'd put between his teeth. Blood trickled from his lip. The excruciating spear of jagged fire at his side had to be worse than when the bullet had torn through the skin, ripping the hole in the first place. He made no sound, and Jessica understood he was concentrating solely on doing just what he had promised. He held still.

  Jessica laid the knife aside on the nightstand, surprised at the slight trembling of her hand. She'd done this plenty of times before. Why should this one be any different? Yet, even her throat felt tight, like a knot had formed in it.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. She cleaned the blood from his lip, and he closed his eyes, allowing it. "Are you all right?"

  His breathing became steadier. "Finish it, Jessica. Don't wanna think about it." His dark hair fanned across his forehead, his swollen eyes shuttered, closed against her worry. His split cheek had reopened, and had begun to bleed again.

  He looked like a fallen angel, Jessica thought. A once-beautiful, perfect angel who now lay before her, beaten and bruised. But not broken. He was too tough, too proud.

  And still beautiful.

  Through all the blood and bruises, Jessica could still see the dark planes and lines of his features, the tenacious set of his jaw. He opened his eyes slowly once more, and Jessica's breath caught at what she saw there. The pain in his ebony gaze was obvious, but beyond that, there was a concern she had never expected to see. He was worried for her, rather than himself. He was wondering if she could handle what she had to do for him.

  She nodded. "All right, Marshal." She turned and walked to the fireplace, thrusting the knife into the fire. "This time, it won't be so bad. From the looks of the wound where the bullet cleared, I won't be able to get a blade inside. I'll just seal it from the top. You'll have to turn a little."

  He tried to smile. "'Seal' sounds so much less painful than burn."

  Jessica's lips curved as she walked back to the bed. "Do you want me to see to your wrist first? It'll protect it some if I wrap it for you, at least."

  "Some women offer apple pie, or cherry, Jessi. You offer me…wrapping or burning."

  The unexpected sound of her nickname on his lips surprised her. The easy way he spoke it, as if he were close to her, made her heart pound. It had been so long since anyone had spoken her name, and she loved the way he said it. She smiled belatedly at his wry joke.

  "Tell me something." He closed his eyes.

  "Hmm?"

  "Where's your husband?"

  Surprise, then uncertainty, enveloped her. The smile fled, and silence filled the small room. A clap of thunder rumbled from far away, and suddenly the little cabin seemed stifling, rather than cozy. Jessica turned away from him and
crossed the room restlessly. She opened the window a few inches. The smell of rain was on the breeze. She wished he hadn't asked that. She didn't want to think about Billy. Not right now. Not ever.

  "Jessi?"

  "Dead," she said softly. "He's dead."

  She closed her eyes as the teasing winds played with the dark tendrils of her hair that had escaped the bun. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she remembered. It hadn't been so long ago. Not even a year. The trees along the creek bank sighed as the gathering shadows of evening became more pronounced. The storm was closing in fast.

  "How?"

  To talk about it seemed, to Jessica, like conjuring up more evil, putting this man at risk. Kaed Turner lay near enough death's door as it was. She wouldn't help carry him over the edge. Evil, sometimes, could not be held back or defeated. And to talk about how Billy Monroe had died, of injuries so similar to Kaed's, might somehow strengthen the menace to the lawman.

  She shook her head and pressed her lips together. Turning to meet his watchful, slitted gaze, she gave him a faint smile. "Let's worry about you, Marshal. I couldn't save Billy. You have a better chance than he did." Regaining her composure, she stepped toward him. "Now, what will it be first? Wrapping or burning?"

  Kaed shifted and tried to move farther onto his side. "Go ahead. Wrap."

  Jessica collected what she needed from the table and carried the items to the nightstand. She pushed the enamel cup to the side as she made a place for her burden, then sat down once more beside Kaed. She laid her hand gently on his bare elbow. "Let's have a look."

  He tried to move his arm, but she shook her head, reaching to stop him. "No, let me do it."

  He lay still and waited. As she touched the swollen flesh, he gritted his teeth, barely stifling a groan. His right hand was twice its normal size, and the thumb dangled uselessly. The skin was stretched tight and discolored and a jagged piece of bone protruded from the underside of his arm.

  Jessica's brows came together as she appraised the wrist. She'd intended to set it later, after the swelling had gone down, but she couldn't wait. With the bone pushing through the skin, the risk of infection would be great. And, though she didn't want to think about it, she couldn't help but imagine how it must hurt.

  "Jessi?"

  She glanced up. "I've got to set it now."

  "Figured. It was in your eyes."

  "Are you up to it?"

  "Got to be, don't I?"

  The grim irony in his tone shook her.

  He closed his eyes. "Don't worry. It's not as bad as it looks."

  Jessica gently guided his arm to the bed, and he flinched, giving lie to his statement. "Oh, yes it is, Kaed Turner. It's every bit as bad as it looks, and then some."

  "You don't offer much in the way of delusions, do you?"

  "I don't believe in them." She reached for the whiskey.

  "Now's when you're supposed to tell me it's gonna sting a little," he said quietly.

  Jessica pulled the cork. "Nope. Now's when I say, if you pass out, it'll be a blessing. Just let yourself go under."

  Kaed shook his head very slowly. "Never had much luck with that. Too stubborn, I guess." He stretched his left hand toward the bottle she was holding, his eyes glinting with a hint of laughter despite everything. "Now, I know you're gonna give me a drink of that, first. I deserve it, Jessi."

  Jessica smiled. "I think you do, too. If I had another bottle, I'd consider giving you the whole—" She broke off, appalled at the sudden burn of unexpected tears in her eyes.

  "Ah, Jess, don't. Don't cry." His left hand swerved away from the bottle she still gripped, and cupped the back of her neck.

  She turned her head so he wouldn't be able to see when the tears ran over. Somehow, she managed to put the bottle back on the nightstand through the hazy blur.

  She never cried. Never let herself. Not since she'd lost Billy, then the baby. What was wrong with her? Tired, that's all. Just tired, and her nerves were frayed.

  Do not allow him to die. Standing Bear's words came back to her, haunting her. She was trying. Trying to save him as best she knew how.

  "I-I never cry like this." She wiped at her eyes furiously. "I'm sorry." Kaed's fingers rubbed a soothing pattern over the back of her neck as she regained her self-control. "Let's get it over with." She reluctantly pulled away from his comforting touch and reached for his right arm again.

  He slowly laid his left hand back on the bed, close to the iron rails at his head. In the next instant, his strong hands wrapped around the metal, his handsome face twisting in a grimace of pain as Jessica began to manipulate the wrist bones back under his bronze skin.

  She glanced down momentarily at her fallen angel's sweat-damp features, the relentless determination with which he held himself in check painful for her to watch. His ability to tolerate it seemed to make her fanciful imaginings more believable. What mortal man could withstand the agony she was causing him now with no more than the harsh groan of pain he'd tried to cut off in the beginning? His jagged breathing tore at her heart. His knuckles went white as his fingers clenched around the bedstead. No matter what care she took, the manipulation of setting the fragmented bone to rights would be excruciating.

  "Let go," she murmured. "You're safe with me, Kaed." She didn't know why she chose those particular words to say to him. Of course he was safe; she was trying to heal him, not cause him further injury. A shiver went up her spine when she realized she'd said something different than what she meant. She should have been explicit. Not told him he was merely safe. He was protected. She would protect him.

  No matter what.

  Chapter Five

  Jessica's words echoed in Kaed's mind. "Let go," she'd said, and by her tone, he knew she was sick with worry for him. It'd be so much easier for both of them, he thought, if he could just let the blackness take him. But that wasn't going to happen.

  "Can't." His breath hissed inward, and he almost twisted away from her gentle touch before he remembered with some last shred of sanity that he couldn't do that to her, or to himself. Nor could he give himself up to the dark boundaries of peace that steadily encroached upon his consciousness.

  The pain had become almost unbearable. But he knew he would bear it, somehow. He didn't understand why he fought it so hard. He was no novice when it came to tough, painful living.

  Jessica picked up the whiskey bottle again. He knew what was coming, but barely had time to consider it before it was done.

  She hesitated just an instant before tipping it forward, pouring the burning fire over his lacerated skin. He shuddered, the agonizing intensity of the liquid lightning too overpowering to allow him to breathe. He held himself hard against it, concentrating on not making noise, as he'd been trained to do in years past.

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

  The whiskey ran, scalding into all of the secret hidden places of the broken bones and flesh that needed sterilizing. He gasped as he was finally forced to breathe, his oxygen-starved lungs burning for relief.

  Dear Jesus, had anything ever hurt so bad? The deliberate breaking of that wrist, then the hand, had been as rough a thing as he'd ever had to handle. But it didn't hold a candle to this—-the careful ministrations of this beautiful woman sitting beside him trying to put the shattered bones and torn flesh back together.

  She was asking for his trust. Couldn't do that, either. Couldn't let go. Couldn't go under. What the hell could he do? The fog was trying to pull him down. He wouldn't go, damn it. Stay conscious. He wanted to tell her he was all right. But he wasn't.

  Still, he could tell she needed to hear him say it, whether it was true, or not. He forced the words out, stiff and low. "Jessi, I'm…I'll be okay." It still hurt like hell, but the darkness was getting lighter. He felt the careful way she applied the bandage, wrapping it with a firmness that would keep his wrist immobile. And he could hear her occasional sniff, like a little girl crying. Like those two little girls he couldn't help, though God knew, he'd tried. Do
ne his best. Done the only thing he could.

  Light, gentle fingers brushed his bruised mouth. "Kaed, don't. Don't talk. Just save your strength."

  But he couldn't help asking the next question. He had to know. "We…done?" He shivered, and she pulled a blanket over him.

  "Yes, we're done." Jessica stroked his blood-matted hair away from his face. The feel of a damp, cool cloth gliding across his forehead and neck soothed him. The knots in his gut loosened.

  Jessica wasn't crying any more, but he could hear the catch in her voice when she spoke. And suddenly, he needed that more than anything. Just needed to hear her talk. It was the only bit of sanity in this dark abyss of pain. She was what he needed.

  "I know it was hard." His voice was a low, husky whisper. "Thanks, Jessi."

  Jessica smiled. He could see the relief in her eyes. The worst was over. "You're welcome. Most welcome, Mr. Turner."

  His mouth was set in a grim line against the pain. "Back to formalities again?"

  She kissed her fingertips and laid them to his warm cheek in a lingering touch. Inside him, the weary torment evaporated for that instant, only to be replaced by a flare of hot desire so strong he knew she'd recognized immediately.

  She looked shocked by what she'd done—-that finger-tip kiss so carelessly bestowed as if she did it every day. His own unexpected reaction to it was so strong it overshadowed the pain. Finally, she shook her head.

  "No. No formalities. We're going to be spending a lot of time together tonight."

  Being with her eased him in a way he hadn't felt in a long, long time. The unfamiliar beginnings of trust were taking hold in his heart. Safe, she'd said. He thought maybe, now, he could sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Kaed awoke, remembering faintly the sharp sting of the hot knife at his back, cauterizing the hole there. Reality had dimmed, then vanished as sleep overcame him, and he had no idea how long he'd drifted, unconscious. He had finally trusted her after all.