Eyes flashing with determination, she raised her chin. “I figured a US marshal would know a diversion when he sees one.”
Marshal? He tensed. So, in their time apart, she’d learned who he was. They’d discuss that point later. Right now, he had a more important topic. With steely control, he assumed a casual pose, resting a palm on the wall next to her head. “I knew what it was. I want to know why you put yourself at such risk.”
The faint scent of jasmine rose from her body. At that moment, the anxiety hit him square in the middle of his chest. This woman meant the world to him. He raised his other hand to grab a fistful of her hair and lowered his lips toward hers. He needed to know she was all right.
* * *
At the last moment, years of training kicked in and Jazzy angled her head, feeling the onslaught of his bruising kiss on her cheek. Slade Thomas was a lawman, a representative of the law she’d spent years avoiding. How could she be intimate with such a man?
His lips coaxed and cajoled along her jaw line. The nerves under her skin tingled. She sagged against his hard chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slade was really here. He’d come back for her, just as she’d hoped and prayed he would. Right now was the most tempted she’d ever been to kiss a man on the mouth.
Her doubts over his intentions still pulled at her feelings, confusing her. Had he come back to perform his sworn duty? Or had he come back because he cared about her safety?
He groaned and pulled away, touching his forehead to hers and sucking in a deep breath. “What you do to me, Jazzy girl!”
If she needed proof he’d come back for her, all she had to do was look into the depths of his lusty gaze. Or… she angled her hips forward and pressed against the bulge straining the front of his trousers. Oh, my!
A firm hand cupped her breast and squeezed. His breath was hot on her cheek as he kissed his way up her jaw.
“Ahh, Slade. We can’t—” Her words said one thing but her right leg circled his, the heel of her boot rubbing the back of his rock-hard calf. She couldn’t help but yearn for the heat of his body, the safety of his embrace. Completing what their lusting bodies wanted wouldn’t take long.
“Don’t talk. Just let me touch you.” His lips tickled her neck and his voice was muffled. “When I came to in the desert and you were gone…” He leaned heavily against her, both arms wrapping around her back.
Something had changed. She sensed it in his touch. Instinctively, she ran a comforting hand up and down his back and tugged at an errant lock of hair that fell over one ear. He smelled of earthy male sweat, gritty dirt, and hot sun. “You found me…us.”
He loosened his hold and stared directly into her eyes, dark brows lowered in a frown. “Jazzy, I came for you.”
Goose flesh rose on her arms, and her heart sped. “I’m grateful.”
A grin hiked up one side of his mouth and then he ran a finger along her jaw. “I’ll collect on your gratitude later.”
A scuffle and a shout sounded from the other room.
Jazzy stilled, a hand gripping the front of his shirt. “The other women. I almost forgot—”
Slade stepped back and instantly became US Marshal Thomas, his pistol held at his hip and weight balanced on the balls of his feet. He eased open the door and leaned out his head before slipping through the doorway and shoving aside the blanket.
Jazzy dashed to collect the pistol left on the mattress then pushed in behind him and stopped, her jaw dropping at what she saw.
Feet braced apart and shoulders squared, Sarah Whitfield stood in the middle of the room and brandished a pistol at the remaining two bandits. “Get over in that corner. Ladies, tie them to those chairs.”
Prudence and Amanda huddled together near the stove then rushed forward to follow Sarah’s command.
Jazzy brushed past Slade and moved farther into the room. “Sarah, what are you doing?” At her side, Slade shifted closer. Was he being protective? She wasn’t sure, but, in an instant, his body heat infused her with confidence.
Sarah’s hand moved in a steady arc until the pistol aimed at their side of the room. A knowing grin stretched her lips. “Ah, Marshal Thomas, you’re just a little too late. I’m grabbing my bag and getting out of here.”
Jazzy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was this the same meek woman who’d ridden beside her on the stagecoach? The shy lady who was traveling to attend a wedding? The one who’d fainted at the thought of abduction? Or had she? “Slade’s here now, Sarah. He’s rescuing us. We’re all safe.” She moved a step closer, but felt the pressure of Slade’s restraining hand on her elbow.
“Jazzy, no,” Slade commanded.
The pistol jerked back and forth, pointing toward the bandits in the corner and then at Jazzy. “Stay where you are, Jessimay. I don’t want to hurt anyone. All I want is my money.”
His body tense, Slade inched forward. “You mean the bank’s money.”
A sneer wrinkled Sarah’s lip. She grabbed the handles of the satchel she’d kept close all during the trip. “I’ve got what was owed me. Let me see your other hand, Marshal.”
Slade shifted his body away, the gun tight along his thigh. “I’m sworn to bring you in. No one wants any problems here. Put down the gun and toss aside the bag.”
Sarah jeered and shook her head. “Can’t do that.”
“Well, I can’t believe this.” Prudence’s words were scathing. A spoon rattled against the stove, and she stomped across the floor, hands on hips. “I’ve been sharing the stagecoach and a bedroom, I might add, with a common thief.”
In a moment of disbelief, Jazzy wondered what Prudence’s reaction would be when the prissy woman learned the truth about her own former occupation. She turned back to Sarah and held out a staying hand to this suddenly brazen woman. “Sarah, you don’t even know where we are. How can you get back to town?”
Sarah’s gaze flicked over the occupants of the room, the pistol followed a beat behind. “Doesn’t matter. All’s I care about is holding onto my money and getting away.”
A sudden movement blurred in the corner of Jazzy’s eye, and she saw Sarah spin in reaction.
In the same instant, a gunshot boomed then a hard blow slammed into her hip, making her stagger backward.
* * *
Instinct pushed Slade into a crouch and he fired, aiming at the spot where he’d last seen Sarah. But quicker than the gun smoke lifted, she’d disappeared out the front door. He allowed himself one rapid scan of the room to check on the others before following his quarry, the bank robber.
Mrs. Harrington cowered by the table, Amanda stood flat against the cabin wall, and the bandits sat forward, gazes alert to the new situation.
Slade pointed his pistol toward them. “Don’t give me a reason to use this.” He then glanced out the door, but couldn’t see in which direction she fled. “I’m going after Sarah. Jazzy, stay inside.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she knew he meant what he said. “Did you hear—”
Jazzy sat slumped on a bench against the wall, eyes wide and jaw dropped. A hole surrounded by singed cloth marked her skirt along her left side.
Damn. She’d been hit.
Chapter Ten
A hollow cry of denial rose from deep within Slade, and he clamped his jaw tight to keep it inside. Not gut-shot—she couldn’t be. A bullet to the abdomen often proved fatal, even with immediate medical care, which they didn’t have here. He strode across the room and dropped to his knees, careful not to bump her. “Jazzy girl, I’m here.”
With one sweeping glance, he tried to gauge the extent of her injuries. In his years of law enforcement, he’d seen plenty of gunshots, even doctored some. Her arms and legs hung limp and splayed—no broken bones. Her head was angled to the right, probably just from the impact of her landing. Her breathing was rapid, and now, her eyes were clenched shut.
God, he needed to touch her. With a hand more shaky than he wanted to admit, he cupped her jaw and ran a thumb over her soft, warm ch
eek. “Look at me, Jazzy.”
A groan sounded and her eyelids fluttered.
At the pained sound, his gut clenched. If he’d been in better control of the situation, he’d be the one flat on his back and barely conscious. If he’d waited a moment longer, if he’d done his job right… He pulled in a breath through tight lips and forced calm into his words. “Jazzy, let me see your beautiful blue eyes.”
She rolled her head to the side and pressed her cheek against his hand. “Slade—” A gasp cut off the single word.
“I’m here.” He slipped his fingers down the side of her neck to check her pulse. Is it too fast? How in blazes could he tell? When he reached to brush away hair from her face, he felt the tickle of her breath against the back of his hand. Keep breathing, Jazzy girl.
Her eyelids flickered and her confused gaze, dark with pain, connected with his. “My side burns like fire.”
The knot in his stomach tightened. Seeing pain shadowing her gaze made his chest ache. “I know, darlin’.” He looked at the bloody spot on her skirt then glanced over his shoulder. “Mrs. Harrington, get me some water and cloth.”
The woman stood and shrugged her shoulders almost as high as her ears, hands lifted with palms upwards. “Look around. Where am I going to get cloth for bandages?”
“Damn it, woman.” He gritted his teeth and glared at the helpless female and shifted his gaze to the younger woman. “You, Miss Torrance—go through the bags and find a nightshirt. Tear the dress off your back if you have to. Just get me clean cloth to tend Jazzy’s wound.” He cut a glance toward the corner where the men watched him, their gazes calculating. With a flick of his wrist, he raised the pistol to remind them who was still in charge of this situation.
One eye on the bandits, he turned back to Jazzy, and the frustration at having to divide his attention sent his blood racing. He had to help her, but he feared he didn’t know enough about doctoring.
Her gaze was steady and her chest rose and fell in quick pants. “Slade, go after Sarah. It’s your duty.” She struggled to sit straighter, but gasped. Her skin paled and she pressed her lips tightly together. Her hands folded into fists in the folds of her skirt. “I’ll be fine.”
Not for a moment was he fooled by her attempt to be brave. One look at her strained expression and tensed muscles told the real story. This spitfire was definitely too stubborn for her own good. “You’re a terrible liar, Jazzy. And I’m not leaving you.”
Mrs. Harrington arrived, carrying a dented pot and a wad of pale green fabric. “Here. This is what I found.”
Slade checked on the men, who hadn’t moved from their position. Maybe they wouldn’t cause trouble, but he couldn’t rely on it. His pistol stayed aimed toward the corner. He glanced at the older woman, who was becoming as annoying as a horsefly in July with her inability to take any kind of useful action. “Tear that bundle into strips. Woman, haven’t you ever bound a wound?”
Mrs. Harrington grabbed the pale cloth and yanked at it, her cheeks stained an indignant red. “Coughs and colds I can remedy, Mr. Thomas.” She drew herself upright and pursed her lips together. “But I’m a civilized woman from an upstanding family, and I’m used to mingling in polite, genteel company. I’ve never tended or even seen a gunshot wound. I really have no interest in learning either.” A shudder ran through her body.
Miss Torrance crossed the space and held out her hands. “Let me, I know how. Got several rowdy brothers who were always getting into scrapes.”
With growing impatience, he watched the younger woman struggle with the fabric for several moments, and then he reached for the garment. Wedging an edge between his elbow and his thigh, he pulled hard and was rewarded by the screech of ripping cloth. He handed it back to the woman then lowered his gaze to Jazzy. “I want to take you into the bedroom—”
“Do you now?” A hint of a grin lifted the corners of her mouth.
He narrowed his eyes at her flirting. “To make you more comfortable. But I can’t let those men out of my sight. If I do, all hell will break loose, and we’ll have real trouble on our hands.” He’d give anything to sweep her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make her prove she could give him what her attitude promised. Maybe then his insides would unwind and his chest might relax enough to draw a normal breath. “Miss Torrance, lend a hand please.”
Within a minute or two, they set the table on its legs and angled it so the fireplace light would shine its length.
After a nod of thanks toward his helper, he swept a hand to indicate its position. “The best I can do is here, on the table.”
“Always a first time.”
The image of what she suggested flashed across his mind and his blood heated. With that sass, could she be stronger than he’d thought? The growing splotch of dark color on her green skirt indicated otherwise. “Jazzy.” He couldn’t stop himself from drawing out her name, like a fading echo.
She rested a trembling hand on his arm, all teasing gone from her eyes. “Stop looking so worried, Slade. You’re scaring me.”
Her words tore at his conscience. Right now, she was more important than bringing in those bandits and the bank robber. With one last glare toward the occupants in the room’s corner, he scooped up Jazzy and held her close to his chest. Adjusting his grip so the bandits could see he still held the pistol, he strode to the table and swept her feet across one end. “Mrs. Harrington, grab me something for her head.”
The woman scurried to the upended baggage under a front window and started tossing aside the rumpled clothes. Her head jerked up and she stepped closer to the doorway, angling her head to peer outside. “Marshal, I hear horses coming.”
Slade cursed under his breath and squinted through the closest window at the clouds of dust rising in the distance. What else could happen? Did he truly need more than a hunted bank robber on the loose in the desert, a couple of woman who seemed useless as nurses, three bandits just itching to escape, and the woman he loved weakening before his eyes?
His admission of love stopped him. Love? He loved this sassy independent bit of a woman who set his heart pounding? No time to contemplate what that could mean for his future. Their future.
Pushing away those thoughts, he grabbed the wad of green fabric. “Here, Jazzy, press this against your side until it hurts. And keep it there, pushing hard.” With long strides, he crossed the room to the window, shifting his gaze between the bandits and the growing cloud of dust outside. “Mrs. Harrington, go help Jazzy.”
“Mrs. Harrington this and Mrs. Harrington that.” She shook her head and mumbled as she filled her hands with garments. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Thomas. You’re not the lord of the manor, and I’m not a serving girl for you to order about.”
“Ah, Slade, there’s one that’s not on our list.” Jazzy’s words were barely louder than a whisper.
Slade let Mrs. Harrington’s grumbling roll off him. He cut a glance at Jazzy and bit back a curse at the pallor of her face. Whoever approached the house would arrive whether he watched or not. “Miss Torrance, you watch at the window.” He had enough to deal with inside these four walls. Most important meant tending to Jazzy. “Come help me, Mrs. Harrington.” He speared her with a dark look. “Now.”
Mrs. Harrington stopped at the side of the table, a wad of red silk in her hand.
“Oh, my favorite petticoat.” Jazzy raised a limp hand toward the garment.
His chest tightened. His doctoring skills weren’t worth a damn, but there was no one else. “Tell me where you’re hurt. Look at me, Jazzy.”
“I’m looking.” Her head angled toward his voice, and she blinked several times before forcing her eyes wide open. “Hi, Slade.”
“Hey, darlin’.” To keep his expression neutral and his words soothing just about killed him. “I’ve got to find your wound and see how bad it is. I don’t have time to undress you carefully.”
“Could…be…fun.”
“Scandalous!” Mrs. Harrington sucked in a gasp
. “I won’t be a party to—”
“Good.” He silenced her with a menacing glare. “You can stand guard on the bandits over there.” Slade slapped the pistol into her outstretched hand and wrapped her other hand around it. “The hammer is already back. Just keep it pointed at those two in that corner.” He narrowed his gaze in the direction of the no-count thieves. “If either of them moves, pull back on the trigger. And for God’s sakes, don’t shoot one of us!”
Shaking her head, Mrs. Harrington stepped back and lowered the weapon. “But…I don’t think—”
“Prudence, go to the window.” Miss Torrance moved across the dirt floor. “I’ve been known to handle a gun or two in my life. Mr. Thomas, if I may?” She extended her right hand.
“Much obliged, ma’am.” He waited for her answering nod, knowing he would accept no resistance.
With relief, he turned his attention back to Jazzy and slipped a knife from his pocket. A couple of quick slashes at the hem, then he tore the skirt fabric up to the charred bullet hole. On her green petticoat underneath was a growing bloodstain.
His jaw clamped hard. His worst fear was confirmed. The bullet had hit her body, and the wound was long and oozing blood.
“Oh, Slade, why did you ruin my new dress?” Jazzy levered up to one elbow and gazed down at her shredded clothes.
“Had to. But you’ll be okay, and I’m staying right here.”
Her eyes widened at the bloody mess and she sucked in a quick breath. “Is all that blood mine? I can’t stand… Oooh…” Her words faded, then she fell back on the table, her head thumping like a gourd against the wooden surface.
He froze and fought back panic, trying to convince himself her new status was better. Now he could tend to her wound without the worry over increasing her pain. With quick strokes, he pierced the next layer of silky fabric and cut, his progress stopped in places by some damn metal supports. Trying not to think about whose blood covered the petticoat he held, he concentrated on not cutting Jazzy’s skin.
Outside, the beat of horse hooves thundered close and slowed to a stop.
Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) Page 10