Whirlwind Cowboy

by Debra Cowan

  That looked like Cosgrove’s black mare.

  No way in hell. Bram couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was.

  He eased closer, noting that the animal was unsaddled and had been brushed down. Speaking softly to the horse, he lifted its left front leg, then the back one. A C had been crudely carved into the top of the mare’s rear shoe. It was slyly done, the top of the C coming out of the tack’s head, but this was Cosgrove’s horse!

  The damn brand blotter had been forced to take shelter, too. Here!

  Bram’s lips twisted. This was too good to be true, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to catch the bastard. Or kill him. After the murder committed by Cosgrove during that bank robbery, Bram would have no qualms about taking in a dead man.

  Satisfied that there was enough water in the trough near Cosgrove’s animal for both horses, Bram returned to his things in the corner and slid his Spencer rifle out of its scabbard.

  After checking his gun, he stepped outside. The wind nearly shoved him to his knees as he shouldered the door shut. Gripping the clothesline for support, he slowly made his way to the cabin’s back stoop.

  He had the advantage of surprise, but because both the front and back doors opened into the large main room, he wouldn’t have the drop on Cosgrove for long. Once Bram opened the door, the wind would sweep in, alerting anyone in the cabin.

  He slowly turned the knob, then flung open the door. He leveled his weapon, aiming straight at...a woman!

  She screamed, stumbling back against the dining table and folding her arms protectively around herself.

  “Sweet mercy.” Bram froze, his mind trying to catch up to what he was seeing.

  There in the flickering lamplight stood a half-naked Deborah.

  Deborah.

  What the hell?

  Chapter Two

  Struggling to recover from the shock of seeing her, Bram kicked the door shut and advanced. Had Deborah been with the outlaw since she had left her home? During the whole time Bram had been tracking the bastard?

  She looked terrified, her gaze darting around for an escape. That blistered him up even more. “Cosgrove, show yourself!”

  Visibly trembling, Deborah eased back, putting the small dining table between them. She hit the corner, jolting the burning lamp there as she did so.

  “Don’t move!” he ordered, shoving down the gritty bandanna.

  She froze, looking as though she might cry.

  Closed inside as they were, the wind had faded to a low vibrating hum. Keeping his gun trained on her, Bram yelled again, “Cosgrove!”

  In the hazy yellow light he could see Deborah go pale. That wasn’t all he could see. Thanks to the soft amber light, the sleek lines of her body were plain through the thin fabric of her summer chemise. The undergarment and a pair of sturdy brown shoes were all she wore. Where the hell were her clothes?

  Just the thought that the man who had taken so much from him might have seen her half-naked or more had Bram’s finger twitching on the trigger.

  His gaze leveled on hers. “Where is he?”

  “Where is who?” she asked shakily.

  “You know who.”

  Inching away, she shook her head. “I don’t.”

  Her delicate features were pinched with fear and her raven-black hair slid around her bare shoulders like a cloud of midnight. Looking at her made Bram hurt. And filled him with cold fury.

  She reached for the nearest chair.

  “I said don’t move.”

  “I need to get my dress.” Her voice quivered.

  Considering how his traitorous body was reacting to the sweet curve of her hip and the fullness of her breasts visible through her chemise, he saw the merit in letting her put on her clothes.

  “Stay put. I’ll get it.” He walked toward her, keeping his back to the cabin wall and one eye on her. Bits of grass and rock pelted the front window.

  The dress hung over the back of a chair, a pale blue floral he recognized. He tossed it to her, dust drifting from the garment as she spread it protectively over her front, covering most of herself.

  He dragged his gaze from her. “Cosgrove!” he called again.

  “There’s no one else here,” she said quietly.

  He gave her a withering look. “I saw the bastard’s horse in the barn.”

  “I’m the one who rode that horse.” Her voice shook.

  Rifle trained on her, Bram motioned her out from behind the table, keeping her in his sights. He herded her to the corner then looked into the bedroom, where a fine silt covered every surface. The room was empty.

  He knew Cosgrove hadn’t gone out the front while Bram was coming in the back. The horse Bram had tracked also hadn’t been carrying two people. Deborah was telling the truth. About that, anyway. He still couldn’t believe she had been with Cosgrove.

  Sheer terror darkened her blue eyes. She was probably afraid of what he would do or say about her running off with the man he hated.

  The force of his anger when he thought she’d left to take the job in Abilene had been strong enough to sear his insides. But learning she’d been with Cosgrove drove a hole right through Bram’s chest.

  His gaze swept over her and she clutched the dress more tightly to her. The strap of her chemise had slipped down, baring the silky skin of one shoulder. Skin he knew tasted as sweet as cream and felt that way, too.

  The heat he always felt around her burned him from the inside, made him want. But since he’d realized she had left with Cosgrove, Bram could hardly stand to look at her.

  “Get dressed,” he snapped, lowering his weapon. When she blinked those frightened blue eyes at him, it went all over him. Did she think he was going to hurt her? She’d just spent the past three weeks with a thief and a murderer! “Dammit, put your clothes on.”

  She nodded, taking a step toward him and the bedroom beyond.

  “Uh-uh. Right here, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes widened. “Not with you watching!”

  “Put the dress on,” he said softly. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’m not likely to run out into the storm.”

  “How do I know you don’t have a gun hidden in that room?”

  Clearly affronted, she gasped. “Because I don’t!”

  “I’m not taking my eyes off you. Now, put on the dress.”

  A spark of temper masked the uncertainty in her eyes. She angled her chin at him, clearly prepared to argue, then she seemed to realize he wasn’t bluffing about dressing her himself.

  She backed into the corner and stepped into the garment. When she bent to pull the dress over her hips, Bram got a tantalizing view of her breasts, plump and pale and perfect.

  He bit his cheek. Hard. Once she was covered and buttoning her bodice, he said, “Now let’s try again. What are you doing here?”

  Looking uncertain, she said, “There’s a storm.”

  He made an impatient sound. “Don’t play with me.”

  “I—I’m not.”

  “Why are you here?” Fine grains of dirt floated in the hazy light. “In my cabin?”

  “I didn’t know it was your cabin. I took shelter so I wouldn’t get caught in the storm.”

  “Don’t test me. I’ve had all of that I want from you.”

  She froze, her gaze riveting on his face. “You sound as though you know me.”

  “Of course I know you.” He bit out his words.

  “Well, I don’t know you,” she said in a voice thick with tears. Hands clenched tightly at her sides, she was still shaking.

  She beat all he’d ever seen. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know who you are.”

  That put a strange heaviness in his chest. “Yeah, I’m
sure you’d like to pretend you never did.”

  “I’m not pretending. I don’t know who you are.” She swiped at a tear tracking down her ivory cheek. “Or who I am either.”

  Bram stared at her for a full five seconds, fighting back a roar of anger. The ebony of her hair made the light blue of her eyes even more striking. And her petal-smooth skin had a faint tinge of a blush. There was an innocence about her. Even now, after what she’d done, she looked angelic.

  She was so damn beautiful he wanted to touch her, and he hated himself for it.

  Trying to come to terms with the fact that he was

  really seeing her, he repeated scornfully, “You don’t know who you are.”

  She blinked. “You...don’t believe me.”

  “No.” Bram took off his hat and smacked it against the wall, knocking off a thick film of dust. He tossed it onto the table.

  “Why would I lie?”

  “How about because you ran off with a cattle rustler who’s also now a murderer? Or because you walked away from your family, your home and me—”

  He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose. The constant buzzing of the wind made his shoulders even more tense. “By claiming you don’t remember any of that, you can plead innocence. I wouldn’t admit to knowing anything either.”

  “But I don’t remember! I don’t know anything. Not my name, not where I’m from.” Fear and frustration mixed on her face. “You said you know me. What is my name?”

  He frowned. She sure was carrying through with this lost memory business.

  “Please.” Pure desperation shaded her voice. And confusion. “Please.”

  “Deborah.” He wondered how far she would go with this. “Your name’s Deborah Blue.”

  “Deborah Blue.” Her face fell. “I don’t remember being called that. And who are you?”

  Could she be telling the truth? She really didn’t remember him or herself or Cosgrove? Bram walked slowly over to her and stopped within a foot, studying her eyes.

  She lifted her chin and he saw a bruise on her jaw. And a cut on her temple. He went still inside. Had Cosgrove done that to her? The idea shook Bram. He gestured to her face. “What happened to you?”

  “I think...someone hit me.” She touched the faded streaks of blood on her damp bodice. “There was a big spot of blood beside me. I don’t think it was mine.”

  He might not believe she had memory loss, but someone had roughed her up. A cold fury gripped him. He didn’t hold with violence against a woman. Ever. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “I don’t think so.” She curled her hands over the edge of the chair as if she needed support. Though she looked as if she might bolt if he so much as blinked, she didn’t move. Her gaze held his. There was no guile in the blue depths and no spark of recognition at all.

  “Your name. Please.”

  His hold tightened on his rifle. Grit seemed to settle in his throat. “I’m Bram Ross.”

  “Bram Ross,” she said softly in the same sweet, almost shy way she had the first time he’d told her to call him by his given name. And just as it had then, the dark velvet of her voice stroked over him like a hand, making his body go tight. Dammit.

  “How do we know each other?”

  Bram felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut. “We live near the same town, Whirlwind.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Not exactly.” He wanted to grab her and kiss her, ask if she remembered that. At the confused look on her face, he said flatly, “I asked you to marry me.”

  “Oh!” Hope lit her eyes. “So you’ve been looking for me?”

  “No. I’m actually looking for your...beau.” Bram could barely force out the word.

  “But if you...” She frowned. “I thought you were my beau.”

  “So did I,” he muttered under his breath.

  “This man you’re looking for is my beau?”

  “It appears so.”

  He could see her trying to reconcile what he was saying. Well, hell, he was trying to reconcile seeing her.

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would I be with someone who steals cattle, who kills people?”

  “I’ve never been able to figure out why you even talk to that double-crossing polecat, and neither has your brother.”

  “My brother?”

  Bram stared hard at her. Was she pulling his leg? “Jericho’s a retired Texas Ranger, married with a baby. He and his wife are in New York City, visiting the nuns who raised her.”

  “Do I live with them?”

  “No, you live with your ma and three sisters on the edge of my property. The Circle R ranch.”

  She put a hand to her head, her lips bloodless. “This is so much to take in.”

  “Tell me what you remember.”

  “Nothing!” The look of irritation on her face was familiar to Bram. It was the same one she’d gotten the night he tried to convince her not to take the teaching job, to stay with him in Whirlwind.

  He ground his teeth. “You remember riding here.”

  “Yes.”

  “And before that?”

  She closed her eyes, pain etching her features. “I woke up outside, behind a building. Two-story. I had no idea where I was, but my head hurt and there was blood on my dress.”

  “Maybe from that cut on your head.” His gaze dropped to the damp fabric of her bodice where she’d tried to get out the blood. “How did you get Cosgrove’s horse?”

  “It was behind the building, just as I was.” Her brow furrowed. “I heard someone coming. A man. He yelled after me.”

  Bram’s head came up. “Did you see him?”

  “No, and I didn’t wait to find out who it was. I was terrified—I don’t know why—so I took the horse and rode away.” She gingerly touched her temple, pain stark on her delicate features.

  Bram didn’t think she could fake that look of agony, but what did he know? She’d faked her feelings for him for months. “Why did you come here, to my cabin?”

  “I didn’t intentionally come here. I just rode until I was sure no one was following. When the dust storm came up and I saw the cabin, I took shelter.” She briefly closed her eyes, her chin quivering. “My head hurts.”

  She was pale, her skin waxy in the smoky lamplight. Dust sifted in around the edges of the window frame. “How far did you ride?”

  She stared blankly at him.

  Reining in his impatience, Bram rubbed the nape of his neck. “How long did you ride before you reached this place?”

  “Over an hour. Maybe an hour and a half.”

  “Was the horse running full-out the whole time?”

  “No, about ten minutes.” She swayed. “It hurts.”

  Frowning, Bram steadied her with a hand on her elbow. He wasn’t going to get more out of her right now and she really did look spent.

  Hooking a foot around a chair leg, he steered her over to the table and sat her down.

  She held her head in her hands. “Thank you.”

  The threadiness of her voice raised Bram’s concern. He might be mad as hell at her, but he didn’t like seeing her hurt this way. “Is there something I can do?”

  “I think I just need to sit for a minute.”

  He glanced around, his gaze skimming over the silt-layered room. “I don’t think there are any headache powders here.”

  “The pain isn’t quite so bad now.” She gave him a small forced smile, then closed her eyes.

  In the flickering light she looked helpless and fragile. Her pretty mouth was drawn tight with pain. He stiffened as his gaze fell to the bruise on her jaw then moved to the cut on her temple.

  He had to fight the urge to hold her and he didn’t understand why. She’d left him, run off with a murdering cat
tle thief. He shouldn’t want to be within a hundred yards of her. What was wrong with him?

  Cosgrove was the one Bram wanted, the one he’d expected when he had come through the door earlier.

  Instead, he’d found the one woman he never wanted to see again, and until this storm blew over, he was stuck with her.

  Didn’t that just cock his pistol?

  * * *

  Bram Ross didn’t much care for her. Right now, Deborah didn’t much care for him either.

  An hour later, as they sat at the small dining table eating supper, she was as befuddled and uncertain as she had been when she had woken up behind that two-story building. Adding further to her confusion was her strong reaction to the rugged cowboy who had found her.

  He was a big man. Beneath his grimy white shirt she could see the play of lean carved muscle in his shoulders and arms. Though his black hair was cut short, the ragged ends suggested it hadn’t been trimmed in a while. Whisker stubble shadowed a square unyielding jaw. A raw-looking scar ran up the right side of his face from the middle of his cheek to his temple.

  Tall and broad with powerful thighs, the man was daunting, especially when his dark blue eyes turned hard, which they’d done more than once when he looked at her.

  His attention sent a shiver through her. She was drawn to him and intimidated at the same time.

  Keeping his gun trained on her, he had searched the bedroom for a weapon. He hadn’t found one, of course. Then he had gone out and returned with their saddlebags, using the rope to guide him through the storm to the barn and back. Now the whirling dust and nightfall made it completely dark outside.

  After dropping the bags in the corner near the back door, he had found a tin of beans and one of peaches, carefully opening them with a knife. He had managed to keep out most of the dust; she had wiped off the tin plate he’d given her. They ate in silence, with her at one end of the table and him at the other. The insistent hum of the wind scraped at her nerves, as did the hovering veil of dust.

  She ate slowly, sneaking looks at him. She couldn’t seem to stop her attention from wandering to his firm, sometimes-harsh mouth, searching her mind for any memory of him. Touching, kissing, laughing. She’d tried the same for her family and any part of her life.