by Debra Cowan
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the soft crest of Josie’s cheekbones, the delicate winged arch of her dark brows, the freckles scattered across her fine-boned nose. Her lips were bloodless. She was still so pale. What if he hadn’t gotten help on time?
“Davis Lee?”
“Huh?”
Catherine twirled her finger. “Turn around.”
He did, biting back the impulse to tell her that he’d already done more than see her patient’s trim, uncovered ankles. He’d ripped the woman’s damn corset off.
“Maybe I need to have a look at you, too?” his friend asked in her calm, soothing voice.
“I’m fine, but I’m afraid she’s real bad.”
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You cut her.”
“I had to. Is it too deep? Will it scar badly?”
“It’s hard to say. Did you suck out the venom?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
He massaged the tight muscles across his nape. “I don’t know. It seemed like a long time. She told me when to stop.”
He wanted to turn around, see Josie’s face. “Catherine, has she opened her eyes again?”
“No, not yet.”
“She was awake just a minute ago. Said she was thirsty. Esther went to get her some water.”
“Did you clean the wound?”
“No.” He should’ve done that. Why hadn’t he thought to do that?
His friend stood and reached for her bag, then had to pry it gently from Davis Lee’s tight grip. She opened the satchel and removed a thick folded square of linen and a brown bottle marked Carbolic Acid.
Damn this anyway. Josie’s ankles were the least of what he’d seen today. He turned around, willing her to open her eyes. “We were out by Ollie’s marker. She lost consciousness a couple of times on the way back to town. We weren’t more than ten minutes away.”
“Has she been unconscious ever since?”
“Except for that short time a while ago.” He didn’t think Josie looked any better. “She’s still shaking.”
“It’s shock,” Catherine told him. “She needs to stay warm.”
Esther walked back into the room carrying a glass of water and an earthen pitcher.
Catherine opened the bottle of carbolic acid and dribbled some of the liquid onto the cloth then gently cleaned the puncture wound and surrounding cuts.
“What do you think, Catherine? Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded. “Is she gonna—”
“Not if I can help it.” She cleansed the wound again.
“Should I have brought her to you instead of here?” The thought that his decision might cost Josie her life had his chest pounding so hard it hurt.
“No. The hotel was closer.”
That had been his first instinct, but since Betsy, Davis Lee hadn’t trusted his instincts about much.
Josie’s eyes fluttered open again and her pain-clouded gaze locked with his. “Where am I?” she croaked.
“Your room at the hotel.” Relief deepened his voice. “Catherine’s here. She’s going to help you.”
Josie licked her lips and Catherine held her head so she could drink from the glass of water Esther had brought. When she finished, Catherine eased her head back down and handed the glass to Davis Lee. “Esther, help me get her under the sheet. I want to wrap the blanket on top of it. That should keep her warm enough.”
Catherine competently rolled Josie toward the wall and Esther struggled to pull the sheet from beneath her split skirt. Davis Lee made an impatient sound and scooped Josie up in his arms. When the sheet was turned down, he laid her back on the mattress.
Esther unwrapped the blanket from around Josie then spread it on top of the sheet. Catherine tucked the covers close to Josie’s body, making a cocoon.
Her fevered gaze locked on his. He didn’t see blame or fear there. He saw trust. Something hot and sharp grabbed him deep inside.
He cleared his throat. “She’s gonna be okay, isn’t she?”
“Without knowing how much venom is in her system, we have to wait and see,” Catherine said softly.
She gave her patient another sip of water. “I’m going to make a poultice, Josie. And a tea.”
Catherine was so composed. Even Josie seemed calm while his insides tangled like rusted barbed wire. He made a frustrated noise and splayed his hands on his hips. Her eyes were closed again. He wanted to do something, wanted her to be all right.
Catherine glanced at him. “The incision you made is small. It’s good you didn’t use your big knife on her.”
“She wouldn’t let me. She wanted me to use her scalpel.”
“Her scalpel?”
“She carries one with her for protection.”
“All the time?” Catherine looked bemused.
“Yeah.”
“How strange,” she murmured.
“Yeah.”
“I think we’ve done all we can right now. Unfortunately, we’ll just have to wait for her symptoms to peak.”
“How long will that take?”
“Probably three or four days. Hard to know how much poison is in there, but from what you’ve told me about her being unconscious, I think she was bitten pretty good.”
Discomfort flashed across Josie’s features and Davis Lee lowered his voice. “Will it be painful? Worse than now?”
“For a bit,” Catherine murmured. “She’s clammy right now, but a fever will probably set in soon. Then the sweats. She’ll be weak and perhaps disoriented.”
Needing to do something with his hands, Davis Lee jerked off his hat and crushed it, staring at her. “We were out shooting,” he said hoarsely.
“Oh?” Catherine looked up at him, curiosity plain in her eyes. “Are you and she—?”
“She wants to learn how to handle a gun. I said I’d teach her.” He shook his head. “I never thought something like this would happen. I go out there all the time. So does Cora. I’ve seen snakes there before, but they skedaddle at the first sign of humans.”
“It’s not your fault, Davis Lee. You’re not thinking it is, are you?”
He shrugged. “No, just wishing it hadn’t happened.”
She lightly squeezed his arm. “You did fine. You kept her calm, got the venom out and got her back here.”
“She was calmer than I was.”
“You were smart to loosen her bodice.”
“She did that. She did everything.”
“You sucked out the venom,” Catherine said.
Josie nodded weakly, her lashes lifting, her green gaze etched with pain.
But had he done enough? Had he done it in time? His hands closed even more tightly on the brim of his hat. “What can I do? What do you need? Tell me and I’ll get it.”
“I need some snakeroot.”
He frowned. “Snake-what?”
“Snakeroot. It’s the same as birthwort. I also need some downy plantain. They’re herbs. Dr. Butler will have them at Fort Greer. I need enough for four days. Tell him it’s for a poultice and a tea.”
Davis Lee nodded, the air suddenly stifling. The walls pressed in on him. “Anything else?”
“That’s all for now. I’ll stay with her tonight.”
Davis Lee bit back his own offer to do the same. It wouldn’t do for him to be alone in here with her, but he hesitated to leave.
“I need to keep an eye on her symptoms,” Catherine said quietly. “Her leg will swell further and I’m very concerned that she may have trouble breathing. I’ve made her as comfortable as possible.”
“I’ll fetch what you need.”
“Could you also stop by the house and tell my brother Andrew I’ll be here overnight? He can stay with one of his friends, either Creed or Miguel.”
“Done.”
Davis Lee gave Josie one last look before walking out. As reluctant as he was to leave, he was glad to be doing something besides staring at her waxen face. She was in good hands with Catherine, so why didn’t the pressure in his ches
t ease?
Four hours later, Davis Lee had delivered the herbs to Catherine and seen Andrew settled with Miguel Santos, the nephew of the telegraph operator. He had also completed his nightly walk through town. It was a few minutes past eleven and all was quiet.
Jake was at the jail guarding McDougal and Davis Lee was free to head for his small house behind Haskell’s that had been provided by the town. Instead, he stood in the street staring at the soft lamp glow in an upstairs window of the Whirlwind Hotel.
When he had returned with the things Catherine wanted, Josie hadn’t looked any better. He wanted to check on her one last time, knew he wouldn’t sleep until he did.
Using the key Penn had given him so he could keep an eye on the hotel if he heard something after-hours, Davis Lee let himself in, moonlight marking his way to the corner of the registration desk. He lit the candle always kept there by the old man and carried it upstairs to Josie’s room.
Mindful of the other guests, he rapped softly with one knuckle. When there was no response, he knocked. Nothing.
He tried the door and found it unlocked, pushing it open to peer into the room. “Catherine?”
But it wasn’t Catherine in the chair beside Josie’s bed. It was Esther Wavers. The lamp on the bedside table threw a warm blanket of light around the room and Davis Lee stepped over to pinch out the candle on the dresser.
Josie was in bed, the blanket on the floor, the sheet down around her ankles. A splint braced her lower left leg and he saw the white gleam of the bandages Catherine had applied over the poultice. At the same time he registered that Josie wore only her chemise and drawers, his attention moved to the older woman who hadn’t reacted to his arrival. “Esther?”
He walked to the bed, his attention snagged on the dark hair spread like sable silk across Josie’s pillow. Smoky yellow light slid over her, tucking shadows between her breasts, her legs. Her gossamer-light undergarment fit close to her body, the flush of fever evident even in the muted light.
Davis Lee dragged his gaze to Esther, concerned that something was wrong. The older woman slumped in the chair, head bowed, hands resting loosely on a water-filled basin in her lap. The steady rise and fall of her chest told him that she was asleep. Relief that she wasn’t dead or unconscious mixed with a surge of irritation. What good was she doing this way?
Josie made a low, ragged sound, her breath catching in a way that had him turning. He was startled to realize she was crying in her sleep.
“Esther?” He kept his voice quiet and calm, reaching down to take the tilting bowl from her lap.
Moving fitfully, Josie threw a protective arm across her face. He eased down onto the edge of the bed.
Esther snuffled softly and his jaw tightened. He bumped the washbasin into her knee.
“Huh?” She jerked awake, blinking rapidly then squinting at him. “Oh. Sheriff?”
“Where’s Catherine?” he asked tightly.
She covered a yawn, her voice scratchy with sleep. “Pearl Anderson’s daughter-in-law finally went into labor and there was a problem. Pearl asked Catherine to come so I told her I’d stay with Josie.” Her gaze went to the bed, no doubt seeing the distress in Josie’s face and body that Davis Lee saw. Guilt darkened the older woman’s eyes and she snapped straight in her chair. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Is she worse?”
“I don’t know,” he said evenly. “Was she like this the last time you remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her wilted bun wiggling loosely on top of her head.
“Do you know what time that was?”
“No.”
Josie made more of those choppy sobbing noises. A hardboiled knot lodged in his chest. Was she dreaming or in pain? Catherine had said she might be disoriented, not that she might be delirious. It had to be due to the fever. He placed a hand on her forehead. She was burning up.
“I came by to check on her.” A rag floated in the bowl of water and Davis Lee scooped it up, squeezed it. He moved Josie’s arm down to her side so he could wipe her face.
“I’m so sorry.”
He wanted to reassure the older woman, but all he could think about was Catherine saying that breathing might become difficult for Josie. She might have suffocated before Esther ever woke up.
He forcefully dunked the rag again, wringing it out before moving it gently over Josie’s face. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Esther? I’ll stay with her.”
“Oh, Sheriff, I’ll be fine now. I really didn’t mean to—”
“I insist,” he said quietly.
“But someone might find out you’re alone in here with her.”
And doing what? he thought ruefully. The woman was practically unconscious. He gave her a flat stare. “In light of things, I don’t really care.”
“She might.”
“I’m staying. Leave the door open. Hopefully Miz Webster will recover enough to take me to task herself.”
Esther hesitated, watching him wet the rag again and repeat the stroking motions on Josie’s face. “All right.”
She walked to the door. “I’m truly sorry, Sheriff. I don’t know what happened.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention on the slight figure in the bed.
Esther’s footsteps sounded down the stairs then faded away. The rag warmed with the heat of Josie’s flesh. The nearly transparent garment she wore wasn’t a chemise as he had first thought, but some one-piece thing that looked like a chemise and drawers combined. Except it wasn’t loose and shapeless like any shift he’d ever seen. This undergarment was fitted. Edged with delicate lace, it curved to her body like a second skin.
Especially damp as it was from repeated efforts to cool her down. The thin fabric clung to her breasts, revealing the darker flesh of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were small but full, and the perfect size for her petite frame. There was nothing wanting about them at all.
His mouth went dry and he grabbed the sheet, pulling it up over her. He dipped the cloth and ran it over her face, her neck, her chest. The faint tang of kerosene drifted from the lamp, but it was the scent of soft warm woman and honeysuckle that filled his lungs. Secluded with her like this, cornered by the night and the heat, Davis Lee felt his body harden. He lost track of how many times he wet the cloth, soothed her skin then repeated the motions.
He lifted her, applying the cool rag to her nape and the patch of skin on her back not covered by that infernal sheer piece of nothing. Her sobs quieted, but she twisted on the bed, kicking off the sheet.
He pulled up the cover and she moved it again. He couldn’t tell if her fever was coming down. High color still flushed her cheeks and chest. Her hairline was wet, her underwear and the sheets damp. He reached out and stroked a finger lightly against her temple.
She turned into his touch, moaning, “William.”
Who was William? Husband? Lover? Brother? She had never answered his questions about her family.
She mumbled incoherently, her arm slanting across her face again.
He murmured soothing words, lifted her arm to draw the wet cloth over her face and chest. She twitched beneath his hand, her head turning from side to side on her pillow. Her hair slid across her face and Davis Lee nudged the wet strands away.
“Blood,” she whispered brokenly. “So much blood.”
Another sob choked out of her and his heart caught at the deep-reaching agony of it. Blood? What was going on in her head? Just another question to add to the others he had about her.
He wished her fever would cool, that Catherine would return. He took her hand and dipped it into the water up to her wrist, spreading the wet rag on her chest for a moment. The tiny mole he’d glimpsed before at the edge of her collarbone teased him. And so did that damn transparent undergarment.
Davis Lee stared at her plump breasts and the dusky nipples that had drawn up like shy buds. Despite the fact that he knew she was lying about something, want pounded through him, low and fierce a
nd hot. He moved his gaze from the flat of her stomach to the dark shadow between her legs. His breath hitched on the same sharp edge of desire he’d felt for another woman with lies in her eyes.
Davis Lee dragged a hand down his face, wishing he could erase this picture of her from his mind. He had no doubt he would carry this image to his grave. What he needed was to focus on getting her fever down, helping her through this. Then finding out her connection to Ian McDougal and why she had really come to Whirlwind.
Chapter Five
The pain woke her, a searing agony that pulsed just below the surface of her skin. Her eyelids were heavy, and when she finally got her eyes open, her vision was slightly blurry. The tight heaviness against her lower left leg confirmed the splint she vaguely remembered Catherine fashioning. A bulky wrap of white cloth kept the poultice in place. The snakeroot must be drawing out the poison because her leg burned like fire.
Pale gray light tinged with the sun crept into the room. Trying to get her bearings, she stared at the dresser at the foot of the bed. She became aware of the damp sheets beneath her, the thick cotton feel of her mouth. The door was open.
Even with her senses dulled by pain and weakness she knew she wasn’t alone.
Her head felt too heavy for her neck and it was an effort to look over at the window. Davis Lee. Her mind stalled on that for a moment. She remembered shooting with him, resting against him on the ride here. Catherine Donnelly had put the poultice on her leg then the splint. That was the last thing Josie remembered.
Where was Catherine? How long had the sheriff been here? His back was to her. One broad shoulder braced against the wall as he stared out the window. He wore the same light blue shirt he’d worn yesterday. At least she thought it was the same.
The lamp’s low flame burned beside the bed, giving a golden haze to the watery daylight seeping into the room. Her gaze skimmed involuntarily down the dark trousers that molded his lean hips and long legs entirely too well. She remembered how it felt to be cradled between his hard thighs, held against that brawny chest. Only then did Josie’s numbed brain realize that she was nearly naked.
The fine lawn of her combination suit clung to her body like wet tissue. The sweats that she and Catherine expected now slicked her still-fevered flesh, causing the thin cloth to cup her breasts and the tops of her thighs. Who had undressed her? Him?