by Connie Mason
When he poured carbolic acid into the wound, a scream ripped from her throat. He gentled her as best he could, gave her another dose of laudanum, and waited until she quieted to close the wound. His hands were shaking as he held a needle to the light and looped fine silk thread through the eye. But they steadied when he turned back to his patient. He had done this countless times in the past, but this was the first time he'd dug a bullet from a woman's tender flesh.
With neat, precise stitches, Jess closed the wound and bandaged it with strips of gauze. Then he sat back to inspect his work. There was a good chance the woman would live if she was strong enough to fight the fever that would soon follow, and the infection that came on stealthily and sucked the life from unsuspecting souls.
There was little Jess could do now but make the woman comfortable. He placed his bedroll near the fire, carefully lifted her onto one blanket and covered her with another. Then he sat beside her on the hard ground to wait and watch. Though Jess tried to remain wakeful, his weary body betrayed him and he dozed off. He awoke with a start when the woman cried out and began to thrash around.
"Zach! I hurt."
Her voice was hoarse, her face contorted. Jess was beside her instantly, bathing her face and holding his canteen to her lips.
"Here, drink."
She took a sip, gagged, then fell back into a stupor. Jess fed more kindling to the fire, then returned to his vigil beside her, pondering the unusual circumstances that might have led a beautiful woman to become a bounty hunter. And the woman was beautiful. Beautiful and shapely. He should have known she was a female the moment he saw those long feminine legs encased in tight trousers. And the voice. Low and throaty, too soft to belong to a male.
Damn! A female bounty hunter. What in God's good name would force a woman into so dangerous a profession? What were her parents thinking? Or her husband? Who was Zach? Obviously someone she loved. If Zach was here now he'd pound some sense into the man. What kind of man would allow a fragile woman to chase after vicious outlaws? The longer he thought about it the angrier he became. She could have been killed. If he hadn't been a skilled doctor, she'd most likely be lying dead in a pool of her own blood.
Unable to keep his eyes open, Jess drifted off to sleep. He awoke to daylight, abruptly aware of luminous green eyes staring at him.
"You're awake."
Meg Lincoln had been awake a good ten minutes, her thoughts in a turmoil. The man she recalled from her vague memory of last night was sitting beside her, his arms resting on his bent knees, his head bowed. He was sleeping. She could see little except his thick, sun-streaked brown hair.
She knew he was one of the Calder brothers but found it difficult to reconcile what she knew about the outlaw brothers with this man who possessed the skills of a trained doctor. To her knowledge, none of the Calders had ever studied medicine.
Meg stifled a groan. She hurt so damn bad tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She wanted Zach. He'd always been there when she needed him.
Suddenly the man stirred, lifted his head, and stared at her. His eyes were hazel, she thought, with golden flecks in their centers. It surprised her that she would notice facial characteristics when she hurt so badly. His eyes weren't the only thing she noticed. The man was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Broad forehead, a bold slash of a nose, wide mouth and full lips. None of his features were classic, but put together they seemed to work in ways most women would admire. He was a large man, sleekly muscled and thoroughly masculine.
"You're awake."
His voice held a trace of southern accent. She liked that but shoved the startling thought aside. She had more important things to deal with.
"Why didn't you ride off with your brothers?" Her voice was little more than a croak. She wet her parched lips with the tip of her tongue but she had little moisture to spare.
"Would you like some water?"
She nodded weakly. He held the canteen to her lips.
"Drink slowly," he cautioned.
Meg took a sip, then another, letting the life-giving liquid soothe her throat.
"That's enough for now. How do you feel?"
"Like I've taken...a canon ball. You...didn't...answer my question."
The Calders aren't my brothers. I tried to tell you that before but you wouldn't listen. They barged into my campsite shortly before you arrived. I never saw them before in my life."
"I...don't believe...you."
"Suit yourself, lady. But why would I save your life if I was one of the Calders?"
Meg didn't know what to believe. She knew three men had robbed the bank, and that they had been positively identified as the Calder brothers. She couldn't think straight. Pain had reduced her to a mindless lump of pure agony. She'd sort it all out when she could think coherently.
"Are you in pain?"
She nodded weakly.
"I'll give you some laudanum."
He lifted her head, held the bottle to her lips and tipped up the bottle. This time she swallowed without offering an argument.
"What's your name?"
"Meg Lincoln."
"I'm Jess Gentry."
Jess Gentry, Meg thought as the laudanum took effect and her mind shut down. It was a lie. It had to be. The man was a Calder. She just had to figure out why he possessed medical skills and why he chose to save her life.
"Sleep," Jess said, brushing damp curls away from her flushed face. "You're going to need all the strength you possess to get you through this."
"Zach." The name slipped unbidden from her lips as she slid effortlessly into unconsciousness.
Jess studied Meg's features while she slept. She couldn't be more than twenty-one or two, he decided. In sleep, her face was wiped free of pain. Her broad forehead was smooth and unlined above perfectly arched brows. High cheekbones, full, lush lips, eyes that slanted upward at the outer corners. All those characteristics alone might not be attractive, but put together in a perfect oval with skin as smooth as cream made for a damn provocative female.
Someone ought to talk some sense into her, Jess decided. Did she have a death wish or something? Only a woman who cared little for life would take up so dangerous a profession. Looking back on her bold entrance to his campsite, he decided she must be one cool character with nerves of steel.
Rising stiffly, Jess stretched and walked down to the river to wash and refresh himself. Taking off his shirt, he splashed water over his face, shoulders and torso. He contemplated taking a full bath but decided to wait until later. When Meg awoke she'd need nourishment. His first order of business was to bag a fat rabbit and boil it up into a rich broth. He also needed to find Meg's horse.
Jess put his shirt back on and returned to camp. Meg was still sleeping. He checked his guns, strapped on his gunbelt and disappeared into the shadows of the cottonwoods. He found Meg's mare tethered to a tree a few hundred yards from the campsite, happily munching grass. He left the mare for the time being and continued on his quest for food.
Thirty minutes and two rabbits later, he retraced his steps to Meg's horse and returned to camp with rabbits and mare in tow.
Meg slept on as Jess gutted and cleaned the rabbits and put one in the battered coffeepot to boil and staked the other over the fire to cook. Then he checked Meg for fever, pleased to find it only slightly elevated, and inspected her wound for infection.
So far so good, Jess thought with relief as he sat down beside Meg to await developments. Unfortunately things could change quickly with wounds such as Meg had sustained. He was gazing off into the distance, thinking about Rafe and Jess when Meg awakened and spoke to him.
"Am I going to die?"
Jess's thoughts snapped back to the present and his gaze swung around to the lady bounty hunter. "Not if I can help it."
"I'm thirsty."
Jess carefully lifted her head, reached for his canteen and held it to her lips. She drank deeply, sighed, and indicated she'd had enough.
"How are you feeling?" Jess asked, studyi
ng her pallor with a critical eye. She'd lost too much blood for his liking.
"Like I've got one foot in the grave. I still don't understand why you didn't leave with your brothers."
"I'm not a Calder," Jess returned shortly. "I told you my name last night."
Meg regarded him with confusion. "Jess Gentry. I remember, but..."
"Just concentrate on getting well. We'll sort everything else out later."
"I want to go home."
"You can't be moved yet. In a few days, maybe. We'll have to wait and see what develops in the next few hours."
Meg's eyes grew round. "Like what? I can still die, can't I?"
"Well, there's always the possibility of infection. I doused your wound with carbolic acid and I'm hoping it was enough to prevent infection. If not, a fever is bound to follow. But don't worry, I'm a doctor. I know what to do to help you."
Jess saw disbelief march across Meg's features. Obviously she wasn't of a mind to take his word for anything. But he had more important things to worry about, like saving her life.
"I'm going to give you some more laudanum," Jess said, reaching for the bottle. "Rest is the best thing for you right now. When you awaken I'll feed you some rabbit broth. You'll need it to keep up your strength."
Meg shook her head. "No. No more laudanum. I can't think when I'm drugged."
"Don't think. Just concentrate on getting well. You want to return to Zach, don't you?"
Meg sent him a startled look. "How do you know about Zach?"
"You called for him in the night. Is he your husband?"
Meg shook her head.
"Brother?" Another negative shake. "Father?"
"No."
Jess abruptly cut off his questioning. Clearly Zach was Meg's lover. Jess wished the man were here now so he could give him a good dressing down. No man in his right mind would allow his woman the freedom to turn to bounty hunting for a living.
"Open your mouth, Meg," Jess said sternly. "I'll just give you enough laudanum to dull the pain."
Meg stared at him, then opened her mouth with marked reluctance. Before long she had fallen asleep. When she awakened several hours later, Jess patiently fed her broth and bits of rabbit flesh. She fell asleep again. Jess built up the fire and settled down for the night on the bedroll he'd taken from Meg's saddle.
Her cry in the night pulled him from a deep sleep and he sprang to her side. It didn't take a genius to recognize the irrefutable signs of infection and fever. Meg was drenched in perspiration, thrashing from side to side, damp strands of dark hair plastered to her pale face. Her body burned with heat that would kill her if it wasn't doused.
Disregarding propriety, he stripped off her trousers and drawers, picked her up, and carried her to the water. Though the night was warm, the water was cool. Sitting in the water, he held her on his lap, letting the water spill over her heated flesh. He held her like that until her body felt cool to the touch. Then he carried her back to her bedroll and pulled away the bandage covering her wound.
The sickening stench of infection immediately cast him back into the dying days of the war, when the wounded piled up so fast that they died before they could be treated. Those horrible days and hectic times weighed heavily upon Jess as he stared down on the unconscious woman stretched out on the ground.
I won't let you die! he silently vowed. He'd seen too many men perish, smelled the nauseating odor of death too often to give up now. Jess would defy the devil himself to save this woman. Stiffening his shoulders, he set to work to save Meg's life.
First he disinfected his hands and scalpel. His hands were steady as cut into the infected flesh. Greenish pus spurt out, but he ignored it, pressing on the wound until the blood ran clean and red. Then he disinfected it with carbolic acid. He decided not to sew it up, preferring to leave it open to drain. It would leave a scar, but what was a scar compared to one's life? Lastly, he fastened a clean bandage over the wound.
As Jess washed up at the stream, he prayed that his skill had been enough to save Meg's life. No one as young and vital as Meg deserved to die.
Chapter Two
Jess worked throughout the night and into the next day to save Meg's life. He made countless trips to the river to fetch cool water to bathe her feverish body. He alternately spooned broth and water into her mouth and coaxed her to swallow a medicinal concoction to bring down the fever. He reopened the wound and squeezed out pus at least two more times.
Jess tried to retain a professional manner as he cared for Meg's personal needs, but because he was a man, because he simply couldn't help himself, he looked at her. At the sweet curve of her breasts and the long, shapely turn of her calves and sleek thighs. Not an ounce of fat rested anywhere on her taut, athletic body. Yet everything about her was softly feminine. With a effort, he forced sexual thoughts from his head and concentrated on his patient.
Three hellish days passed as Jess fought for Meg's life with a determination that spoke volumes about his dedication. On the fourth day, Jess rejoiced at the first indication that Meg would recover. Meg's fever broke, leaving her eyes clear and lucid for the first time in days. More importantly, her wound no longer oozed pus. A scant few hours ago she was calling for Zach and muttering things Jess couldn't understand. Now she was gazing at him through clear green eyes and he couldn't be happier.
"I'm alive."
Her voice sounded like she'd been chewing on gravel.
"Did you doubt it?"
"There were times..." Her words fell off and she grew thoughtful. "How long have I been like this?"
"Six days from the time you were shot. For a while I feared you wouldn't make it. Welcome back to the world of the living."
"I never thought I'd owe my life to an outlaw," Meg rasped.
"You don't. When you're ready to listen, I'll explain the mix up. Right now we need to get some nourishment into you. Are you hungry?"
She shook her head. "Just thirsty."
"I can fix that." He held his canteen to her lips and she drank greedily.
"Help me to sit up," she said when she had drank her fill.
Jess eyed her skeptically. "You're too weak."
"Lying in bed won't bring back my strength. I have to get home. Zach is surely worried sick by now."
Zach again, Jess thought. She'd called to him so many times in the past several days he had grown thoroughly sick of the name.
"Zach shouldn't have let you leave home in the first place. What kind of man would let his woman chase after outlaws?"
Meg bristled angrily. "You don't know Zach. You have no right to criticize. Are you going to help me or do I have to do it myself?"
"Lie still," Jess said. "Moving around will only aggravate your wound. It's looking pretty good right now but I can't guarantee a full recovery unless you follow orders. I shot a prairie chicken this morning and made some broth. After you've eaten, I'll consider your request."
Meg watched Jess Gentry, if he was indeed who he said he was, through shuttered lids as he poured broth and bits of meat into a cup and carried it back to her.
"I won't eat unless I can sit up to do it," Meg persisted.
"You're one stubborn female," Jess growled. "Very well, I'll bring your saddle over to support your back. Try not to move around too much."
Jess brought Meg's saddle over to her bedroll and placed it behind her. Then he carefully lifted her, propping her against it.
Meg sucked in her breath, gripped in the throes of agony. But the debilitating pain wasn't the worst of it. She suddenly realized she was naked but for a bandage covering the upper part of her right breast. She grabbed for the blanket with her uninjured left hand and dragged it up to her neck.
"My clothes! Where are they?"
"I washed the blood from them as the best I could. I'll bring them to you when you're ready for them again."
"You undressed me!"
Jess raised a finely etched brow. "Do you see anyone else around? Look Meg, I'm a doctor."
"You're a man!" Her voice held an edge of panic.
"Relax, Meg. You're my patient. I have no interest in you as a woman."
Meg was unconvinced. Experience had taught her that all men, except for Zach, who had proven his trustworthiness, were despicable animals. Zach was the kindest, gentlest man she knew. He would never hurt her, unlike most men roaming the earth.
"How do I know you're a doctor?"
"You're alive. What further proof do you need?" He spooned up a bit of meat and broth and held it to her lips. "Open."
The delicious aroma wafted up to tempt her and her mouth opened of its own accord. Jess carefully spooned the mixture into her mouth, then another, and another, until the cup was empty.
"More?" he asked, pleased to see that her appetite had returned. She was still pale but her lips weren't nearly as bloodless as they had been.
"That's enough for now. I want my clothes."
"Not yet."
"I have to..." She flushed and looked away.
"Ah," Jess said, immediately aware of her needs. "I can carry you down to the river. You can use a bath, anyway. Just don't get your wound wet."
"I can walk..."
"Absolutely not."
Meg turned a bright red as Jess knelt beside her, pulled the blanket away, and lifted her into his arms.
"You can't...this isn't..."
"Relax, Meg. You're my patient, remember? I see you only as someone who needs my help."
Liar! Jess thought to himself. He was profoundly aware that the bundle he held in his arms was naked female flesh. He had nursed Meg thorough days of illness, knew her body intimately, yet not as intimately as he would like were she not his patient. Try though he might, there wasn't ever a time these past days he hadn't viewed her as a desirable woman.
He reached the river and carried her a few feet into the water. Then he lowered her to the sandy bottom and stepped away.
"Will you be all right if I leave you to fetch soap and towel?"
"Just go," Meg said through gritted teeth.
Jess gave a curt nod and retraced his steps back to the campsite. When he returned with soap and towel, Meg was still sitting where he had left her, letting the gentle current wash over her. It reminded him that he needed a bath himself, and a shave. He sat on a log and pulled off his boots.