Gunsmoke and Gingham

by Kirsten Osbourne

  Since she seemed to be trying to be light-hearted, he decided to go along with it. “No toes, unless the birds and squirrels took them before I got here.”

  “Well, as long as they get put to good use …” She let her voice trail off.

  “We need to get you home before we both freeze to death,” he said, bringing the subject back to the problem at hand, “but I don’t want you to move too much until I make sure you won’t injure yourself worse.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder to help her to sit up. Her skin felt like satin beneath his fingers, but so cold. She gritted her teeth with every movement, and he could see she was holding her breath.

  For a few seconds, he waited until she was ready to try to stand. “Ready?” he asked when her breathing returned to normal.

  She nodded. He began to help her to her feet, but as soon as she put weight on her leg, she collapsed and let out a moan. Luckily, he had his arm around her waist to support her so she didn’t fall. “My ankle …”

  Kirby had no way of knowing if it was broken or sprained. “Can I take a look at it?” He knew it was highly improper for a man to see a woman’s ankles, but in this case, it could make a difference. If it was obviously broken, he’d have to come up with some kind of splint to keep it steady until they could get her to a doctor.

  She didn’t answer immediately, but finally she nodded and lifted the hem of her dress a few inches.

  Even through her stockings, Kirby could see her ankle was a bit swollen, but he’d seen worse. He carefully examined it, doing his best not to hurt her. Still, he heard her wince a few times. “It doesn’t feel as if it’s broken,” he said when he was finished, “but I’m not a doctor so I can’t say for sure. You should get it looked at as soon as you can just in case.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  “Do you have any pain anywhere else?” he asked.

  She looked at the scratches and scrapes covering her arms. “These actually hurt worse than my ankle.”

  He knew from experience that sometimes a surface wound was more painful than a deep one, at least at first. “Let’s get you home then so you can get them cleaned out and put some salve on them.”

  He half-lifted her off the ground until she managed to slip one foot into the stirrup of Kirby’s horse and hoist herself into the saddle. Kirby mounted up behind her.

  She held herself stiff, staying as far away from him as she could. He understood that. He was a stranger to her, and a woman with any morals at all would be mortified to find herself in a situation like this.

  But she was shivering with cold. Opening his duster he shifted closer to her so he could wrap her in it as well. For a few seconds, she hesitated but then relaxed against him.

  Her soft curves fit perfectly against him, and it only served to remind him how long it had been since he’d held a woman.

  He swore at himself. The woman was hurt, and even while his mind was on getting her home safely, his natural instincts were sending him other signals. He only hoped she couldn’t tell what her closeness was doing to him.

  Hannah sat in the saddle, her hands wrapped around the saddle horn. She felt so weak and unsteady she was sure she’d fall off if she didn’t hold on tight.

  With one swift movement, the man had swung himself into the saddle behind her. She’d felt him move, and a few seconds later, his body had pressed against hers, hard and warm.

  She wanted nothing more than to bury herself in that warmth, but instead she jerked away from the contact and held herself as stiff as possible. Heavens, she didn’t even know this man.

  “Here,” she heard him say behind her as he draped his duster around her shoulders, “lean back against me. This duster isn’t big enough for both of us.”

  Propriety warred with her need for warmth. Propriety lost. She relaxed against his solid muscled chest, relishing the heat coming from his body. His scent, a mixture of leather and rain, filled her nose, and his arms came around her to pick up the reins.

  She felt her face flush at the realization that she was sitting in a very intimate position with a man who was a complete stranger to her. Luckily, he couldn’t see her face, and it would be too painful to turn her head to see his.

  She did recall dark hair and dark eyes, and a chin shadowed by a day’s growth of hair but that was all. “I don’t even know who you are,” she said, “but I do want to thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “Kirby Matheson, ma’am,” he replied. “I know your name is Hannah, but not your last name.”

  “It’s Blakely. I’m Hannah Blakely.”

  “Well, Miss Blakely, I’m happy to meet you.”

  She chuckled then, although it sounded more like a wounded animal than a real laugh. “Under the circumstances, I think it would be all right if you call me Hannah.”

  “If you call me Kirby.”

  She nodded. An unusual name, she thought. She’d have to remember to ask him about it once she was warm and dry.

  Rain pelted her face mercilessly and wind tore at her hair, but she snuggled tighter, nestled in the man’s arms.

  Every movement of the horse jolted Hannah until she wanted to cry out, but she clamped her lips shut and held onto the saddle horn, thankful to be alive.

  Even though it was late spring and the days were pleasantly warm, the temperature still dropped sharply at night. If he hadn’t come along, she never would have survived.

  Right now, every muscle in her body ached and she was so tired it took every ounce of energy she had to keep herself upright in the saddle. She’d likely feel even worse in the morning, but she had to get to Silver City to finish the painting she’d been commissioned to do. Cancelling was not an option.

  It seemed to take forever to crest the ridge and see the familiar scene in front of her, but finally, he slowly steered the horse down the hill and across the pasture toward the ranch house.

  Chapter 2

  Night had fallen. With no moon to guide him, it was only because of the lamplight from the windows and the lantern hanging on a hook on the front porch that Kirby could find his way back to the ranch house where Hannah lived.

  Mrs. Jarvis was already waiting on the porch by the time he reined Gypsy in at the bottom of the steps.

  “Hannah! You’re safe,” Mrs. Jarvis cried out, hurrying to take Hannah’s hand regardless of the rain still teeming down. She gazed up at Kirby, her eyes filled with gratitude. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Glad I could help, ma’am,” he replied. Turning to Hannah, he reached up to help her down.

  She was light in his arms, and as he lifted her down, he found himself reluctant to release her. “I’ll carry you into the house,” he said.

  “Why? What’s wrong—?”

  “It’s nothing, Florence,” Hannah interrupted. “I hurt my ankle a bit and I have a few scratches, that’s all.”

  “Archie’s in the barn. I’ll send him to fetch the doctor.”

  “No!” Hannah twisted in Kirby’s arms to stop her sister from going after her brother-in-law. “It’s not that bad. I’m sure it’s just a little sprain.”

  With Hannah still in his arms, Kirby climbed the porch steps. Mrs. Jarvis hurried ahead to open the door and then stepped aside so he could take her into the house first. Mrs. Jarvis followed and closed the door behind them.

  Again, he paused just inside. Rain dripped off his duster onto the rug. “I don’t want to put you down, but I’ll leave tracks on the floor if I carry you any further.”

  Mrs. Jarvis waved away Kirby’s concern. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Hannah’s room is upstairs, if it’s not too much trouble to carry her up.”

  “No problem at all,” he replied. If truth be told, he’d be fine with carrying her for miles if it meant he could keep her in his arms a while longer.

  “Really, Kirby, I can walk—”

  Before she had a chance to protest further, Kirby crossed the parlor to the stairs leading to the second floor of the house.<
br />
  A small voice piped up from the top of the stairs. “What did you do, Auntie Hannah? What’s the man carrying you for?”

  “Scoot out of the way, Tommy,” Mrs. Jarvis ordered. “Let the marshal take your aunt to her room.”

  The little boy eyed him warily, but stepped away from the stairs to let Kirby pass. When he reached the top, he gave Hannah a questioning glance. “Which one is yours?”

  Hannah pointed to a closed door at the end of a hallway with three other doors leading off it. Mrs. Jarvis followed them, standing back while Kirby carried Hannah down the hall and into the room.

  A large four-poster bed covered in a brightly colored patchwork quilt took up most of the room. A dresser with a jug and basin on top sat against one wall and a wardrobe stood against the other.

  He was about to set her on the bed when she stopped him. “I’m wet,” Hannah said. “Put me down there.” She pointed to a rocking chair in one corner.

  Kirby gently deposited her in the chair and straightened. He missed having her in his arms, missed breathing in her lavender scent and feeling her breath against his cheek.

  Hannah’s sister bustled around the room, opening and closing dresser drawers and riffling through the wardrobe while she dug out dry clothes for Hannah.

  The boy hovered just outside the door. Florence turned to him. “Billy,” she said, “ask your papa to take care of the marshal’s horse.” She turned back to Hannah.

  “That’s not necessary, Mrs. Jarvis—” Kirby put in.

  “Nonsense,” she replied, waving away his objection. “And you should call me Florence. Everyone does. It’s too dark to travel now and the storm isn’t letting up. You can wait it out right here. I fed the children and Libbie is already asleep. Tommy can sleep in the spare bed in her room and you can take his.”

  “I don’t want to intrude--”

  “Don’t be silly,” she interrupted again. “It’s nice to have some company. If you wouldn’t mind staying with Hannah in case she needs something while I getsome water—”

  “Not at all.” He was happy to spend as much time with this woman as possible. Something about her appealed to him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “I’m fine, Florence. There’s no need to fuss,” Hannah put in.

  Florence gave Kirby a resigned smile. “Too independent for her own good,” she muttered. “It’ll take too long to heat enough water for a bath, but I do have some water heating on the stove that will take care of most of the mud.” Florence hurried out of the room.

  Kirby smiled and reached out to pick a dried leaf out of Hannah’s hair. She gazed up at him, her dark blue eyes both curious and suspicious at the same time until he showed her the leaf. Then she gave him a smile that put a sparkle in her eyes and showed a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  A sudden urge to taste that dimple – and the rest of her mouth – surged over him. The emotion was so strong he took a step back in case his willpower wasn’t strong enough to resist.

  Kirby realized how uncomfortable Hannah must be having a man – a stranger – in her private sleeping quarters. “Nice room,” he said, his voice sounding loud in the silence. “Did you make the quilt?”

  She nodded. “It’s made from scraps of clothes I outgrew,” she commented. “The pink with the flowers on it was my favorite dress.”

  “Nice.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Luckily, Florence saved him from having to think of something.

  She scurried back into the room with a bowl of hot water, a clean cloth draped over her arm, and a small jar of what he assumed was some kind of salve for Hannah’s wounds. “If you don’t mind waiting downstairs,” she said to Kirby, “I’ll help Hannah clean up and change her clothes and then we’ll have supper. I have a huge pot of stew on the stove and some fresh-baked biscuits.”

  Hannah gripped the arms of the rocking chair and tried to stand. “I need to go check on Dixie. She was so terrified when she ran off she might have hurt herself.”

  Kirby placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest that ankle.”

  “Dixie’s fine,” Florence assured her. “Archie took care of her.”

  “You’re sure she’s not hurt?”

  Florence nodded. “She’s fine.”

  Hannah lowered herself back into the chair. “I can clean up myself if you’ll get me some dry clothes out of the wardrobe,” she said to Florence. Then she turned her attention to Kirby and grinned. “I promise I won’t be long,” she said. “You’re probably hungry. I know I’m starving.”

  Hannah waited until the bedroom door closed behind Kirby to get up. Her ankle throbbed, but she managed to undo the tiny pearl buttons on her dress and let it drop in a puddle on the floor.

  “He’s really very handsome, isn’t he?” Florence commented as she crossed to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and took out a lilac dress with white lace trim. She spread it out on the bed.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Hannah replied. That was a bald-faced lie, and both Hannah and Florence knew it. Unfortunately, her sister knew her too well.

  The man was too handsome, she thought, from his chestnut hair to the golden flecks in his dark brown eyes to his strong square jaw. But it was more than a handsome face that had affected her. Something about him that she couldn’t define attracted her.

  Hannah turned away from Florence’s disbelieving glance and lifted the washcloth out of the bowl. She wrung it out and carefully began to wipe the dirt and gravel out of the scrapes on her arms.

  “Of course you did,” Florence contradicted with a smile. “You’d have to be blind not to notice. He’s very nice, too,” she added. “He didn’t have to go back out into the storm to search for you.”

  “I know that,” Hannah muttered.

  Florence pulled clean undergarments out of a drawer, then returned to the wardrobe for clean petticoats. “I wonder if he’s married.”

  “I’m sure he probably has a wife and six children waiting for him in Cedar Valley. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “You’re not getting any younger—”

  Florence’s tone was kind, but the truth of the matter was that Hannah wasn’t getting any younger. She was twenty-two, past prime marrying age, and with no prospects in sight.

  “If he’s not married—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Hannah looked up from patting her arm dry. “You know I would never get involved with a lawman.”

  “They’re not all like—”

  “Stop! Please stop!”

  “I’m sorry,” Florence said, wrapping an arm around Hannah’s shoulder and giving her a gentle squeeze. “You know I only want you to be happy.”

  Hannah did know. She’d moved to the ranch to live with Florence and Archie six years before when her mother had died from fever that swept the town. Since then, she’d helped around the house and even taken on some of the outside chores to help to repay their generosity. She was happy with her life, but her sister was right. It was past time she was married and had a family of her own.

  But even if he was single, the one man she definitely wouldn’t consider was the marshal waiting for her downstairs.

  Kirby looked up and saw Hannah at the top of the stairs almost an hour later. He’d thought she was beautiful before. Now she was stunning.

  She still had scratches and welts on her arms, but she was clean now. Her hair was still damp and was piled on her head, a few loose tendrils framing her pale cheeks.

  An image floated into his mind – Hannah, her hair unpinned and her curls tumbling down across her shoulders and down her back. The thought was so strong it made his breath catch in his throat.

  She’d changed into a lilac dress with white lace trim that hugged her curves that emphasized her bare neck.

  A neck he’d love to feel against his lips. “You look much better,” he commented.

  “As you do,” she replied. “You changed your clothes.”

  He nodded. While she
was upstairs, he’d gone out to the barn, introduced himself to Archie, and changed into dry pants and a shirt he’d pulled out of his saddlebags.

  Kirby was afraid she was going to fall if she tried to get down the stairs by herself, so he hurried up to where she was standing.

  She had one hand wrapped around the newel post, the other around a cane she’d somehow come up with.

  “I’ll carry you down,” he said. He didn’t add that he’d be happy to have her back in his arms for another minute or so.

  “I can manage,” she announced.

  “It’s no trouble—”

  “No.” She gazed at him, determination in her eyes. “I’ll do it myself.”

  His insides clenched. If she fell … “Suit yourself, but if it’s all the same to you I’ll stand in front of you just in case.”

  For a few beats, their gazes met, and he wondered if she’d refuse even that. Finally, she shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said shortly, but Kirby had the feeling she was glad he was there as a buffer.

  Slowly, carefully, Hannah hobbled down the stairs until she reached the bottom. Her eyes lit up and a smile of triumph crossed her face. Her breathing was heavy as if she’d run a race, but Kirby thought better of mentioning it.

  “Come and eat before it gets cold.” Florence’s voice came from the dining room where she was dishing out bowls of stew. A plate of biscuits sat in the middle of the table.

  Hannah limped toward the table and tried to pull her chair out with one hand while she held the cane with the other. The chair was so heavy it barely budged.

  Kirby hurried to help her and took the cane from her once she was sitting down.

  Florence pointed to the chair directly opposite Hannah. “Kirby, you sit there.”

  Kirby didn’t complain. He liked looking at Hannah, at her wide eyes that sparkled in the lamplight. He hated to see the scratches marring her creamy skin, but they were minor and would go away soon.