Cowboy In The Crossfire

by Robin Perini

"Yep, just like him." She chuckled. "Dispatch out."

  Blake glanced at the clock. He'd give her fifteen minutes. On his patrol, he'd verify she got home. He tugged on a wool sweater over his corduroys. His uniform didn't have the warmth he'd need tonight.

  A low growl rumbled from Leo. The dog rose and his ears lay back as he stared at the front door. Blake tensed, his hand automatically going to his sidearm. A movement outside the front window caught Blake's attention. A pair of blue eyes under a thatch of reddish-brown hair peered just above the windowsill. Right at him.

  "What the hell..."

  Blake flung open the door. Freezing wind and needles of sleet invaded the room. A small boy huddled in a Chicago Bears coat and scarf stared up at him, his cheeks red, his lips blue, dried blood on his pants. "My mommy's dying. She said you'd help us."

  The boy sank to his knees.

  With an inward curse, Blake scooped up the shaking child, kicked the door shut and sat him down by the fire. He crouched down and slid the boy's pant leg up to his knee. No obvious injury. "Where did this blood come from, son? Are you hurt?"

  The boy shook his head and pursed his lips together. "Please. Help Mommy."

  "Where is she?"

  "Our car slid. It crashed." The boy's eyes filled with tears. "Mommy kept falling asleep. She made me leave her."

  No one could survive for long in that storm. Blake shoved his arms into his shearling coat, yanked on his gloves and grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. "Is it only your mom out there? No one else?"

  The boy nodded. "Only Mommy."

  "Stay here. Understand?" The kid couldn't have walked far. His mother had to be nearby. "Leo, come."

  The dog, who'd been nosing at their small visitor, bounded to Blake. The boy waited pathetically in front of the fire, shivering, yet his eyes locked on Blake. "Are you a good guy?"

  Blake pulled his Stetson down over his ears. "You can trust me."

  The boy's lips quivered in uncertainty. He was a brave little guy. A sharp pang twisted Blake's heart. Did every boy practice that same look? In that one instant, he'd looked...just like Joey. Just like the son Blake had lost.

  He shoved the pain into the hole where his heart had been. "I'll be right back. Stay by the fire. Don't touch anything." He gave the kid his most stern look.

  With Leo at his side, Blake yanked open the door and stepped into the frozen night. The lights from the barn were bare flickers against the onslaught of sleet and roaring wind. Ice pricked his face, making his eyes water. He scanned for any movement through the darkness. Nothing between here and the horse barn. He had only minutes or the boy's mother was dead.

  Long icicles dangled from the porch eaves and looked like something out of a horror movie. He shoved through them, breaking off several. They fell to the steps, the howl of the winter wind swallowing all sound.

  Even if the woman were screaming he wouldn't hear her until he tripped over her body. He swept his flashlight across shiny layers of ice. As he stepped past a large pine, blinking orange just at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Hazard lights. Tilted. The car must be in the ditch. He veered toward the vehicle, but Leo barked, tugged on Blake's sleeve and shot in the opposite direction.

  "You'd better be right, mutt." Blake hurried after the animal, swinging his light toward a small gully that lined his long driveway.

  Nothing was visible from the road. When he reached the edge and shined the beam into the ditch, Leo leaped toward a small, snow-covered figure, huddled out of sight of the driveway. Blake slid down the frozen dirt and turned her over. If it hadn't been for her son and the dog, Blake may never have found her in this mess. She was soaked and freezing, but a small puff of air escaped her nose. Thank God.

  He lifted her into his arms, and she moaned, squirming, pushing at him. "Ethan--"

  "Your boy's fine," Blake said. "Now stay still or we'll both freeze to death."

  "Blake?" She clutched at his collar feebly. "Please. Help us."

  Blake's ears had gone numb, but he could have sworn she said his name, although with this wind he couldn't be sure. He could barely feel his hands, even through the gloves. She must be closing in on hypothermia. He had to get her inside. Fast.

  He struggled up the gully, his boots losing traction even though she didn't weigh more than a minute. Each step was treacherous. Leo raced past Blake to the porch light as he slugged his way home. The wind and sleet slammed at him from the side. He stumbled, jostling her to maintain his balance. She whimpered in his arms.

  Blake's legs stung with cold. Each step took more and more effort. He squinted toward his house. The curtain pushed back, and a small face pressed to the front window. The ranch house looked unbelievably far away. By the time he reached the porch, the woman in his arms quivered uncontrollably.

  The boy flung open the door, his face streaked with tears. "Mommy? Is she...dead?"

  Blake shouldered past the kid and laid his mother on the sofa. What kind of youngster asked a question like that? Ignoring his own tingling hands and feet, he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it and his Stetson on the chair, and knelt beside the unconscious woman. "Is your name Ethan?"

  Wide-eyed, the boy nodded.

  "How old are you?"

  He held up five fingers, and Blake nodded. "I thought so. What's your mom's name?"

  "Mommy."

  Not much help there. Blake pulled the scarf and hat from the woman's face. A tumble of wild, auburn curls fell to her shoulders. He rocked back on his heels in shocked recognition.

  Amanda.

  He couldn't believe it was her. The woman he'd nearly lost his senses to beneath the mistletoe one very memorable Christmas Eve. The woman who'd tempted him beyond endurance. The woman he'd known he could never have because she was his best friend's sister. And she'd almost died.

  "Amanda?" What was that bastard Vince's sister doing in the middle of an ice storm four-hundred miles from home?

  Ethan scooted under Blake's arm and laid a small hand on his mother's cheek. "Mommy?" he whispered. "Wake up. Please. I'm scared."

  At the boy's plaintive words, Blake nearly doubled over. Had his four-year-old son said the same thing to his mother after the accident? Blake knew from the autopsy report his ex-wife had died instantly, but Joey had lived for several minutes after their car had been blindsided. His son had been alone, frightened and dying, probably begging for his mother to wake up. Maybe calling for his father to save him. But Blake hadn't been there.

  Well, he was here now. For Amanda. He ripped off her gloves and clasped her hands. Ice-cold. No way could he warm her in these wet clothes. He unzipped her insubstantial coat. The right side of her shirt was soaked in blood.

  "What the hell?"

  He pushed the denim aside and stared at the injury just below and outside the soft curve of her left breast. He recognized a gunshot wound when he saw one.

  Blake grabbed a clean dish towel from the kitchen and pressed it to the gash, causing Amanda to moan. "Get your coat on, kid. We're taking your mom to the doctor." One look out the window told him the ride would be an interesting trip. The visibility had deteriorated even more in the last few minutes. "Hopefully I'll get us to the hospital in one piece."

  Amanda stirred restlessly on the couch.

  He nabbed the microphone from the sofa table. "Parris, this is Blake." The static from the line shattered the night. "Deputy, you there?"

  Amanda tugged at his arm with a weak but desperate grip. "No hospital," she whispered. "Hide us. Please. Or we're dead."

  The stark words ricocheted through Blake as she struggled to sit, then collapsed in his arms. He eased her down, and pushed back the curls surrounding her face. She was hurt, and vulnerable, and she couldn't tell him why. What had she gotten herself into that she'd risk her life to stay hidden?

  He glanced at Ethan. With the gunshot wound, Blake had to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she was telling the truth, he refused to put the boy's life in jeopardy.
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  "Sheriff? You heading out on patrol?" The ghost of a voice broke through the crackling radio.

  "Not yet. Parris, let me know if you or Smithson see any strangers wandering the town. I'll get back to you."

  He knelt next to the sofa and studied his unexpected visitor. Amanda had changed in the last six months. Thinner, her skin nearly translucent. Circles beneath her eyes, but still so beautiful, he had to remind himself to breathe. She'd obviously been through hell. Blake motioned to the boy whose eyes had grown wide and fear-filled. "Ethan? How did your mom get hurt?"

  The boy looked at his unconscious mother and shook his head. "I promised I wouldn't tell."

  Secrets. They burned Blake's gut. He'd experienced too many in Austin. At the same time, he admired Amanda's kid. Blake recognized Ethan's terror from his trembling hands. The boy wanted to cry but bit down on his lip, fighting against the panic. Amanda's son showed more courage in that moment than most grown men Blake had witnessed facing a gun on the streets.

  He crouched so he was eye to eye with the boy. "Promises are important, but your mom came to me for help. I'm one of the good guys, remember?"

  Ethan simply stared at Blake, his eyes too suspicious for a boy of five. "Mommy?" His tentative hand tugged at his mother's sleeve.

  "She's hurt, Ethan. But she doesn't want to go to the doctor. I need to know what happened. I want to make her well."

  The boy shifted back and forth, stared at his unconscious mother, then back at Blake. He lifted his chin and met Blake's gaze. "A bad man tried to hurt us. Mommy saved me."

  * * *

  THE BED WAS SOFT, the room dark except for a small night-light. Amanda felt warm for the first time in hours. She must be dead. There didn't seem to be any other explanation.

  She shifted. Her flesh burned like fire. This definitely wasn't heaven.

  Reality came flooding back.

  Vince. Ethan.

  She tried to sit up, but a sharp, blazing pain pierced her side. She fell back with a groan.

  "Not a good move, considering you tried to stop a bullet with your body."

  She'd recognize the soft drawl of that voice anywhere.

  Blake Redmond.

  She scanned up from his worn cowboy boots, past his corduroys to a dark green sweater that emphasized the flecks of jade and gold in his glittering eyes. She'd expected the typical tan sheriff's uniform at least. Still, she could see he was no longer a big-city Austin cop. All he needed was a cowboy hat to complete the picture of a small-town lawman. Not a friendly one, though.

  Even with the dim light she could tell his face was carved in stone. Her heart skipped a beat. What had he found out? Had he called the deputy? Even now, was the man who murdered Vince and tried to kill her on his way here? Guarding her ribs, she struggled to swing her legs over the bed's edge.

  Blake rushed over and pressed her back against the pillow. "Don't even think about getting out of this bed. Not until I look at that wound."

  "Where's Ethan? Is he safe?"

  Blake placed a medical kit on the nightstand and flipped on a small bedside light. "Hunkered down with my crazy mutt glued to his side. First door on the right. They're fine. I won't say the same for you."

  "Did you tell your deputy about us?" she countered.

  "Trying to sidestep the issue?" Blake opened the supplies. "You can thank your boy I didn't ignore your request. I didn't like his responses to my questions." Blake sat on the bed next to her and unpacked bandages, hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointment. "That doesn't mean I don't want answers from you."

  "What did Ethan say?"

  Blake's jaw tightened with irritation. "Not much. His mother's been shot and has passed out. He's dependent on a man he's never met." He glared at her. "He's scared."

  The stark statement shattered a piece of Amanda's heart.

  Blake dragged a chair next to the bed. "What's going on?"

  She studied him warily. She didn't know what to say. Blake prided himself on being honest. A by-the-book kind of guy. She doubted he'd appreciate what she'd been forced to do over the last day.

  Not that she regretted one action. To keep her son safe, Amanda would do anything.

  Anything.

  And her horrifying suspicions? The unspeakable theory she'd pieced together on that long drive from snippets of a few conversations and emails with Vince over the past few months. Should she tell Blake what she suspected about the death of his ex-wife and child? She had no proof. What if she was wrong? Why hurt him more? Better to remain silent.

  Blake waited, then shook his head. "Fine. Don't imagine I won't figure it out." He stood and opened the first aid box. "Unfasten your shirt and lay on your side," he said, his voice gruff. "This is gonna hurt."

  No kidding. She unbuttoned the bottom half of the shirt and rolled to her right. He pushed the denim out of the way, his fingers gentle. Somehow, when she'd fantasized about him touching her bare skin, it had never involved a bullet wound. She stared at his lean hips and focused hard, trying to distract herself with inappropriately lascivious thoughts. Anything rather than cry and act like a wimp in front of him.

  He unscrewed a bottle of antiseptic. She ventured a glance at him. He hadn't changed much. He still wore his light brown hair short, although it was long enough to run her fingers through. His hazel eyes flickered in the light, and she could have sworn flecks of gold glittered as he glanced down at her. He was one of the sexiest men she'd ever met. And so wrong for her. His wife had just left him when she'd met him in Austin, so she'd ignored the flip-flop of her belly whenever he'd entered the room. Until that one Christmas Eve after his divorce finalized, that one amazing kiss. She had no business thinking about Blake in that way. She had to focus on her and Ethan's safety, but just for the next few minutes, maybe...

  She shivered as he bared more of her torso. He probed at the sensitive skin she couldn't quite see. She sucked in a sharp breath. Okay, so much for the distraction-from-pain theory.

  That hurt.

  "When did you get shot?" he muttered.

  The agonizingly long trip flashed through her mind. Town after town. Dairy Queen after Dairy Queen. Ethan being as patient as a five-year-old could, as if he understood she only had small reserves left. "I don't know. Sixteen, eighteen hours. Forever. The storm slowed us to a crawl. Five miles an hour some stretches."

  "You should have stopped."

  He pressed against the fevered skin, and slowly, painfully worked the dried, blood-soaked scarf away from the wound. She winced at each tug, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to scream. She held her breath until finally he pulled away the last of the material.

  She sagged in relief.

  "Luckily the bullet didn't lodge inside. Bad news is the wound is inflamed. I've got ointment, Amanda, but you need a doctor. And antibiotics."

  "Doctors report gunshot wounds."

  "So do sheriffs." He explored the area one last time, then sucked in a slow breath. "Brace yourself."

  The cold sting of peroxide hissed on her skin. She clutched at the sheets and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She didn't know how close Ethan was. She couldn't let him see her like this. He'd been through enough.

  Blake quickly rubbed on antibiotic ointment, then covered the wound with a pad. "I need to secure the dressing. Sit up for me."

  He supported her back as she rose. When she was steady, he unfastened the remainder of the buttons on her shirt. Her cheeks burned. She hadn't been able to wear a bra since it happened, and there was no getting around him touching her as he quickly wrapped the bandage around her torso.

  Finally, he secured a last piece of tape. With jerky movements he rose from the bed and grabbed a large Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt from the drawer. "You can wear this. Your son doesn't need to see all that blood."

  Hovering over her, Blake eased the soiled material off with the prowess of a cowboy who'd undressed his share of women. His touch lingered on her naked back before he choked out a cough and slipped on
the clean, dry sweatshirt.

  The awareness between them sizzled. She chanced a look over her shoulder. She'd never seen Blake more uncomfortable as he eased away from the bed. He planted himself in the center of the bedroom and crossed his arms, piercing her with a glare she welcomed. If he'd smiled or given her a soft, sexy grin, she might have done something stupid.

  "Thank you." She lifted her gaze and saw his cheeks flush before he turned on her.

  "We're not finished yet." He stiffened his back. "I have some antibiotics in the barn. I'll be right back."

  She heard the door open, and the harsh whistling of wind sounded from the other room before the oak slammed closed. He was going out into this monster storm. For her.

  Who did that?

  No one she knew, that's for sure.

  She rubbed her eyes. She had to think clearly. She was a fugitive, but Blake didn't need to know that. She just had to keep her wits about her, get well and move on. Don't let herself be taken in by a man who was like a hero out of a fairy tale. One step at a time, and she could put some miles between her and Blake. A lot of miles if she had her way.

  She twisted, testing the bandage, trying once again to sit up.

  "You're gonna undo all my handiwork."

  Blake strode into the room, holding a prescription bottle and a glass of water. "The antibiotics were for the foal, but it's better than nothing. Should be the right dose."

  "You want to feed me horse pills? Are you crazy?"

  "You wanted my help. It's this or a doctor. You've got a fever."

  She studied his face and could see he was deadly serious. Showing herself at any medical facility would put a target on her and Ethan. She had to stay under the radar for as long as she could. She wasn't the criminal.

  Well, not exactly. And certainly not voluntarily.

  She snagged the pill and swallowed it with a grimace.

  Blake studied her, his expression unwavering and speculative. "Just how much trouble are you in, Amanda? You take a horse pill to avoid the hospital, you drive eighteen hours in an ice storm after a bullet cut a furrow in your side. What are you doing here? Is your brother going to knock on my door next?"