In the tense silence that followed, Warren noted a few telling details.
Honey’s plain calico dress was streaked with dried blood and her hands were stained the same brownish red. She had grown slimmer since he last saw her. Her hair was drawn back in a loose bun at her nape with heavy strands falling about her face, but it was still the same rich golden hue. And her brown eyes, which had once looked at him with adoration and innocent passion, now glared hard and steady in his direction. More than anger flashed in their depths. Though still a stunning young woman at twenty-four years old, Honey had done some living in the last several years.
Well, at nearly thirty himself, so had he. And he was not going to be intimidated by her irrational fury or the gun she had aimed at his heart.
And what the hell did she have to be angry with him about? She had been the one to turn her back on what they could have had together.
“Get him out of here, Eli,” she said finally in clipped and heavy tones. “Now.”
At that moment, the other outlaw returned from seeing to the horses, entering from the back of the house. His black eyes took immediate stock of the situation. “I don’t know what the problem is here,” he said as he came slowly into the room, “but unless Luke made some miraculous recovery, he needs this doctor’s services.”
“It’s Luke who’s been shot?” Warren asked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You sonofa—” she muttered as she took a step forward, only to be stopped when the man she’d called Eli threw an arm out in front of her.
Luke was Honey’s twin brother. When Warren knew him during that long-ago summer, he was always getting into trouble. That he had ended up part of an outlaw gang didn’t really shock Warren. That he’d dragged his sister into the mess with him did. Luke had always been very protective of Honey.
“Come on, Jackson’s right,” Eli coaxed. “Let the doc at least take a look at him.”
There was a flicker in her eyes, but she didn’t budge.
Warren ground his back teeth. The history between himself and this woman did not change the oath he’d taken. He slid his gaze down to her dress. “From the look of things, Luke’s lost a lot of blood already. Do you intend to let him bleed out while we rehash our past?”
With a fiercely narrowed gaze, Honey lowered the gun and turned away to head back down the hallway. “Dammit. Come on, then.”
Another thing that had changed—Warren didn’t remember Honey having such a harsh vocabulary.
Flicking a glance at the two men, who were obviously relieved by her decision, Warren asked, “Are you going to untie me so I can be of some use?”
Eli came forward, drawing a knife from a scabbard tied to his thigh, and sliced neatly through the ropes.
Before Warren could take a step to follow Honey, Jackson stepped in front of him with a scowl. “If I suspect that whatever just happened is having any effect on your performance in there, you’ll feel my bullet before you have a chance to explain.”
The truth of the threat was plain in the man’s eyes. Though he was the less talkative of the two, he was proving to be the more articulate. Warren didn’t feel it necessary to reply. He strode down the hall to the lit room at the end.
The patient lay sprawled on his stomach on a blood-soaked bed. Only taking a passing notice of the room, Warren went straight to the side of the bed. A table had been pulled up close and held a pitcher, a large bowl filled with red-tinged water, and several soiled cloths.
Warren forced aside his personal turmoil over the unexpected reunion with Honey Prentice to focus on his patient.
Luke had changed far more than his sister had. He had been lanky and lean when Warren had last seen him. Though he was unconscious, it was clear that the years had toughened him up. Even sprawled out as he was on his stomach, the injured man’s solid build was obvious.
Luke’s physical strength should go a long way toward assisting in his recovery—as long as it was accompanied by a strong will.
“He passed out about three hours ago,” Honey explained in tight, clipped words from where she had taken up a position on the other side of the bed. “I did what I could to keep it clean, but the bullet is still in there. I couldn’t…”
She didn’t finish.
Warren set his bag on the table, shrugged out of his heavy coat, and tossed it over a chair. His hat quickly followed, and then his tailored jacket.
“I need a bowl of fresh water, some clean cloths, and some whiskey,” he stated.
He didn’t bother to glance up to determine if his orders were being followed. He was already examining Luke’s injury, taking in as many details of the situation as he could while he rolled up his sleeves.
The young man had been shot in the back of his upper thigh. A makeshift tourniquet was cinched high around his leg and had helped to stem the bleeding to a slow ooze. His breeches had been cut away from the wound site rather than being removed altogether.
Warren checked Luke’s breath and pulse. Both were weak, but steady.
As soon as Honey returned with the items Warren had requested, he washed his hands and splashed them with antiseptic from his bag.
“Were those two men with him when he was shot?” he asked with a jerk of his head toward the front room.
“Yes.”
“I will need to speak with them.”
As she left to follow his instructions, Warren carefully probed at the wound. More blood seeped over his fingers.
A few minutes later, the two men entered the room. Warren tried not to put any significance on the fact that Honey did not return with them. She was not his concern right now.
“Eli, right?” Warren asked, looking at the bearded man.
He waited for the man’s nod before he looked to the other outlaw. “And Jackson?”
Another nod.
“Who applied the tourniquet to his leg?”
“He did that himself,” Eli replied.
“How soon after he was shot?”
“It couldn’t have been long,” answered Jackson. “We were riding fast and didn’t notice at first that he wasn’t right behind us. By the time he caught up, he already had the leg cinched tight.”
Warren continued his clipped questions. “Did either of you see any spurting blood? Or did he mention anything of the sort?”
Jackson gave a negative shake of his head and Eli explained, “He didn’t say much of anything, except to curse at the pain.”
Warren nodded. “I want you both to stay close in case I need you to hold him down.”
There was no way for Warren to know if an artery had been hit until he released the tourniquet. But first, he had to get that bullet out.
Two
Honey took big gulping breaths. She stood in stunned shock in the kitchen. She would go back to Luke’s room soon enough to do what she could to help, but right now she needed to get herself under control or she would be of no use to anyone.
Having Luke come home with a gunshot wound had been a nightmare come to life. How many years had she been telling him his wild ways would get him killed? He’d already bled so much, and with the bullet still lodged in his flesh somewhere, he’d no doubt lose more blood before the ordeal was over. And then there was the risk of infection…
She pressed her hands flat to the scarred surface of the large dinner table and focused on the pattern in the wood grain as she counted each breath she took.
It had been terrifying to see Luke in such a state. The last thing she needed was the havoc inspired by seeing Warren Reed again.
Fury, physical pain, and the crushing, breath-stealing sense of emptiness.
She hadn’t felt that emptiness in years, not since her heartache had turned to hatred. But all it took was one look into his silver-blue eyes to take her right back to the day she’d gotten his letter telling her h
e was marrying a girl out East and wasn’t coming back for her as he’d promised.
She’d often imagined what she’d do or say if she ever saw Warren again. But she wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming emotions that flew through her when she came into the front room and saw the man who’d broken her heart.
The fury had not been a surprise, not when she’d spent so many years hating the man. Even the raw, choking tightness in her chest was not completely unanticipated.
What she never would have expected, what warred with everything she held true about herself, was the wild unfathomable yearning that flooded her system the moment she’d looked into Warren’s eyes after seven long years.
He was back.
What on earth had brought him out West again?
She didn’t care. She couldn’t care.
Obviously, he’d gotten that medical training he’d wanted so badly. Not that she’d ever doubted he would. Warren was destined to be a doctor; even though it was a profession considered beneath his family’s social standing back East, he’d wanted to help people. Warren had been stubborn and determined. Not even his father’s disapproval had managed to deter him from setting out after his dreams.
Had his father survived the illness that had called Warren home that summer?
Honey shook her head fiercely, straightening her spine. None of that mattered now.
She turned away from the table to start some coffee on the big wood-burning stove. The bitter brew might be needed before the night was through, and she’d learned long ago that keeping busy helped her to get through the darkest of days.
That’s all she needed to do. Just get through this, the way she got through everything else.
As soon as Warren fixed Luke up, she would never see him again. Eli and Jackson knew enough to blindfold anyone being brought to their valley. Warren wouldn’t be able to find his way back even if he wanted to.
And she would simply avoid Chester Springs like the plague. She’d send one of the boys in when she needed anything.
Right.
Dammit. Why was he here?
She lifted her hands to rub her face, but stopped when she noticed the dried blood caked under her fingernails.
Throwing on her coat, she grabbed a bucket and went outside to gather some fresh snow to boil over the fire. She’d run out of hot water and hadn’t wanted to leave Luke unattended to get more. Now she had a chance to take stock of their supplies and maybe try to get some of the soiled cloths washed.
When she stepped outside, an icy gale hit her straight in the face, taking her breath away and making her eyes tear up. She lowered her chin to her chest and took short breaths as she stomped down the stairs to scoop a bucketful of snow. Wind whipped around her head and numbed her fingers.
She looked out over the moonlit valley that had been her home for more than six years. It had taken her and Luke months of travel to find this beautiful spot nestled in the mountains. Winter white covered everything around them, but she looked toward the copse of trees partway up the side of a steep incline. She couldn’t see her own little cabin hidden in those trees, but she knew it was there. She knew it’d be warm and welcoming inside. Her refuge. Her sanctuary from the world.
She could not allow Warren to ruin it. He was from her past and he was going to stay there.
She tipped her face up despite the whipping wind as clouds skittered across the face of the moon. The storm that had been coming their way would hit in force tonight.
With a curse, she turned and headed back into the longhouse. There was much to do.
By the time the coffee was ready, the three buckets of water she’d hauled in were boiling, and the clean sheets she’d torn into fresh bandages were folded and ready, she finally felt she could endure Warren’s presence without disintegrating into that lovelorn young girl she had once been.
Entering Luke’s bedroom, she saw Eli and Jackson bracketing her brother, holding him still as Warren bent over him to stitch up the wound. His hands were tinged with blood but steady and confident as he moved the needle in and out of the red, swollen flesh.
She glanced at the bedside table and saw a slug of metal in the bowl. He’d gotten the bullet out.
She hadn’t doubted he would. From the moment he’d entered Luke’s room, his focus had been apparent, his skill never in doubt.
Honey stood there in the doorway for a moment, willing her heart to stop racing.
Seven years ago, Warren Reed had been so handsome, with his dark hair and light twinkling eyes. He’d possessed an understated sort of confidence that had charmed her from the start, and the warmth and gentle strength of his nature had made her feel safer and happier than she’d ever been.
It had all been a lie.
But even knowing he wasn’t worth the heartache she’d lived through, she was ashamed to feel that old spark lighting up inside her. The years had put a few hard lines and angles on his features, but it only made him more handsome.
Shoving aside the nostalgia, she strode forward and placed the stack of bandages on the table beside him, then gathered up the bloodied cloths and the bowl.
In silence, she moved back and forth between the bedroom and the front room, switching out the bloody water with clean, fetching whatever Warren requested in the clipped, precise tones he must have mastered while working in some prestigious hospital out East. After they got Luke’s bedding changed and her brother was settled in for the long wait to see if any infection would set in, Jackson and Eli finally sought their beds, located down the opposite hallway. Their exhaustion led them to forgo the coffee she’d made.
Honey made a mental note to have a big, hot breakfast ready for them when they woke up. She might even fry up some of the precious ham she’d been saving for Christmas Eve dinner. They certainly deserved it, after riding half the night to fetch a doctor.
Honey put the soiled bedclothes to soak in a washing barrel in the kitchen end of the front room. She was too tired to do much more tonight, but hopefully that would keep the stains from setting so she could wash them in the morning.
Pressing her fists into the small of her back, she stretched.
She wanted nothing more than to go home, climb into her bed, and pull the covers up over her head. She doubted she’d sleep, but the solitude would be welcome.
But she didn’t want to leave Luke yet.
“You should rest.”
She spun in place at the sound of Warren’s voice. His words were spoken softly, but something hard as iron was in his tone, suggesting he was as uncomfortable around her as she was with him.
She wished she hadn’t reacted so violently to the first sight of him. It made it hard to pretend just then that his presence had no effect on her.
Lifting her chin, she ignored his comment and said, “You can take one of the unused bedrooms for the night. The boys’ll take you back to town in the morning.”
There was a pause before he replied, “Is that coffee I smell?”
Honey gestured toward the pot keeping warm on the stove. “Help yourself.”
There had been a time she’d have given anything to care for him as a wife tended a husband. But that inclination had been crushed and ground into the dirt long ago.
She tried not to watch him as he came toward the kitchen to grab one of the tin cups she’d set out earlier. She didn’t want to notice how tall and fit he was or how appealing he looked even though his fine white shirt was damp and streaked with her brother’s blood. She hated that the way he moved, so confident and strong, brought back another rush of memories. Memories of running her hands over the muscles of his back, of feeling his legs slide along hers and his hips moving between her thighs.
She turned away and stalked to the far side of the big front room. There had to be something she could clean, some more tasks that needed doing. She had to find something to keep her
hands and her mind busy.
Especially her mind. Her treacherous, lustful mind.
He was a selfish jackass and she hated him. She had to remember that.
Three
He’d done everything in his power to forget her. It had never been enough.
Yet here he was.
Warren didn’t dare to contemplate what workings of fate had brought him to this moment, standing with the heat of the fire at his back and tension in every cell of his body as he watched Honey bustling about with quick, efficient movements.
Anger still flashed in her eyes every time their gazes accidentally caught and held. But her anger couldn’t hide her anxiety. She was nervous.
Dammit, so was he.
Nervous, confused, and fighting hard to control his arousal now that he was alone with her.
Passion had never been a problem between them seven years ago. Honey had been a sweet, vivacious young woman, just coming into herself after growing up a tomboy hellion with her twin brother. And Warren had been an optimistic young man just out of college with his sights set on the future.
No. Desire hadn’t been a problem. It had hit them both like lightning from the start.
Perhaps Warren had been naive to think something deeper and more lasting came along with it.
When he got the urgent notice that his father was unwell, he’d packed up without a second thought. Frederick Reed’s heart had never been very strong, and Warren had feared the worst. He hadn’t been wrong, and he never regretted leaving Montana to be at his father’s side when he died.
What he did regret, for a while at least, was leaving Honey behind with the vow to return for her as soon as he was able. He should have taken her with him to Boston right then.
Of course, then he never would have discovered the fickle nature of her heart or just how easy it would be for John Freeman to step in and claim her.
Freeman had been a local land baron in Montana, owning just about every parcel worth owning and still wanting more. He had been a frequent presence at Randolph Brighton’s modest ranch, doing all he could to get Warren’s uncle to sell his property.
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