Kitabı oku: «Whirlwind Wedding», sayfa 4

“I’ll do it,” he growled, grabbing the pillow and putting it in his lap.

“But what if you’ve torn the stitches?”

“I’m fine.”

“I think I should—”

“I can’t imagine you’re that eager to get so close to me again, Miz Donnelly. I can change the bandage myself.”

His words stung, but they were true. “Very well. I’ll bring you some fresh dressings with some soap and water.”

He nodded curtly.

Knowing that he wanted her should’ve scared her senseless, but her apprehension was outweighed by the curiosity that had nagged since he had arrived at her front door. Curiosity she had no intention of indulging.

Turning, she walked out to get the things Jericho would need to change his bandage. The nurse in her insisted on tending him; the woman in her couldn’t get close.

He slept poorly. Blood soaked through his fresh bandage and his drawers stuck to him. The pain didn’t do much to keep his mind off the fact that he’d been powerfully aroused last night and Catherine had borne witness to it.

Jericho couldn’t recall the last time he had taken his ease with a woman. Now, thanks to the brush of Catherine’s breasts against him, that was about all he wanted.

Since he’d started chasing the McDougals, his focus had been solely on the outlaws. He’d spent more time contemplating a woman in the last week than he had in nearly two years. Not just any woman, but one who had kindly taken him in and tended his wounds. One whose brother had most likely given Jericho those wounds. The terror in Catherine’s eyes was as much to blame for his sleeplessness as the discomfort of his freshly opened wound. But it was her words that pricked at him.

“Get off,” she’d said.

He hadn’t been on her, hadn’t been touching her at all right then. Jericho found it strange that she hadn’t asked him to “step back” or “back away,” as Andrew had. The Donnelly boy wasn’t the only one hiding secrets. So was his sister.

Jericho wanted to know who had hurt her. Was it someone she’d loved? She was sweet and, judging from her skittishness last night, most likely untouched. Her innocence drew him even though he knew his concern should be about what it hid.

Was she involved with one of the McDougals? Had one of them hurt her?

The thought of a McDougal putting his hands on Catherine had Jericho’s fist balling. A savage protectiveness sprang loose inside him.

He didn’t understand the ferocity of the emotion. What difference did it make what had happened to her? Losing so much blood had tangled up his reason. He was here to find the McDougal gang, not muse over the arousal triggered by his nurse. Something Jericho wouldn’t act on because of her link to the outlaws.

Even though the image of her in bed with him came too easily, he needed to stay away from her. But for now all he could do was lie in her bed and hope his leg didn’t rot off. He levered himself to a sitting position and leaned against the headboard.

Through the door he caught the sounds of her and Andrew moving around, the low murmur of their voices. His window was open and he heard the pair step onto the porch.

“Have a good day, Andrew.”

The boy grunted, then darted past. After a few seconds, the front door shut and Catherine’s light footsteps sounded on the wooden floor.

After seeing Andrew with that gun last night, Jericho was certain he’d spotted the boy at the ambush that had killed his friend and fellow Ranger, Hays Gentry. Andrew had been right up front with Angus McDougal. Either Catherine was a mighty good liar or she really didn’t suspect her brother of being involved with the gang.

She walked in, interrupting his thoughts. She was a sight today. His gaze hungrily took in the silky fall of black hair over her shoulder. Her pale blue dress with its white apron made the blue of her eyes startlingly bright. She smelled clean, with a hint of verbena; he was so sick of his own smell.

“Good morning.” Her voice was subdued and she didn’t meet his eyes. “How did you sleep?”

Like hell. “Fine.”

Moving to the right side of the bed, she aimed a smile in his direction but still didn’t look at him. Beneath her cool competence, she was embarrassed, he realized. And his damn body responded to her even now.

“I trust you changed your bandage?”

“Yes.” He wanted to set her mind at ease, but keeping his distance was probably best.

She frowned at the sight of the bloodied sheet. She drew it away from his hips and made a strangled sound in her throat. “Lieutenant!”

His leg muscle went into spasm and he winced, cursing.

“How long has this been bleeding?”

“Not sure.”

Her gaze cut sharply to him as she carefully peeled the blood-soaked sheet from his drawers.

She looked so alarmed that he felt a jolt of concern himself. “It probably just needs a new bandage. I’m not too good at that kind of stuff.”

“It’s been bleeding all night, hasn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just breezed out of the room and returned in a few minutes with a bowl of water, a rag and a tin of soap.

“I knew these stitches were torn. I should’ve tended to you last night,” she muttered under her breath.

Jericho didn’t like to see her blaming herself. They both knew why she hadn’t gotten close enough to him to see the damage. “It’s not your fault. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“You’re not going to die now, either.” Determination firmed her lips. “I was afraid of this. I had Andrew go to the fort early this morning, but Dr. Butler was off tending a man who was crushed by a horse on his ranch. I’ll have to restitch you, but it should be bearable, since I have laudanum for the pain.”

“No laudanum.” Jericho didn’t fancy being knocked out when he had so many suspicions about her and her brother.

“I don’t have anything else. I’m so sorry.”

“You do what you have to and I’ll be grateful. Got any whiskey?” he asked hopefully.

“No, but I can get some in town.”

“I’ve got some in my saddlebag.”

By pressing a warm cloth to his leg she eventually loosened his stiff, bloodied drawers. She stared uncertainly down at his leg, her neck growing pink.

“What?” Jericho’s gaze shifted there, too, as he tried to figure out why she was blushing. His manhood was behaving, so he wasn’t sure why Catherine seemed so embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I’ll get that whiskey.” She wiped her hands down the front of her clean white apron. “Do you think you can get out of your drawers by yourself?”

So that was it. She didn’t want to undress him. Why did he find that amusing? “Yeah.”

His blood started humming and he could feel himself grow hard. Thanks to the pain that would come when she started to restitch his wound, that wouldn’t last long. Still, he didn’t want to scare the lady off again.

She walked to the corner and bent to rummage through his saddlebags, looking for the whiskey. Using his left hand, he pushed his drawers to his knees, then managed to tug them off with his foot. He was naked by the time she returned to the bed.

She passed the bottle to him without meeting his eyes.

“If you want to wait for the doctor, you can,” he offered.

Distress drew her features tight. “No, I don’t think we should wait. I’ll do this as quickly as I can.”

He nodded, uncorking the whiskey and swallowing a hefty amount. Maybe if he got drunk he wouldn’t rise to the occasion the way he seemed to every time she got within a foot of him.

She crossed herself, then pulled a chair up to the bed. Gingerly she folded the sheet away from his injury, careful to keep his manhood and vital parts covered.

The first cool touch of her scissors between his skin and the bandage caused him to twitch.

Her gaze flew to his and she grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just do it.” He took another gulp of whiskey.

She quickly cut the bandage; it took her a few minutes to pry it away from his skin. Her touch was firm and capable as her fingers moved over his flesh.

His arousal grew, mounding the sheet. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

A flush rose on her neck, up her cheeks, and still she worked. That same flush heated his body. His jaw working, he closed his eyes until she removed the bandage.

He noticed her hands were shaking, and he set the whiskey bottle inside the vee of his thighs so she couldn’t go poking that needle into any vital areas if she slipped.

She cleaned the wound carefully, frowning as she leaned over him.

“What do you think?”

She looked up, her gaze sober and earnest. “I’ll do the best I can, Lieutenant.”

He wanted to relax her a tad. It wouldn’t help either of them if she stabbed too deep with that needle. Or too far to the north. “Maybe now would be a good time for you to call me Jericho, seeing as how we’re getting pretty familiar here.”

“All right.” Her hands trembled.

“You’re steady, aren’t you?” he asked. “I won’t have to worry about you sewing that sheet to my leg?”

“I—I’m fine.”

He was nearing the end of the whiskey and still feeling more than he liked, pain and otherwise.

She picked up a bottle marked Carbolic Acid and poured a small amount of the liquid on the needle. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He gritted his teeth, hoping he would pass out once she got started.

It didn’t reassure him that she flinched before she even began.

He looked away, guzzled down another burning swallow of liquor. He felt a sharp prick, then a red-hot sting slicing through his flesh. “Damn!” he roared.

She bit her lip as she pressed his flesh together to take her first stitch.

Sweat trickled down his temple and his vision hazed. With a shaking hand, he lifted the bottle and downed the rest of the liquor. Pain throbbed through his body, razor sharp.

“Try to breathe. It will help.” Catherine didn’t look up from her task. Even though her voice shook, she was reassuring.

She took another stitch and another. The hurt layered upon itself until Jericho grabbed the edge of the bed with his good hand. His knuckles burned. His arm quivered.

Her skirts brushed his hand, her warmth reaching out to him. He tried to focus on the fresh clean scent of her, and wished again he could pass out.

“Last night, I noticed you walked without your hip dipping. That’s a good sign there’s no nerve damage.”

He grunted.

“Where are you from, Jericho?”

Her voice seemed thick and heavy, as if coming through a wall. “Southeast Texas. Outside of Houston.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Far.” A lifetime away.

“How long have you been a Ranger?”

How the hell was he supposed to remember? “Since I was nineteen. Thirteen years now.”

“And before that?”

“I apprenticed with a gunsmith in Uvalde. Took me two years to get a commission.”

“What made you want to be a Ranger?”

He appreciated that she was trying to distract him, and he struggled to force his mind on to something other than the pain. “My pa was one.”

“Is he tracking the McDougals, too?”

Jericho watched her through slitted eyes. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

She kept stitching with a single-mindedness he envied. “He died when I was twelve. My ma raised me and my sisters.”

“You have sisters?” She didn’t glance up. “How many?”

“Four.”

“Bless the saints!” She kept stitching. When would she finish? “Older or younger than you?”

“All younger.” Agony made his voice crack. “How’s it coming down there?”

“Just a few more stitches. Luckily, you didn’t tear the wound all the way down.”

He didn’t feel so lucky right now, but if he lived through this, he probably would.

“What are your sisters’ names?”

“Deborah, Jordan, Michal and Marah.”

“All Bible names?”

“Yes, like mine. My pa was Noah, and he wanted us to all have a name from the Bible like he did.”

“I know Jericho is a city and Jordan is a river, but Michal was a person, wasn’t she? King David’s daughter?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed his eyes shut, using his flagging energy to focus on Catherine’s voice.

“What about Marah? I’m not familiar with that name.”

“My ma says it’s the first camp of the Israelites after they crossed the Red Sea.”

“And your other sister?”

“Deborah was named after a judge in the Old Testament. She’s the oldest of my sisters.”

“Do they all live outside of Houston?”

“Yes.” He struggled to focus past the pain. “They’re all still in school except for Deborah. She’s a teacher.”

Catherine tied a knot in the thread and snipped it with her scissors. “Do you miss them?”

Jericho’s leg throbbed like blue blazes. He did miss his ma and Deborah. The other girls had been small when he’d left, and half afraid of him. “Yeah.”

If his ma were here she would make him a pecan pie and spoil him lazy.

“I grew up wanting a sister or a brother,” Catherine said.

“You’ve got Andrew.”

“I heard about him after he was born, but didn’t meet him until about a month ago. My mother talked about him in her letters.”

The whiskey finally took hold, just enough to blunt the fierce discomfort in Jericho’s leg. “Why weren’t you with your family?”

“My parents came to America from Ireland. They were to meet my uncle in Texas, but not knowing what was in store down here, they left me with the Sisters of Mercy in New York City.”

“How long?”

“Fourteen years.”

Jericho frowned, resting his head against the wooden headboard as he struggled to draw in deep breaths. “That’s a long time.”

“My mother lost her parents in the potato famine in Ireland in the late forties, and she nearly starved to death when they did. She didn’t want to bring me to Texas until she knew if she and my father could survive here.”

Jericho certainly understood a mother’s concern over raising her children. His own mother had grown old years before her time because of it. “And did they survive?”

“Until recently. They’re both gone now.”

“So there’s only you and Andrew?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave someone special behind in New York?”

“Special?”

“A beau.”

Horror chased across her delicate features. “No.”

Did that mean she didn’t have a beau? Or just not one who was back East?

“There, I think I’m finished.”

He wanted to know more. Told himself he needed to learn as much as he could because of her possible connection to the McDougal gang. But in truth he was curious about her. He gingerly poked at his leg. “What do you think?”

“I did the best I could.”

“I’m grateful for that.” He touched her hand, which rested near his knee. “I meant do you think I’ll keep my leg?”

“Yes.” She smiled into his eyes for the first time since coming into the room. “I didn’t see any signs of infection.”

He found himself smiling back. Her hands were small, but there was nothing weak about them as she rebandaged the wound. The throbbing ache in his leg was fierce, but she had most likely saved his limb. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I hope I didn’t scar you.”

“It’s fine if you did.” He touched the scar on his cheek. “You can see it won’t be the first.”

“How did you come by that?”

“Bullet creased me.”

“While you were chasing the McDougals?”

“No.” He smiled weakly. “I was in a shoot-out about five years ago with another gang, down in Round Rock.”

“I have a feeling they ended up worse off than you.”

She smiled, and he thought this much pain might be worth it if she would do that more often. “I appreciate you putting me back together.”

She deftly folded a bandage and tied it around his thigh, somehow managing not to touch anything but his leg. “I should’ve tended you last night. I’m sorry.”

There were other ways Jericho would like her to tend him, but he knew there was no future in that. He was glad to see the sheet now lay flat in his lap.

“Do you think you can eat?”

He nodded.

“I’ll get you some biscuits and ham.” She picked up the bowl of water. “And some coffee. Unless you’d rather sleep for a while?”

“I’d like to eat.” He felt drowsy and weak; maybe some food would help. She was a good woman. He didn’t see how she could be mixed up with the McDougal gang, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted by her sweet curves and compassion.

“Later I’ll wash those sheets and your unmentionables.”

He grinned. “If anyone can mention them, I’d say it’s you, Miz Catherine.”

She smiled shyly, turning away to pick up his saddlebags and carry them over to the chair beside the bed. “Maybe you’d like a clean pair.”

“Thank you.”

Jericho waited until she left before he pulled out another pair of drawers, along with a folded piece of paper. The page contained the McDougals’ names, as well as Andrew’s, along with physical descriptions, height, speech peculiarities, eye colors. He had copied everything down from the “Crime Book” or “Bible Two” as his captain called it.

The gray paperback booklet was made up of information sent by sheriffs to the adjutant general, then furnished to each Ranger camp. Jericho studied his notes, but he saw Catherine’s sweet face in his mind.

He shouldn’t tease and try to coax her pretty smile out of hiding. She could make him forget why he was here, forget that he needed to heal as fast as possible and get back on the trail of those murderers. The McDougals and Andrew were the ones Jericho needed to worry about. Not the woman whose touch played havoc with his body. That was reason enough to leave her be.

Chapter Five

A fter Catherine left, Jericho dozed off for a few minutes. He woke with his mind rolling over the events of last night. He knew sure as shootin’ that Andrew Donnelly was connected to the McDougal gang. Whatever secrets the boy was hiding were likely related to the outlaws, but Jericho didn’t know a blasted thing about Catherine’s secrets. Was she sweet on a McDougal? Protecting one or all of them?

He might be able to figure it out if his mind would stop drifting to what she looked like beneath the starched day dress and apron she wore today. The gown he’d seen her wearing last night before she pulled on her wrapper had covered, but not hidden her full breasts. And he could still smell the sweet, subtle scent of her skin, which rose around him when they touched. Things he would do well to forget.

The sound of light footsteps on the front porch had him looking over his shoulder and out the window. Catherine walked out into the yard carrying a basketful of clothes. She stopped in front of a huge kettle about five yards from the house and deposited the basket on the ground. A fire had already been laid and she poked it with a stick, then tested the water in the kettle by dipping in a finger.

No doubt Jericho’s blood-soaked drawers were already soaking in cold water. He didn’t really want to think about her hands on those, or how much he wanted her hands on him.

She dunked several pieces of clothing into the water, then scooped up a handful of soap and slanted the washboard into the pot.

The morning sun glinting on her black hair made it look like hot silk. She wore it up today, the simple chignon exposing her elegant neck as she bent over the washboard. Her pale blue bodice pulled taut across her back, outlining slender shoulders and a slim waist. He’d felt the delicate lines of both last night through the light cotton of her wrapper and gown. Jericho’s body hardened.

What was it about this woman? While it had been excruciating to lie still as she stitched him, he had been in his right mind enough to admire the fine texture of her creamy skin, the rose-pink lips she worried too often with her teeth. More than once he’d imagined loosening her hair and burying his hands in the silky thickness, feeling it slide over his chest and belly. No other woman had ever gotten to him like this.

His fascination wasn’t just because he wanted her. She intrigued him. She was shy about his body and yet she doctored him as well as any medicine man he’d known. Her stitches were more even and smaller than Dr. Butler’s. Jericho’s scar would be big but maybe not hideous.

And he had observed that she managed to keep him talking, while revealing little about her own past. Being raised in New York City explained her Eastern accent. Maybe it also explained the shadows he sometimes glimpsed in her eyes. Fourteen years was a long time to be separated from one’s family, but Jericho could easily imagine his mother leaving him behind the same way, to make sure he was clothed and fed. The regret and sorrow in Catherine’s voice when she’d explained about being raised by nuns had changed to hope when she spoke about Andrew.

Was her desire for a family strong enough that she would protect her brother if he were involved with the McDougals? Probably so. As she had stitched up Jericho’s leg, and the pain carved away the arousal he felt at her touch, he’d found himself letting his guard down, trying to reassure her that he wouldn’t hurt her. The truth was he would if necessary. Not physically, perhaps, but apprehending her brother when the time came would surely wound her.

For her sake, he hoped none of the outlaws held her heart. She would hate Jericho even more if that were true. But why should he care? he demanded as he pushed away the bite of regret. He was here to do a job, and her brother was the starting point.

Catherine might be unaware of Andrew’s midnight trip, but Jericho planned to find out where the boy had been, what he’d been doing out so late and with whom.

The clop of hooves drew his attention, and Davis Lee rode into view. Good. Jericho needed someone to take his attention off Catherine and put it back where it belonged. Maybe his cousin had some news from those nuns in New York.

Davis Lee dismounted and walked over to Catherine, taking off his hat. “Morning, Miz Donnelly.”

“Hello, Sheriff.”

“Please call me Davis Lee.”

“All right. Please call me Catherine.”

Jericho heard a smile in her voice.

Davis Lee grinned like a possum eating a yellow jacket. “How’s my ornery cousin this morning?”

She shaded her eyes, moving closer to him. “He tore his stitches last night but I think he’s okay today.”

“If you’re tending him, I’m sure he’s right as rain.”

Jericho rolled his eyes.

She shook her head, wringing out a shirt that looked about Andrew’s size. “I’m no doctor, Davis Lee. I just know a few things.”

“Things that probably saved Jericho’s life. Is there anything I can bring you or help you with?” He slid his hat back on and circled the kettle. “Let me stoke up this fire.”

He knelt and poked a stick into the burning wood, just as she’d done moments ago.

It didn’t surprise Jericho that his cousin was paying so much attention to Catherine. The woman was pretty; even Jericho would admit that. What he didn’t like was the burning in his gut every time Catherine smiled at Davis Lee.

“Thank you.” She hesitated, then asked, “I wonder if you might help me with your cousin?”

“You’re not wanting me to take him off your hands, are you?”

She laughed and Jericho’s lip curled. Ha ha.

“I need to wash the sheets on his bed, but I don’t think I can get him up by myself.”

“I’m more than happy to oblige.”

The two of them started for the house. Jericho thought it would serve Catherine right if he threw the sheets off and greeted her in the altogether. She probably wouldn’t be so friendly to Davis Lee then.

A second later his cousin stepped into the room, with Catherine close behind him. She moved to Jericho’s right, laying a cool hand on his brow. She smelled of lye soap and fresh air.

“Good. No fever.”

Except in his blood, Jericho thought wryly. Good thing she couldn’t gauge that.

“How does your leg feel, Lieutenant? Do the stitches seem to be holding?”

So she was back to calling him by his rank, while she addressed his cousin familiarly. “Yes.”

“I thought I’d wash your sheets,” she said.

He kept his surliness to himself. She had undoubtedly saved his life. “Okay.” He sat up, biting back a grunt of pain. “Where would you like me?”

Her gaze flew to his and for a brief instant he read desire there. Pure, naked desire. He was completely flummoxed. Then it was gone, her blue eyes cool and clear. He had misread the emotion. Hadn’t he?

“If you have the strength, you can sit in this chair by the window. If not, we can move you to Andrew’s bed.”

“The chair will be fine.”

He thought it odd that she’d asked for Davis Lee’s help to get him up. She had managed fine last night, and Jericho was a little stronger today. In fact, he probably could’ve managed on his own, balancing on his good leg while making his way to the chair she pushed against the wall next to the window. He braced his uninjured hand on the bed and levered himself to his feet. The sheet fell away, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Catherine look elsewhere.

At least his drawers and bandages were clean.

Davis Lee moved to his left and braced a shoulder under Jericho’s good arm. “You steady?”

“I think so.”

His cousin helped him to the chair, while Catherine stripped the sheets from the bed. The large spot of dried blood on the cloth in her hand reminded Jericho of all that had passed between them. She kept her gaze carefully averted from his bare chest, his near nakedness. And that’s when he understood why she had asked for Davis Lee’s help.

She didn’t want to be alone with Jericho. After this morning, when she’d seen that he was aroused again, she probably didn’t want to touch him, either.

She spread clean sheets on the bed, then folded a light quilt at its foot. “That should feel much better.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She looked at him then, her blue eyes cool and impersonal once more, reestablishing a distance Jericho should’ve maintained all along. An emotion he couldn’t name flashed across her face, then disappeared.

She tore her gaze away, smiling at his cousin. “Davis Lee, could you help—”

“I can do it,” Jericho said through clenched teeth. Planting his good leg solidly on the floor, he used the chair to help himself stand.

Davis Lee watched expectantly and Catherine’s hands automatically went out as if to catch him.

Jericho hobbled the few steps to the bed, his thigh screaming with the effort. Lowering himself onto the clean linens, he let out a deep breath.

“Wonderful, Lieutenant!” Catherine sounded pleased. “But don’t overdo it.”

He figured he might overdo just about anything if she asked him to. “No danger of that,” he said hoarsely.

“Can I get you anything? A drink of water maybe?”

He wanted more whiskey, to blot her blue eyes right out of his mind. “No thanks.”

Davis Lee scooped up the soiled sheets from the floor. “I’ll carry these out for you.”

She followed him to the door, glancing back at Jericho. He gave her a flat stare. There was nothing between them and there wouldn’t be. He’d gone soft in the head because of his injury, but he had hold of his senses now.

She searched his face, opening her mouth as if she wanted to say something. Then she shook her head and walked out. “I appreciate all your help, Davis Lee.”

Jericho heard them step outside, saw them walk past the porch toward the kettle. A warm breeze moved over his chest and legs, calling to mind the soft caress of her hands on him earlier today.

His cousin dumped the linens in her basket next to the kettle and held her gaze much longer than necessary. “It’s already warming up today, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she murmured, reaching into the basket for one of her shirtwaists.

“How are you settling in?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Do you like Whirlwind?”

“Yes, very much.” Her fingers pleated and unpleated the bodice in her hands. She kept some distance between herself and Davis Lee, but she didn’t run away.

“I’m glad to hear it, though you haven’t seen much of our entertainments yet. We always have a big to-do on the Fourth of July.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Likewise.” Davis Lee smiled, hooking a thumb toward the house. “If it’s all right, I’ll go back in and visit with Jericho for a bit.”

“Of course.” As he returned to the house, she called in a lilting voice, “Don’t you tire out my patient.”

His cousin made some stupid retort and Jericho’s good hand curled against his thigh.

The front door opened and closed; Davis Lee stepped into the room as he rapped on the jamb with his knuckles. “You awake?”

Jericho stared flatly at him, lowering his voice so Catherine couldn’t hear through the open window. “Why are you sniffing around her?”

Davis Lee scrutinized him for a moment, then leaned against the door, crossing his arms. “Maybe I’m trying to find out if she has a man.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“No.” Davis Lee grinned.

The brief spate of relief Jericho had felt, over the possibility that Davis Lee wasn’t interested in Catherine, vanished. An unfamiliar heat tightened his chest.

His cousin moved into the room, sobering. “Do you really think she knows where the McDougals are?”

“I’d say the odds are even.”

Davis Lee shrugged. “She seems too sweet to be tangled up with those bastards.”

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time you were blinded by a girl’s sweetness.”

Davis Lee’s eyes turned hard. “Catherine has nothing in common with Betsy.”

“That we know about.”

The sheriff stared out the window as Catherine hung clothes on a line she’d strung from the house to a tall post near the kettle. “Yeah, that we know about. I’m not blind. I like her, that’s all.”

Jericho regretted throwing the past in Davis Lee’s face. His cousin had learned his lesson after falling for a con artist, a woman who’d stolen money from half the citizens of Rock River, where Davis Lee had been sheriff before.