Jodi Thomas - To Wed In Texas

Karlee froze as her eyes made out the dark forms before her.

Two men lay on the dining table. One was the wounded man they'd transported from the ranch. Deut Buchanan had called him Jesse. His wound had been treated, but crimson already colored the bandage and the table where he'd curled into a ball like an infant. The Confederate uniform he had worn was replaced by a rough homespun shirt and tattered trousers.

The other man on the table lay straight, as though at attention, and was dressed in Jesse's bloody uniform.

“Karlee, you shouldn't be in here.” Daniel was close behind her. He reached around and lifted her hand from the blood pooled on the table.

The blood seemed to pull at her fingers, not wanting her to withdraw. Daniel's hand closed over hers, gently forcing her to form a fist.

“Karlee, we need to-”

She wasn't listening as she took a step closer to the table and gasped as she saw the second man's face. “He's dead,” she whispered. The stranger's features were already drawn and white.

Daniel gripped her shoulder, guiding her backward against the hard wall of his chest for support. He leaned slightly to say against her ear. “Trust me, Cousin, you've seen nothing here tonight. Nothing!”

One of the men guarding the windows appeared in the doorway. “You better get cleaned up, Preacher. They'll be here any minute. We'll take care of Jesse.”

Daniel nodded and hurried Karlee with him from the room. “I'll explain later.” His hand moved over her shoulder and brushed her arm before he released her.

Karlee followed him into the kitchen light. “No, I think you'll-”

He tossed her his jacket. “See if you can get the blood off this,” he ordered as though she hadn't spoken.

Karlee watched as he unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, then jerked it over his head. A trim waist, then the molded muscles of his chest appeared before her, reminding her more of finely carved wood than of flesh.

When she gasped, his head snapped up. For a moment, his gaze searched the room, then he met her stare. A smile touched his lips. “Sorry,” he said without giving any meaning to the word. “I guess you've never seen a man so undressed.” He plunged the shirt into a pan of cold water, then used it for a rag to wash the blood from his chest. “But I've no time to be polite, Spinster Whitworth.”

Karlee swallowed. She'd sound like an absolute fool if she said she had never been so close to a man without a shirt. After all, she was twenty-three years old, not some child. “Of course I have,” she lied. “Only they weren't as broad.”

Daniel continued to wash. “When I first came to Texas, I worked as a blacksmith. I still work sometimes at night when I can't sleep.”

Without asking, he reached for her hand still stained in blood and washed it in the dribble of water from the pump. There was nothing caring or caressing in his touch, only practical, but Karlee could feel her face warm from the way his rough fingers moved across her palm and threaded through her hand.

As he released her, he tossed the wet shirt toward her and turned away. “Is there blood on my back?”

Karlee accepted the shirt as he braced himself against the counter and waited.

“Hurry,” he prompted. “I may have only minutes.”

She couldn't breathe as she wiped the wet cotton across his muscular frame. Gently, she placed her free hand on his shoulder, as if she needed to balance herself. His flesh was hard and warm, unlike anything she'd ever touched.

He turned and took the garment from her hand. “I know I have no right to ask more of you, but I've no time to explain. A man's life depends on your trusting me.”

He was so near she could feel the warmth of him.

“No matter what happens, follow my orders as close as you can and above all, protect the twins. I'll explain later.”

She nodded.

“Thanks.” He leaned the few inches between them and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “I don't know what I'd have done without you today. Despite all else happening, I knew my daughters were safe.”

She watched him hurry from the room, grabbing a shirt off the stack of pressed laundry beside the pantry.

Without really thinking about what she was doing, she began washing the bloody clothes. Within minutes, the stains were gone, but the memory of his skin against her hand lingered.

Trying to ignore the sounds from the parlor, Karlee cleaned the kitchen. When she finally slipped up to bed, she glanced into the downstairs rooms as she tiptoed by. Only one body, the dead one, lay on the table.

She dressed for bed but couldn't sleep. Daniel's words, “I don't know what I'd have done without you,” kept rolling around in her mind. She felt useful, truly useful. She couldn't remember a day while she lived with her aunts that she hadn't done something wrong. They were always watching, waiting until she made a mistake, then the aunts had their tale of the day to pass on.

At first light, she slipped silently into her clothes. After checking on the sleeping twins, she hurried downstairs. The Buchanan men and the body wearing Jesse's clothes were gone. In fact, except for Daniel's shirt in the kitchen there was no sign anything unusual had happened yesterday.

There was also no sign of the preacher.

It was time for her to explore. She'd learned early on, being passed from place to place, that the sooner she memorized every detail of a house, the better.

This house seemed a simple plan. Four rooms downstairs, a kitchen, parlor, dining room and small study. Since she knew the wall in the hallway slid open to reveal an arsenal, Karlee watched for other such doors. She took her time, running her hand along the walls as if it were a divining rod. She'd discovered long ago that houses, like people, hold secrets discovered only by the patient.

The study was packed with books and notebooks written in a clear hand. The room was large enough for a desk, one comfortable chair. A chest, like one her father used to have with latches on each drawer for travel, served as a table and footstool. The room was interesting, but held no secrets unless they lay within the pages of books. Karlee moved on.

The parlor was so sparsely furnished Karlee decided she'd seen hotel lobbies with more hominess. One short couch, one chair and a small round table.

Finally, in the dining room, she found what she'd been looking for. A slight pause in the wood. A secret passage, she guessed, or another panel to hide weapons. Or maybe only an imperfection in the building of the room.

Just as she pressed to open the hidden portal, a knock pounded at the kitchen door. Karlee jumped as if she'd been caught in the act of some great crime. She ran into the kitchen and had her hand on the bolt before she hesitated.

“Who is it?” she called, deciding she'd let no one in but Daniel. Frantically, her gaze searched the kitchen for a weapon.

“I'm Valerie, Miss,” came a voice spiced with a hint of an accent. “My madre owns the bakery. She sends me every Monday and Thursday to deliver bread.”

Karlee waited, afraid. She moved to the window and peered through the shutters. A young girl, almost ready to turn into a woman, stood alone. Her midnight hair hung long past her waist and a huge basket rested against her hip.

“Let me in, Miss. I promised I'd deliver bread to the preacher's house first.”

Karlee took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Thank you.” The young girl hurried in. “The basket was getting heavy.” She sat it on the table and began unloading sacks. “I came over early because my madre said you'd be needing to know a few things. The reverend's already been by telling us you were here and you were now in charge of his house.”

She smiled at Karlee without giving her time to say a word. “Milk and butter are delivered on Tuesday and Friday. Madre said she'll tell Jenson you want the same as usual 'til you tell him different. There's vegetables and fruit a block over sold out of wagons every Friday. Madre says to tell you to get there early or the pickings will be slim this time of year. She says she thinks the reverend buys his meat from the Buchanan's place.”