Jodi Thomas - Texas Rain

To Rainey's surprise, Duck nodded.

Dottie set another lantern on the counter. "My husband loved this place. He'd cook every night, but we didn't make any money until he started having a private card game in the restaurant after nine." She sighed as she ran her hand along the wood as if saying hello. "Life was so sweet. We'd work here, then go home to a little house he'd built for me. When he died, I tried, but I couldn't sell this place. Finally I had so much debt I had to sell my house. I thought of trying to make this into a home, but who wants to try and sleep when the other half of the building is a saloon."

"I love the kitchen," Rainey whispered. "Your husband really knew what he was doing when he set it up. It's a baker's dream."

Dottie looked around. "It's cozy, isn't it? The judge said I could stay with him and the Baileys' were nice enough to offer me a place until my arm heals, but somehow, I wanted to come here. It's like I'm scared and I need my Henry to protect me." She smiled. "Maybe a little part of him is still here."

Roy bumped his way into the kitchen carrying blankets and supplies. "Where do you want these?" he said. "The judge sent over food enough for an army."

"Here, oh the counter," Dottie said. "The front is full of the furniture I couldn't sell."

Travis returned. "Roy give me a hand and we'll move something against the front door. Then the only way in and out of here will be through the cellar. There's a streetlight right outside the windows. It shines through the boards, so we'll have no trouble seeing in there."

Roy dropped the supplies and followed Travis.

Dottie pointed with her free arm as Rainey began to organize the blankets. "The judge insisted on sending twice what we'll need." She grins. "He worries about me as much as my Henry would have. Do you think it's a sign that his name is Henry, also?" She smiled. "If I married him, I wouldn't have to go about learning a new name."

"I see your point. It wouldn't do to call your second husband by your first husband's name."

Dottie nodded. "I think it's a sign."

Rainey carried another load to the corner. "We can make beds over here. We'll put Duck's closest to the stove so he'll be warm."

"He might get burned."

Rainey shook her head. "He's careful and I think it makes him feel safe."

A half hour later Duck was sound asleep and Dottie lay beside him, her injured arm propped on pillows. Her soft snoring blended with the crackling of the fire. Roy sat on the chair by the stairs to the cellar half asleep. In many ways he reminded her of Travis. Neither man ever seemed to go off alert. Being a Ranger was far more than a job she realized; it was a way of life.

Rainey poured out a cup of coffee from the pot left warming on the stove and passed through the door to the front room. Travis sat watching the street from a small opening in the boards covering the windows.

"You awake?" she whispered, knowing he would be.

He turned in her direction. "Coffee would help."

She moved slowly toward him. "I've got a cup."

He was no more than a shadow, but she watched him lower his rifle as she neared.

"I know you don't like me to ask, but how is your leg?"

Thin beams of light slashed through the boards, and she could see his face clearly for a moment before he moved. He looked tired and worried.

"It aches a little. If I could I'd check to make sure none of the stitches are bleeding. Much as I hate to admit it, the doc's wraps did the trick. Between that and taking out that tiny piece of metal, my leg's stopped swelling. But the doc told me to keep an eye out for any bleeding."

Rainey handed him the cup and turned back to the kitchen without a word. Five minutes later she returned with a small pot of warm water and a stack of bandages.

"What's that?"

"Water," she whispered. "Now, keep quiet of you'll wake the others." She couldn't see his face, but she guessed he'd raised an eyebrow like he always did when he thought she might be crazy.

"Stand up," Rainey whispered.

"Why?" he asked as he did what she asked.

"I want to check for bleeding on those stitches. I don't want you getting infected."

He didn't move. "Where'd you find bandages?"

"I ripped a few strips off of one of the sheets the judge sent over." She moved closer. "Now remove your trousers."

"I don't think so. You couldn't see if I'm bleeding in this darkness, and we can't turn a lantern up for fear that someone passing might see in."

Rainey tugged at his belt. "I don't have to see the stitches. I only have to feel them. If I feel blood, or even dried blood, I've got water to wash it off and clean rags to wrap the wound." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, are you going to take those trousers off, or am I?"

He laughed. "All right, Rainey, I'm too tired to argue."

He unbuckled his gun belt and lay it beside him on a table.

"Don't worry, Ranger, it's so dark in here I won't see a thing."

He didn't laugh as he shoved down his pants. "The cut is on the back of my left leg, just below my hip," he instructed. He pulled up his shirttail and turned so that one of the beams crossed his leg.

She would have bet she'd embarrassed him, but she didn't stop. They both knew the wound needed tending. Rainey was thankful for the dark. She'd never seen a man's leg exposed, and this wasn't just any man's leg. This was Travis's.

Her hand touched his hip, and she felt the muscles tighten beneath her fingers. Her fingers moved down to the bandage at the top of his leg. Several spots of caked-in dried blood stained the soft cotton. She pulled a chair up and sat as he turned the wound toward her and waited. Her hand shook as she wet a rag in the warm water. She dripped water over the bandage and slowly soaked the cotton away from the wound. No wonder he hadn't been comfortable with the bandage of dried blood tied to his leg. She brushed her fingers over the unharmed skin as if in comfort.

He took a breath when she tossed the bandage aside, but didn't look at her.

Again she slid her hand down his hip slowly until she brushed over the stitches that had poked into his flesh on either side of a two-inch cut.

He sucked in air.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He didn't answer, but the muscles in his leg were so tight she thought he really could be made of oak. Carefully, with feather touches, she washed the wound, then let it dry. Her hand moved up to his waist.

"I've no more cuts," he said almost harshly.

"I know. I just wanted to touch you. In the times we've been alone and you've touched me, you've never let me touch you."

"It's not something a woman wants to do to a man."

Rainey spread her hand over his warm skin. "How do you know? Have you been with many women who told you that, or are you just guessing?"

"Just check the wound." His words could not have been colder, but his skin remained warm to her touch.

She brushed her fingers over the stitches and found the skin dry. "No more bleeding."

When she started to wrap the leg, he took the bandage away from her and did it himself, then he pulled up his trousers.

"I thought men wore long Johns all winter."

"Rainey, we shouldn't be having this conversation and yes, they do. Mine, however, seemed to have disappeared when I collapsed at the Baileys'."

"Oh," she whispered. "Wonder who took them off." She couldn't help but giggle at the possibility of the round little housekeeper doing it.

He buckled on his gun belt. "Good night, Rainey," he said as if they'd never been more than strangers. He obviously didn't see any humor in their conversation.

"Good night." She was almost to the kitchen door when she stopped, turned around, and went back. "Are you angry, or just being you? Sometimes, I swear, I can't tell."