Debra Cowan - Whirlwind Groom

“I came by to check on her.” A rag floated in the bowl of water and Davis Lee scooped it up, squeezed it. He moved Josie’s arm down to her side so he could wipe her face.

“I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to reassure the older woman, but all he could think about was Catherine saying that breathing might become difficult for Josie. She might have suffocated before Esther ever woke up.

He forcefully dunked the rag again, wringing it out before moving it gently over Josie’s face. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Esther? I’ll stay with her.”

“Oh, Sheriff, I’ll be fine now. I really didn’t mean to—”

“I insist,” he said quietly.

“But someone might find out you’re alone in here with her.”

And doing what? he thought ruefully. The woman was practically unconscious. He gave her a flat stare. “In light of things, I don’t really care.”

“She might.”

“I’m staying. Leave the door open. Hopefully Miz Webster will recover enough to take me to task herself.”

Esther hesitated, watching him wet the rag again and repeat the stroking motions on Josie’s face. “All right.”

She walked to the door. “I’m truly sorry, Sheriff. I don’t know what happened.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention on the slight figure in the bed.

Esther’s footsteps sounded down the stairs then faded away. The rag warmed with the heat of Josie’s flesh. The nearly transparent garment she wore wasn’t a chemise as he had first thought, but some one-piece thing that looked like a chemise and drawers combined. Except it wasn’t loose and shapeless like any shift he’d ever seen. This undergarment was fitted. Edged with delicate lace, it curved to her body like a second skin.

Especially damp as it was from repeated efforts to cool her down. The thin fabric clung to her breasts, revealing the darker flesh of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were small but full, and the perfect size for her petite frame. There was nothing wanting about them at all.

His mouth went dry and he grabbed the sheet, pulling it up over her. He dipped the cloth and ran it over her face, her neck, her chest. The faint tang of kerosene drifted from the lamp, but it was the scent of soft warm woman and honeysuckle that filled his lungs. Secluded with her like this, cornered by the night and the heat, Davis Lee felt his body harden. He lost track of how many times he wet the cloth, soothed her skin then repeated the motions.

He lifted her, applying the cool rag to her nape and the patch of skin on her back not covered by that infernal sheer piece of nothing. Her sobs quieted, but she twisted on the bed, kicking off the sheet.

He pulled up the cover and she moved it again. He couldn’t tell if her fever was coming down. High color still flushed her cheeks and chest. Her hairline was wet, her underwear and the sheets damp. He reached out and stroked a finger lightly against her temple.

She turned into his touch, moaning, “William.”

Who was William? Husband? Lover? Brother? She had never answered his questions about her family.

She mumbled incoherently, her arm slanting across her face again.

He murmured soothing words, lifted her arm to draw the wet cloth over her face and chest. She twitched beneath his hand, her head turning from side to side on her pillow. Her hair slid across her face and Davis Lee nudged the wet strands away.

“Blood,” she whispered brokenly. “So much blood.”

Another sob choked out of her and his heart caught at the deep-reaching agony of it. Blood? What was going on in her head? Just another question to add to the others he had about her.

He wished her fever would cool, that Catherine would return. He took her hand and dipped it into the water up to her wrist, spreading the wet rag on her chest for a moment. The tiny mole he’d glimpsed before at the edge of her collarbone teased him. And so did that damn transparent undergarment.

Davis Lee stared at her plump breasts and the dusky nipples that had drawn up like shy buds. Despite the fact that he knew she was lying about something, want pounded through him, low and fierce and hot. He moved his gaze from the flat of her stomach to the dark shadow between her legs. His breath hitched on the same sharp edge of desire he’d felt for another woman with lies in her eyes.

Davis Lee dragged a hand down his face, wishing he could erase this picture of her from his mind. He had no doubt he would carry this image to his grave. What he needed was to focus on getting her fever down, helping her through this. Then finding out her connection to Ian McDougal and why she had really come to Whirlwind.

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