Debra Cowan - Whirlwind Wedding

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.