Debra Cowan - Whirlwind Wedding

The words erupted from him.

His words sank in and her mouth formed an O. Her cheeks pinkened, but she didn’t run.

She plucked nervously at the top button of her bodice and he said tightly, “Go on back to the house.”

She didn’t. Looking uncertain, she drew in a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance.”

He nearly swallowed his teeth. “You can’t say things like that to a man, Catherine. To me.”

‘It’s true.”

“I don’t think so.” Want thrummed inside him. He gripped his crutch so tightly that his knuckles burned.

Her skirts whispered around his legs, between them, and her pulse fluttered wildly in the hollow of her throat.

“Dammit, woman! Back up. I may be injured, but I’m not dead…!”

“Penning great emotional depth in her characters, Debra Cowan will warm the coldest of winter nights.”

—Romantic Times on Still the One

“Debra Cowan skillfully brings to vivid life all the complicated feelings of love and guilt when a moment of consolation turns into unexpected passion.”

—Romantic Times on One Silent Night

“The recurrent humor and vivid depiction of small-town Western life make Debra Cowan’s story thoroughly pleasurable.”

—Romantic Times on The Matchmaker

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In memory of my cousin, Billye Su Watson

For our shared love of words

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

West Texas, 1884

C atherine Donnelly had never been adept at handling men, and now she had to admit she was no better with boys. After more than a day spent searching in and around dusty Whirlwind, Texas, until well past dark, she’d finally located her oft-missing younger brother, Andrew, and marched him home.

Now Catherine sat alone at the small dining table in the front room of what had been her mother’s house. A loud knock sounded on the door. After the harrowing span of time she had spent worrying over her twelve-year-old brother, she wasn’t inclined to be charitable to whoever was calling so late.

Picking up the kerosene lamp from the small kitchen table, she opened her door to one of the tallest men she’d ever seen. The mild May night seemed to swirl around him. He wore a dark hat pulled low, and was dressed all in black except for his blue shirt, which looked nearly white in the filmy amber glow from the lamp. Moonlight sliced a sharp cheekbone and a whiskered jaw, making him quite possibly also the most intimidating man she’d ever seen.

Eyes that might be either blue or silver stared flatly at her. He braced a shoulder on her doorjamb, regarding her as if she were the one invading his territory. His dark, ragged hair and a tangible determination gave him the look of a man unused to niceties.

“Name’s Lieutenant Jericho Blue.” He held up an official-looking piece of paper. “I’m a Ranger and this is my Warrant of Authority issued by the Adjutant General’s Department under authority from the government.”

Apprehension skittered through her and her grip tightened on the lamp. The Sisters of Mercy had taught her too well for her to dismiss anyone out of hand. Still, she would dispense with him quickly. She smiled and asked as kindly as she could, “May I help you?”

He seemed to have trouble getting the paper back into his trouser pocket.

“Sir?” Out beyond him, at the edge of the lamplight, she saw a riderless horse, and another one beside it with a dark shape slung across its back. A body? The warnings about nearby outlaws she had heard only hours ago, as she had looked for Andrew, rushed back.

According to Sheriff Holt, the McDougal gang had ambushed a pair of lawmen yesterday. Catherine had been nearly ill with worry over the possibility that her brother might run into the outlaws. The sheriff had offered to look for the twelve-year-old with the posse he’d formed to track the gang. She’d accepted, but continued her own search, frantic that her brother might have gotten in the way of the brutal men and suffered a fate far worse than her denying him any more of her apple pie until he stopped sneaking out of their house at night.

The Ranger said huskily, “I’m on the trail of the McDougal gang.”

“Our sheriff said they were nearby.”

“Very near.”

She had to lean closer to hear. His voice was grainy and flat, and his skin had a waxy sheen. He didn’t look well. “Are you all right?”

Catherine had worked with enough patients at Bellevue Hospital in New York City to know when someone was ill. Something was definitely wrong with the man.

He stared over her shoulder into the house, as if searching for something. “Do you mind if I look around?”

“In the house?”

He gave a sharp nod.

She didn’t want to advertise that she and Andrew lived alone. If one or more of the McDougal gang were hiding around her house, she certainly didn’t want to be the one to find them. But neither did she want to let this strange man into her home.

“So, you don’t mind then?” He straightened sluggishly and made to move inside.

A bit surprised, Catherine stepped back. A shotgun was out of sight behind the door, but she felt more confident about using a skillet if necessary. “All right.”

He mumbled something and swayed, his eyes glazing. As if being pushed from behind, he toppled to the floor with a crash.

The wood shook beneath her and for a moment Catherine stared disbelieving at the long length of man stretched out at her feet. He had fallen over the threshold, half of him still outside.

In a flash, Andrew, his dark hair rumpled and his blue eyes drowsy, appeared beside her. He wore only the droopy cotton drawers she had seen when she’d checked on him an hour ago after marching him home. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure.” Shaking off her shock, she knelt, holding the lamp high. He’d said his name was Jericho. “Help me turn him over.”

Andrew was stocky and strong. With his help, she got the Ranger on his back. Blood smeared the weathered wood floor.

Her brother drew in a sharp breath and Catherine glanced up. He was pale, his eyes huge. “What’s he doin’ here?”

“Looking for the outlaws that Sheriff Holt told us about.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. Not yet.”

“He’s mean-lookin’.” Andrew stood frozen, staring warily at the stranger.

Catherine turned her attention back to Jericho. The man’s black vest fell open to reveal the waistband of his trousers and a lean torso, but her gaze was drawn to the dark bandanna tied below his elbow. His shirt was torn and she could see a nickel-size hole in his forearm. Gunshot. “He’s bleeding.”