Deadly Page 8

  She frowned. She never missed. Never. “I’m a damn good shot,” she responded, wondering, could he have ridden in front of her on purpose? No, he wouldn’t be so foolish. He wouldn’t have acted so stupidly. Would he?

  “You went through my saddlebags,” he accused.

  She nodded. “I know all your secrets, Zach Gillespie.”

  “What secrets? There was nothing in there but some clean clothes, rope, and hardtack.”

  “And a bottle of whiskey,” she said, liking the way the alcohol made her feel warm and cozy and safe and secure. Like everything was going to be fine.

  “Doesn’t every man carry a bottle of whiskey?” he asked, looking up at her as she finished holding the clean cloth to the wound to stop the blood flow. The bleeding was minimal, but she still wanted to stitch him up to keep the dirt out.

  She hated hurting him yet again, but she had to take care of him, since it was her bullet that had laid him low.

  “I guess Papa did. He never told me.” She gazed down into Zach’s earthy brown eyes, and a warmth she hadn’t expected filled her. He had beautiful eyes with lashes that were long and brows that arched with expression. Why was she still attracted to him after what they’d been through? “You better take another sip of that whiskey. I’m about to start sewing you up.”

  “I don’t think I want you sewing on me.”

  She glared at him. “Fine. Then ignore my comment about the whiskey.”

  “You’ll probably stitch your initials in my shoulder. You worked for Ho Chinn until he fired you. Was it because of bad stitching?”

  The urge to jam her needle into his flesh was overwhelming, but she knew that wouldn’t be nice, and he’d already suffered a lot at her hands today.

  “Why in the world would I put my initials in your shoulder?” Like she wanted some woman to come bringing him home to her? She had no use for this cowboy. She’d done her good deed, and now it was time for him to stand on his own.

  He took another swig of the whiskey. “Because you’d leave your mark on me?”

  She laughed. “I don’t lay claim to you. I don’t want someone to bring your dead body back to me.”

  He grabbed her hand, halting the needle. “You almost did.”

  The way he said those three little words brought back memories of the night they’d kissed in the moonlight. The hope she’d had after he left that evening that maybe, just maybe, she’d found a man who would help her and grow to love her. But that was a silly dream, which had burst in the bathhouse like a cloud in a thunderstorm.

  “But I learned the truth about how you really felt about me, so you’re still free as a bird. I’m surprised some dress-wearing woman hasn’t claimed you yet.”

  There were other single women in town who would have hitched their wagon to the sheriff. In the past year, why hadn’t some stupid, proper woman calf-roped him?

  “Hasn’t been one I’m interested in. I’m beginning to think I prefer my women wearing trousers,” he said, his eyes staring warmly into hers.

  Her heart slammed up into her throat, sending a shower of butterflies through her midsection. “You need to be careful what you say. I’m about to stick a needle in your skin, and you really want me to be gentle,” she said, her voice low. Why was he flirting with her so outrageously? And why did his voice send warmth cascading through her like a hot summer night?

  He smiled. “That’s my Meg, running from her feelings.”

  What was he talking about? She didn’t run from anything. This past year she’d faced enough bad men to make her rethink about ever marrying. “Your head is in my lap. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not your Meg.”

  “You could be.”

  “Leave it be, cowboy.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment then took another sip of the whiskey. “So tell me why did Ho Chinn fire you?”

  Meg remembered the weeks she’d slaved over all the mending Ho Chinn had let accumulate. She’d worked twelve hours a day, stitching up rips and sewing on buttons until her fingers were bloody. “I was fired because he wouldn’t give me a paycheck, so I took the cash that he owed me from the register.”

  Zach squinched his eyes shut when she poked him with the needle. Quickly and efficiently, she zipped it through his flesh, closing the wound. In just a matter of moments, she was finished.

  He opened his eyes and glanced up from her lap. “Are you done?”

  “All finished with the front. Let me take a look at your back to see if we need to stitch up the entry wound.”

  He rolled over, moaning as he moved, placing his face right between her legs, the top of his head inches from her crotch. Warmth spiraled through her, putting a little catch in her breath.

  “Don’t be getting any ideas there, cowboy,” she warned, her voice sounding breathy. His head being so close to her womanly parts was creating all kinds of tingly feelings.

  He sighed. “I’m wounded. I’m hurting. I feel like someone took a two by four to me. You have nothing to be worried about. Although I must say, this is a very interesting position. One any other time, I would enjoy.”

  She looked at his back. It was smooth and hard, and her hands itched to run her fingertips down his muscles, but she resisted. “Take another swig of whiskey then hand me the bottle.”

  He rose up, took a gulp, passed her the bottle, then settled back down between her legs.

  “Don’t get too comfortable down there,” she warned.

  He chuckled. “If we were naked, this could be fun.”

  “But we’re not,” she said, the image sending shivers spiraling down her spine to right between her legs, awakening desires she’d never felt before.

  She took a swig, letting the warmth of the alcohol flow down her throat, and then she poured a little on the wound on his back. He flinched as the alcohol trickled over his skin. That should keep his mind in the right place, until she could move him.

  “I’m not certain I want you drinking while you’re sewing on me.”

  “Too bad.” She put the needle in his flesh. The urge to finish stitching him up and get his face out of her crotch urgent.

  “Ow, woman. You just like to surprise a man, don’t you?” His voice sounded muffled and vibrated between her legs.

  Oh yeah, he had to get out of there. “It’s the best way to get your attention.” She made two quick stitches and tied up the open hole. She poured more of the alcohol over the wound.

  “Damn, remind me to never let you doctor on me again,” he said, the alcohol taking his breath away.

  She smiled. She never wanted to have to remove a bullet from anyone. Never again did she want the responsibility of that person’s life in her hands.

  “You’re all done,” she said. “Unless it gets infected, I think you’re going to live.”

  Thank goodness it hadn’t been more serious because she didn’t know how she would have reacted. Leaving Zach wounded on the trail had not been an option.

  He rolled over, leaving his head in her lap and gazed up at her. His eyes, along with the whiskey, blazed a hot trail straight to her womanly parts, starting a wildfire.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You could have gone after Simon, but you stopped to help me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her words came out almost in a whisper, the very idea of leaving him behind unthinkable. “I wouldn’t have ridden off and left a wounded man. Not even for a good bounty,” she said, staring down at him. He was still in her lap, but at least his face wasn’t planted between her legs. “How’s the shoulder feel?”

  “Feels like I’ve been shot.”

  “Drink more whiskey. It’s going to hurt tonight.”

  He took another swig from the bottle and handed it back to her.

  The fire crackled, and a piece of wood popped, sending sparkles flying into the night sky, reminding her of fireworks. She took a long sip. “You’ve never been shot before?”

  “Not until today,” he said, his brown eyes meeting her gaze.

&n
bsp; “I still don’t understand what happened,” she said. The feel of him laying in her lap was warm and welcoming. Yet his head was positioned very close to her crotch and every time those warm dark eyes lit on her, he seemed to start a bonfire between her legs.

  “Maybe you should move,” she said, picking up his head and resting it back down on the ground.

  Having him in her lap was just a little closer than she was comfortable with. She needed to put some distance between them. He could be going after the same bounty money, even though he was the sheriff.

  “Ow,” he said. “I was enjoying where I was at. I’m wounded. Help a man find a little comfort.”

  “Well, now, there’s the problem. You shouldn’t be experiencing any enjoyment right now due to your injuries.”

  Oh, no. She should put the fire between her and Zach. It was bad enough they were out here alone. But he was injured, and she’d had no choice but to stay the night on the trail, just the two of them.

  He shook his head at her and smiled. “I kind of thought it was the least you could do after you shot me.”

  “Doesn’t pay for you to think, does it?” she said, her voice rough. She had to get a rein on the emotions Zach seemed to create in her. An urgent need to touch him, to feel his lips on hers, to seek that next step between a man and a woman, engulfed her like a raging river roaring through her. That unknown step that would make her a woman.

  “I guess not.”

  With a sigh, she released all the pent-up craving that had consumed her when his head had been in her lap. Once she had her emotions under control, she could concentrate on her goal. Simon.

  “You need to rest, so I can take you into town tomorrow,” she said, thinking she could drop him off then continue her search. They needed to part ways and the sooner, the better. She was grateful to Zach for getting her away from Simon and Frank Jones, but she had to go it alone.

  “Why are you so determined to catch Simon?” he asked, completely out of the blue.

  For a moment, the question surprised her. “Simple. The money is enough that it will finish paying off the bank note, and then the farm will belong to my sisters and me. We won’t ever have to bounty hunt again, unless we want to.”

  She’d never told him about the bank note. That had been her secret she would have revealed once he’d agreed to marry her, but now there was no need.

  He nodded in understanding. “Is that why you wanted me to marry you? The bank note?”

  Meg felt ashamed for a moment. She hadn’t wanted to marry him just because of his money, but she hadn’t pursued him because she cared for him either. In today’s world, what choice did a woman have, but to snag a man? “I needed help with the mortgage and the farm. I couldn’t do it all.”

  “Yet, you have,” he said softly, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle, his dark brown eyes studying her, searching, and leaving her breathless.

  “Yes, with the help of my sisters, we’ve managed to keep the farm. But I don’t want to be a bounty hunter all my life. I have my own dreams,” she said, wondering why she was telling him this.

  He offered her the bottle, and while she knew the whiskey was warming her and loosening her tongue, she didn’t feel the urge to stop. The liquor soothed her and allowed her to dream of things she wanted.

  “Tell me what kind of dreams a girl like you has, Meg. I’d like to know,” he said, leaning back against his saddle, staring at her.

  She reached out and put another log on the fire. The hoot of an owl sounded lonesome in the darkness. The image of her store came to mind. The place where she had ready-made dresses for ladies to purchase and dress patterns she’d designed. She wanted a place where women could sit and chat about the latest fashions then go back to their families excited by the time they’d spent at Meg’s Creations.

  But first, she had to make sure her sisters were well taken care of, the farm was in good hands, and then she could accomplish her dreams. Her desires.

  “I want to own a dress shop,” she said, staring at the fire.

  Zach had just taken a swig of whiskey. The liquor spewed from his mouth, and he began to cough.

  Her spine stiffened, disappointment hardened her stomach, and she jerked around to stare at him. “You have a problem with that?”

  She should never have told him. Like all men, except for her father, no one understood her enjoyment of taking a piece of cloth and transforming it into the design she’d drawn on paper. No one understood the pleasure she received from touching satiny fabric and altering it into a beautiful gown.

  He shook his head as he coughed and tried to clear his throat. He took another swig of the whiskey. “Not at all. It just wasn’t what I expected. I thought a woman like you would want to raise cattle or horses or continue bounty hunting or even want to start a family. I’m kind of shocked.” He glanced over her attire. “You’re just not the type of woman who you usually see owning a dress shop.”

  Bristles rose on the back of her neck and all the pent-up rage she’d held onto for the last year exploded from her. “You’re just like everyone else in town. You think I wear pants because that’s what I want. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we didn’t have the money to purchase the material for me to make a new dress?”

  Zach shook his head. “But you know how to sew.”

  “Yes, and all the new material went to Annabelle and Ruby, so they wouldn’t have to wear Papa’s hand-me-downs.” Tears pricked the back of her lids, but she refused to cry. She’d not wanted her sisters to do without, and she’d sacrificed her own clothing for them. Was it fair? Probably not, but she loved Annabelle and Ruby.

  She rose from the blanket. “I need to check on the horses and make sure everything is secure for the night.”

  She walked into the darkness and stared up at the night sky, her hands shaking, her chest aching with the need for someone to understand. Someone to realize she had dreams; she had desires. She longed to dress like a woman and knew eventually her time would come. All she had to do was wait. Then the naysayers could choke on the vile things they’d said about her.

  Zach was no different from any other man she’d ever known. They all believed she wanted to wear pants and look like a man. But this life had been handed to her, and she’d had no choice but to accept what she’d been dealt, for now. But soon, very soon, she would change her life and turn into the woman she’d always dreamed of becoming. Once she caught Simon, there would be enough money to pay off the loan, and then she could begin her life.

  *

  Zach watched Meg storm off into the night. He took another swig of the whiskey and let the alcohol course through his blood and soothe the ache in his shoulder. Warmth flooded through his body, releasing the tension, except when he looked at Meg.

  God, he was such a fool. She’d told him more than once how she didn’t like wearing pants, but he’d thought she was just saying what she thought he wanted to hear. He’d believed like all the other men in town that she really wanted to wear men’s clothing.

  He was a fool. A damn fool.

  He’d never realized just how desperate their situation was, even after he’d had dinner with the three girls and been served a stolen ham. Meg had sacrificed and let her sisters have the newer clothes, while she wore her father’s clothing. She wore pants, so her sisters could dress like women, and Zach had laughed with all the other men in town at her clothing.

  They’d ridiculed her for something she’d had no choice about. They’d ridiculed her for her self-sacrifice. The realization left him feeling queasy. Not exactly his best effort.

  She walked back into the camp area she’d set up carrying her bedroll. She started to unroll it on the other side of the fire. He was impressed with everything she’d done while he’d been unconscious.

  “It’s kind of hard to pass the bottle to you when you’re way over there,” he said.

  No wonder she’d tied him up and left him naked in town. He’d deserved that and more. Yet, Meg was a round
er. She was spirited and prettier than any woman he’d ever met. He feared seeing her in a dress would have every man in town chasing her skirts. And that wouldn’t do at all. He kind of wanted to be the one to chase her. He kind of wanted to catch her as well.

  “I’ve had all the whiskey I’m drinking tonight,” she said, not looking at him.

  Zach grinned as she stomped to the other side of the fire. He watched as she spread out her blankets and settled her saddle on the edge to lean against. “I think you need to take a look at my wound. It feels funny, like it might be swelling,” he said, knowing it was a lie, but hoping she’d come check.

  She frowned at him. Slowly, she unfurled her long, lean legs from sitting and strode to his side of the campfire. She bent over to look at his shoulder, and he pulled her down onto his lap with his good arm.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “I can’t look at your shoulder like this.”

  “I lied,” he said. “I wanted you here.”

  She stared at him, her green eyes widening, questioning. “Why?”

  He took a deep breath, not knowing what to say, not wanting to apologize, yet feeling he’d done her wrong. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your dreams. Everyone has to have a goal, an aspiration, and it’s a lucky person whose desires are fulfilled. I hope you get your dress shop someday.” He reached out and brushed her hair with his fingertips.

  “Is that the whiskey talking or the man who made fun of me?”

  “No, it’s Zach, the man who didn’t understand,” he replied. She felt so right in his arms, her little derriere snug in his lap, his good arm wrapped around her. Her lips were mere inches from his. He watched as her tongue licked her bottom lip, and he wanted to groan.

  Of all the times for his body to be banged up and bruised with a bullet wound in the shoulder, he couldn’t do a damn thing that he wanted to do. But yet that sassy mouth of hers was begging for his attention. That sassy mouth of hers needed to be kissed. And by God, he could still kiss.

  He lowered his lips to hers, his mouth greedily consuming what he’d dreamed of possessing again. His lips devoured hers, his tongue teasing and tasting the edge of her mouth. This woman was sweet temptation wearing a cowboy hat and a six-shooter. Yet beneath the tough cowgirl exterior beat the heart and soul of a woman. A woman he wanted to peel the layers off of, charm his way past her armor, and find the vulnerable lover he believed she’d hidden. Beneath all that spunky, stubborn, strong-willed persona beat the heart of a loving woman.