Ana Leigh (23 page)

“Sheriff, have you seen Zach MacKenzie? He’s been waiting for this telegram all day.” Jenkins held up the paper clutched in his hand.

“Nope. Understand he rode out of here.”

“Pursued by a bunch of outlaws trying to kill him,” Kate spoke up, with a derogatory glance at the sheriff.

Jenkins chuckled. “They best hope they don’t succeed. He ain’t no outlaw. Zach MacKenzie’s a Texas Ranger.”

Chapter 23

D
espite the need to put distance between them and Brimstone as quickly as possible, Zach followed the road at a moderate speed. It would be foolhardy to gallop across the rugged terrain at night; one of the horses might step in a pothole and break a leg. Right now a healthy horse was more necessary than his Colt. His shoulder ached, his leg felt like it was on fire, and the ride wasn’t doing either of the wounds any good. He was still losing blood. Eventually they’d have to stop to treat the wounds, or he wouldn’t be worth spit in the wind.

Zach turned his head and glanced at the silent rider behind him. Conversation was impossible at the moment, but Rose appeared to be doing fine. She had a lot of grit. Fiery and feisty, willing to challenge him even about the time of day, but in a crisis she trusted his judgment.

There was so much he had to tell her. He couldn’t help but worry how Rose would take the news that he was a Texas Ranger. She made no secret about how she hated lawmen, and probably would be more upset that he was a Ranger than a lowdown drifter. Yeah, she’d hit the roof for sure.

But he couldn’t have told her sooner. He’d been working undercover; then she’d become engaged to the very man he suspected.

Zach grimaced in pain, thinking of Will Grainger. Will had been his contact with the Ranger office, but more than that, had been a mentor to Zach—as he had been to Josh before him. He loved the old-timer, and when Pike and Cain had brought in Will’s body, he’d wanted to start blasting at them right then and there.

Granted, he’d had plenty of time to admit the truth to her today, but they both had too much on their minds to muddy up the water any more than it was already.

As soon as they were out of this mess, though, he’d set her down and explain.

Knowing Rose, she’d be madder than hell. Zach grinned. The beauty was, she’d get over it just as fast. Because now they were committed to each other. It was a new feeling—one he hadn’t understood before.

He’d always been curious about those special looks between his father and mother, but now he understood what they meant: commitment. An unspoken message that said, right or wrong, I’m there for you.

And that was the feeling between Rose and him. It meant he’d put her welfare ahead of his own, as she would for him. Sure, somewhere in the mixture he knew that loving her and wanting her physically was part of it, too; but the feeling went far beyond love, or sex, or the desire to be with her above all others. It was like what they were doing now: riding through the night together, no physical contact of any kind, not even talking—yet having an awareness of each other that comforted.

He’d never expected that one day he’d know this feeling.

And it felt good.

When large raindrops began to splatter the dust, Zach reined in and Rose rode up beside him.

“There’s a poncho in my saddlebags. Better put it on.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ll be okay.”

Rose dug the garment out of the saddlebags, and by the time she managed to get it on the storm had moved in on them.

Jagged lightning pierced the darkness, accompanied by earsplitting booms of thunder. Rose jerked in fright every time one of the luminous spears streaked from the sky.

She was scared of lightning—petrified of it. She’d carried the fear in her heart since childhood, when her mother had warned her that lightning was a sign of God’s anger for their sins.

Now, helpless and unprotected, Rose hunched lower in the saddle and feared His anger was directed at her. Were her and Zach’s sins so grievous to have incurred His wrath?

In no time, the rain began to cascade in waterfalls off the granite summits of the buttes, flowing like rivers through the gulches and narrow ravines below to gorge even deeper into the existing gullies. Visibility had narrowed to a few feet, and conversation was impossible. She felt relieved when Zach motioned to the rocky wall bordering the road. Although it couldn’t offer any protection, she figured that standing in the storm was a darn sight better than riding through it.

Shivering, Rose watched as Zach began to check along the base of the rocky wall. After several feet she could no longer see him through the downpour, but he reappeared a few moments later.

Grabbing the reins of her horse, he motioned to her to follow. After about twenty yards he stopped at where his horse had been tethered to a scrub of tumbleweed.

“There’s room to shimmy under that layer of rock over there,” he shouted, above the thunder.

Rose nodded and crawled under the projecting slab of rock. Zach followed close behind, and she shifted onto her side to make room for him. They were cramped, lying face-to-face on their sides, but at least it got them out of the storm.

Rose was shivering so hard her teeth began to rattle.

“What are you doing?” Zach asked, when she began squirming in an effort to get out of the wet poncho.

“This poncho’s wet and bulky.” She worked it up to her waist, then managed to raise her head and shoulders high enough to enable Zach to shove it over her head. Although her skirt was sodden, her bodice was only damp.

Zach pulled Rose closer and she willingly cuddled against him. Gradually the warmth of their combined body heat penetrated through her wet clothing, and she stopped shivering.

“This storm should pass over soon,” he said. His breath was a pleasant warmth at her ear.

“Keep talking, MacKenzie. It feels good.”

He kissed her until she was breathless. “How does that feel?”

“Even better,” she said.

“I have a pint of whiskey in my saddlebags. We could use it right now.”

“Don’t even think of moving,” she commanded. “I’m just beginning to feel a little warmer. Besides, I can’t swallow lying down.” She attempted a smile.

“Smiling, Miz Rose?”

“Trying to. Sorry, but it’s the best I can offer when lying soaking wet under a rock while lightning and thunder are scaring the sass out of me. I’ve got a confession to make, Zach. I’m scared to death of lightning.”

He hugged her tighter. “Honey, I told you I won’t let anything happen to you”

“Right now I’m having a hard time believing you. Let’s try that kiss again.”

He covered her lips, and for a few precious seconds she put everything out of her mind except the pure pleasure of the kiss. But regretfully, all good things had to come to an end.

“Did it help?” he asked.

“Yes, but these wet clothes are a problem. If I had them off, I’d be in good shape.”

He slid his hand inside her bodice. She gasped aloud when his cold hand touched her breast, but soon she felt the rise of heat as her body began to respond to the gentle massage.

“I’d say, wet or dry, it feels like your body’s in fine shape, Miz Rose.”

“I swear you’re perverted, Zach MacKenzie. You aren’t actually thinking about sex at a time like this.”

“I do nothing but think about sex. However, I’m doing this for medicinal purposes: to warm you.”

“Under any other circumstances I’d say you’re lying, but it
is
helping to warm me, so don’t stop.”

He chuckled. “It’s helping to warm me, too, Rosie.”

“Just the same, I hope we can get out of these wet clothes soon.”

“Now who’s thinking about sex?”

She nipped at his ear. “You know what I mean.”

“Once the rain stops, we’ll be able to change clothes. I’m sure I can find something dry for you to put on.”

“I’m ahead of you on that one. I stuffed some of my clothing into your saddlebags.” She yawned and her eyelids began to droop. “I think I’m falling asleep.”

“If you’re afraid of lightning, how can you fall asleep in the middle of a storm?”

“Because you’re holding me, Zach.”

“That’s sweet, honey.” His voice trailed off and his hand stilled, her breast still cupped in his palm. Then the slight brush of his even breathing on her temple confirmed to her that he had fallen asleep.

She closed her eyes.

Rose was awakened by Zach kicking away the saddles he’d piled across the front of the opening. It was daylight, and more importantly, it wasn’t raining.

When Rose squirmed out after him, she winced with pain. The effects of the beating had been exacerbated by sleeping on the ground in wet clothing. She was so stiff and sore she could barely move, and felt as if every bone in her body was aching.

Zach was checking the horses, and she called, “Good morning.”

He turned his head and smiled. “Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Like something that just crawled out from under a rock.”

“It’ll pass. Thank goodness our mounts seem none the worse for the ordeal,” he said, continuing his inspection.

“Unfortunately, I’m not a horse,” Rose grumbled. She buried her head in her hands to ward off the dizziness that had occurred when she sat up. She’d never felt so miserable, yet he was more concerned about the darn horses than he was about her.

Well, the first thing she’d do was get out of the wet clothes. She pulled the saddlebags over and dug out a change of clothing.

Her legs wobbled so badly when she attempted to stand up that she sank to her knees. She knew she had to force herself to move to work the stiffness out of her body, so she tried again and succeeded in getting to her feet.

When she started to unbutton her blouse, she saw bloodstains. Horrified, she saw some on her skirt, too. “I’m bleeding!”

Frantically, she began to grope all over her body but couldn’t find the source of the bleeding. She looked in panic at Zach, who had come over to her side, and froze, staring horrified at his bloodstained shirt and pants.

“Oh, my God, Zach. It’s you, not me.” Clearly the wound to his leg had not been as trifling as he’d indicated—fresh stains appeared on his pant leg. Just as distressing were the ones on his shirt. He’d never mentioned a wound to his shoulder. There appeared to be new stains there, as well. “Your leg, Zach! Your shoulder! How much blood have you lost?”

“They’ve been bleeding off and on. But the bullets are out, so they just need some tending to.”

“Well, sit down, for heaven’s sake, and let me look at them.” She took his arm and led him over to lean back against the rock wall. As she pushed him down to a sitting position, she noticed that his body had offered little resistance. Her heart leaped to her throat. He was becoming weaker, which meant he’d lost a great deal of blood.

Gingerly, she slipped the shirt off him. The puckered bullet hole in the front of his shoulder looked small enough, but the exit wound on his back was larger and uglier.

Thinking of how he’d endured such an injury throughout the night without saying a word tore her apart. The anguish surfaced as anger. How could he have been so cavalier about his injuries?

She rooted through his saddlebags and dug out a roll of gauze. Then she ripped up the petticoat she had brought along and folded several sections into square wads.

“What are you looking for now?” he asked, when she dug into the saddlebags again.

“That whiskey you mentioned last night.”

She not only found the whiskey, but a jar of spiced apples. “Bless you, Mrs. Downing,” she murmured.

After cleaning the wounds with whiskey, Rose covered each with a compress and tied those on with torn strips of her petticoat.

When she started to pull off one of his boots, he tried to stop her. “I can do that.”

“Sit still,” she ordered, and removed his boots. “Now the pants.”

“You gonna take those off me, too?”

“What do you think?” She wanted to cry when she removed the bloody bandanna tied around his thigh.

“I fantasized about moments like this,” he said, when she unbuckled his pants. He shifted so she could lower the pants past his hips.

“Did you fantasize about bleeding to death, too?”

Rose cleaned and bandaged his thigh, and by the time she got him fully dressed in dry clothing, she felt totally exhausted. As she knelt catching a much-needed breath, her heart was aching—all the bandages and disinfectants in the world couldn’t replenish the blood he’d lost. And that was the fear that preyed on her mind.

Zach leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t be mad at me, Rosie.” There was more amusement than contrition in his voice.

Didn’t he know she’d be unable to bear it if something happened to him? She loved him beyond measure—beyond expression.

“It’s not funny, Zach. You’re old enough to know how serious this is.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Honey, I’ll be fine. It takes more than a couple slugs to bring down a MacKenzie.”

“Is that a family battle cry?” she snapped, but she snuggled closer against him. She wanted to believe it. It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel the warmth and strength of him. It was the only medicine she needed. She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You ready for a breakfast of spiced apples?”

“We’d better get moving,” Zach said as soon as they finished eating.