Whirlwind Groom (23 page)

But she didn't want to tell him because now she knew she would have to be the one to kill Ian. Pushing away from the door, she walked over to light the lamp on the bedside table and sank down on the mattress. Unable to stop her tears, she buried her face in her hands.

Her visit to the newspaper this morning had yielded plenty of information about the gang of outlaws, but no other names of people who might try to kill the surviving McDougal other than the ones she'd unearthed earlier— Catherine or Andrew Donnelly, Cora Wilkes, Susannah or Riley Holt.

Josie wasn't convinced any of those people had made—or would make—an attempt on the outlaw's life.

Because of her feelings for Davis Lee, her purpose was waning by the hour. How could she not fall for a man who
was so careful of her feelings? Who worried so much about protecting her?

She didn't want to think about the way he had cared for her after the snakebite, how he had saved her from being raped and possibly killed. He had opened up to her, not once but twice, and asked her to do the same. He deserved no less, and she hadn't been able to give him the same honesty.

If she told Davis Lee everything, he could very well want her out of town, certainly out of his life. That thought stabbed cold fear into her. But the idea that Ian McDougal might escape justice again and never pay for all the murders he'd committed, all the lives he'd shattered, was horrifying. Her choice should've been easy.

N
o man needed killin' more than Ian McDougal. It was supposed to have been easy for Josie to get rid of the man who had destroyed her world. But then she'd met Davis Lee. And fallen in love with him.

She had realized that sometime after midnight. The giddy, fluttery sensation inside her was overwhelmed by anxiety. It was just like her to figure out something like love after she'd argued with the man.

When the pink-gray light of dawn crept into her bedroom, she hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, but she had made a decision. She would tell Davis Lee everything and after that… Well, she couldn't even think about what would happen after that.

She took a quick, cold bath then dressed quickly and put up her hair as apprehension fisted in her stomach. Refusing to put it off any longer, Josie made her way to the jail with Davis Lee's mended clothes. The garments were an excuse to see him in case he was still too angry to talk to her. But he wasn't there.

Cody Tillman, a sturdy young man about her age who looked as tough as rawhide, was filling in as deputy. He told her that Davis Lee had taken a prisoner to the jail in Abi
lene, and would be gone for the day, possibly overnight. She knew which prisoner, knew Davis Lee was moving her attacker out of Whirlwind so she would feel safe. He'd promised to get rid of the man, but Josie wondered why he hadn't asked Cody to take the man. Had Davis Lee chosen to transport the prisoner himself so he could stay away from her?

Her heart ached. She
had
to see him.

 

That day passed so slowly that Josie could've waltzed across Texas and back. She kept constant watch out her window, but she didn't see him return. After a late supper, her way lit by moonlight and the lamps from the hotel and jail, she returned to Davis Lee's office. Perhaps he had slipped in while she was eating supper in the hotel's dining room. But he hadn't.

She was on her last nerve. Though she dreaded the coming conversation, she was ready to have it done. She wanted to tell him the truth, all of it, the minute he got back to town. She was too wound up to go back to her room. Even knowing Davis Lee might not return until tomorrow, she decided to wait outside his house for a bit, just in case. That wouldn't harm anything.

Woodsmoke drifted from the hotel and a couple of small homes behind. She moved across the street toward Haskell's, noting the store's darkened windows. The light from the jail shone weakly down the alley as Josie walked behind the mercantile. She drew up short. A candle glowed in Davis Lee's front window.

He was home. Her heart thundered. Sweat slicked her palms. Holding the bundle of his clothes tightly to her chest, she made her way slowly to the porch.

She wanted him to know that she had come here to get justice for her family, wanted to tell him why she'd kept the information from him for so long. She wanted him to
understand, but would he? Nerves jumping, she blew out a breath. There was only one way to find out. Besides, if she thought on it further, she'd hightail it back to the hotel faster than a scorched cat.

She stepped quietly up to the door and stood there for a long minute, listening past the chirp of insects and the soft push of the wind for any sound from inside. The oilskin shade was down on his front window, but she saw a shadow pass in front of it. Determined to be as honest with him as he'd been with her, she knocked.

“Coming.” The door opened and Davis Lee stood there, bare-chested, hair damp, bathed in the glow of a lamp in the corner behind him.

Her greeting slid back down her throat.

“Josie.” His voice was flat.

“Davis Lee.” She should've said more, had plenty to say, but her tongue wouldn't work.

The sight of his tautly muscled, golden flesh had desire pulsing through her in a wild rush. Denim trousers hugged his lean waist. Moisture glistened on his brawny shoulders. Her gaze helplessly traced over the dark hair on his chest, the well-hewn plane of his stomach, down his long legs. His feet were bare and behind him she saw a set of evaporating footprints.

A shiver worked through her as her gaze lifted to his. She read the steel in his eyes, the anvil-hard firming of his jaw. “I…needed to see you.”

“I got that jackass to Abilene.” His words were clipped. “He won't hurt you again. Or anyone else.”

“Thank you.” He filled the doorway, huge and intimidating. He clearly wasn't going to invite her in, but she wasn't leaving until she'd had her say. “I brought your clothes.”

His gaze flicked to the bundle in her arms. “I told you I'd come get them.”

“I thought you might need them. I stopped by the jail, but you weren't there.” Taking the only chance she might have, she squeezed past him, catching a faint whiff of alcohol and the flesh-warmed scent of soap. She walked several feet to his dining table, noting the damp towel hung over the back of a chair he'd moved in front of the fireplace. He'd told her before that he had a bathing tub in a separate room at the back of the house.

She glanced over her shoulder, inwardly wincing at his sharp scrutiny. The door still stood open behind him, making it clear that he wasn't planning for her to stay. She swallowed hard. “All the mending is finished. You should be fixed up for a while.”

“Thanks.”

She squirmed at his impassive voice. There would never be any easy way to do this. “I didn't come to ask about your trip to Abilene.”

“Then why are you here?” He folded his arms over his wide, solid chest and waited.

She couldn't bear him looking at her that way, so unapproachable, so put out. Wood shavings from his whittling littered the floor in front of the fireplace. His bottle of whiskey and a glass containing traces of amber liquid sat on the corner of the table. Whittling and drinking meant he was bothered about something. Maybe what had happened between them.

She carefully laid his clothes on the table next to the liquor bottle. “I wanted to talk to you about last night, the things I said. I told you to leave me alone, but that isn't what I want.”

“Josie—”

“I didn't sleep a wink. It upsets me that you're angry.”

He shut the door, but he stayed in front of it.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” The crackle of the fire, the scent of pine shavings, the smell of
his skin, had her remembering how he'd cared for her the other night, recalling in exquisite agony his mouth on hers, his hands on her body.

He watched her, looking grim and immovable. Fine, if he wouldn't talk, she would. Not sure where to start, she plunged in. “When I came to Whirlwind, I didn't intend to live here.”

“Even though that's what you told me?”

“Yes.” She held his gaze, clasped her shaking hands together. “But now I don't want to leave.”

“Is there some reason you have to?”

“I didn't think you'd still be this mad,” she murmured.

“Does that mean you're catchin' the next stage out?”

Pain sliced through her. “Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want?” he asked archly.

His reference to last night and her refusal to tell him anything was unmistakable. Had she ruined what was growing between them? “It matters a great deal to me.” She turned, paced to the other end of the table then back. “I care about you, Davis Lee.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” He held himself stiffly aloof from her. “Do you not want me to say that?”

He looked away, scrubbing a hand down his face. It was a long minute before he spoke. “Thanks for mending those clothes. If you'll wait a minute, I'll finish dressing and walk you back to the hotel.”

“I really did come here to talk to you. Please?”

Feet spread wide, hands on his hips, he leveled his gaze into hers. “I need more time to cool off.”

She knew if she didn't speak now, she might lose her chance. She would definitely lose her nerve. Walking the length of the table, her words poured out. “My family is dead, and sometimes I miss them so much, sometimes I'm so lonely that I can't breathe.” He frowned so fiercely that
her voice cracked; she battled back tears as she paced the other direction. “The only time I feel all right is when I'm with you.”

“You're with me now,” he said evenly, narrowing his eyes. “You don't look all right.”

“You don't want me here, and I don't blame you. But please hear me out.” Her boots clicked hollowly as she moved back and forth across his wooden floor. “I want to tell you about my family.”

Her palms were clammy. She pulled off her gloves, stuffed them into her pocket. Her skin felt too small, her nerves laid bare. Turning jerkily in a whirl of skirts to go back the other direction, her thigh hit the edge of the table. The glass fell, hit the corner of a chair and shattered. “Oh, no!”

“Leave it,” Davis Lee said tersely as she knelt to clean up the mess.

“Clumsy,” she muttered as she picked up the biggest shard. “My parents— Ow!”

At the stinging prick, she dropped the broken glass. Blood welled from a small cut on her index finger.

Muttering under his breath, Davis Lee reached her in two strides and went down on his haunches several inches away, careful to keep his feet from the sharp pieces. “Let me see.”

“It's not bad. Get the broom and I'll clean this up. I want to tell you—”

“You're bleeding. I'm not getting the broom.” He rose, bent over and picked her up under the arms as if she were a little girl.

When his hands slid down to her waist, she held on to his hard shoulders. “Watch out. You're barefoot.”

“I'll go around this side.” He stepped backward then walked around to the opposite end of the table, setting her down on the edge closest to the stove. He moved away to
retrieve the lamp from the shelf in the corner behind her. “Let me look at it.”

“It's barely anything.”

“It's still bleeding,” he said pointedly. Placing the lamp on top of the nearby cupboard, he took her hand in his and shifted so that the light fell between them. He reached to the left and opened the small cabinet, pulled out a cloth and gently pressed it to her finger. “I don't think there's any glass left in it.”

No one had ever made her feel so precious. Despite being mad at her, he was still taking care of her. He frowned in fierce concentration as he held the cloth to the wound for a few seconds. Her gaze traced the play of light in his dark hair, the edge of his cheekbone, his stubble-shadowed jaw. “You're always taking care of me.”

“That's my job,” he said dismissively. “To help people.”

“No.” She curled her left hand into her skirts so she wouldn't reach for him. “It's the kind of man you are.”

He peered at her finger. “I think it's stopped bleeding.”

“You're the best man I know.”

“Why?” He raised his head, not looking angry now, but wary. “Because I don't like to see you hurt?” he asked gruffly.

This man calmed a part of her deep inside that had been a teeming crush of bitterness and sadness and loss for the past two years. Her heart squeezed. “My father was the only other man I've known with such a big heart, who cared so much about people.” She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers skimming his bristly jaw as she murmured, “About me.”

His gaze searched hers. “Not even William?”

“No. I've never known anyone like you.” It was as if some buried instinct drove her to confess her feelings. “I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Ever since the
other night,” she whispered, “all I can think about is…belonging to you in that way.”

He stared at her in arrested silence, the heat and hunger in his gaze sending a thrill through here. “Josie, when you say things like that, do you think I can turn away? Do you think I can ignore what you're saying, what you're offering—”

“I don't want you to ignore it or turn away.” If he rejected her, she didn't know what she would do. Swallowing hard, she said, “I don't want you to turn
me
away.”

“Dammit.” His broad, warm hands cupped her shoulders as if to keep her at a distance.

She stayed very still. “Cody said you might spend the night in Abilene. I'm glad you didn't.”

“I wanted to,” he said roughly. His nostrils flared slightly as his hold tightened on her. “But I couldn't stop thinking about you. Or this.”

His mouth came down on hers. Hard at first, then gentling as he kneed her legs apart and stepped between them, pulling her close in one fluid movement. Her skirts frothed around him; the scent of honeysuckle rose between them.

“I have wanted you for so damn long,” he said hoarsely when he lifted his head. Careful of her bruises, he framed her face with his hands and brushed his lips across her mouth, her cheek, her forehead. “You're the first woman in over two years I've cared about this much. When I thought you were leaving Whirlwind for good, I felt like I'd been walloped.”

“You did?” she breathed, daring to hope that perhaps she hadn't ruined everything between them.

He nodded. “I'm glad you're still here.” He kissed her again, slow and deep and increasingly intense.

She slid one arm up the solid length of his, her palm curving around his nape. Her other hand flattened on his chest, over the heavy thud of his heart. She couldn't get
close enough to his heat, the sleek angles of his chest, so different from hers. The feel of his arousal against her sent a jolt of need through her. One part of her desire-hazed mind still functioned, reminded her why she'd come. She knew she had to tell him
now.

Struggling against the dark sweet draw of growing need, she flattened both hands on his chest, trying to slow him for a moment. But it wasn't until she touched his face and held it that he broke the kiss.