“Thank goodness, the rain finally let up!” Mary said, raising the curtain and peering outside.

Sarah agreed. “You think Samuel will make it across the river before the preacher arrives? He’s supposed to come through any day now.”

Mary returned to the settee. “If I know Samuel, he’ll figure it out. He’s not going to miss tying the knot, especially with Valentine’s Day fast approaching. He waited a long time for you to say yes.”

Sarah laughed. “He has been patient, hasn’t he?”

Mary smiled at her younger sister. She was so pretty, she’d been pursued by almost every man in Cedar Junction, even a couple of elderly widowers, but she’d been reluctant to step out with any of them. Of course, she fell for Samuel Williams the moment she met him, but for some reason, hesitated when he first proposed.

Papa’s death had changed all that, though. Sam had been there when Papa fell from the top of their second-story house; he’d been there to carry him in and doctor him, although there was little they could do to stop the bleeding. He’d been there all through the night as Papa gasped his last, and he was there to hold Sarah as she wept uncontrollably for hours afterward.

Mary reached out for Sarah’s folded hands. “Come on, now. We have a meal to prepare for that handsome man of yours,” she said. “You can fret while you peel potatoes. He does like roast beef and mashed potatoes, right?”

Sarah smiled. “It’s his favorite and you know it.”

Mary pulled her sister to her feet. “So let me get the kindling and I’ll kick the fire up. You get supper started. The roast will need to cook for a couple of hours, which means keeping the woodpile going.”

“Thanks, Mary,” said Sarah. “You’re always so sensible.”

Mary shrugged. “Ah, yes, sensible, practical Mary.”

Sarah smiled. “You know what I mean. I just don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know. I feel the same about you. Now, go, and get started on supper.”

****

Mary slipped out the back door and ran to the woodshed. The rain was falling heavily again, drenching her before she reached the shelter. Stamping her feet and shaking her head, she picked up Papa’s axe and headed to the stack of sapling wood Samuel and Papa had cut last February.

Just then she heard a cry, and she stopped, heart pounding. “Who’s there?” she asked. She bit her lip and raised her axe. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

It was more a whimper than a cry, but it came from the far side of the shed. She rushed to the stack of wood and immediately spotted a man lying on his side, his face hidden by the wood piled high in front of him.

He groaned and whispered, “Help me…”

Mary dragged the axe along as she squeezed between the shed wall and the stacked wood. She dropped to her knees when she reached the man’s side. Turning him over, she looked into his face. Contorted with pain, eyes closed, he was no one she recognized. She sighed: at least it wasn’t Samuel. But he was in bad shape, whoever he was.

“Hold on,” she said, checking him over. Blood oozed from a wound on his thigh and another on his shoulder. It was then she saw the badge. She leaned closer. “I’m gonna get some help. I’ll be right back.”

She ran back through the rain to the house. “Sarah, come quick! I need you!”

Not waiting for a response, Mary headed back to the woodshed. She knew Sarah would follow.

“What’s happened?” cried Sarah as she dashed into the shed.

“Help me,” Mary said. “It’s a sheriff or deputy. I don’t know, but he’s been shot.”

“Oh, Lord,” moaned Sarah when she saw the fallen man stuck behind the woodpile, his boots all that protruded from the narrow space. “How are we ever going to get him out of there?”

“We’ll have to move the wood, that’s all,” returned Mary. “Come on. Put those dainty fingers to work.”

As they threw off the chunks of firewood, Mary leaned over periodically and whispered, “Hang on, mister. We’re doing the best we can.” It took almost half an hour to move the wood so that they could reach him.

Finally, they rolled the semi-conscious man out into the middle of the woodshed.

“Now what?” asked Sarah.

“Let’s get him to his feet,” said Mary. “There’s two of us. We can do it. Raise him up on that side and I’ll lift this side. Easy, now,” she murmured when the man groaned loudly. “Sorry, mister, no help for it.”

The rain had stopped and a bit of sun protruded from the heavy cloud cover by the time they got the man to the front porch, but everything was drenched and mucky as they half-dragged him up the steps.

Mary leaned over and opened the door then kicked it wide with her muddy boot. “Into Papa’s room,” she said, feeling the man’s weight growing heavier and heavier. His face was void of expression now, and she wondered if they might have just written his death sentence by their actions.

Sarah glanced at her. “I just hope he survives. What if he dies on us?”

Mary snapped, “We won’t let him die.”

Papa’s room was a small room adjacent to the kitchen. It had been the old kitchen lean-to before Papa built the girls a newer, roomier kitchen space. It was small and damp, having been closed off after Papa’s death.

“Okay,” Mary directed, and together the girls got the man onto the narrow cot Papa had used for more than ten years. The man half fell to the floor as they tried to lay him across the bed.

As Mary raised his legs and arranged them on the bed, she saw that the wound on his thigh had begun to bleed more profusely. “Get some rags, Sarah,” she said. She glanced up at the man’s face; in spite of his pallor, he was undeniably handsome, even under his scraggly beard and the dirt and grime. His hair was longer than was fashionable, hanging over his collar by at least an inch. “You’ve been on the trail, I’d say,” she whispered to him, “or on the run.”

Sarah returned with some rags as Mary went to work on the man’s leg. She tore his pant leg open to reveal the bloody wound. “A bullet,” she said.

“You sure?” whispered Sarah.

“Well,” returned Mary impatiently, “with a hole in his leg and one in his shoulder, I’d say they’d have to be bullet holes.”

“But we aren’t doctors,” said Sarah.

“No, but the doctor is in Denny Springs, and we don’t have any kind of rig for hauling him anywhere,” snapped Mary. “Thanks to Homer,” she added under her breath.

Mary dabbed at the blood until she’d cleared it away. “Mama used to make a poultice out of hot milk and bread, remember? If we had some yarrow, that could work, too. But we do have milk and bread. Heat it, Sarah, and break up some bits of bread. Wrap it up in some of your linen. And bring me Papa’s boning knife.”

Sarah stood for a moment, her eyes wide with fear. “Are you sure, Mary? You think you should go digging after a bullet?”

Mary sighed. “No, I’m not sure about anything, except that we have to do something.” She looked up at her sister who continued to stare at the man’s bloody leg. “Go, Sarah, please.”

Sarah disappeared then and Mary heaved a sigh. The man had not stirred at all since they’d dragged him into the house. She studied his upper body, knowing that she’d have to tackle the wound on his shoulder next. At least it wasn’t bleeding, but his shirt was soaked in old blood, evidence that the bullet had done some damage.

“At least you’re unconscious,” she whispered. “Don’t know if I could do what needs doing if you were awake.”

When had he been shot, she wondered? She’d not seen a horse or heard any kind of commotion, which probably meant he had found his way into their woodshed on foot after being attacked. In the rain, she reminded herself.

She continued to press the wound to slow the flow of blood, but crimson oozed out from under the wad of rags she had piled onto the torn flesh. She glanced up at the man’s face and was, again, struck by his good looks. “Please don’t die,” she whispered. “With that badge, you can’t be an outlaw.”

Sarah returned with the knife and a small pot full of hot milk and bread.

Mary took the knife and studied the wound carefully. Sarah groaned when she pressed the tip into the narrow slit of flesh. “Turn away, Sarah. I don’t need you fainting on me.” Then, sucking in her breath and biting her lip, she dug fast and furiously. Her heart thumped wildly as she fought the panic that threatened to overtake her, and she prayed she was doing the right thing.

What if she killed him in her attempt to save his life?

Thankfully, the bullet was not too deep. “Okay, Sarah, give me the poultice.”

Moving closer, Sarah handed Mary the pot and a large wooden spoon. “I can’t believe you got it out,” she said, her voice almost breathless. She handed her a lacy petticoat as well as layers of cloth.

Mary looked down at the petticoat.

Sarah whispered, “I was afraid there might not be enough linen so I brought down Mother’s old petticoat. It should tear easily, don’t you think?”

Mary glanced up at her. “Maybe we won’t need it.”

“It’s all right,” said Sarah. “I don’t really need to wear it under my wedding dress, and we don’t have much else that will work for bandages. Most important, it’ll tear easily.”

Mary nodded. “True,” she said, “and it looks as if we’ll need some long strips to hold the poultice in place. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah tore the gauzy layers of material into long strips. “I think this man’s life is more important than a petticoat.”

Mary glanced up at her sister. “We’ll remind him of that when he recovers and finds himself decked out in Mama’s lacy undergarment.” She spooned some milk-soaked bread onto several squares of linen then placed the mess inside another couple of squares of cloth before pressing it against the still-bloody wound. The petticoat did tear easily and Sarah handed the strips to her, one at a time.

Mary wrapped the man’s leg securely and sat back, sighing audibly. “Okay, we’ve done what we can with that wound.”

Next, Mary tore the man’s shirt away from his shoulder, revealing his taut, well-muscled torso. She flushed, then quickly turned her attention on the wound. “It looks as if it’s sealed itself off,” she said.

“Is that a good thing?” Sarah asked.

“God only knows,” mumbled Mary. Like she did with the first bullet, she took Papa’s boning knife and began to dig. It came out more easily. She then made up another poultice and applied it to the injured area, this time wrapping the gauzy layers of petticoat around his chest.

When she was finished dressing the second wound, Mary sat back. She was exhausted. “That’s all we can do for now,” she said.

“I think you just saved his life,” said Sarah. “I know I couldn’t have done it.”

Mary looked up as she wiped her rain-soaked hair from her face. “I only did what needed doing. And if it’d been Samuel, I’m sure you’d have jumped right in,” she added with a smile.

Sarah nodded. “Yes, maybe then,” she said. “Oh, but I wish he’d get here soon. He could ride for the doctor.”

Mary nodded. She didn’t relish the idea of having to walk ten miles to the nearest doctor. Especially if the rain returned.

Sarah collected the leftover fabric and rags, including the blood-soaked ones, while Mary rearranged the bedding to cover the man and his exposed flesh. They’d have to dig out some of Papa’s old clothing since she hadn’t been able to salvage much of the man’s.

Sarah entered with a steaming cup of tea. “Thought you could use something to warm you,” she said.

Mary nodded. “Thank you. I hope I did do the right thing,” she whispered, suddenly fearful that her ministrations might have endangered the man’s life even further. “We better pray he survives,” she said as she raised the cup to her parched lips.

“You didn’t have a choice,” said Sarah then, setting her teacup on the old milking stool that had served as Papa’s side table. An oil lamp was the only other item in the room. “Shall we bring in a chair? We can take turns sitting with him.”

“Thanks. I’ll sit. You finish that supper. Hopefully Sam will be here before nightfall, and he’ll know what to do next.”

“Okay,” said Sarah. She returned with a narrow ladder-back chair. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Just holler.”

“I will,” smiled Mary, “although I don’t think I have anything to worry about from this fellow. I sure wish we knew who he was and what happened,” she added.

“Did you check his pockets?” Sarah asked.

Mary looked up. “Never thought of that.” Carefully, gently, she felt around for something that might give them a clue as to his identity. The only thing she found was a handbill, folded over in his rear pants pocket. It was wet and limp. “It’s a Wanted poster,” she said and held it up for Sarah. “For a man named…Billy Sykes…but it’s smeared from the rain. Can’t make out a face at all,” she added, frowning. “So he must really be a lawman—”

“Do you think this Billy shot him?”

“Possibly,” said Mary. “It says ‘Wanted, Dead or Alive’.”

“Does that mean he’ll still be looking to finish him off? Maybe follow him here?” Sarah asked.

Mary turned her gaze back on the man stretched across her father’s bed. “I don’t know,” she said, turning the thought around in her brain. “But we might want to think about being careful, just in case—” Her words trailed off as she considered what this event might have unleashed. Two women, alone, outside of town by ten miles. “Find Papa’s shotgun and pistol,” she said, her eyes still on the man’s grizzled face. “And all the ammunition you can.”

Sarah whimpered. “You think somebody will really come after him?”

Mary heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Sarah, but do it. Now. Else you sit down here and I’ll go gather them up.”

“No, no, I’ll go.”

The sound of Sarah’s boots going up the stairs was the only sound Mary heard, but her heart had started to beat rapidly and filled her ears with a thump-thumping that seemed to drown out every other sound. The notion that someone might come here, after this man, was a chilling thought. That meant she and Sarah could be in danger.

She moved into the kitchen and looked around. The small window was easily locked and shuttered from inside, as was the back door. Unfortunately, the windows in the front parlor lacked shutters. Papa had never gotten around to installing them.

Mary locked the front door and pulled the thin curtains across the windows. Hopefully this was only a precaution, she told herself. No need to really worry.

****

Jake stirred, but his body was like a twisted piece of iron. Unmovable. And the pain radiating through his limbs and chest stabbed like a hot poker. He couldn’t determine where he hurt most; he just hurt—everywhere.

He rolled his eyes upward. He didn’t recognize anything. He knew he was in some kind of room, but it was more like a shed or lean-to. He rolled his eyes from side to side. Again there was nothing familiar.

Where was he? He remembered…what? He remembered falling back, and over, into a streambed. Was that it?

He tried to speak, but his words were hardly audible. It was as if he were in a tunnel…deep tunnel. He tried again to speak, to call out. Was there someone here? Anywhere?

He tried to raise his head. Moving it slightly to the right, he caught sight of someone entering the room. He worked the fingers of his left hand and managed to lift them toward the ceiling. Once more, he tried to speak. “Help me—”

A woman suddenly appeared at his side, her eyes wide with—relief? “Oh, mister, are we glad you’re still alive!”

He wanted to laugh. Yes, he was glad, too.

She leaned over and then he saw the tears in her eyes. Her smile was broad and radiated warmth, her eyes coffee brown—large, round, and heavy-lashed. “Hello,” she whispered. “Welcome to our home. I’m Mary Hastings.”

“Uh—Jake,” he said, his voice gravelly and rough.

She laughed. “Good. You can talk, too.”

He tried to smile. It felt good to hear this woman’s voice and see her smile. He inhaled her scent. It reminded him of lilacs.

She slipped a hand under his head just enough to raise his pillow. “Better?”

He tried the smile again. It seemed to work better this time. “Water?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. She repositioned him on the pillow then jumped up, returning almost immediately with a cup of water. “Fresh from the spring this morning,” she said, and helped him to a sitting position.

“Aghhh,” he moaned. His entire left side felt as if it were pinned down, and the pain from the top of his shoulder to his ankle continued to burn.

“I’m sorry,” Mary said and lowered him so that he could drink without slopping it all over himself. “Small sips,” she said. “I don’t know if you can handle too much yet.”

She helped him back against the pillow.

“Hurts,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure,” returned Mary sympathetically. “We tended to the bullets, but you will still need a doctor—”

Just then, another woman moved into view. She sighed as she drew close. “Thank God,” she said, “he’s awake.”

The first woman—Mary—smiled. “Yes, and he’s coherent. But one of us will need to go and fetch Dr. Whiting, sooner than later, I fear.”

“Well,” responded the second woman, “when Samuel arrives, he will know what to do. He has to get here soon,” she added. She was clearly distressed. And though she was undeniably lovely—this second young woman—it was Mary who intrigued him. He turned back to her and tried to sit up again, feeling as if he didn’t move soon he’d be stuck forever. “Up,” he muttered.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Let’s see if we can’t get you up and then moving. I do believe that’s what must come next—” Her words trailed off as she slipped one arm under his.

He bit his lip against the radiating pain. But he had to move. He had to get up. He had to get back on his horse, and he had to—

“Agh!”

Mary gasped. “I am so sorry!”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

She smiled in relief and gently helped him move his legs around as the second woman held him steady by the shoulders.

Finally sitting up, he leaned back against the wall, fighting the pain in his shoulder.

Mary knelt beside him, her hands on the edge of the cot. “We are not nurses, but my sister and I will do what we can.” She turned. “This is Sarah. And you are Jake—what?” she asked, her dark eyebrows raised, her eyes bright in the dull light.

“Jake—Morris,” he whispered, suddenly wishing he could touch Mary’s sweet face. Illuminated by the hint of light coming in from the kitchen, she appeared almost—angelic…

Mary continued, “You’re a deputy?” She glanced down at the badge still pinned to his vest, which lay on the floor beside him. Obviously she’d removed it when she doctored his wounds. He’d already noticed that there was very little left of his chambray shirt and jeans.

“Sheriff. Crook County.”

Mary nodded. “Well, Sheriff, can you tell us what happened? Do you remember anything? We found you in our woodshed.”

Jake studied Mary’s face as he tried to recall the details of the last few days. The memory was fuzzy. “Gunfight. Then I fell, off a ridge. Into a rocky streambed.” He closed his eyes as he continued to recover the memories. “Rainstorm. On foot.” He opened his eyes. “That’s all,” he said. “I don’t remember the woodshed.”

Mary’s face narrowed into a dark frown. “Okay.”

Sarah, standing in the doorway, asked, “Was it Billy—? He’s the outlaw? On your wanted poster?”

Jake nodded. “Yes. Billy Sykes,” he said, remembering. “I tracked him. Found him.”

“But did you kill him?” asked Mary. “You and he—you had a gunfight. He hit you, but did you hit him?”

Suddenly, Jake understood the question. These women could be in danger—because of him. “Don’t know,” he said. “Don’t know.”

Damn, if only he could remember what happened next.

****

The day passed slowly, Sarah sitting in the parlor waiting for Samuel, Mary in and out of Jake’s room while tending the roast that Sarah had all but forgotten.

As the sun set, the girls ate supper in silence.

Later, Mary stood on the front porch, inhaling the cool damp air. The storm had finally passed. Perhaps Samuel would come now, she thought, frowning. And if not, how would they get word to the doctor? She couldn’t leave Sarah alone—

Sarah had not said a word, but Mary knew her sister was fretting over Samuel’s late arrival. She’d fallen so madly in love with him, she appeared to move as if in a dream most of the time. Mary couldn’t wait until the two were finally married.

Of course, having never fallen in love, she knew she lacked the proper understanding of the aching need her sister obviously felt for Sam. Life had been too full of obligations, and she’d decided to forego the luxury of falling for some cowboy or no-account. And now—well, it was probably too late for her.

Not that Samuel was a no-account. He was a well-respected captain, newly discharged from the army with a promising career in banking.

He had been on his way home after his discharge a year-and-a-half ago when he was introduced to Sarah and Mary at Mill Creek’s Harvest celebration, only four months before Papa’s terrible fall. Mr. Lipkowitz had introduced them, adding that Samuel was in line for a job at his bank.

Sarah’s voice startled her. “There’s no point in sitting up any longer tonight, Mary. I don’t think he’ll be coming now.”

She smiled. “I was just remembering Papa. It seems he’s been gone for so much longer than a year.”

Sarah agreed. “It feels like ages. And every time I think that he won’t be here for my wedding, it feels like we’ve lost him all over again.”

Mary nodded and sighed as she closed the door and locked it. She was still worried about the possibility that Billy Sykes might be on the hunt for Jake Morris. If he could track him here…

The thought sent a chill down her spine. If only Samuel would arrive, she’d feel much safer, for certainly the sheriff was in no shape to defend them.

****

Mary got up from the chair where she’d fallen asleep and stretched. It was morning, but a far cry from daybreak. Jake Morris had slept restlessly earlier on, but he appeared to be resting comfortably now.

A relief, to be sure, thought Mary, still praying she’d not be the one responsible for his dying.

She picked up her shawl, which had fallen to the floor, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She entered the kitchen. Sarah was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of strong coffee on the table beside her. “You’re up early,” she said.

Sarah shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking that Samuel should arrive and then I wondered if maybe something might have happened to him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s gotten side-tracked is all. After all, he’s leaving the army and with this new job, maybe he had other matters to take care of before he could devote his time to you.” She smiled.

“You’re probably right. I guess this whole Mr. Morris thing has me nervous. I mean, we know that this Sykes fellow might still be out there somewhere, right?”

Mary nodded as she removed a cup from the sideboard and poured herself some coffee. “But we are taking precautions, and chances are he won’t come here. He’s going to be looking in all the obvious places.”

“I’m just being a ninny, I guess.”

“No, you’re a woman in love. Dangerous condition, I’m thinking…can’t keep your mind on anything but that handsome man of yours.”

They both laughed.

It felt good to laugh, thought Mary. It’d been a tense twenty-four hours. She glanced at the box of firewood that sat by the door. “We’re going to need more kindling before long,” she said, setting her empty cup on the table.

Sarah jumped to her feet. “Let me get it this time. You’ve been doing the lion’s share of work.”

Mary nodded. “Thanks. I’ll check in on our friend, maybe make up a plate of cold roast and potatoes. He must be getting hungry. The bit of broth I gave him last evening won’t hold him for too long.”

Sarah removed Papa’s old wool coat from the coat hook near the front door. She and Mary often used it when they were heading out into the cold. She turned to Mary who had followed her into the parlor. “Lock the door behind me,” she said to Mary, “and I’ll come through the back door. No sense in leaving ourselves open to intruders, right?”

“True,” said Mary, following her to the door. She locked it and watched through the front window as Sarah headed round to the woodshed. Hopefully there was little to fret over, but they would have to keep their eyes open.

She headed into the kitchen and prepared a plate of food for Mr. Morris. He probably wouldn’t eat much, so she sliced only a few thin slices of meat off the roast then spooned up some cold mashed potatoes.

She carried the plate and spoon into Papa’s room. It really was a sorry space, she thought, wishing they’d have realized it before he’d passed on. He’d insisted on using it, saying that he had no need of more space, that his work kept him outside all day and he only needed somewhere to sleep. The girls shared the larger bedroom upstairs that had once been their parents’ room, with its oversized armoire and Mama’s favorite rocker, while the smaller second room had been transformed into Sarah’s sewing room. The reworked kitchen provided Mary ample space for cooking.

Mary sighed. The house seemed so empty without Papa. He had been their salt and their light, she thought, recalling the expression he’d always used to describe Mama. But for the girls, Mama had been gone so long it was hard to remember much about her. She had died in childbirth—along with the tiny brother they’d planned to call Davis, after Mama’s papa. They buried Mama and Davis together, in the same grave down by the creek. It was Mary’s secret haven and she often went there when she was heavy-hearted.

After Mama’s passing, it was just the three of them. Papa worked the farm and Mary assisted while keeping up the house, and Sarah spent hours with needle and fabric, designing and stitching dresses for a number of ladies in town. Her eye for color and detail made her famous throughout the region.

****

Mary sat down beside Jake who was still asleep. He was hopefully out of the woods.

He stirred and Mary smiled. “You’ve been asleep for hours,” she said.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, not at all,” returned Mary. “You needed rest. You have been through a terrible ordeal. We’re just relieved that the worst is over.”

He smiled, his eyes flashing their own secret smile, and Mary blushed. She was not accustomed to having a good-looking man take notice of her. She held the plate out and mumbled, “Food?”

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

She handed him the spoon and set the plate on the milking stool. She adjusted her skirts and sat back, watching him devour the potatoes.

“Hungrier than I realized,” he said, and picked up a slice of beef with his fingers.

She immediately noticed his hands; they were calloused, a reminder of the hours he spent out in the weather and elements. She inclined her head. “We have plenty,” she said.

They sat amiably for several minutes. Finally, he spoke. “Tell me about yourself.”

She looked up, startled. “Uh, there’s not much to tell.”

He shook his head. “Tell me. I want to know all about you.”

Mary inhaled as she folded her hands together. “Uh, well, my sister and I live here. Papa passed away last year after a bad fall. He was repairing the shingles on the roof and slipped. We told him it could wait till spring, but he was stubborn.” She swallowed. “That left just Sarah and me. Our mother passed on when I was four years old and Sarah was two.”

Jake had put the spoon down and watched her closely. “No husband?”

“No husband,” she said and plumped her skirt’s folds. She didn’t have to explain anything to him, she decided.

“You’re farmers?” he asked, nonplussed.

“We have a small farm here,” continued Mary, “but we lease most of it to Homer Spier. He’s our neighbor.” She didn’t add that she didn’t trust Homer, that the man was devious and she’d begun to wonder if he weren’t after more than the two hundred acres he’d leased. He had already managed to weasel them out of their buggy after their buggy mare died. The fiend had convinced Sarah that it was in such disrepair after years of neglect that to fix it would be more costly than it was worth, and while she was in town meeting with Mr. Lipkowitz at the bank, he talked Sarah into selling him the rig for a pittance.

Mary still regretted the bitter retort she’d unleashed on Sarah later that day. It had been too late to change the facts, and Sarah was horribly undone by Mary’s harsh words. Of course, in the end, she apologized for her outburst. Sarah had only done what she thought was best as they were trying to collect enough money to pay on the mortgage.

“You farm?” asked Jake after another brief silence.

Mary nodded. “I do what I can. Papa taught me a lot, but it’s looking more and more like Sarah and I will have to sell the place. She’s getting married right away and it’d be too much for just one person. Besides, we owe the bank a lot of money.”

She turned away then, realizing she’d revealed far more than she should. This man, albeit a sheriff, was a stranger. She stood up, picking up the spoon and empty plate. “May I get you anything else?”

He shook his head. “A new leg?” he quipped.

She sighed. “Is it paining you considerably?”

He shrugged. “Not considerably, but enough to know that I won’t be able to sit a horse for any length of time.”

“Well, you are without a horse, Mr. Morris, so I daresay you won’t be riding anytime soon at any rate, and our only mare died two months ago and we have not yet replaced her. However, I do believe the blacksmith has a string of horses for sale. Don’t know what kind of mounts they will make. We were going to talk with him ourselves, when we could afford to look at one.”

“Is there any way to get word to him?” asked Jake. “Ask him about his best animal?”

“Certainly. But until you see the doctor, you really shouldn’t ride at all.”

“So the doctor will be my first destination. But I think I may need some clothes before then,” he added, with the hint of a smile. He rubbed a hand across his chin.

Mary blushed. “Yes, well, there was no helping my stripping away your pants or shirt, Mr. Morris. But I can replace them with some of Papa’s.”

Jake smiled. “I’m not complaining, Mary. May I call you Mary?”

“Uh, yes, I suppose so.”

“Then call me Jake. Mr. Morris sounds quite formal, and I think we’ve gone past being strangers.”

Mary stammered, unused to calling any man by his first name—except for those she’d known a long time. She’d only just started calling Samuel by his first name after he told her a sister shouldn’t call her brother Mr. Williams. “Well, then, Mr.—Jake—I will see what we have of Papa’s that might fit you. He wasn’t as tall as you are, but they should work, at least until you can get yourself something better. Anything else?”

He seemed to hesitate.

“Yes?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t been able to reach the chamber pot. It seems to be just out of my reach?”

Mary caught her breath. “Oh, Mr. Morris—Jake—I’m so sorry!” Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, she wasn’t sure what to do—whether to run out of the room or get down on her knees and rummage around for Papa’s old cracked pot. She blurted, “I am—”

“Please, Mary, I wouldn’t have said anything, but—”

She dropped to her knees, unable to say more, and scrambled around until she found the chipped pot shoved into the corner of the room under Papa’s cot. She dragged it out and, sitting back, looked up into Jake’s smiling face. For a moment she relaxed, but then felt a wave of terror. “Do you—will you—need help?”

He chuckled. “No, I can manage, if you just leave it right there.” He chuckled again. “I’m sorry for having to ask.”

“I just never thought,” she mumbled.

He laughed. “Thank you, Mary.”

****

Jake watched Mary leave the small room. Even though he’d undoubtedly embarrassed her, she’d regained her composure and moved now with deliberate steps, not like most women, he mused, who seem to sway from side to side. Mary’s step exuded a particular confidence, and he liked it. She was a woman who knew her own mind, no doubt about it, although he knew he’d unnerved her when he asked her to call him by his given name.

He smiled to himself as he got to his feet. Immediately, he felt a piercing pain shoot through his leg, and he nearly lost his balance. He waited for the pain to subside before taking a small step forward. After relieving himself, he took three steps and grabbed hold of the doorframe separating his room from the kitchen.

By the time he reached the kitchen, Mary had returned with an armload of folded clothes. “Mr. Morris—I mean Jake—sit down before you fall down!” She let her gaze move up and down his battered body, but she did not flinch at his near nakedness.

He reached for the chair nearest him. He tried to smile, but he suspected this astute woman could see clear through him. It gave him an odd sense of comfort, as if their relationship was far more intimate than one would perceive from the outside.

He glanced down at his ragged pants and shirt and chuckled. “Not to worry, Mary. I won’t be going anywhere beyond these walls for another day or two. I do apologize for the inconvenience my presence has created.”

Mary placed the clothes on the table. “It’s not an inconvenience. I would hope that if any of my family were facing the same kind of predicament someone would be there to help them.”

He inclined his head. “Yes, absolutely. Still, it’s not as if I’m going to be much help until I get this leg working.”

Mary looked up at him, her dark brows drawn into a serious frown. She was a handsome woman—perhaps not in the traditional way a man might think a woman beautiful—but a truly attractive woman, nonetheless. She was well endowed, he noted, and her hands were strong, though slender and shapely.

He felt a rush of unaccustomed heat as he wondered what lay beneath the heavy folds of her modest dress.

She cleared her throat. “I repeat, Mr. Morris—I mean Jake—you better sit down before you fall down.”

He carefully negotiated the distance between the chair and the table. “I’ve never been this laid up before,” he said. “Makes a man pretty humble.”

She sighed audibly. “Funny, Papa said the same thing the week he lay in bed after his fall.” She slid the clothes over to him. “Here are two pairs of pants and a woolen shirt Papa hardly wore. They may fit you a little snugly, but Sarah—my sister—is an excellent seamstress and can remake them for you.”

“Oh, no,” he returned. “They’ll do me just fine.” He fingered the shirt. “Your generosity has been—”

“Please,” snapped Mary, “no more. We are happy to help.”

Jake nodded. He glanced around. “Where is your sister?”

“She’s tending the chickens. That’s one of her chores.”

He slid his hands under the stack of clothing and began to stand. Immediately he lost his balance, but Mary was there—her body against his, her arm around his waist—before he had a chance to actually fall. He turned his eyes on hers, searching the dark pools of color that had been transformed by the light coming in through the window. “Th—thank you,” he whispered huskily.

Mary blushed then, fully aware, no doubt, that their bodies were pressed against one another and he could feel the curve of her bosom and the soft thu-thumping of her heart against his own.

“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly.

He smiled. “Don’t let me take you down with me,” he returned with a smile, planting his left hand against the back of the chair. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

She blushed again.

This woman, he mused, was decidedly not accustomed to men flattering or flirting with her.

Just then, the back door opened and Sarah, carrying a basket of eggs, entered. She looked from Jake to Mary, who was still enclosed within the circle of his arm. She smiled.

He smiled in return.

Mary stammered, “He was about to fall—”

Sarah placed the eggs on the sideboard. “Well, I’m glad you were close enough to catch him.”

Mary grumbled something unintelligible then cleared her throat. “For crying out loud, help me get him back to bed.”

Sarah rushed to the far side of Jake.

“Thank you, Ladies. I’m determined to get out of your hair as soon as I’m able.”

****

It was well past midnight when Jake stirred. His leg throbbed mercilessly. Trying to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep, he found himself listening to the night noises that permeated the darkness. He knew there was a full moon and for whatever strange reason, he had discovered that he was often restless on nights when the moon was full.

He wondered, not for the first time, if he were part wolf—or coyote. Born to walk the world in the dark. Is that why he had chosen to become a sheriff? Was it the hunt he sought? Living his life stalking men who also lived dark lives?

He had embarked on this last hunt with ruthless determination. Billy Sykes was a killer of the worst sort and didn’t think twice about killing anyone who got in his way. He’d already killed two men and assaulted a woman and her daughter, leaving them near dead. If he hadn’t happened upon them, no doubt they would have both died. Thankfully, he had gotten them back to Paradise Flat in time.

Jake pulled himself to a sitting position. He simply had to get back on his feet and out the door soon. The nagging thought that Sykes might well follow him to this house filled him with a bitter fear. He couldn’t bring harm to Mary or her sister. Sykes would have no mercy on the two women who had rescued him.

He planted his feet on the floor and stood, slowly finding his strength as he took several steps. His heart pounded as perspiration collected on his upper lip and tickled his spine.

Looking around, he found the oil lamp and matches Mary had left near the cot; he lit the lamp and turned it down as low as he could. He didn’t want to disturb the women upstairs.

Slowly he moved to the kitchen, lamp in hand. He had no idea what time it was but he knew it was nearing daybreak. The eerie silence seemed to fill his ears with a strange hollowness. He placed the lamp on the table and eased himself into a chair.

Getting himself back on the trail was going to be harder than he thought, he realized, cursing himself for having failed to take down Sykes when he had the chance. It would be tougher this time around, to be sure, and he didn’t want to endanger anyone else in the hunt to locate the killer. He was no better than a rabid dog. Even worse, since he had no conscience when it came to hurting innocent bystanders.

Jake looked around. Seeing that Mary had left a small stack of kindling, he got up again, and, with shaky hands and weak legs, built a small fire in the woodstove. Damn, but he wanted a cup of coffee. He moved through the shadowy darkness until he found a small tin of coffee, freshly ground, and a kettle that was already half-filled with water.

He thanked Mary again for her ability to rescue him, even in such a small way. She really was an angel, he thought, smiling to himself. His angel.

The aroma of brewed coffee calmed his anxiety.

“Mr. Morris—Jake?”

 

Jake jumped at the sound of Mary’s voice. He turned, nearly falling over. “Damn,” he mumbled before righting himself.

“What are you doing?” Mary snapped.

“Coffee,” returned Jake. “I’ve got to get myself on the move again,” he said. “It does me no good to stay down any longer. And I’ve got unfinished business—”

“Sykes?”

“Yes. He’s a killer, Mary. You and Sarah don’t want to meet up with this man. He’s as wicked as they come, and I’m concerned that I’ve spent way too long here. The danger is not going away—not as long as I’m here.”

Mary frowned. “That may be, but he’s got no gripe with us, and he doesn’t even know you’re here. How could he?” she added, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

She wore only a nightgown, Jake realized suddenly, and it made him uncomfortably aware of her. His gaze traveled the length of the heavy fabric, but it couldn’t hide her shapely body.

He hid his smile. What would Mary think of his mischievous thoughts? Obviously well bred, she might run as fast as she could from the sight of him.

His gaze was drawn up to her face, where a frown brought him back to the moment.

She seemed to collect herself. “All right, then, sit down,” she ordered. “If you’re bound and determined to get back on your feet, let’s start with breakfast.”

****

Sunrise came with a brilliant flash of color as Jake and Mary sat down to eat. She had changed into a simple brown dress, but its fitted bodice only accentuated the curves of her breasts and her appeal. Jake ate slowly, taking his time, hoping that she wouldn’t jump up and disappear.

He wondered at his attraction to this hardworking and independent woman. He’d known her for only three days, yet he felt he knew so much about her. He knew the way she moved through a room and the way she pushed her auburn hair off her face, even the way she became distracted at moments, a frown creasing the lovely lines of her mouth and eyes…

She cleared her throat. “So, how do we manage to get you up on your horse—that is, after we secure a horse?”

He put his fork down. “You said there was a doc in town? I figured you could get word to him. I hate to put that on you…you’ve already done so much—”

“Sarah and I already decided that one of us will have to walk to town and either purchase a mount or borrow one. But you’re going nowhere until you see the doctor.”

“I have money,” Jake said. “Enough for a good horse and a doctor’s fee.”

“Well, then,” Mary said, pushing away from the table. “I will clear up this mess and start out. The sooner I get to town, the better.”

Jake thanked her. “You have been—”

Mary flushed. “Again, we have only done what any decent human being would do.”

Jake shook his head. “I guess I’m not accustomed to such decent behavior,” he said. “I’m used to scoundrels and thieves and liars, Mary. I’ve lost touch with real gentility and kindness.” He held her gaze for a long moment, wishing he could say more, wishing he could tell her that she had become an angel in his sight—his angel—and that he knew Providence had brought her into his life.

Mary reached over to pick up his plate and, without thinking, he placed a hand over hers. The effect was immediate and a flood of emotion raced through him. He looked up at her. So close was her face, he could see the glint of amber in her coffee-colored eyes. His heart raced as he waited for her to pull her hand away.

Only she didn’t, and he could see the tiny pulse beating at the base of her throat and the rush of pink in her cheeks.

“Mary?”

She bit her lip and suddenly, he wished he could kiss the place where her teeth pulled at the pale pink of her lower lip. Was this what falling in love felt like, he wondered. A wound that was deeper than the burn he felt in his shoulder or leg, an ache that lodged deep in his gut?

She finally withdrew her hand, but gently. He could hear her heavy breathing, and he knew he needed to say something more, something that would let her know this was not some passing fancy. That there was something here, between them. He wasn’t some rake who would run out and hurt her.

He wondered if she’d been in love before, and if she’d been hurt by love.

He stumbled to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor.

****

The gunshot shattered the window of the front room.

Mary shrieked. “Oh, dear Lord!”

Jake looked at her and she felt the flood of fear fill her. Was it Sykes? How could it be, unless he had tracked Jake here, perhaps followed his trail of blood?

Without saying anything, she rushed into Papa’s room and gathered up the guns Sarah had brought down that first evening. She returned, and Jake took the shotgun out of her hands.

Sarah raced into the kitchen, her face contorted with fear. “Mary?” she cried, tears already filling her eyes. “Oh, why isn’t Samuel here?”

“You two,” broke in Jake, “find someplace away from the windows. And get down.” His voice was sharp, even as he half-dragged his bad leg and pushed past the table and chairs on his way to the parlor. “Don’t come out. But keep that pistol loaded and ready to fire. You hear me?” he added. His gaze fell on Mary, and she nodded.

Instinctively, she grabbed her sister by one hand and pulled her into Papa’s room. Sarah had begun whimpering, but Mary refused to let fear overrule her good sense. They had to steel themselves. They had to listen to Jake and do exactly as he said. She knew she could trust this man, this almost-stranger, as much as she would’ve trusted Papa.

That thought filled her with a sense of confidence. Jake Morris was not a coward. He was going to do whatever it took to protect her and Sarah.

They sat down on the cot, Sarah squeezing into the corner and hiding her face. Mary perched on the edge of the bed, gun in hand. Thankfully, Papa had taught her some about loading and handling a gun, if only to deal with rattlesnakes and possums. She’d killed her share of possum and coons, too, when they’d ravaged her chicken pen over the years, so she knew the feel of a gun, the weight of it in her hands, the blast that set her back for a moment, and the resounding boom.

If only Papa were here, she thought. Or Samuel. What in blazes had happened to Sarah’s beau? Why had he not yet arrived? His arrival would have given them the upper hand over this mad man.

Sarah’s whimpering had ceased, but Mary, seeing her terror, put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s pray,” she whispered. “I know God will bring Samuel safely to us. And this will all be over soon—” To herself, she added, “I hope.”

Sarah raised her eyes and sniffed. “Praying is all I’ve been doing,” she said. “I’m so afraid that Samuel has met with some terrible disaster.”

“Oh, Sarah,” Mary said. “I’m sure he’s on his way.” Yet, the niggling thought that Samuel might have met up with Sykes had also begun to take shape in her brain.

****

The ensuing silence was as frightening as the gunshot had been. Mary had no idea where Jake had gone or if he’d been killed, even without a fight. He was so weak, how could he protect them in his present state?

Suddenly, Mary knew what she had to do. “Sarah, whatever happens, you keep yourself hidden. You hear me? I have to go and find Jake. What if he’s passed out again?”

Sarah grabbed her by the arm. “Oh, Mary, no—”

Mary gritted her teeth. “This is no time to be a coward. I have to go and find him.”

She pulled herself from Sarah’s shaky grip and headed back to the kitchen. She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare note the look of fear in Sarah’s face, else she might not have the guts to keep moving.

The house was eerily quiet. As she reached the doorway, she dropped to her knees, cursing her skirt’s length and its impediment to movement. The pistol was still in her right hand, but it was heavier than ever, and she wished she could leave it behind.

She made her way into the parlor and saw, in an instant, that Jake was leaning against the shattered front window, his gaze strangely blank, the shotgun on the floor beside him. Her heart sank!

“Jake! Jake?”

He stirred and turned his head. “Mary, get—get back,” he mumbled.

She reached his side and, placing the pistol on the floor, picked up the shotgun. “Are you okay?”

Jake shook his head. “Yes, okay…okay.”

Mary exhaled. “You’re too weak to stand watch, and what good are you if you can’t handle a gun?”

He cocked a half-smile. “My angel,” he whispered.

Her heart skipped a beat at the soft caress in his voice, but this was no time to consider what was not being said. She prayed there would be time enough later.

She sneaked up to the edge of the window. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” returned Jake. “I wish the snake would show himself. He’s a patient fellow. That’s how he got me the first time.”

“Well,” Mary countered, “he is not going to get you—or us—this time.”

Her focus was on the yard and woodshed just beyond the house. It was the only place he could hide, she thought. They’d never gotten ’round to planting trees and the semi-arid landscape left little room for escape…unless he had already circled the house. “Did you see him?”

Jake shook his head. “But I can smell him. He’s out there, Mary.”

Mary rose up a little more, trying to angle herself to see around the corner of the house. She frowned. If Sykes had already made it to the back of the house, that meant Sarah could be in danger. She glanced down at Jake who was trying to pull himself up. The pistol shook in his hands. “Sarah—” she said and stood up. “I’ve got to go check the back of the house.” The sudden fear that Sarah was in peril was growing by the second.

“You go,” Jake whispered. He cocked the pistol. “If he comes through the front door, I can get him before he sees me.”

She hesitated for only a second. The need to protect her sister was greater than her reasons for remaining here. She glanced at Jake and his encouraging nod told her what she had begun to suspect. She loved him.

She loved him! A stranger, but not a stranger—

Immediately, she pushed the naked truth from her troubled mind. This was no time to become sentimental, she thought.

After picking up the shotgun, she returned to the kitchen and checked the back door. The small window to the left was shuttered and the door was locked, but it was not strong enough to resist someone who truly wanted to break in.

Then, she heard the sound of hoof beats riding hard and fast toward the house and she leaped up. Samuel? Or Sykes?

She held her breath and said a prayer…Oh, Lord, let it be Samuel!

She rose up and opened the shutter.

A horse and rider were dragging something behind them, and as they wheeled around the corner of the woodshed, the lathered horse reared up, giving Mary a clear view of the rider’s face. It was long, thin and heavily scarred—as if someone had raked it with razor-sharp blades. The man’s black hair reminded her of a wild horse’s mane as it swept across his face in long tangled ribbons.

She didn’t know him, had never seen him, but his long, lean frame was taut in the saddle, stretched forward as he pummeled his horse’s flanks with his boots, and it frightened her. This had to be Sykes. No doubt about it.

But what had he dragged across the farmyard?

Just then Sarah dashed into the kitchen, and she met her sister’s wild-eyed glance with her own. “Stay out of the way!” she hissed. She didn’t want her sister to get a glimpse of the terrifying man on horseback.

Sarah dropped to her knees, panting. “Is it him?”

Mary’s own breath was ragged as she nodded. Pressing her finger to her lips to silence Sarah, she moved to the back door. She slid the lock and pulled the door open, just enough to peer through. Light spilled in from the outside, but the hoof beats were already drumming out past the barn. She raised the shotgun and scanned the yard.

Suddenly her heart leaped to her throat and she swallowed her gasp.

“Where is Samuel?” sobbed Sarah. “Why hasn’t he come?”

Mary hushed her. How could she tell her what she’d only just realized?

It was Samuel lying in the dirt. She couldn’t see his face because he lay twisted, lifeless, and he’d been hog-tied and dragged till there was little left of his clothing, but clearly he’d been dressed in his uniform. Even now shreds of the pale yellow stripe that ran the length of his trousers was identifiable under the layers of dirt and mud.

The acrid taste of bile rose up in her throat. Oh, dear God, she prayed, let him be alive! For Sarah’s sake, let him be alive!

They would have to get to him—but how? And how would she tell Sarah? Her next thought stilled her fear: where was Sykes now? Had he left?

No, of course not.

She raised the shotgun and inched forward. Again she scanned the yard, and finally she spotted something moving.

A horse. Samuel’s or Sykes’s?

The bewildered animal ambled aimlessly out past the barn, dragging a rein.

That’s when she spotted Sykes. The glint of the bright morning sunshine against the barrel of his rifle had revealed his hiding place. He was positioned alongside the chicken coop, his black hair hanging like strands of rope along the exposed edge of his left cheek.

She glanced down at Sarah, still hesitant to reveal that Samuel lay only feet from them, perhaps dead. Or near dead.

Mary calculated the distance. Unfortunately, Samuel lay right in line with Sykes’s rifle barrel. That meant if she were to reach Samuel at all, she had to distract Sykes. Or, she decided, if she could get him to come out in the open, she could get him.

She hoped.

She closed her eyes and said another prayer. Then, swinging the door a little wider, she waved to Sarah to get out of the way while she stepped back to position herself on the far side of the table.

If Sykes was looking for the chance to run at the house, this would be it.

Sarah moved to the corner of the kitchen, her eyes full of tears, her expression almost hideous from the strain and fear etched across her face. Then she buried her face in her hands to stifle her crying.

Mary turned back to wait. It seemed forever.

Finally, she heard footsteps. Racing across the yard. Slowing, stopping, moving forward cautiously. She held her breath.

Then the footsteps halted. She raised her gun and took a quick breath.

“He’s mine,” she heard from behind her.

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder. It was Jake. He was leaning against the table, but the harsh glint in his eyes revealed his dark intent.

Impatiently, she motioned for him to get down, but he shook his head and defiantly straightened his spine. “This is my fight,” he said.

That’s when Sykes kicked the door open wide, and, with gun leveled, stepped into the house.

Jake fired first, but Sykes fired almost simultaneously, and Jake fell to the floor with a heavy thud, while Sykes, gasping, dropped his gun and stumbled backward, out onto the porch.

Enraged, Mary jumped up and fired. Then she charged after the stunned Sykes, and fired again, this time hitting him squarely in the chest. “Fiend!” she cried. “Murderer!”

Eyes frozen with contempt, Sykes landed in the yard, only inches from where Samuel lay unconscious and bound. His blood quickly turned the mud a slimy red.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air.

Sarah ran to her, sobbing, and threw her arms around her. “I thought he’d kill you!”

Mary shook herself free. “Sarah, it’s Samuel!”

Instantly Sarah turned, and, screaming, ran out to where Samuel lay. “Samuel!” she wailed over and over.

Meanwhile, Mary rushed in to Jake who lay on the plank floor, blood oozing from a wound to his right shoulder.

He shook his head. “Damn, I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I guess I’m not worth a plug nickel anymore.”

“You’re alive,” Mary cried. “That’s all that matters.”

He tried to smile. “Sykes—”

Mary shook her head. “He didn’t give us a choice.” She leaned in closer. “But I’ve got to go help Sarah. Samuel is out there. Can you stand to wait?”

“Sarah’s Samuel?”

Mary nodded. “He must have run into Sykes on his way here.”

Jake nodded. “Go, Mary. Go.”

Pushing herself to her feet, Mary rushed out to help Sarah who held Samuel in her arms. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I think he’s dead, Mary. I think he’s dead.”

Mary moved closer. “No, Sarah, look.” She leaned over, pressing her ear to his chest. “He’s alive. Come on! Let’s get him inside.”

Weeping, Sarah unwrapped the cords that bound his wrists and ankles. He’d been dragged for quite a distance, thought Mary bitterly. Mud and dirt had filled every fold of what remained of his officer’s coat and trousers, and his normally curly brown hair was coated with mud. As Sarah turned his face toward her, Mary saw that the flesh on his cheeks had been scraped raw.

“Agh!” cried Sarah.

Mary pressed her hand to her sister’s trembling shoulder. “He’ll heal,” she whispered. “Let’s get him inside.”

Samuel was bigger than Jake, however, so it was hard to negotiate the steps up and into the house. Both were breathless by the time they reached the back door.

“Into Papa’s room?” asked Sarah.

“Yes,” huffed Mary. “There’s no way we can get him upstairs.”

They managed to half-carry, half-drag him into the small room and, like they had done with Jake, they stretched him across Papa’s narrow cot. Sarah immediately took control and Mary, relieved that her sister had gathered her wits and was in control, let her take the lead.

“There’s no blood at least,” whispered Sarah, “but the skin on his face and arms is like raw meat. What did Samuel do to deserve this?”

Mary shook her head. “Nothing, Sarah. He did nothing. Sykes was a blood-thirsty killer,” she said. “I think he’d kill anyone who’d stand in his way.”

Sarah raised her head. “What are we going to do with his body? He’s lying there dead in the yard.”

Mary nodded. “I know. I know. But we have two men who are barely alive and need our help. The dead man will just have to wait ’til we can get him buried—or hauled off.” She stiffened. “Maybe we ought to let the vultures have him.”

****

Mary returned to where Jake sat, propped against a table leg. She knelt beside him. “Let’s get you back to bed. It looks like we have another bullet to remove.” She tore the seam of his shirt away. “I hope this is the last one, Mr. Morris—Jake,” she murmured. “I hope you can manage the stairs? We’ve got Samuel in Papa’s room.”

Jake grimaced. “Sorry about Samuel.”

“He’s safe and he’s alive,” returned Mary. “That’s all that matters. That, and getting the two of you back on your feet.”

Jake took a slow, deep breath. “You are my guardian angel, Mary. You have now saved my life—not once—but twice.”

“And you have undoubtedly saved many lives, Jake Morris.”

He frowned. “But I’ve lived a hard life, Mary. Been around killing and killers for most of my life. Do you understand that that is why I’ve always avoided—this—”

“This?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed how she’d begun trembling.

He smiled a crooked, tantalizing smile. “If you haven’t figured it out yet,” he murmured, “let me say it right out. I—I love you…”

Mary shook her head. “Please—” She was suddenly too undone and her mind hazy, whether from the terrifying events they’d just undergone or from Jake’s unexpected, tender words, she wasn’t sure. “You need a doctor, Mister Morris, but until then, I fear you’ll have to put up with me once again.”

He closed his eyes. “I have no doubt I’m in the best hands possible.”

She shook herself as she reached under his left shoulder to help him to his feet. This was outrageous! How could she even think that Jake’s words were anything more than the rantings of a half-crazed man? “Up,” she directed.

He grimaced and his eyes flew open. “Mary, did you hear me?”

“You’re delirious—”

“No, not delirious.” He leaned against her, his face just inches from hers. “And I’m not too spent to repeat it. I love you.”

“Ohhh,” she returned, trying to resist the urge to throw her arms around him. How could she trust such declarations?

****

When they reached the top of the stairs, Jake had to stop and rest. He leaned against the railing, but he wanted to continue the conversation he’d started. Clearly, Mary was disturbed by his confession. Biting her lip, she hadn’t spoken since they started up the staircase, and he could see the consternation in the way she narrowed her gaze.

“Mary,” he said.

She glanced at him but said nothing.

“I—I don’t say these things to upset you, and I know we’ve only known each other for—” He took a quick breath.

“Less than a week,” she finished for him. She arched her dark brows as if to emphasize how ridiculous she thought he must be.

“Almost a week,” he said.

“Mr. Morris—Jake,” she said, “we have been through a lot, and I suspect that people say—feel—things they might not in other circumstances.”

She shifted her position, and he tried to ease the pressure his weight was putting on her, but he wasn’t ready to release her—yet—and he needed her to hear what was on his mind, before he passed out or never got another chance. “So you think what I’ve said is nothing more than delirium?”

Mary hesitated. “Please, Jake, can’t we—”

He glanced down at his shoulder, which had begun to bleed again. “No, not until I’ve finished.” But he was growing weaker by the moment. “I—I never thought I was the marrying kind. I’ve always been a loner.” He hesitated. “But with you, with you, I have found—something. I could spend the rest of my life with you, Mary. And even that wouldn’t be long enough—”

Suddenly, the world began to close in and he tried to shake it away. He had to remain upright. Just a bit longer, he thought. He had to convince her. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Was that her whispering, “My love…”

And was she crying?

****

He woke up in a brightly lit bedroom. The soft pale linen curtains had been pushed aside and the midday sun came streaming through the open window.

He glanced around. He didn’t recognize this as the room he’d been in before. Looking down, he realized that he was shirtless and had been bandaged; someone had apparently doctored his bullet wound.

He had no recollection of anything… how long had he been out?

Mary’s face appeared at the open doorway. “Hello,” she whispered, blushing as his gaze swept over her.

She looked lovely, he thought. Beautiful. Her hair had been freshly groomed and was brushed up on top of her head. She wore a cream-colored waistcoat that boasted tiny ivory colored buttons. Was she going somewhere?

He pulled himself to a sitting position, grimacing as he flexed his muscles. “You look—look lovely.” He sighed. “Is it Sunday?”

Mary flushed. “No, not Sunday, but the preacher is coming to dinner.”

“The preacher?”

Mary smiled. “You’ve missed all the excitement, I’m afraid,” she said. “After we got you inside, we caught Sykes’s horse, and I rode to get the doctor. He came out and doctored Samuel—and you,” she added.

“How is Samuel?”

“He was roughed up, but he’ll be fine.”

Jake looked down at his shoulder. “Thank God. So the doctor—”

Mary nodded. “Yes, and he did a far better job than I could have done on your shoulder. The bullet lodged pretty deep.”

Jake shook his head. “You are more than a fair doctor, Mary.”

She shrugged. “Out of necessity only.”

Jake smiled. “And is he still here?”

Mary shook her head. “No, he left right away. Another emergency.” She seemed to be looking him over carefully. “You’ve been out for a good two days. The doctor said between all three gunshot wounds, you’ve lost a lot of blood. He said you’d need rest.”

Jake sighed. “I’m fine—”

“You will be. At least the worst is over. The sheriff and the posse came out. They took Sykes’s body—” She narrowed her gaze. “I honestly hope they buried him in a shallow grave.”

Jake frowned as he peered into Mary’s dark eyes. “He should have hanged. I’d have enjoyed watching him swing.”

Mary cocked her head. “Enough about him. The sheriff brought out a very handsome reward. Sykes murdered a bank teller down at French Creek on his way here, and it raised the reward considerably.”

Jake shook his head. “I can’t take reward money.”

Mary shrugged then smiled. “That’s what the sheriff said, so—” she added slowly, mischievously, “we accepted it on your behalf. And, to be honest, Sarah and I—well, we already spent it.” She lowered her voice as he laughed out loud. “Jake, it was more than enough to pay off the mortgage on this place.”

“That’s good news,” he said. But the money meant nothing to him. It was Mary that meant everything.

“And it not only paid off the mortgage,” Mary piped, “but we were able to purchase a beautiful gelding for you, and a buggy and buggy mare for us.”

He inhaled deeply. “Well, damnation, I’m sorry I missed all the excitement.”

Mary laughed, and suddenly Jake wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her, inhale her, love her. She was more woman than he ever expected to come into his life.

As she took another step forward, he reached for her right hand and turned it over gently. Her fingers were slender and lean, but they had seen their share of work. He cradled her hand for a long moment and then, without asking permission, he raised her open palm to his lips and kissed it. “You deserve every bit of the money—and more—” he whispered. “So much more.”

He glanced up and caught the flush of color racing to her cheeks. “There is more,” she added, smiling.

“More?”

“Yes,” she said. “We were able to get hold of the preacher. He comes through only once a month, and he was scheduled to marry Samuel and Sarah on his next trip, just in time for Valentine’s Day. Well, there’s no stopping Sarah once she makes up her mind, and she was not about to let Samuel out of her sight again, limping and bandaged or not—so—”

Jake understood. “So there’s going to be wedding?”

“Yes. In about an hour,” Mary said. “Downstairs. I’m afraid it will be a small, very simple affair—”

“Who needs more than that?” he whispered.

“Yes, who needs more than that,” repeated Mary softly. “They have each other.”

He hesitated, but suddenly he knew what he needed to do. “Mary?”

Her voice cracked. “Yes, Jake?”

“Come closer—”

Closing his fingers around hers, he pulled her down to him, so close he could smell lilacs. The soft whoosh of her petticoats was the only sound as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

He inhaled her scent. He’d give anything to feel the soft flesh hidden under her dress. He hesitated. “Would you mind helping me shave? I’d hate to show up at a wedding looking like this.” He rubbed his stubbled chin with his right hand. “Maybe a bit of trim around the edges, too?”

“Of course,” she said.

The splash of color in her cheeks heightened his arousal. “And one more thing.”

“Yes, Jake?” She cocked her head as he studied her.

Just then, Sarah appeared at the doorway, a broad smile across her face. Beside her, leaning on a cane, with his left arm in a sling and his face scraped and swollen, stood a handsome young man. It had to be Samuel.

Sarah leaned into the room. “Are we interrupting anything?”

Mary smiled. “Of course not.”

Jake nodded. “It’s about time I met the elusive Samuel.”

Samuel nodded. “Sheriff—”

“Please, just Jake. And I’m sorry you had to meet up with Sykes,” he added soberly. “I trailed him for four weeks and hoped to corner him before he cornered anyone else.”

Samuel hobbled in. “He was a bad one,” he said. “He ambushed me at the bridge. Shot my horse right out from under me. We fought but I’m afraid he got the best of me. After that—after that,” he sighed, “I don’t remember much.”

Sarah sidled up to him and slipped an arm through his. “It was Mary that saved the day,” she said. “I’m afraid I was worthless throughout it all, merely cowered in the corner waiting for—for you,” she whispered into Samuel’s shoulder.

He squeezed her fingers and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He stood several inches over her, even as he leaned heavily on his cane. “Mary was a godsend, to be sure.”

Jake, eyeing Mary, agreed.

Mary cleared her throat. “Enough.”

Samuel smiled. “Well, this day would not be ours if it hadn’t been for your courage.”

Mary reached out and wrapped her fingers around her sister’s. “And we’ve been waiting for this day for several months.”

Samuel kissed the top of Sarah’s head. “Yes, I daresay.” He turned to Jake. “And we thought you might stand up with us today, Jake.”

Jake, seeing the admiration and adoration Samuel and Sarah obviously felt for each other, sat up straighter. “Absolutely, but I do, however, have a request.”

Samuel nodded. “Anything—”

Jake turned to Mary, her nearness like a tonic. He smiled, hoping she could read the love that was in his heart. He took both her hands in his. His heart pounded as he took a deep breath. “Would either you, Samuel—or Sarah—mind if there was, in fact, a second wedding today?”

Mary’s eyes grew wide. “Jake—”

Sarah tittered, “Oh, Mary! Oh, Samuel—yes—we wouldn’t mind, would we?”

Samuel laughed out loud. “Hell, no! Let’s make it a double ceremony.”

Jake swallowed, and spoke, slowly, carefully, “Save me, one more time, Mary. Be my Valentine Angel and marry me—”

“Jake, are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Laughing, Mary leaned forward and kissed him deeply, longingly, lovingly. Then, with tears in her eyes, she whispered, “Yes, Jake, yes!”