Chapter Seven

The lamp was turned down low, but she knew the instant he opened his eyes. She laid a cool hand across his forehead, gauging the fever to be higher than before. He quelled a shiver, gritting his teeth.

"Can't you sleep?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "I hurt."

"Yes. I know."

"You did good, Doc," he teased. "I barely felt it."

Her lips quirked. "You are a liar, Mr. Dalton."

"Not about everything. And you shouldn't believe everything you hear." His eyes held hers. "I meant it. I have done a couple of good things."

"I know." She nodded somberly. "Will thinks a lot of you. I trust his intuition." A space of silence hovered between them.

He shuddered again. "Cold," he muttered.

Angela unconsciously sat nearer and rubbed her arms.

He smiled. "You, too? You don't even have a fever, Angel."

He smelled faintly of the whiskey and the carbolic acid she'd used on the bullet wound. But he also carried the scent of the deep woods – of pine and leather, sunshine and wind. Pure man – strong, steady, and safe.

"This bedroom's on the north side," she said, drawing the blanket up over his chest. "It's always cold in here in the winter."

They were quiet for a minute. She stiffened her spine to ask the question she knew he was expecting. "What happened, Nick? I need to know."

Tension filled the silence that stretched between them. Nick let his breath out slowly, and Angela realized with a start that whatever he had to tell her was hard for this man who supposedly had no conscience.

"Come lie down with me, Angela." In spite of the pain, a teasing dare veiled his voice, as though he believed she would deny him. But when he looked at her, his eyes weren't laughing. "It's a hell of a thing to remember. To talk about." He smiled crookedly. "Besides, I've got your bed."

The need she saw in his expression was so great that Angela could not refuse. This wasn't proper, she thought, even as she stood up to comply. It was scandalous, to lie down with this man – a man she barely knew – but she was so lonely, so cold, so tired of being strong. She wanted to be a woman tonight, to lie next to a man and be safe in his embrace. She gave him a last doubtful look, and he reached for her with a heavy sigh.

"I promise, I can be a gentleman," he said, "when I have to."

She moved to the space beside him, taking the invitation he had so casually flung out. Carefully settling herself next to him, she let him draw her close – and nothing had ever felt more right.

His fingers sifted through her auburn hair, a tender caress, as intimate as a kiss, as if they lay down together like this every night of their lives. After a moment, he said, "Ever hear of Matt Taylor?"

She shivered, but this time not from the cold. "Yes. But the last I heard, he and his gang were up around the Kansas border."

Nick chuckled against the top of her head. "That's a couple of hard days' riding I can attest to." He was silent a minute before adding, "And so can those kids."

"You came all that way in this weather?" And with a bullet in him.

"Taylor's band killed their parents." His tone was brittle and raw. "They shot the woman first." He took a slow, deep breath, and Angela started to lift her head, but he held her fast. "No," he whispered huskily. "Let me say it all."

She lay motionless then, letting him purge the festering memory.

He was quiet, so still that Angela thought he must have drifted to sleep. Finally, though, his fingers tightened at her side. "I got there too late," he muttered. "Seconds too late."

She placed her palm against the heat of his fevered chest in wordless support, and he relaxed beneath her fingertips.

"The kids saw it all. Will came running out of the house to fight them with nothing but a stick of firewood."

"Their father – did it happen like Will said?"

Nick sighed harshly. "Yeah. Zeke was on his knees, pleading with Taylor not to harm the children. Taylor shot him in the head while he was begging. Wasn't anything I could do for him. I leveled off and dropped two of the others. And then there was Will, running at Taylor for all he was worth with that damn stick of wood, and I…"

"You did what Will said you did," Angela finished. "Stopped a bullet meant for him."

"I couldn't let Taylor kill that boy." A telling note of grief edged through his voice.

"No," she said softly, "you wouldn't let that happen." Maybe that was why she'd instinctively trusted him. He would never have ridden away, as so many others would have, thinking it wasn't their concern. She bit her lip, her thoughts going back to when the two horses had appeared in the gathering darkness. She had decided the riders, whatever brought them to her door, would not become her business. But they had. "It was a miracle you happened by," she said. "A stranger in the right place—"

"I was five seconds too late for a miracle," he murmured. "And I wasn't a stranger. Their mama was my sister."

Angela stiffened, her breath catching. She lifted her head quickly. "Oh, Nick!"