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“So you’re doing me a favor now. I see. How kind of you, sir.”
“Let’s just say we can help each other out for the time being, okay? I have business here and I don’t want to get it done from a saloon.”
Isabel immediately stiffened. She’d been afraid of this. Still it was better to face the truth about Jake Coulter now. “Business? What business, may I ask?”
The look he gave her might have daunted a strong man, let alone a woman armed only with her wits and a single knife. Isabel, though, refused to back down. If she planned on taking Jake Coulter into her house, she needed to know who might come looking for him, guns drawn.
“You can ask,” Jake said. “I don’t have any answers for you right now. Don’t worry though, in this condition, I’m not too dangerous.”
“That’s not good enough.” What was he hiding, and more importantly, why? Her eyes strayed to the gun belt looped over the bedpost. “I have a family to think of.”
Jake followed her gaze but said nothing, only smiled, a faint, sardonic twist of his lips that made Isabel shiver and at the same time roused her irritation.
“I’ll be long gone before I’d put your family in harm’s way. Now, I could use another shot of that magic potion of yours. I don’t think I can get down the stairs without it and a large bottle of whiskey.”
“You won’t be able to get down the stairs with that combination, I guarantee it.”
“You have a better idea?”
Isabel had several, but she kept them to herself. I’ll learn your secrets, Jake Coulter, she told him silently, one way or the other.
Out loud, she told him, “I’ll give you something that’ll put you to sleep for several hours and from the look in your eyes, that will be a relief to both of us.”
Not waiting for his retort, she plunged ahead, taking refuge from his disturbing presence by organizing his release from the Silver Rose. “Besides, you’re going to need something for the ride home. I’ll ask Elish to help move you to his cart, but it’s a rough ride to my place.”
“So’s life,” Jake said with a short, mirthless laugh. “Go ahead and bring me my poison, witch.”
Jake woke to the voice of an angel singing and wondered if he’d died in one of Elish Dodd’s beds after all. Heaven, though, surely must be a lot less painful, he decided as he shifted a little in the direction of the sound. His leg ached and when he forced open his eyes, the glare of afternoon sunlight through an open window knifed his head. Wincing, he turned away, focusing instead on the unfamiliar room.
Heaven or hell, it was definitely not the Silver Rose. The high-pitched ceiling of the upstairs log cabin loft reflected a woman’s touch, from the woven, multicolored rug on the pine plank floor and the lace curtains at the window, to the earthenware jar of rosemary and lavender on the dresser. Her touch. Chessie’s witch; his angel of mercy.
She meant it, he thought, remembering Isabel Bradshaw’s threat to pack him off to her “hospital” with or without his permission. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed that she’d pulled it off.
Before he could decide, a hot drift of breeze carried the angel’s song into the room again, a clear, pure voice raised in a soulful Spanish ballad. Ignoring the wash of pain and dizziness, Jake flung back the quilt and limped to the window to look down on the garden below.
Isabel was there, singing to herself and a large raven perched on the rock wall beside her. As he watched, she bent to pluck a few sprigs from some leafy plant. She rubbed them gently between her fingertips, then cupped the leaves to inhale their scent before adding them to the collection in the basket looped over her arm.
Sunlight washed her dark-golden hair and Jake found himself wondering what it would look like, freed from its confining braid, spread over her shoulders and—
He cut short the thought, shaking his head to clear it. Whatever potion she’d given him was clouding his thoughts, making him crazy. He turned to move away from the window and shut out her vision. The stiffness in his leg made him awkward and he knocked against a small table, rattling the pitcher and bowl there.
The clatter, in the late day stillness, brought Isabel’s head up and for a moment, their gazes locked. Jake could almost hear her catch her breath and he felt himself holding his.
“What are you doing on your feet?” she called up, breaking the spell. She shook her head, giving an exasperated sigh. “I hope you aren’t going to be this stubborn over everything or I’ll never be rid of you. Get back into bed, I’m coming up.”
“Now there’s an invitation I can’t refuse,” Jake said, unable to resist baiting her.
Isabel only glared at him then quickened her step to the door below his window. Jake heard it slam behind her and smiled.
She found him propped up against the pillows, the quilt pulled carelessly up to his waist as if he’d just tossed it there after hearing her footsteps. He’d flung his shirt and it lay in a heap in the corner. She chose to ignore the reality he now wore nothing but the quilt.
Putting down the tray she’d carried up on the dresser top, Isabel turned to face him, determined not to give him the upper hand.
“If you’re going to lecture me about staying in bed, save your breath,” Jake said before she could open her mouth. “I’m beginning to regret even opening my eyes.”
“I’m not surprised. Do you always make a habit of acting before you think, Mr. Coulter?”
“Usually I don’t have the luxury of time to think.”
“Does that mean you’re usually on the run?” Isabel could see her bluntness surprised him. But it was obvious he wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
“I see subtlety is one art you don’t practice. And no, ma’am, I’m not usually on the run, although I’ll confess I’ve worn out a few saddles in the past years.”
“I see,” Isabel said, although she didn’t. She studied him a moment, then from the tray picked up a pile of fresh cloths and a new poultice she’d made. Setting them down on the bedside table, she poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, then turned to him again. “I need to look at your leg.”
“It’s becoming a habit with you. Do you enjoy it that much?”
Isabel smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Flipping back the edge of the quilt, she busied herself removing the old bandages. When she’d finished, she ran her fingers lightly over the bullet wound.
Jake flinched at the gentleness of her touch and she glanced at him in concern. “Is it that painful?”
“No—no. It’s—I’m not used to being touched like that.”
“That I can believe. You have more scars than my furniture and believe me, with two boys in the house, that’s saying a lot.”
“You said you had children.”
She nodded, her attention fixed on cleaning his wound and reapplying a poultice and bandage. Her hands moved deftly over him, warm and sure, more soothing than the herbs she used to ease his pain. “My grandmother and sister live here, too. You’re my only boarder.”
“And your husband?”
“Is dead,” she said shortly. She kept her eyes down, not because of any pretense of modesty, Jake guessed, but because she wanted to guard her feelings from him.
“Don’t get any ideas that I can’t protect myself and my own,” Isabel said when he let the silence stretch between them. She yanked the quilt back over him, her stance defiant. “I’m used to doing it and it’ll take more than a down-on-his-luck outlaw to give me trouble.”
“That, I don’t doubt.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why are you in Whispering Creek?” With her family to protect, she had to know. Obviously, Jake Coulter was no miner, and he didn’t have the smooth charm of a gambler, nor the rough edges of a cowboy.
He reminded her, instead, of a hunter, dark and dangerous, and not quite civilized.
“I’m here because I can’t ride out on my own,” Jake answered. “But you don’t have to worry. You’re not going to find my face on any of the sheriff’s wanted posters. No one will be looking for me here.”
“I see,” she said, unsatisfied. She decided to try another approach. “Where are you from, Mr. Coulter?”
“Jake. And where I’m from depends on what day it is. Yesterday I came from Taos. Does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” Isabel said slowly. “Perhaps it should.”
“It doesn’t to me, not anymore.”
The words were heavy with weariness and he closed his eyes against them, rousing both concern and curiosity in Isabel. Something had hurt Jake Coulter and it was more than a bullet. The healer in her wanted to know what it was. The woman in her warned against finding the answer.
“Mr. Coulter…Jake—”
The sound of a downstairs door slamming and a clatter of footsteps up the stairs stopped whatever Isabel intended to say.
There was a scuffling noise outside Jake’s door, and a flurry of whispering before Nate poked his head inside. He darted a quick curious glance at Jake, then looked at Isabel, his face suspiciously innocent.
“We wanted to know if we could have jam tarts. Nana made them, but she’s visiting Mrs. Parker, and well…we thought we’d ask.”
“Did you now?” Isabel shook her head, unable to hide her smile. “It sounds to me as if you needed a reason to come upstairs and meet our new guest.”
“It was Nate’s idea,” Matt piped up behind him. “He wanted to see the gunfighter.” He peeked around the corner, wide-eyed. “But we would like jam tarts, too.”
“Ah, I see. Matt, Nate…” She took their hands and led them just inside the room. “This is Mr. Coulter. He’s not a gunfighter,” she said, praying she didn’t lie, “and he’s going to be staying with us until his leg is healed. He’s not feeling very well, so he won’t be up to having any visitors for a while. Now go downstairs to the kitchen. I’ll be along in a minute and I’ll help you eat those jam tarts Nana left for you.”
Before Jake could respond, Isabel shooed her sons out the door and the boys scampered off, clattering noisily down the stairs. “You didn’t tell me I was contagious,” he said, watching after them.
“They’re very impressionable,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. She quickly gathered up her supplies and put them back on the tray. “They’ve already decided you’re a dangerous outlaw and that you can tell them all sorts of exciting stories about gunfights and stolen gold. I don’t want to encourage them.”
“I don’t know any stories about stolen gold.”
“At least you don’t deny the gunfights.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Unless you want to confess you shot yourself in the leg.” Returning to his bedside, Isabel handed him a cup. “Drink this. It will help the pain.”
Jake sniffed warily at it, not liking the smell or the look of the pale-green liquid. “By the time you’re through with me, I’ll have tried every weed in the territory. Whiskey would be kinder.”
“Not to your head.” She waited until he’d downed the herbal brew, then gently pushed him back on the pillows. Her fingers brushed his forehead, pushing aside a heavy dark wave of hair that stubbornly refused to stay aside. “No fever. I think you’ll do, Mr. Coulter. A week or so and you’ll be up and around again.”
Her fingers lingered for a moment on his skin and Jake captured them with his own, absently rubbing her hand, enjoying the smooth feel of her. “Is that a promise, ma’am, or a threat to throw me out then?” he asked, his voice low and dark, teasing her.
“Perhaps both,” Isabel said, freeing her hand from his disturbing touch. “I must go. The boys will be waiting, and you need to rest. I’ll be back in a few hours with supper.”
Jake stared after her, wondering what had caused the crack in her cool facade, and why he found it so pleasing to know he’d played a part in it.
Isabel had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, and was getting ready to make certain the boys had fed and watered all their animal boarders for the night when a loud rapping sounded at the front door. Pushing her hands down her skirts to dry them, she hurried to answer it.
“Cal,” she said, opening the door to a tall, squarely built man holding a battered hat between his hands. “What brings you here this time of day?”
Isabel forced herself to sound casual, but she’d known Calvin Reed all her life, even before he’d taken over as sheriff in Whispering Creek, and knew he wouldn’t be stopping by twice in two days simply to chat. She remembered her grandmother’s talk about Jerico Grey and wondered just how much of it had been rumor.
“Wearin’ out my welcome, am I, Belle?” Cal asked.
Isabel smiled a little over the familiar nickname, one only Cal used. He’d taken to calling her that ever since she was a little girl and Calvin Reed had been a young deputy, paying court to her mama after her papa had abandoned them.
“Of course not,” she said, leading him inside with a hand on his arm. “Come inside and I’ll get you some coffee.”
Cal ran a hand over his graying hair. The lines in his face seemed deeper, and his eyes sober, telling Isabel more than any words he was worried over something.
“I hate to turn it down, but I’d best get my business out of the way first. I need to speak to your new boarder, if he’s in any shape to have a conversation. Elish tells me you slipped him one of your fine elixirs to get him out of the Silver Rose this mornin’.”
“He’s well enough to talk to you.” Isabel hesitated, then started, “Cal…”
“Now don’t you worry, honey. I just want to see what his business here is. With this recent string of robberies at the mines around here, I can’t be too careful.”
“Do you think…” Isabel stopped, not certain if she wanted to put her fears into words. But it would be better to know. “Is it Jerico?”
“Now Belle—”
“Is it? He did it before. He was robbing camps all over these mountains before he fled the territory.”
“Don’t you worry, now. I know you were sweet on him once. Don’t bother to tell me it’s not true,” he said, holding up a hand to ward off her protest.
“I was a girl, in love with the idea of loving a dangerous man. You can trust my illusions about Jerico faded quickly. If you’re thinking he’d come back to Whispering Creek for me, you’re mistaken.”
“You’re probably right. I suspect his reasons for headin’ this way have more to do with him havin’ the law on his tail in Texas.”
Isabel saw a shadow of doubt in Cal’s eyes and put her hand on his arm, looking straight at him. “If I knew anything, I would tell you. The thought of Jerico coming back here, after all these years—” She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her uneasiness. “I seem to have a knack for attracting the wrong kind of man,” she said with a small smile.
“Like your new boarder? Well, now, he’s probably just what he appears to be, one of them thorns in a sheriff’s side whose luck’s run a little muddy. I’ll have a talk with him, but I doubt he’s too dangerous.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Isabel said more to herself than Cal as she turned and led him up the staircase, to the loft.
She knocked once at Jake’s door then opened it halfway and looked inside. Slouched in the rocker he’d shoved next to the window, he was looking out at the deepening evening, a slight frown tensing his face. He’d pulled on a man’s robe he’d found draped over the bed, loosely tying it at the waist.
He turned slightly when he heard Isabel step into the room, and then looked back to the window with a view of the rear garden. “Back again with your weeds so soon?”
“No,” Isabel said, watching him carefully for his reaction. “You have a visitor. Sheriff Reed wants to meet you.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet he does,” Jake drawled.
He shifted to look at Cal and surprised Isabel by grinning. “I suppose you’ve decided I’m responsible for robbing every mining office between here and the Texas Panhandle.” Rubbing a hand through his hair, he gave a wry shrug. “Can’t say that I blame you.”
“Then maybe you can tell me why you are here in Whispering Creek, and we can get this settled and leave Mrs. Bradshaw with some peace of mind.”
“I don’t know if it’ll give her any peace of mind but I’ll tell you why I’m here. Jerico Grey.”
Isabel caught her breath and the slight sound caused Jake’s gaze to shift sharply to her. She tried to keep her expression blank, to conceal the twist of emotion she felt hearing Jerico’s name over again after not even thinking it for so many years, and this time hearing it from a stranger.
“What’s your business with Grey?” Cal asked, his expression wooden.
