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“The same business I’ve had for over six months, only now I intend to finish it.” Pushing himself up out of the rocker, Jake limped over to the corner where Isabel had propped his saddlebag and fished out a mud-spattered badge. He turned and handed it to Cal.
Cal rubbed away the dirt and shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Answering the question on Isabel’s face, he smiled broadly and said, “It looks as if we were paintin’ us a devil’s face on an angel, Belle. Mr. Coulter here is a Texas Ranger.”
“He’s a…” Isabel stared at Cal a moment, trying to decide if she felt relieved Jake Coulter wasn’t an outlaw or angry for how thoroughly she’d been taken in by his appearance.
As Cal’s words sank in fully, she whirled on Jake, her eyes blazing. “I suppose you enjoyed playing the wounded gunslinger, letting me believe I’d let an outlaw into my house, around my boys. You have a strange way of amusing yourself, Mr. Coulter.”
“If I wanted entertainment, I’d have stayed at the Silver Rose, Mrs. Bradshaw. I came here for rest and privacy. I’d just as soon Grey didn’t hear that I’m laid up. None of us want him to come looking for me under your roof. I don’t know how much you know about Jerico Grey, but you can trust me when I say he’s not the kind of man you’d ever turn your back on.”
All traces of warmth had vanished from his face as if they’d never been there and Isabel felt a shiver up her spine looking at the ice in its place.
Jake Coulter might be one step on the right side of the law, but Cal was wrong. He was dangerous, maybe even more so than the man he vowed to bring to justice.
Jake watched her, trying to decipher the odd play of emotions on her face. Anger, worry, he could understand. What confused him was the strong sense that Isabel Bradshaw’s interest in Jerico Grey was more than concern a woman alone would have for herself and her family knowing an outlaw was somewhere in the area.
She seemed strong-willed enough to face down the devil if necessary to protect her own. Yet one name washed the color from her face and put fear in her eyes. At least he thought it was fear.
He didn’t realize he’d been staring at her, trying to figure her out, until the sheriff cleared his throat.
“I’d like to talk to you more about this, when you’re feelin’ up to a walk to my office,” Cal said. “Until then, you’re right, it’s probably best everyone in town thinks you’re another drifter Belle’s taken under her wing for a spell.”
He said something else but Isabel didn’t hear the rest of the conversation between the two men. Jerico was coming back to Whispering Creek and Jake Coulter wanted him dead. What kind of man had she taken into her home? Yet how could she turn him out when he was wounded?
“…you tomorrow, Belle.”
She started, realizing Cal was talking to her. “Yes, yes of course.”
“I’ll see myself out, let you get back to your business.” Shoving his hat back on, he nodded to Jake and gave Isabel’s arm a reassuring pat before clomping back down the stairs.
As his footsteps receded Isabel turned to look fully at Jake.
“I’ll leave. Tonight if possible.” He limped toward the bed and shoved the badge back into his saddlebag. “I’ll see if I can sweet-talk my way into Anita’s room at the Silver Rose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go walking around town in your condition. Lie down before you fall down,” she commanded, coming to him and pushing a hand flat against his chest.
“I’m going. I had to tell the sheriff the truth. But now that he knows why I’m here, word’s bound to get back to Jerico. I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“I don’t recall asking you to be my protector. You’re hurt, I can help you. That’s the end of it.”
“Is it? Well, I don’t recall asking for your help. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you to stay out of my life. Yet, here you are.” He gestured to her hand, still pressed against his bare chest.
Isabel suddenly became acutely aware of the hard wall of muscle under her palm, and that she stood close enough to him to feel the heat and tension in him.
“Get back into bed,” she said, jerking her hand away. “I refuse to let you go wandering around Whispering Creek, making yourself an easy target for any drunk with a gun. A dead patient isn’t good for business.”
Jake said nothing and for a moment, Isabel thought he would ignore her and limp away anyhow. But finally, he sat down heavily on the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t count on me.”
“For what?”
“For anything. Anything at all. I’m here to do this job and then I’ll be moving on to the next one. That’s all I can promise.”
“Do you think I’m so desperate for male companionship I’ll be begging for your attention by week’s end?” Isabel nearly laughed at his arrogance except the shuttered look on his face stopped her. His expression told her he hadn’t made the comment lightly and she wondered what meaning she was supposed to find in it.
“Let me assure you, the only promise I want from you is that you’ll pay your rent on time. Five dollars a week for the room, breakfast and supper. I do laundry and linens once a week.”
“Does that include your weed potions, too?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing with a corner of his mouth.
“Those are on the house. I couldn’t charge for anything you take so much pleasure in.”
There seemed to be nothing else to say, but in the hush that suddenly fell between them, Isabel sensed there was much more, yet neither of them knew how to give it voice. She finally forced herself to end the strange, tense silence, and, murmuring a quick good-night, left him alone.
Jake leaned back against the pillows. He felt completely thrown off center by her. It was a disarming, unsettling feeling unlike any he’d ever known with any other woman.
Not even his wife. It irritated him, like a splinter just under the skin. And it annoyed him even more that he had to depend on her to get back on his feet.
Nothing about Isabel Bradshaw was easy, he was discovering. Except the way she touched him. And that, if he was honest, disturbed him most of all.
Chapter Four
Golden-yellow afternoon sunlight streamed down between snowy clouds, and Matt danced a hopscotch path on the patches of light and shadow across the backyard.
“I get to do it! I found her!” he cried, glancing over his shoulder and picking up his pace as he heard Nate catching up behind him.
Lagging in their wake, Isabel glanced across the stone path to her rose garden and sighed. She had planted the bushes shortly after her marriage, her one indulgence. Some years roses flourished in the high country; other times the extremes of hot days and cold nights, fierce sometimes even here in the valley, drained the life from their fragile petals.
Better to be sturdy than beautiful in this wild place, she thought, looking at several tender new pink and silver blossoms and wondering if they’d have the stamina to survive.
“Mama, hurry!” Matt yelled over his shoulder. “Nate is going to let the roadrunner loose before I even have a chance to say goodbye to her.”
Nate gave a disgusted snort. “Am not! You’re just trying to get me in trouble.”
“I think this is something we can all share,” Isabel said, ruffling Matt’s hair and rubbing Nate’s shoulder. She moved up directly between them and released the wire latch on the cage. “Go ahead, Nate. You can take her out. Gently now.”
Gingerly, Nate reached into the cage and cupped his hands around the bird’s wings so the small creature wouldn’t panic. He spoke softly to it as he eased it into his arms, stroking its tiny head.
“Come on, little one. You can go home today.”
Pride surged through Isabel as she watched him. He was learning. Learning as she had from her mother and Nana that healing was more than medicine; it was also touch and the power and music of the voice. Learning that sharing another’s pain meant sharing their hopes and also rejoicing in their recovery.
An image of her new reluctant patient flashed across her mind. Absently, she glanced upward to where the white lace curtains fluttered in the open window of the room where Jake slept. She’d given him another dose of a willow powder elixir for pain, and had started applying hourly mashes of blue corn to his leg. Despite her care, the wound seemed to want to fester and she worried infection and fever might set in, delaying his recovery, possibly jeopardizing his leg.
And having Jake Coulter under her roof longer than necessary wasn’t something either of them wanted, she reminded herself.
“My turn. My turn,” Matt insisted beside Nate, wriggling with his eagerness to hold the roadrunner.
“Slowly, now,” Isabel encouraged. “Hold her firmly.”
As though lifting a priceless treasure, Matt wrapped his small, sun-browned fingers around the bird and squatted to set it on the earth beneath them.
“Adios, amiga,” he whispered. “Come visit us again one day.”
As soon as he released the long-legged bird, its head darted up at one end, its tail perked at the other. With a quick twist of its neck to look back at his caretakers, it shot away, dashing across the yard toward the evergreen mountains beyond.
“I’m going to miss her.” Matt snuggled close to Isabel. “I wish she could have stayed with us.”
Isabel hugged him to her side. “She’s a wild creature, and she doesn’t need us any longer. But don’t worry, darling, you’ll find another lost or wounded creature who needs a home before you even have this cage cleaned out. Which by the way, you can do after dinner tonight. For now, I need you two to run out to the shed and get a hammer and nails and go up and knock on Mr. Coulter’s door. He may need that dresser space, but the drawer has to be fixed before he can use it.”
“Yes, ma’am. C’mon, Matt, I’ll get the hammer and you can take the nails.”
“I want to hammer! You always get to do the fun part,” Matt grumbled, hopping again from light patch to light patch across the yard after his brother.
Isabel laughed to herself as she turned to head back up the path to the back kitchen door. Those boys…my boys, best friends, worst enemies. At least they have each other, she mused, recalling how all her life she’d longed for a brother or a sister, until Katlyn had come unexpectedly into her life.
She wished she’d known about her half-sister earlier. But their father, a gambler who never stayed in one place longer than his luck held out, left Isabel’s mother before Isabel was born. Five years later, he found his way to Missouri and charmed a vivacious riverboat singer into his bed, leaving her with three-month-old Katlyn.
Something, perhaps guilt, had finally motivated Katlyn’s mother to tell her daughter about her half-sister in Whispering Creek. Shortly thereafter, Katlyn appeared on the doorstep at a time Isabel most needed a sister. She recalled with warmth how Katlyn’s spunk and vigor had been tremendously cheering to her and to the boys when the news came that Douglas wouldn’t be coming back.
As Isabel pushed open the back door, she saw Esme had already begun to set out the simple blue-and-white floral-patterned china on the kitchen worktable for dinner.
Isabel took a brightly painted pottery vase from a shelf on the kitchen wall and arranged a handful of yellow-and-white daises in it she’d plucked on the way back to the house.
“I’ll get the white tablecloth with the little yellow tulips around the edges to go with these,” she told Esme. “Katlyn loves that old thing. I don’t even think she sees all of the stains. She’s always the optimist.”
Esme held a spoon up to the light then wiped a spot from it with the corner of her apron. “Katlyn is too restless to see what is in front of her eyes. She is always looking to the horizon, seeking something she cannot even name.”
“Oh, Nana, I’m sure you said the same about Mama and about me at one time.” As soon as she said the words, Isabel regretted them. It would only give Nana an opening to talk about husbands and Isabel’s refusal to consider another one.
“No, my daughter was not restless, not like Katlyn is. Sonalda dreamed of family, a place for her spirit to rest. My daughter always trusted a man would bring her that happiness.” Esme shook her head. “I warned her, but she could hear nothing but that gambler’s pretty words. He left her before he ever saw you. And you were no different when I told you Douglas Bradshaw and that devil Jerico Grey would do the same.”
Isabel started at the name. She certainly didn’t intend for Esme to bring that up. She stepped over to a simply crafted pine dry sink and pulled open the latch to the shelves beneath to rummage through the linens for the tablecloth. “Yes, well, I can’t say I listened to you about either of them, but Jerico at least was never more than a girlish crush for me. He always frightened me, even then.”
Esme followed Isabel into the dining area and helped her smooth out the cloth on the scuffed pine table, perked up with a good rubdown and a thick coat of beeswax.
“And with good reason,” Esme said, clicking her tongue in disgust. “Ay, that one is more wicked at heart than any I have seen.”
“Well, our new boarder seems determined to find him, one way or the other,” Isabel said lightly. She brought the vase in and centered it on the table, giving her hands something to do as a distraction for her troubled thoughts.
“I do not approve of renting our rooms to such a man.”
Isabel shrugged. “The money will help. Besides, he’s a Texas Ranger, not an outlaw.”
“You would not believe it by the look of him. He may call himself a lawman but believe me when I tell you he is only one step from being an outlaw. It is not safe for the boys to be upstairs with him alone.”
“Of course it is,” Isabel said firmly, to reassure herself as much as her grandmother. “Mr. Coulter’s in no shape to draw a gun on anyone, least of all two little boys.”
Esme plopped a fork down next to a plate, muttering something in Spanish, then added, “We will see about that.”
“Nana,” Isabel began warningly, “I know that look. Don’t get any ideas about practicing your magic on Mr. Coulter.”
“Ah, but you say you do not believe in my magic, pepita.”
Esme’s carefully innocent expression didn’t fool Isabel. While she had learned much about herbal healing from her grandmother, she had, from the time she could understand, steadfastly refused to become tutored in the ways of a curandera. Witch magic, many in the territory called it.
And Isabel put no faith in magic or spirits or an ephemeral power conjured to vanquish evil curses.
Esme, though, continued to practice her spells and incantations, and had a small, but steady trade among the Mexican and Spanish families in and around Whispering Creek.
“Leave Mr. Coulter alone,” Isabel told her, trying to look sufficiently stern.
Esme lifted one shoulder and went back to setting the table, a small smile lifting her mouth. “But of course, my granddaughter. Of course.”
Jake saw black spots. Big black circles, bobbing over his face. How many? He tried to count, but found he’d forgotten how. The spots faded. Then he realized his eyes were closed. With a concentrated effort he lifted first one, then the other leaded eyelid. The spots were back. And they were making noises.
“What the…” he groaned.
Nate backed a little away from the bruised and bearded man making strange faces at him. “We tried to knock, sir—Mr. Coulter.”
“Yes, sir, but you didn’t answer,” Matt piped in. “And Mama says we have to fix the broken dresser drawer for you.”
“Mama?”
“Mrs. Bradshaw,” Nate clarified.
“Oh,” Jake groaned. “The witch.”
Both boys slapped their hands to their mouths, trying to smother their laughter.
“You think it’s funny, do you? She did this to me again with those weeds of hers. I feel like I was dragged here from Texas under the wheels of a wagon train.”
“Mama said you might be sleepy, but that you needed to be stirred up.”
Nate shoved his little brother’s shoulder. “That’s not what she said. She said you needed to wake up and move a little else your leg will stiffen up. And she said to put the robe she left you or some clothes on, ’cause she’s gonna bring your dinner up soon.”
Jake heard what the boys were saying, but he was having trouble making much sense of anything. That damned potion she’d given him left him feeling worse than a week’s worth of hard drinking.
He reached halfheartedly under the covers to see if he had any clothes on and found he hadn’t. Vaguely, he remembered tossing them off.
“I’m going to need a change of clothes.”
Nate pointed across the room. “They’re still in your saddle bags. As soon as we fix the dresser drawer you can unload them in there.”
“I brought the nails. See?” Matt thrust a palmful of what looked more like tacks into Jake’s face.
Despite the fact he’d awakened to the boys studying him like an exhibit at a traveling sideshow, they seemed harmless enough.
Jake hauled himself to a sitting position against the pillows, regretting it as pain stabbed his temples. “Tell you what,” he said, rubbing at his jaw. “If one of you would bring me a pitcher of water and a towel, I might be able to shake off your Mama’s evil brew enough to give you a hand.”
“Matt’ll do it.”
