Whirlwind Cowboy. Debra Cowan
of you kids were named after people in the Bible. Jericho is the oldest, seven years ahead of you. Jordan is two years younger than you, Michal a year behind her and Marah’s a year behind that.”
Deborah had hoped the information might spark some memory, but it didn’t. Her mind was still a blank slate. “You said my brother is married.”
Bram nodded, keeping his distance by staying at the door. “To a fine woman named Catherine. They have a baby girl, Evie.”
His gaze went again to her mouth, putting a tingle in her blood.
Earlier, when they had both studied her bruised shoulder and his face was close to hers, she had thought he was going to kiss her. She had wanted him to.
The admission had her squirming inside. It was disconcerting to have such feelings about a man she didn’t remember. Just how well did they know each other? Had they been intimate?
She couldn’t bring herself to ask. At least not yet.
She had no idea if her family would welcome her back, but anything would be better than being with Bram and dealing with this edgy anticipation. Wanting him. Because he certainly didn’t want her in return.
It was good that they were leaving the cabin. She needed some distance from him.
She flapped the sheet, sending a puff of dirt into the air. “Are you going to return the stolen money before taking me home?”
“No, I’m taking you back first.”
“What if Cosgrove comes looking for the money and me? You said you thought he would.”
“Oh, he will.” Suddenly his gaze turned speculative.
What was he thinking? Not understanding the flare of apprehension inside her, she studied him. “What should I do if that happens? If Cosgrove finds me?”
“You won’t need to worry about it.”
“Why not? You just said you thought he’d come looking.”
“He’ll have to go through me to get to you.”
She went still inside. “What do you mean?”
A slow, calculating smile spread across his face, causing a chill to ripple through her.
“When Cosgrove shows up, I’ll be waiting.” Bram stepped out of the bedroom, looking over his shoulder at her. “I’m going to be your shadow.”
Shadow? “For how long?”
“As long as it takes.” His gaze shifted back to her, almost as if he’d been talking to himself. “I’ll saddle the horses while you get dressed, then we’ll go.”
She nodded, staying on the bed as he walked out.
He was using her as bait.
Regardless of what they had been to each other in the past, that’s all she was to Bram now—a way to get to the man who had stolen from him, tried to kill him and his family.
How much time was she going to have to spend with him? Look how just the past twenty-four hours had gone. Now she was stuck indefinitely with a man she had refused to marry. A man who plainly resented her.
It didn’t bode well.
Chapter Four
Bram wanted some distance from Deborah. He needed it. Just a few minutes.
He escaped from the cabin and strode to the barn to saddle their horses. The morning air was still, choked with the smell of dirt. His boots left deep impressions in the drifts stirred up by the wind.
He struggled to dismiss not just the horror he had seen in Deborah’s eyes minutes ago after the nightmare, but also the feel of her satiny skin beneath his hand, the sight of yet another bruise on that ivory flesh.
The sheer terror in her face had rattled him, enough that he had been ambushed by a gut-twisting urge to hold her. Kiss her.
But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t.
After the incessant shriek of the wind, the lack of sound was stark, disorienting. Like looking into Deborah’s eyes and realizing she didn’t recognize him. That had sliced right through Bram.
Did she really not remember? Part of him still resisted the notion.
Once they were under way, he wouldn’t have to look at her. Or even talk to her if he didn’t choose. Itching to get on the trail, he opened the barn door, breathing more easily now that he was away from her.
He was relieved to see Scout looked none the worse for wear aside from the blanket of dust coating his yellow-tan body and black-tipped ears. After saddling the dun gelding and steering him outside, Bram made his way to the back of the barn.
Cosgrove’s black mare was covered in dirt. If it hadn’t been for the whites of her panicked eyes, she would’ve blended into the shadows.
The sight of him had her shifting jerkily as if she might bolt. Bram spoke softly to the skittish animal, easing closer. She tossed her head and stepped back, her rump hitting the barn wall. He laid a comforting hand on her neck and stroked until she settled, then he coaxed her into the wedge of light at the front of the barn.
She was limping. With a frown, he stooped to examine her legs and discovered her right front fetlock was swollen. Likely sprained. She had been fine when he’d left his own mount in here last night.
The mare must have become distressed during the dust storm and tried to rush the door or kick down the wall. At least the injury wasn’t more serious. Still, Deborah wouldn’t be riding this horse today. Nobody would.
Bram cursed under his breath. Scowling, he tugged off the bandanna he had dampened and used to wipe the most recent layer of grit from his face, then knelt and wrapped the horse’s lower joint. He saddled and bridled her, then led both mounts to the porch where Deborah stood with his and Cosgrove’s saddlebags.
In her bloodstained dress, she looked small, fragile. The cut at her temple stood out in stark relief against her fair skin.
Her uncertain gaze sought his. That infernal protectiveness rose inside him again. Jaw tight, Bram gestured at the black mare.
“Cosgrove’s mare is injured, so you can’t ride her.”
Alarm flitted across her delicate features. “Did I ride her when I shouldn’t have? I was so focused on getting away that I didn’t notice she might be hurt.”
“If she’d been hurt while carrying you, you would’ve known. I think she got spooked in the barn during the storm.”
Deborah stepped to the side as Bram bent to pick up Cosgrove’s saddlebags and drape them over Scout’s withers in front of the saddle horn. He settled his own bags on Cosgrove’s mare behind her saddle.
Deborah frowned. “If she’s hurt, you shouldn’t be riding her either, should you?”
“I won’t be. I’ll be riding Scout.”
“Then how—”
“You’ll have to ride with me.”
“With you?” she squeaked, her spine going rigid.
“Behind me.” He sure as hell wasn’t having her sit in his lap all the way back to her house.
She licked her lips. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
No, he did not. “I can walk.”
“No. I don’t want that.” She shot a look at the outlaw’s saddlebags on Bram’s mount. “I guess you don’t want to let that money out of your sight?”
“That’s part of it. If we run into a threat, the lame horse won’t have the burden.”