Whirlwind Wedding. Debra Cowan
his eyes shut, using his flagging energy to focus on Catherine’s voice.
“What about Marah? I’m not familiar with that name.”
“My ma says it’s the first camp of the Israelites after they crossed the Red Sea.”
“And your other sister?”
“Deborah was named after a judge in the Old Testament. She’s the oldest of my sisters.”
“Do they all live outside of Houston?”
“Yes.” He struggled to focus past the pain. “They’re all still in school except for Deborah. She’s a teacher.”
Catherine tied a knot in the thread and snipped it with her scissors. “Do you miss them?”
Jericho’s leg throbbed like blue blazes. He did miss his ma and Deborah. The other girls had been small when he’d left, and half afraid of him. “Yeah.”
If his ma were here she would make him a pecan pie and spoil him lazy.
“I grew up wanting a sister or a brother,” Catherine said.
“You’ve got Andrew.”
“I heard about him after he was born, but didn’t meet him until about a month ago. My mother talked about him in her letters.”
The whiskey finally took hold, just enough to blunt the fierce discomfort in Jericho’s leg. “Why weren’t you with your family?”
“My parents came to America from Ireland. They were to meet my uncle in Texas, but not knowing what was in store down here, they left me with the Sisters of Mercy in New York City.”
“How long?”
“Fourteen years.”
Jericho frowned, resting his head against the wooden headboard as he struggled to draw in deep breaths. “That’s a long time.”
“My mother lost her parents in the potato famine in Ireland in the late forties, and she nearly starved to death when they did. She didn’t want to bring me to Texas until she knew if she and my father could survive here.”
Jericho certainly understood a mother’s concern over raising her children. His own mother had grown old years before her time because of it. “And did they survive?”
“Until recently. They’re both gone now.”
“So there’s only you and Andrew?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave someone special behind in New York?”
“Special?”
“A beau.”
Horror chased across her delicate features. “No.”
Did that mean she didn’t have a beau? Or just not one who was back East?
“There, I think I’m finished.”
He wanted to know more. Told himself he needed to learn as much as he could because of her possible connection to the McDougal gang. But in truth he was curious about her. He gingerly poked at his leg. “What do you think?”
“I did the best I could.”
“I’m grateful for that.” He touched her hand, which rested near his knee. “I meant do you think I’ll keep my leg?”
“Yes.” She smiled into his eyes for the first time since coming into the room. “I didn’t see any signs of infection.”
He found himself smiling back. Her hands were small, but there was nothing weak about them as she rebandaged the wound. The throbbing ache in his leg was fierce, but she had most likely saved his limb. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope I didn’t scar you.”
“It’s fine if you did.” He touched the scar on his cheek. “You can see it won’t be the first.”
“How did you come by that?”
“Bullet creased me.”
“While you were chasing the McDougals?”
“No.” He smiled weakly. “I was in a shoot-out about five years ago with another gang, down in Round Rock.”
“I have a feeling they ended up worse off than you.”
She smiled, and he thought this much pain might be worth it if she would do that more often. “I appreciate you putting me back together.”
She deftly folded a bandage and tied it around his thigh, somehow managing not to touch anything but his leg. “I should’ve tended you last night. I’m sorry.”
There were other ways Jericho would like her to tend him, but he knew there was no future in that. He was glad to see the sheet now lay flat in his lap.
“Do you think you can eat?”
He nodded.
“I’ll get you some biscuits and ham.” She picked up the bowl of water. “And some coffee. Unless you’d rather sleep for a while?”
“I’d like to eat.” He felt drowsy and weak; maybe some food would help. She was a good woman. He didn’t see how she could be mixed up with the McDougal gang, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted by her sweet curves and compassion.
“Later I’ll wash those sheets and your unmentionables.”
He grinned. “If anyone can mention them, I’d say it’s you, Miz Catherine.”
She smiled shyly, turning away to pick up his saddlebags and carry them over to the chair beside the bed. “Maybe you’d like a clean pair.”
“Thank you.”
Jericho waited until she left before he pulled out another pair of drawers, along with a folded piece of paper. The page contained the McDougals’ names, as well as Andrew’s, along with physical descriptions, height, speech peculiarities, eye colors. He had copied everything down from the “Crime Book” or “Bible Two” as his captain called it.
The gray paperback booklet was made up of information sent by sheriffs to the adjutant general, then furnished to each Ranger camp. Jericho studied his notes, but he saw Catherine’s sweet face in his mind.
He shouldn’t tease and try to coax her pretty smile out of hiding. She could make him forget why he was here, forget that he needed to heal as fast as possible and get back on the trail of those murderers. The McDougals and Andrew were the ones Jericho needed to worry about. Not the woman whose touch played havoc with his body. That was reason enough to leave her be.
Chapter Five
A fter Catherine left, Jericho dozed off for a few minutes. He woke with his mind rolling over the events of last night. He knew sure as shootin’ that Andrew Donnelly was connected to the McDougal gang. Whatever secrets the boy was hiding were likely related to the outlaws, but Jericho didn’t know a blasted thing about Catherine’s secrets. Was she sweet on a McDougal? Protecting one or all of them?
He might be able to figure it out if his mind would stop drifting to what she looked like beneath the starched day dress and apron she wore today. The gown he’d seen her wearing last night before she pulled on her wrapper had covered, but not hidden her full breasts. And he could still smell the sweet, subtle scent of her skin, which rose around him when they touched. Things he would do well to forget.
The sound of light footsteps on the front porch had him looking over his shoulder and out the window. Catherine walked out into the yard carrying a basketful of clothes. She stopped in front of a huge kettle about five yards from the house and deposited the basket on the ground. A fire had already been laid and she poked it with a stick, then tested the water in the kettle by dipping in a finger.
No doubt Jericho’s blood-soaked