smelled of strawberries, ripe and sweet. Wisps of her unbound hair caught on his whiskered jaw as she bent close, and goose bumps broke out on his skin. Sharp desire charged through his bloodstream and he stared out at the shadowed field trying to master his physical reaction.
"Oh, this looks better than I'd hoped." She tugged away the last of the bloody bandage and uncapped a small tin of alcohol. It stung as she washed his stitches, taking care not to snag them. "Dewayne did a fine job. He said he'd never stitched up a man before, but he did work on leather and it wasn't all that different."
The woman could make him grin, he'd give her that. "You could have left me in the street. You should have. For that matter, you should have taken off when I had a gun on Tannen and escaped while you could."
"Well, I've taken a liking to you. I'm not sure why." She carefully dabbed his wound with honey. "Maybe it's because you're the first man who ever bought me supper."
Hard to miss the wry tone and quirky smile. She was teasing him.
Fine, he could tease, too. "I can't remember the last time I beaued a woman who gambled, got me shot and wore a mustache."
"I'm thinking of giving it a trim," she said. "It might be a little too long."
"Looks fine to me."
"Sure, but it was tickling my lip." Her fingertips brushed heat across his arm as she strapped a new strip of muslin into place, winding it gently. "I don't know a lot about men's facial hair. Maybe tickling is normal."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation."
"Neither can I."
He gave a low bark of laughter, ignoring the wince of pain as she tied the bandage tight. No one had made him laugh this much in years. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.
"Here's some tea." She produced a steaming cup, hidden out of sight on the other side of the tin. "This might be a tad bitter, but I dumped honey into it hoping it would help."
"I remember choking down some last night at Dewayne's." Before he'd passed out. He took the cup in his good hand, was thankful it had cooled some in the crisp morning air and drank it in two big swallows. Bitterness puckered his mouth and assaulted his taste buds. "Willow bark tea. You know your remedies."
"A little." She packed up her supplies, head bent to her task, and the cascade of her golden hair shimmered in the first rays of the rising sun.
"Hey, Kit!" Fred dashed around the corner and skidded to a stop on his bare feet. His bright blue eyes were as big as saucers. "Who's that?"
"Fred, is that a polite way to greet a guest?" She arched a brow at her brother and tucked the medical tin in the crook of her arm. "This is Dakota. He'll be staying with us for a bit."
"Not long," Dakota emphasized. "Good to meet you, Fred."
"Gosh, how'd you hurt your arm? It looks real bad." Fred dropped to his knees on the blanket. "Did it bleed a lot?"
"Some."
"Are you an outlaw?"
"No."
"You look like an outlaw."
"It's the clothes."
"It's not the clothes." Fred leaned in to get a better look. "That's a scar over your eyebrow. How'd you get it?"
"Knife."
"What about that scar there on your side?"
"Bayonet."
"Gosh, is that scar from a bullet?"
"Fred!" Kit rolled her eyes. "Do I have to say it? You can torture him with questions later."
"My questions don't torture anyone." Fred flashed a grin, hopped to his feet and headed to the barn.
"Not true," she called out. "You torture me with them all the time. Sorry about that, Dakota."
"I survived it."
She'd noticed the scars too, and that's not all. When she and Dewayne had wrestled him out of his shirt and he'd been bleeding and nearly unconscious, she'd spotted something else—whip marks crisscrossing his back in thick, scarred ridges. She wondered what his childhood had been like. She knew what those scars were from. Her pa had similar marks from his growing up years, inflicted by a cruel father.
"I have the feeling you've survived a lot of things," she said.
"Like your doctoring." The sun found
Frankie Blue
john thompson
Alaina Stanford
Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright
C.W. Gortner
Helena Newbury
Jessica Jarman
Shanna Clayton
Barbara Elsborg
James Howard Kunstler