Cowboy Alibi

Chapter Five

He tasted of heat and a hint of bourbon from the couple of sips she’d given him from the Carlyle family stock before she cleaned his wound. Her head swam and her whole body seemed to go tingly and numb as his tongue danced against hers in a deep, shattering kiss.

He slid his hands lazily down her back, his fingertips tracing the contours of her spine in slow, deliberate circles. Heat poured into her center, sheer sensation driving her as she straddled his hips and pressed hard against him, seeking more.

But as her whole body burst into flaming need, his hands slackened against her back and slid away. His mouth went soft beneath hers.

She pulled away and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes, gazing down at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth still slightly open and glistening with the moisture of their kisses. His breathing was slow and even, and when she touched his bare chest, she felt his pulse strong and rhythmic beneath her fingertips. He was just asleep, she reassured herself.

A low, unsteady chuckle escaped her as she pushed herself off him and retreated to a chair a few feet away from the bed. Her body still thrummed with arousal, but she pushed away the sensation ruthlessly, closing her eyes against the sight of Joe’s bare, toned torso and tight jeans that revealed arousal, even now. He shifted slightly in the bed, a low sound grumbling up from his chest.

Bet you’re having a hell of a dream right now, Cowboy Joe, she thought, chuckling again.

A word spilled from his lips, whispery and taut with need. “Sandra.”

Jane’s chuckle died in her throat.

Sandra. That was the name she’d used in Wyoming, wasn’t it?

She pushed herself from the chair and crossed back to the bed, easing herself down on the edge next to him. “Joe?”

“Sandra, don’t leave me.” The words were slurred but discernible. He shook his head from side to side, his face crumpling with pain. “Don’t-”

“Shh.” She touched his forehead, soothing away the creases. “I’m right here.”

The lines in his brow relaxed, and he fell still and silent. She sat by his side a few minutes longer, trying to hold back the sudden panic rising in her throat like a tidal wave.

His voice had sounded-distant, somehow. As if whatever he was dreaming about came from the past, not the present. A past where he had known her as Sandra Dorsey, not Jane Doe.

A past that had suddenly become even more complicated than she’d imagined.

Exactly who-and what-was she to Joe Garrison?

MORNING DAWNED cold and clear, the first gray whisper of daylight stealing over the bedroom where Jane sat, wide-awake, watching Joe sleep. She rubbed her gritty eyes and checked her watch in the low light, barely making out the numbers. Just after five.

Joe had slept most of the night, awakening briefly around three to go to the bathroom. He’d waved off her offer of help on the way in, but when he emerged, white-faced and staggering, he didn’t protest when she wrapped her arm around him and helped him back to bed.

That moment was the only reason she was still here, sitting in the darkened bedroom listening to his slow, even respiration. She’d planned to be gone by morning. She’d gone as far as sneaking the truck keys from his jacket to the pocket of her jeans, where even now they dug into her hip through the sturdy denim.

Angie was dead. Joe was injured. And as far as she could see into her uncertain future, she didn’t think things would get any better for the people around her.

Maybe, if she could still see Joe Garrison as a Wyoming cop who wanted her behind bars, she could forget those fears and trust Joe to help her.

But the kiss had changed everything.

Wrapping herself in the wool blanket she’d had across her lap, she crossed to check the woodstove in the corner. The fire she’d lit last night had waned, the two small logs she’d found inside now mostly burned away to ashes. The cabin had electricity but not heat. Angie’s family usually brought portable space heaters to supplement the fireplace in the great room and the single woodstove located here in the back bedroom.

She returned to the bed and looked down at Joe. He lay on his uninjured side, his face buried in the pillow. He looked like a little boy, his features softened by sleep and his dark hair flopping forward onto his forehead. Such a contrast to the hard, grim man who’d confronted her at the Trinity jail.

She crouched by the bed in front of him, gripping the sheets to keep from reaching out to touch him. “Who are you to me?” she whispered.

He stirred slightly, and she rocked back on her heels, holding her breath until he settled back to sleep. Carefully, she pushed to her feet and picked up her boots, tucking them under her arm as she padded barefoot into the great room. She pulled them on and stood, gazing at the front door of the cabin.

She reached into her pocket and closed her fingers around the keys to Joe’s truck.

JOE WOKE with a start, then immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body.

It took a moment for memory to seep through his pain-addled brain. When it did, he forced himself to a full sitting position and looked around the darkened bedroom.

Morning sunlight crept through the curtains, slanting a weak shaft of light across the hardwood floor. Joe ran his hand over his jawline, feeling the full day’s growth of beard, then checked his watch. Ten after seven. His stomach rumbled, but not with hunger.

“Jane?” His voice sounded gravelly and weak. He called her name again, louder this time, but there was no response.

Alarm battled with anger as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there a moment, clutching the bedsheets in his white-knuckled fists as he waited out the rush of pain and nausea. He listened to the quiet cabin, trying to make out any unexpected sounds. Cold air swirled around him, raising chill bumps on his bare skin. He needed to go to the bathroom but pushed that concern aside and struggled to his feet.

The room swam sickeningly for a moment, but he pressed his hand against the wall for balance and grabbed the tattered remains of his cotton button-down shirt. He slipped it on, favoring his injured side, and looked down at his boots standing at the side of the bed.

No way could he put those boots on alone, and Jane knew it. Probably thought it would give her a head start.

He picked up his jacket from a chair near the bed. A pair of bullet holes marred the left side of the tan suede. He fingered one of the holes briefly, then pulled on the jacket, reaching into the pocket for his truck keys.

They were gone.

He released a soft torrent of curses and headed out the bedroom door, staggering a bit as he moved down the short hallway to the great room. He went straight for the front door and parted the curtains over the inset window.

The truck stood where they’d left it the night before.

Releasing a pent-up breath, he leaned against the door, letting it hold him upright while he gritted his teeth against the pain in his side.

So she hadn’t taken the truck.

But where was she?

FROST COVERED the ground outside the cabin, tinted shell-pink by the glow that kissed the eastern sky. The sun had not yet made an appearance over the Sawtooth Mountains, but the light on the horizon was enough to illuminate the small stockpile of firewood stacked on the side porch.

Jane pulled on a pair of work gloves she’d found in the kitchen and started to reach for the top piece of wood when she heard a snapping sound in the tangle of pines and aspens a few yards away.

She peered into the gloom, the hair on the back of her neck rising. She eased her hand into the pocket of her jacket, where she’d tucked Joe’s service weapon before leaving the cabin, and pulled it free. Pressing her back against the rough clapboard of the cabin’s outer wall, she held her breath and tried to be completely still and invisible, watching the trees for any sign of movement.

She heard a soft rustle, then another twig snapping. Two shadowy figures slunk through the scrubby underbrush, flitting in and out of sight. Jane released her breath and the shadows froze, two pairs of bright gold eyes turned her way.

Wolves. They stared back at her briefly before slipping away, wraithlike, in the gloom.

Jane crossed to the edge of the porch, trying to catch another glimpse of them as they retreated, but they had already disappeared from view. She started to turn back to the woodpile when she heard a creaking noise behind her. Her heart rate doubling in a split second, she whipped the gun up, whirled and aimed.

Joe stood in the doorway, his hands lifting slowly. His gaze locked with hers, hard and wary. “Drop the weapon, Jane.”

She swallowed hard and lowered the gun to her side. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Likewise,” he drawled, taking a step toward her and holding out his hand. “I’d like it back now.”

She didn’t like the dark suspicion in his eyes. “Did you think I would shoot you?”

“People don’t usually aim a weapon if they’re not prepared to pull the trigger.”

She pressed her lips together, annoyed by his dry half answer. She handed him the gun and turned to pick up a couple of pieces of wood for the stove. But he caught her arm and pulled her around to face him.

“So, you’re only out here for the wood?” He held her by her upper arms, his grip painless but firm.

She lifted her chin. “I’m out here for the wood.”

He stepped forward, forcing her back up against the wall of the cabin. Heat radiated off his body, warming her through the denim of her jacket and jeans. He smelled of whiskey and woodsmoke, the scent rich, dark and masculine. She pressed her hands flat against the rough wall, overwhelmed by the urge to touch him.

He snaked his left hand out and curled his palm around her waist. He slid his fingers slowly, deliberately over the curve of her hip, stopping at the pocket of her jeans and tracing the contours of the bulge inside. “So why did you need the keys to my truck, then?”

She dropped her gaze, knowing she had no good answer.

He let go of her and stepped back, throwing up a hand to catch the wall as he struggled with his balance. His voice shook when he spoke. “I guess the more pertinent question is, why didn’t you run when you had the chance? I was dead to the world. Would have been so easy.”

She pushed her hair away from her face, surprised to find her hand trembling. She could still feel the phantom heat of his hand on her hip. Pulling the keys from her pocket, she licked her dry lips and handed them to Joe. “Where would I go? I don’t know anyone outside of Trinity. I don’t know any place outside of Trinity.”

“I have a feeling you could adapt.”

“I didn’t want to leave you,” she blurted, forcing her gaze up to meet his.

For a second, she thought she saw a flicker of pleasure dart across his expression, but it was gone before she could be sure what she saw. He put his keys in the pocket of his jeans and started to pick up a piece of wood.

She put her hand over his, stopping him. He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing.

“I’ll get it. You’re still a little weak.” She tucked a couple of pieces of wood under her arm and cupped his elbow to help him inside the cabin.

He shrugged her off. “I’m fine.”

She let him go ahead of her, watching with concern as he made his way on wobbly legs. He was also looking pale and a little glassy-eyed. He half fell onto the bed when he reached the bedroom, and she made quick work of feeding the fire in the woodstove so she could get back to him.

She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and helped him out of the suede jacket, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was hot and dry to the touch. “I think you may have a fever.”

“It’s not a bad one.”

She cupped his cheek, not liking the heat rising off his skin. “I’m not so sure.”

“I probably just need something to eat.” He started to push up off the bed, but she gently pressed him back into the pillows.

“I’ll get you something to eat in a minute. Let’s check your temperature first.” She retrieved the first-aid kit stored in the bathroom medicine cabinet and put the thermometer in his mouth. “We probably need to change your bandage, and I’d rather do that on an empty stomach if you don’t mind.”

She saw his lips quirk around the thermometer, and she darted him a tentative smile in response. His smile faded, replaced by a furrow in his brow. She sighed and crossed to the window, looking out at the trees beyond the cabin.

She felt his gaze on her, acutely aware of the tension that hung in the air like a heavy mist. The taut silence seeped into her pores, chilling her bone-deep.

She broke the quiet. “I saw a couple of wolves this morning. They’re making a comeback here, or so they say. They were beautiful.” She turned to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes slightly narrowed.

She crossed to the bed and removed the thermometer. Her heart sank at the reading.

“That bad?” he asked.

“A hundred and two.” She shook down the thermometer.

“So give me some aspirin.”

She shook her head. “That’s not going to be enough.” She put the thermometer back in its case and set it on the bedside table. “You need antibiotics.”

He pushed himself up in the bed, trying to hide a grimace of pain. “Maybe I just need to eat something. Where’d you put our stash of supplies?”

“In the kitchen.” She put her hand on his shoulder as he started to get up. He was scalding hot to the touch. “In a minute. Let me take a look at your wound. Unbutton your shirt.”

He unfastened the buttons, his gaze locked with hers. “I’ll have to add nursing to your list of known skills.”

“I have a list of known skills?”

One corner of his mouth notched upward. “You’re a kick-ass poker player.”

“Well, that might come in handy when we run out of money,” she murmured, helping him shrug the shirt off. She gestured for him to turn his injured side to her. Gingerly, she removed the tape holding the sanitary napkin in place. The pad was heavy with blood, but the bleeding had stopped for now.

“I’m going to have to clean it a bit, but it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did last night.”

“Easy for you to say.”

She ignored the wry comeback and went to the bathroom for a clean washcloth and some antibacterial soap. She returned with the cloth and another sanitary napkin. There were only a couple left in the package. She’d need to find a store nearby and do some shopping sometime today.

She cleaned the dried blood away from the bullet wound, wincing at his soft gasps of pain. “Sorry…sorry.”

“Where’s the whiskey?” he gritted through clenched teeth. But as she reached for the bottle she’d left on the bedside table, he caught her wrist. “Just joking. I’m okay. Just get it done.”

He let go of her wrist and she resumed her cleaning job. She didn’t like the angry red color of the flesh around the torn skin. “I think it’s getting infected.”

“So put some ointment on it.”

She was already pulling the small tube from the first-aid kit, but she shook her head as she dabbed a liberal dollop of the ointment into the open wound. “I don’t think it’s going to be enough. You need antibiotics.”

“That takes a prescription.”

“We need to find a doctor, then.”

He shook his head. “They have to report gunshot wounds to the cops, and I don’t yet know which cops around here I can trust. I’m pretty sure we’ve already been betrayed once.”

She placed the clean sanitary napkin over the wound and taped it in place. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can ignore, Joe.”

“We can talk about it over breakfast.” He shrugged his shirt on again and started to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“No, you stay here.” She stilled him with a touch. “I’ll get the food. We have some bread and peanut butter-how about a sandwich? Not much of a breakfast, but-”

“That’s fine,” he gritted, easing back against the headboard. “Don’t suppose this place has a coffeemaker?”

“I don’t think you need to drink anything hot, anyway.” She released his shoulder. “Might raise your temperature more.”

He caught her arm as she started to go, his calloused thumb moving lightly over the soft flesh of her inner wrist. She turned to look at him and was surprised to see a hint of vulnerability in his gray eyes. “I appreciate your worrying about me. I do. But I’m tough. I’ll be okay. I’ll take some aspirin or something after we eat and the fever will go right down. You’ll see.”

She didn’t bother arguing. She could tell he already had his mind made up. Talk wouldn’t make him budge. But she didn’t think aspirin or ibuprofen was going to be enough to get his fever down. It had come on too quickly to be anything easily fixed.

She’d just have to take matters into her own hands.