Savage Thunder

Chapter Thirty-five

Jocelyn hadn't known which room was Colt's, but with a half dozen of her men standing in and about the open doorway, it wasn't hard to find. Pushing through the crowd, she found even more inside, Angel, Billy, and Alonzo. Colt was sitting in a chair with his shirt off, blood dripping down his arm from beneath a wet padding of cloth.

Her heart lurched at the sight of the blood, but only for a moment, then quieted down from the frantic pounding it had been doing since she left her room. He was sitting up, he had been talking, he looked just fine, discounting the blood. It wasn't a mortal wound.

Colt became aware that every man in the room was staring at her at about the same time she did. But for a moment, it was almost as if everyone else had van-ished. He saw only her, and her state of dishabille, the white velvet robe molded to damp curves, the glo-rious red hair piled loosely on her head with long wet tendrils clinging to the velvet about her breasts, beads of water still on her neck and cheeks, the bare feet.

He almost got up to reach for her, so powerful and instantaneous was her effect on him. It was like a fist slamming into his gut when he heard someone clear his throat and realized they weren't alone, that he couldn't touch her, couldn't lick that moisture from her neck as he was dying to do, couldn't even get near her. He could only stare at her and watch her pale, pale skin blossom with color as she too became aware that they weren't alone, that she had breached all manners of propriety, that she was damned near naked. And he had a sudden, fierce need to kill every man there just for seeing her like that.

Jocelyn recovered first, which was fortunate, since Colt was about to embarrass the hell out of her by tossing her over his shoulder and taking her back to her room, where she belonged. If she had known that, she wouldn't have been able to bluff her way through the embarrassment she was already experiencing.

But brazenness had its uses, and pretending it was nothing out of the ordinary for her men to see her in such a state, when they never had before, was all she could do. Allowances would have to be made for-the reason she was there. Of course, it would have helped if Colt had looked just a little more injured than he did.

"Has a doctor been summoned yet?" Since she didn't address the question to anyone in particular, she didn't note who replied in the negative. "Then would you be so good as to fetch one, Rob—"

"I don't need a doctor," Colt cut in.

"Perhaps not, but it wouldn't hurt—"

"I don't want a doctor — ma'am. What I want is to be left alone."

He said it quietly, but there was so much sup-pressed anger in his tone, the exodus began immediately.

Only Angel was left, sitting on the end of the bed leaning against the bedpost, and Billy, who went back to wringing out the cloth Colt had been cleaning the wound with — and Jocelyn, still standing in the middle of the room.

Colt chose to ignore her, hoping she would take the hint and go away. "Hurry up with that, kid, before I bleed to death."

It was the worst thing he could have said. Jocelyn had been about to leave. She could find out later how he had gotten shot. She never should have come in the first place to see if he was all right.

"You do need a doctor!" she said now.

"No, dammit, I don't," Colt snarled, realizing his own mistake. "That was just a… what the hell are you doing?"

Jocelyn had already crossed over to him and was reaching for the wet cloth covering the wound. "I wish to ascertain for myself—"

He cut her off again. "Leave it alone, Duchess. It's just a scratch."

"Hell, Colt, when did you get to be such an ornery cuss?" Angel commented, coming up off the bed.

"Why don't you let her patch it up since she's willing? It's a plain fact women got a gentler touch."

"I seem to recall you yelling your head off when Jessie took that bullet out of your side."

"Your sister is the exception." Angel grinned. "Come on, Billy, he's in good hands."

"Billy, get back here!" Colt demanded when he started to follow Angel out the door.

"But Angel's right, Colt. Lady Jocelyn can bandage you up better than I could."

Colt didn't need him for bandaging, he needed him for a buffer. Couldn't either of them see that?

Obvi-ously not, since the door closed behind them, leaving him alone with the duchess.

"I thought I gave you a warning a few weeks back," he said quietly, careful not to look at her standing by his side. "Did you forget it?"

"No, but this is an emergency, wouldn't you say?"

"It's a damned scratch, Duchess—"

"That still needs attention. And since your friends and family have abandoned you to my tender mercies, why don't you let me attend to it and stop being an— an ornery cuss?"

His lips almost twitched. Her arrogance could stand being brought down a peg or two, but he had to admire her tenacity. And he found that as long as he kept his eyes fixed across the room, he could even bear her closeness — for a short while. He also found, to his chagrin, that he liked having her fuss over him. Of course, it was what women did when a man was hurt, but still, she didn't have to do it. She had others she could have sent in her stead. So why hadn't she? And why had she looked almost frantic when she had pushed her way into his room?

"What were you told to bring you straight from your bath, without even drying off first?"

Jocelyn blushed clear to her roots. "You weren't supposed to notice that."

"Shit, who didn't?" he grumbled, then, "Ouch!" when she slapped a new wet cloth on his arm without warning. He would damned well tell Angel that here was another exception to his gentle theory.

"Who did you say taught you English?"

"My sister," he replied testily.

"Then her English leaves much to be desired."

"I picked up a few words on my own."

"I'm delighted to heafit. But someone should have told you the proper place for them, which is not in the presence of a lady."

"You didn't answer my question — lady."

"I was told you were shot."

"Afraid you'd lost your guide?"

"Something like that," she replied dryly.

He frowned then, and sank more deeply into his chair. "Can't you hurry that up?"

"For a scratch, it's rather nasty-looking." The bul-let had ripped a deep groove through the upper layer of flesh and muscle. How he wasn't complaining about it, she didn't know. "It could stand a few stitches so it won't leave such a wide scar after it heals."

Was she kidding? "A man doesn't worry about a few scars."

"So I noticed."

He glanced at her sharply then, but she was looking at the scars on his chest. She couldn't see his back the way he was slouched in the chair.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

"I believe I already know," she replied, directing her attention to his arm again. "It's called the Sun Dance, isn't it?"

He was surprised enough to show it. "Where'd you hear about it?"

"From Miles. He suggested you might bear such marks. I didn't believe him, of course. It sounded so barbaric, the way he described how it was done. that wooden skewers were thrust through the flesh of a man's chest, and he was then hung from a tree by ropes attached to the skewers until the flesh ripped open to release him. Is that really how it's done?"

"Close enough."

"But why would you do something like that to yourself, to deliberately torture yourself?"

"I'm just a dumb Injun, remember? We don't know any better."

Her eyes met his for the first time since she started cleaning his wound. "I thought I'd asked you not to do that," she admonished softly. "I was asking a question out of genuine curiosity, hoping to under-stand something of a culture I'm unfamiliar with. But if you don't care to explain, then please forget that I asked."

How was it he suddenly felt about three feet tall? "It's a religious ceremony," he said after a short si-lence, staring across the room again. "A ceremony of renewal and prayer for blessing. Not every warrior participates, but those who do wear their scars with pride as an assurance of divine blessing."

"Religion," she mused. "I should have realized it would be that simple." She wanted to touch those scars so badly her fingers almost trembled. "It must have been horribly painful. Was it worth it — for you? Did you feel you had received your blessing?"

"Only for a very short time."

"I'm sorry."

He looked up at her again with surprise. "Why?"

"If someone's going to suffer excruciating pain for a blessing, well, then they ought to be able to expect that blessing to last a good, long while, shouldn't they? Otherwise, why bother?"

"Hadn't thought of that."

She could tell he found her view amusing. He didn't actually smile, but she knew when someone was hu-moring her. She chose not to take exception to it, however. The man was injured, after all.

"Yes, well, never mind. Why don't you tell me how this happened?" she said, indicating his flesh wound.

The change in Colt was swift and chilling. "I got careless."

When he didn't elaborate, Jocelyn became annoyed, enough to deliberately misunderstand. "You shot yourself? How clumsy of you."

He gave her a baleful look rife with promise. "The shot came out of a dark alley. By the time I got to the end of it, the culprit was on his horse and high-tailing it out of town."

"Then you don't know who it was?"

"I didn't see his face, no, but I recognized the horse. I remember horses better than I do people. That one belonged to the kid who rode with Angel to escort you to the Englishman. I believe Angel said his name was Pete Saunders."

"But I thought we beat them here!"

"They're obviously determined not to lose you again, Duchess. They knew where we were headed. And you still had your vehicles slowing you down, even without making camp. It would have been easy enough for them to ride around us and get here first."

"Then what was the point of our rushing?"

"On the off chance that Angel's ploy had them wasting time searching the mountains for you. But they must have gotten lucky and found where he dou-bled back."

"So what am I supposed to do now?" she said, tying his bandage off a bit too tightly in her agitation. "I suppose they'll be watching the railroad, watching the… wait a minute. Why did they shoot at you?"

"For the usual reason," he answered dryly. "To kill me."

Now he was the recipient of a baleful glance. "Longnose has never harmed any of my people. Why should he? It must have been a mistake."

In her upset, she had begun to pace in front of him. Colt had to force his eyes away from the bottom of her robe, which kept threatening to open with each step she took.

"There was no mistake, Duchess. What would you do without a guide?"

"Hire another. "She didn't finish the thought. Her eyes flared with understanding she didn't want to accept. "But I've seen them all. How can they think—"

"It wouldn't be a man you might recognize. Your Longnose will find someone else, and probably already has. Didn't Angel tell you this was their origi-nal plan before they came across Dryden?"

"Your Angel was as closemouthed as a sphinx. Of course he didn't tell me anything. But if he told you.

why haven't you quit?" She got such a fierce look of annoyance, she almost smiled. "Oh, that's right, you don't quit." She was feeling better already. "You see, I was right all along about how much I need you. If anything happened to you, I wouldn't be able to hire anyone to replace you. I couldn't trust him not to be one of Longnose's men."

Colt didn't hear much beyond that "I need you" of hers. If he didn't get her out of his room pronto, she wouldn't be leaving at all.

"All right, Duchess, so you've got few options left open to you right now. The train's out. As you said, they'll be watching it, as well as your vehicles. If you split your men, some to go after the Englishman, some to protect you, you just make it easier for him."

She was frowning. "I know you said you wouldn't hunt him down, but what about Angel? Do you think he might be interested in the job?"

He shook his head. "He's got business in Texas that's already been delayed. He's taking off in the morning."

"So where does that leave me?"

"You either hole up and wait until your enemy gathers enough men to attack, or. "

He didn't finish, and she could see that whatever that "or" was, he either had changed his mind or hadn't thought it through. She was too impatient to wait.

"Or?"

He gave her a long, considering look that ended in a shrug. "You can strike out alone."

For a moment she thought he was joking. He must be. But she sensed his nonchalance was contrived, that he was tense, even expectant.

"Without protection?"

"With me. I can get you safely to Wyoming, but it'd be just you, me, and the horses, and a lot of hard riding. Your people would have to follow at their own pace."

"Just you and me. " she began, but was still reeling over the possibilities. "But you warned me to stay away from you," she reminded him. "Why would you offer—"

"Don't get me wrong, Duchess," he interrupted in a low, mesmerizing tone. "I guarantee you'll get to Wyoming in one piece. I make no other promises. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She nodded curtly, feeling the color already mount-ing in her cheeks, and nearly ran toward the door.

"I–I will have to consider…" She stopped, her hand on the door handle, her back to him. "When would you want to leave?"

"Tonight. when it'd be least expected."

Again she nodded, but wouldn't turn to look at him. "I'll have my decision delivered to you shortly."