Her Montana Man (9 page)

that we became railroad and bank shareholders.”

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“Impressive.”

“Not to my father. He turned his favor on the young men. First Forest and then Royce.”

“Did you love Forest?”

Deeply buried hurts unfolded inside her. “I thought I did.”

“What happened?”

It seemed natural to turn her hand and grasp his hand in return, the gesture like an unspoken trust

between them. “He left town without warning. Just…disappeared and was gone.”

Her father had blamed her for running him off, but she didn’t tell Jonas that. All of it hurt, but taking the

blame for her father losing his protégé still rankled. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong, unless

giving her heart had been a mistake.

“I always wondered if I’d ever see him again, but Silver Bend is just a drop in the world that’s out there

beyond Montana. He could be anywhere.”

“Man was a damned fool,” Jonas said with enough conviction to bring tears to her eyes. He must have

noticed her reaction, because he tugged, and she let him draw her closer, right up until her thigh brushed

his and he put his other arm around her waist.

Due to his sitting position on the railing, his face was lower than hers by a few inches. With his warm

palm flattened against her back, he drew her even closer, releasing her hand so he could envelop her in

his warmth and strength. She didn’t resist, didn’t even want to. At the feel of his strong arms around her,

silken pearls of fire rolled along her nerve endings and spread throughout her body. The liberating

sensation was like a promise she’d been waiting to fulfill.

She had no reason on earth to deny herself this pleasure, nothing more to lose, so she met his kiss,

threading her fingers into his soft cool hair at the same time she tasted his lips.

She savored the warmth of his mouth, loved the feel of his hands on her waist, sliding to her hips, as he

took control of the kiss and stood to tuck her tightly against his length. Eliza was starving for affection, for

attention…for someone to recognize and want her for who she was. Her neediness almost embarrassed

her, but she didn’t care. This was her moment. Her tiny dash at satisfaction, and she meant to grab it.

A shot rang through the air. A thud sounded and Jonas’s body jerked at the same time he gasped

against her mouth. In the next instant as wood splintered overhead, he grabbed her and pushed her to the

porch floor, lying with his hard body covering her. Her heart pounded so loud she could barely hear his

breathing.

He leaned to one side, unpinning her. “Crawl to the door and get inside.”

The night was eerily silent. Nothing moved or rustled. She wanted to obey, but couldn’t make herself

budge.

Behind them, the wooden screen covering the parlor window creaked open a few inches and a dark

object fell to the porch floor with a thud.

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Jonas inched backward, grabbed the leather holster with his left hand and drew out a long revolver.

“Inside
now,
” he said to her.

In the moonlight, a dark patch glistened high on the white sleeve of his shirt on his right side.

“You’re hurt.”

“Can’t feel it yet,” he told her. “Now get in. Keep everyone away from the windows.”

Crawling was awkward until she hiked her nightdress and wrapper above her knees. He remained

beside her, reaching for the door handle and closing her safely inside.

Jonas peered around the pillar. The post wasn’t much cover, but the lack of bright moonlight aided him

in staying in the shadows. He waited several minutes, but couldn’t make out anything unusual in the gray

shapes along the street. The shot had most likely come from between buildings on the other side.

He leaped over the porch railing on the west and crouched as he ran between the hotel and the dry

goods store to the back alley. The store was on the corner of the block. Because of the cover, the

shooter would expect him to take the alley eastward and then get to the other side somewhere near the

saloon.

Instead, he crossed the street to the west and ran the entire length of the alley to come out farther down.

He approached the boardwalk in a crouch, wondering as the numbness left his good arm by increments,

if he’d be able to hit anything.

At some point he still had to get across Main, so he made a run for it, then worked his way behind the

south-side buildings.

“Who’s out there?”

Jonas recognized Yale Baxter, who lived above his hardware store on the corner. Yale was wearing his

union suit and carrying a Winchester. Jonas answered in a low voice. “Jonas. Somebody was shooting at

the hotel.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Got a slug in my shoulder that’s startin’ to hurt like the very devil.”

Across the street beside the tea shop loomed two more residents carrying guns. “Yale? Jonas, that you?

Jonas called a low reply. George Atwell and Marshal Haglar crossed the street, George wearing

trousers with suspenders over his bare shoulders and Warren fully dressed as though he hadn’t been to

bed yet.

“Somebody shot Jonas,” Yale told them.

“The hell. We been up and down the alley on this side,” Warren answered. “Whoever it was is long

gone.”

“Or back inside,” George added.

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“Who’d want to shoot you?” Warren asked.

“I made that Baslow fella pretty mad,” he replied.

“I checked on him a week ago, and he was on his ranch where he’s supposed to be,” Warren said.

“Let’s get ya to Doc’s.” Yale gestured with the rifle barrel. “Get ya stitched up.” He walked around

Jonas, squinting in the moonlight. “Can’t see blood in the back.”

Jonas headed east on the boardwalk. “Great.”

A few neighbors were gathered in front of the hotel, a couple carrying lanterns and most with rifles.

Lilibelle and the other women were gathered on the hotel porch, and Jonas recognized Bonnie Jacobson

in her flannel nightdress and shawl, walking toward him. “Dr. McKee is waiting for you.”

Yale accompanied Jonas to Doc’s, which was another block’s walk. As soon as the small square frame

house came into view, Jonas’s stomach clenched. Damned if he wouldn’t have to go inside.

“Gonna pass out on me?” Yale asked.

Jonas straightened and drew a sustaining breath. He could do it. He could walk in there and not see the

blood or hear the cries that were a part of his darkest memories. He wasn’t ten years old. “I’m all right.”

Etta McKee had painted the plaster walls yellow and hung checkered curtains on every window. The

house looked nothing like it did in Jonas’s nightmares.

The examining room was just as he remembered. The walls were lined with wood cabinets, and glass

jars filled with utensils sat on every surface.

“Let’s see what we got here.” Kerwin put on his spectacles. His wiry brown hair stuck up on one side

as though he’d just climbed out of bed. He cut off Jonas’s shirt. “Slug’s still in there.”

Etta hurried in with a half-full bottle of whiskey and a small glass. She poured a generous amount and set

it on the worktable with a solid thud.

“Jonas don’t drink,” Yale told her, then picked up the glass and downed the contents.

Jonas took a seat on a sturdy chair. “Get to it.”

He closed his eyes and resolutely thought about those fleeting moments with Eliza Jane before bullets

had started flying.

Yale moved to sit in the outer room in his union suit, drinking Etta’s coffee while Jonas cursed through

clenched teeth. Forty minutes and a couple hundred inventive swearwords later, Jonas walked out of the

examining room with his bare shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling. He acknowledged the doctor’s

missus with a nod. “Pardon, ma’am.”

She waved a hand. “I was along when Laura Brinkley gave birth to twins last week. Now that woman’s

cursing could strip the bark from trees. You get some rest.”

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“Yes, ma’am.”

Everyone had gone back to his or her beds, and the dark street was quiet, save for the sound of their

boot heels on the boardwalks. Thunder rumbled across the heavens.

“We got here just in time,” Yale said.

Jonas was a mite unsteady on his feet the last several yards to the hotel. Just as the first rain pelted their

heads and shoulders, Yale supported him and helped him onto the porch.

Eliza was perched on the stairs inside, waiting, with Lilibelle seated on a chair she’d brought from the

dining room. “Did your boy sleep through the commotion?” Lilibelle asked.

“I checked on him twice to be certain. Tyler can sleep through anything.”

At the sound of boots on the porch, Eliza got up and hurried forward, while Lily took a little more time

getting to her feet.

Looking unusually pale, Jonas was leaning heavily on another man as the two of them lunged across the

threshold.

“He’s gonna be fine,” the other man told them. “Doc dug out a slug.”

“Walk him on up to his rooms, Mr. Baxter,” Lily said.

“Lead the way, Eliza Jane. I’m not climbing those stairs again tonight.”

Eliza had helped Lily and Phoebe prepare the bed with additional layers of sheets. They’d warmed

water for washing. His quarters took up one entire end of the second floor and consisted of a large sitting

room and a separate sleeping area. The furnishings were dark heavy wood, solid, but not elaborate.

Eliza opened the door and stood just inside as the man in his union suit entered behind Jonas.

“I’m all right.” Jonas’s skin appeared dark against the white bandages.

“Take that elixir the doc gave you,” Baxter told him.

Jonas nodded, and the man left.

“There’s warm water,” Eliza said.

He placed his revolver on the bureau and met her gaze in the framed mirror. “You all right?”

“Perfectly.” She moved forward. “Let me help you.” She took the washrag, soaked it and wrung it in the

basin. Streaks of blood had dried on his arm, and she wiped them away gently with the wet cloth. “I

heard you didn’t find anyone.”

“He got away.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before? Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

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“First thought was Baslow,” he said.

She’d considered him, too. The man had been furious with Jonas.

“Do you want to wash your face?”

He nodded.

She soaped the cloth and handed it to him. After he washed, she rinsed it out and gave it back. He gave

his skin a halfhearted swipe.

“Here,” she said, taking the cloth and wiping his face. He closed his eyes. Standing close, reaching up to

perform the task, her breast brushed the back of his fingers where they protruded from the sling.

His eyes opened and his dark gaze burned into hers. A sensation like heat lightning skittered through her

body. Their kiss was foremost in her thoughts, but she suspected Jonas had more significant things on his

mind.

A flash of lightning lit the end of the room, followed by the low rumble of thunder. She busied herself

drying him with the towel. Sweat had already broken out on his forehead. “Where’s the medicine?” she

asked.

He reached into his left pocket with his good hand and drew out a slim brown bottle. “A teaspoonful.”

“I’ll get a spoon.” She hurried downstairs and fumbled her way into the dark kitchen to retrieve the

utensil. The rain beat a rhythm on the tin stovepipe as she searched drawers and cupboards. When she

returned, he was lying on his back on the bed, one booted foot crossed over the other, mouth in a grim

line.

She measured the dose.

“I’ll do it.” He sat up and took the spoon from her, their fingers brushing. A drip hit his trousers during

the transfer.

She capped the bottle and set it away. “Let me help you get your boots off.”

He offered one leg at a time, and she tugged until they slid off. Uncomfortable now, she wondered if he

wanted to strip out of his trousers. “I can get someone else to help with the rest.”

“I can undress myself,” he assured her. “C’mere first.”

She took a hesitant step closer to the edge of his bed. He reclined and closed his eyes, but not until he’d

reached for her hand and she allowed him to hold it. “You need to rest,” she told him.

“Tell me now if you’re gonna pretend like nothin’ ever happened, so I’ll know what to expect.”

It took her a minute to collect her thoughts.

“I don’t think I could pretend that well,” she replied at last. Whatever happened next, that tantalizing

kiss—and his warm embrace—would be with her forever.

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He opened his eyes to look at her then. “That’s good to know.”

She should have told him right then and there that anything more between them would be impossible. He

needed to know she wasn’t sticking around any longer than it took to earn traveling money. But it was

late, and he was hurting and needed his rest. Her bubble of self-delusion would burst soon enough. Until

reality was once again her closest companion, she had this briefest of hours to dream.

And she didn’t want to forget that kiss.