Whirlwind Groom (5 page)

“The McDougals killed our stage driver here,” Davis Lee said when his gaze followed hers to the stone. “You met his wife yesterday. Cora Wilkes?”

“Yes.” Josie stared at the small memorial the woman had erected, pain flooding her at the similar losses she had suffered. She struggled to keep her face blank as rage grew. How many people would McDougal kill before he was stopped?

“That gang also nearly killed my sister-in-law as well as Catherine Donnelly.”

Shocked, Josie spun.

“They nearly ran Susannah to ground with their horses and they kidnapped Catherine.” Davis Lee's eyes glinted dangerously. “My cousin is a Texas Ranger who'd been chasing the McDougals for almost two years. The two of us, along with my brother, Riley, and my deputy took care of three of them in a shoot-out several months back. Ian
managed to escape, but he's in jail now. He'll pay for what he's done.”

Recognizing the same stern determination in Davis Lee's voice that she often felt, she edged closer to him.

His gaze locked onto hers. “They killed Jericho's friend, another Ranger and nearly did Jericho in, too. If it hadn't been for Catherine's nursing skills, he would've died.”

Images of her parents' and William's bodies burned in her mind. “You're lucky they
didn't
kill him.”

The keen interest sharpening his blue gaze made her suddenly nervous and she blurted out, “What about your parents? Did the McDougals…?”

She fervently hoped not.

“No, they passed away without any help from those polecats.”

Josie nodded.

“The rest of my family is in Whirlwind. You met my brother yesterday. And my sister-in-law and niece.”

“Lorelai. What an angel,” she said with a soft smile.

“Yes. And Jericho plans to put down roots here with Catherine after their wedding.” Davis Lee walked through the short prairie grass and stopped several yards away. As he lifted, moved and stacked a few flat rocks, the tin cans in his burlap bag clanged. “What about your family? Who did you leave behind in Galveston?”

“No one. Have you always lived here?”

“Except for a couple of years I spent up in the Panhandle.” Curiosity darkened his eyes as he approached with the now-empty bag. “I was the sheriff in Rock River.”

Just because he blabbed on about his past didn't mean she would. Her hair was pulled back with a ribbon and she brought a thick skein over her shoulder to twist around her finger. “Did you always want to be a sheriff?”

His eyes narrowed at her nervous gesture. “As far back as I can remember.”

“Your brother didn't?”

He shrugged. “Riley would rather be with the horses. And, as our pa used to say, I'd rather be with the horses' ass—back ends.”

She smiled, her gaze going to the six tin cans perched on mounds of rocks.

“My grandpa was Whirlwind's first sheriff. I wanted to continue the tradition.”

“Have the sheriffs of Whirlwind always been Holts?”

“No. For a dozen or so years there was another man here, a good man. When he decided to move farther west, I applied for the job.”

Davis Lee had to have noticed her reluctance to talk about her family and the less-than-graceful way she changed the subject. He said nothing yet Josie felt uneasily as if she were being sized up.

Dropping the empty bag to the ground, Davis Lee slid a revolver from the small of his back. His own remained in the holster strapped low on his hips. Keeping the barrel pointed at the ground, he handed her the gun. “This Colt may be a little heavy for you. It's a .45 caliber. What do you think?”

She awkwardly balanced the weapon on her hand, surprised at its weight. “I guess I'll get used to it.”

“If you decide to buy one, I can help you. Smith & Wesson makes a .32 caliber that might fit your hand better. They call it a pocket revolver.”

She nodded, clasping the butt in both hands and raising it to eye level.

Davis Lee reached out and gently pushed the barrel down so that it was directed at the ground. “Don't point that thing unless you're ready to use it. That's rule number one.”

“All right.” She was going to learn to shoot really well. Ian McDougal would never have her at a disadvantage again.

Davis Lee moved up beside her, his shoulder barely brushing hers. “Stand with your feet a comfortable distance apart and aim at one of those cans.”

“Don't I need to learn how to load it?”

“I want you to get the feel of it first. I don't fancy losing a toe or something more vital if you squeeze that trigger before either one of us is ready.”

She glanced at him, noting that the level at which she held the weapon was about the same as his private parts. The realization had heat burning her cheeks. For Davis Lee to lose any part of his lean muscled anatomy would be a real shame. He was one handsome man.

Josie forced her attention back to what he was saying.

“Just practice aiming for a bit.”

She lifted the gun, her gaze following the line of the barrel.

He tapped the small piece of raised metal at the barrel's tip. “You can use the sight if you want, but that one is a little off. I learned how to shoot by aiming the gun as if it were my finger. You try it.”

She did. “That feels more natural than trying to line up the sight. Can you shoot faster using this method, too?”

He flicked his gaze over her. “How fast do you need to shoot?”

“Just asking.” If she were forced to shoot McDougal rather than cut him, she meant to fire as many times as necessary.

The thought of cold-bloodedly killing the outlaw just as he had killed her parents and William bothered her, but she refused to be swayed.

“I'll show you how to load it now.” Davis Lee reached over and put his hand on top of hers.

She stiffened, her hand twitching beneath his. Her gaze flew to his face and she saw that his attention wasn't on the gun, but on her breasts.

“Pardon me, Sheriff,” she said archly.

“Davis Lee.” A wicked grin spread slowly across his face as he held up his hands in mock surrender, his gaze dipping again to her chest. “You're not gonna pull that blade on me, are you?”

“Are you going to give me a reason?” Her heartbeat kicked wildly against her ribs and she found she couldn't look away from the heat of his blue gaze.

“I plan to tell you what I'm doing every step of the way. Don't want to spook you and end up begging for mercy.”

She didn't want to find his grin so charming. Or him either for that matter. She turned her attention back to the weapon. “Bullets?”

“Yessirree.” He slid six from his gun belt and dropped them into her waiting hand.

Again he covered her hand with his, this time pushing against a rounded part of the gun right above the trigger. A cylinder popped out, revealing six empty slots.

“Those chambers are for your bullets.” He plucked one from her hand and slid it in, indicating she should finish.

After she did, he clicked the cylinder back into place. “All right, you're ready. Be smart. Until you're going to use it, keep the gun pointed toward the ground or away from people. Now go ahead and see if you can hit one of those cans.”

Knowing that she stood in the same place where the McDougal gang had killed yet another person affected Josie's concentration, but she tried to focus on the targets in front of her.

“When you're ready, squeeze the trigger steadily.”

She did and the gun kicked, causing her to flinch. The bullet flew off into who-knew-where. “Oh, fiddle.”

He chuckled. “You'll hit the target sooner if you keep your eyes open.”

“Oh.” She smiled sheepishly. “I didn't realize I'd closed them.”

“It's okay. You have to get the feel of it. That's why it's a good idea to practice.”

She nodded, biting her lip as she aimed again at the can. The slight breeze cooled her nape. The flutter of grasshoppers in the calf-high grass and the call of a hawk circling overhead shifted to the distant part of her mind.

She fired all six bullets and hit only air.

“Do it again,” Davis Lee said.

She loaded the gun as he'd shown her then brought it up and sighted the middle can. She didn't flinch this time. At least she thought she hadn't.

“You gotta stop flinching.” He pushed his hat back then resettled it on his head. “It's no wonder you can't see the target.”

She tried again. She had to learn to do this. Ian McDougal wasn't getting away from her again. Still, she hit nothing.

Davis Lee patiently watched her reload and fire, over and over. “Don't quit,” he said when she dropped her arms to rest them.

Her forearms throbbed. Who knew it took such strength to shoot a gun?

“You'll get it,” he murmured. But half an hour later, he looked at her, looked at the cans sitting exactly where he'd placed them. “Can you
see
the targets?”

“Yes.” A blush heated her face. Why couldn't she learn this?

He looked genuinely puzzled. “Are you concentrating?”

“Yes.”

“I guess this is gonna take a while,” he muttered.

She loaded the gun again, anger at herself growing in the place of her earlier determination. Maybe the lanky man beside her was the reason she was doing so poorly.

When he stood so close to her, she could smell the strong
fresh scent of lye soap and a faint whiff of leather and horse. She didn't know why he affected her so, but the man could make a painted lady nervous.

Josie tried to push away the overwhelming sense of his presence and focus. She fired, pausing between each shot to take aim. She hit nothing. “I see why it takes a lot of practice to become good with one of these things.”

“I'm assuming you've got better aim with that blade you carry.”

He offered more ammunition and she pushed the bullets into the chamber.

“Those are my last bullets,” he said.

“I need more!”

“I didn't think it was gonna take this many.” He grinned.

She smiled up at him then looked away when she saw the smoldering interest in his eyes. Was he watching her with such fascination because he suspected her real reason for coming to Whirlwind? Or because he felt the same unsettling awareness she felt?

Gripping the revolver with damp hands, she fired until it was empty. She risked a glance at him, catching a pained look on his face.

“That's enough for today.” He walked to the rocks and began gathering up the cans. The cans she hadn't come close to hitting.

She waited in a patch of buffalo grass, unwillingly admiring the fluid way he moved, the broad hands that completely covered the cans. “Are you ready to give up on me?”

She held her breath. If he said yes, what would she do? Her skirt caught on a clump of grass and she tugged it loose.

Davis Lee started back toward her, holding the burlap sack full of cans. “It's all in the practice—” He froze midstep. “Don't move.”

“What are you—”

“Don't. Move.”

She frowned at the hard command in his voice, freezing as he'd ordered.

“Snake. I must've stirred him up by moving those rocks.”

“Where?” A sudden crackling noise caused her to involuntarily flinch.

Davis Lee cried out, “No!” The bag fell to the ground, cans clanging together.

She recoiled against a sharp blistering stab above her ankle that felt as if a needle had been jabbed into her flesh. A burning shot up her leg.

He whipped out his own gun and fired twice in rapid succession, aiming between her feet. It happened too fast for Josie to react at all.

She stumbled back a step, hardly able to make herself look down, but she did.

A blackish-brown snake with dark, indistinct-shaped markings protruded from beneath her skirts. Even she could identify the alternating black and white rings on its tail, and the rattle at the end. Nausea rolled over her. “Oh, dear.”

She wobbled.

“Are you bit?” Davis Lee rushed up. When he saw that the snake lay unmoving, he holstered his weapon. “Rattlesnake.”

Josie stared hard at the reptile as if she could will it to remain motionless.

“Josie, are you bit?”

“Yes.” She lifted her gaze to his, feeling detached from her body.

He cursed and scooped her unceremoniously into his arms, carrying her a safe distance away. “I've got to get the venom out of your leg.”

He reached their horses and tugged a rolled-up trail blanket from behind his saddle, snapping it open and wrap
ping it around her before carefully depositing her on the ground. He went to his knees beside her. “Is your vision blurring? Are you nauseous?”

“No.” She dragged in air, trying to calm her racing pulse and recall what her father had told her about treating snakebites. “It may be ten minutes or so before that happens. We need to work fast though.”

She already felt short of breath, but maybe that was because she was close to panic. A rattler. She had been bitten by a rattler. She had never even seen a snake, but thanks to her father she knew how to treat a bite. She had to stay as calm as possible.

Pulling the blanket around her to keep warm and try to combat the shock she knew would come, she reached for the hem of her skirt the same time Davis Lee did.

“Lie down,” he ordered. “You need to be still and quiet.”

She knew he was right but needed to do something herself. Pain seared her lower leg as if scalding water had spilled on her.

“Is it burning?”

“Yes.” Tears stung her eyes.

“It's starting to swell, too,” he muttered.

“Do you know what to do?”

“Yes.” He lifted her skirts to her knees, pushing up the hem of her drawers.

She saw several cuts and scratches around a single puncture just above the top of her boot, the bloody blister forming at the bite that was a few inches above her ankle.