Twice a Texas Bride (32 page)

Brett must've lost consciousness. Panic gripped him when he came to. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was or why he was behind bars.

When it came flooding back, he called, “Rayna, are you still here?”

“Oh dear Lord, I thought you were dead. You haven't made a sound for hours.”

“Not dead yet, so don't get your hopes up,” he joked weakly.

The iron door separating the cells from the sheriff's office rattled. Footsteps sounded, then a key grated in the lock to his cell. He turned his head to see a slight, spry man carrying a black medical bag.

“Doc?” Brett murmured.

The doctor hurried to the bunk and felt Brett's forehead. “Sheriff, he has a raging fever. This bullet has got to come out. I want him transported to my office right away.”

Brett heard the sheriff's gravelly voice. “Nope. Ain't leaving here.”

“Get me some light then,” the doctor snapped. “Lanterns. Three of them plus a pail of clean water and some cloths. And quick.”

“A lot of fuss for a stinking half-breed,” the sheriff grumbled.

Doc turned Brett onto his belly and pain shot like a thunderbolt through him. He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep from crying out. He couldn't suppress a moan though.

“It's all right, son. Not everyone in this town shares the sheriff's views. I'm going to take care of you.”

Brett relaxed for the first time since this nightmare began. His mind drifted like a lazy cloud on a summer's day. His ranch and beloved horses filled his mind. The smell of lush, sweet grass surrounded him, and the vivid blue sky stretched overhead as far as the eye could see.

Please help me get back to the Wild Horse
. The thought of not seeing his beloved ranch again brought the sting of tears. The Wild Horse was the one place where he'd ever been happy and safe.

“Will I die, Doc?”

“Not if I can help it, son.” The doctor sounded reassuring at least.

By the time the sawbones finished examining the wound, the sheriff was back with lanterns. Once the doctor could see, he set right to work, first producing a bottle of whiskey from his bag and holding it to Brett's lips.

When Brett tried to refuse, the kindly man pressed, “You'll need something for the pain when I remove the slug. Don't try to be a hero.”

Finally, Brett accepted a drink but instantly regretted it. The liquor left a burning trail down his throat to his belly and released a fit of coughing. “No more. I'll deal with the pain. Just get on with it.”

“As you wish.”

A few seconds later, Brett regretted his decision. The pain was far worse than anything he'd experienced, even in the orphanage when Mr. Simon took off his belt and whipped him as he curled into a ball on the floor.

He heard screams and realized they came from him. And then everything went black as he slipped beneath murky, swirling water.

* * *

In the next cell, Rayna plugged her ears with her fingers to block out the noises. A drop of water fell onto her dress and she realized she was crying.

The Indian was in such agony. And she couldn't help.

His plight told her he was one of the have-nots, like her. Though she'd only just met him, it would kill a part of her if he died. He reminded her of a wounded animal—like the hawk she'd secretly cared for years ago after a storm snapped its wing in two.

Her father had raised a ruckus when he discovered she'd hidden the hawk in the wagon amongst the pile of bones. He'd cursed her, then yelled that bone-pickers had no business trying to be softhearted. Their only job was to collect the bleached buffalo skulls and fragments left behind after the hunters had passed through. The pickers received eight dollars a ton when they delivered them to be shipped back East where factories used them to make bone china and ground them into fertilizer. That eight dollars barely kept them fed.

Raymond Harper had made her dump the hawk out beside the trail, saying that nature would take care of things.

Rayna shut her eyes against the memory of how it squawked and hopped around, desperately trying to fly. Her father calmly took out his gun and shot it, then turned to her. “Now quit your sniveling.”

Six months ago, after he went to sleep, she finally ran away.

The lonely expanse of prairie was better than staying with him. Anything was better than being a bone-picker's daughter. Bone-pickers had no soul. But
she
did. She did her best to make sure of that.

The doctor was muttering to himself in Brett's cell, sounding very frustrated. She guessed he was having a hard time finding the bullet fragment.

“Can I help, Doc?” she asked softly.

He whirled. “Rayna child, I didn't know he'd thrown you in jail again. Yes, I wish I had your good eyes. I can't see as well as I used to.” Doc Perkins left Brett's cell and returned a moment later with Sheriff Oldham.

“I'll open her cell, but she better not try to escape. I hold you responsible for her,” Oldham muttered.

“For God's sake, Sheriff, you have the door separating the cells from your office bolted. They don't even have a window.”

“Can't be too careful.”

The minute the key turned in the lock, Rayna rushed out and into Brett's cell. “Tell me what you want.”

“The bullet fragment, child. There's so much blood. Take these forceps and see if you can get it.”

Rayna took the pointed metal instrument from the doctor. He held a lantern up high. She stared at the open wound and again thought of that hawk. She couldn't save that bird, but maybe she could save Brett Liberty.

With a trembling hand, she moved the torn, raw flesh aside, trying not to gag. So much blood. She took a deep breath and blocked out everything except her task. Repeated tries found no success however.

Tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks. She wasn't a failure. She
wasn't
. And she wasn't going to give up.

Minutes ticked by and Brett's breathing became more and more shallow. She had to do this, not only for him, but for herself.

Finally, the light glinted off a piece of metal. Grabbing onto the spent bullet with the forceps, she pulled it out and dropped it into a tin pan beside the bed before she could lose it inside him again.

“You did it, child. He may well owe his life to you.”

“Do you think Brett will live?”

“He has a lot better chance now.” He took the stained forceps from her and dropped them into the pan with the fragment. “I'll wash the wound and you can help me apply a bandage. Did you know you make a fine nurse?”

It was news to her that she made a fine anything. She was nothing but a picker. Of bones, of pockets, and now of bullet wounds.

“I'm glad I could help. He seems nice.”

Doc Perkins dipped a cloth into the water and began cleaning away the blood from Brett's shoulder. “I agree. He's not a monster to be locked up like some wild animal.”

“I don't know why the sheriff wants to hang him.”

“Hate. Pure hate. His entire family was massacred by the Comanche when he was a boy. Oldham never got over it.”

Rayna rolled Brett onto his side so the doctor could get to the blood that had run down to the thin mattress beneath. Minutes later, she helped wrap the wound with gauze overlaid with strips of muslin that they tied together.

Doc stood back. “We've done all we can for him. The rest is up to the good Lord.”

“Thank you, Doc. I'll sit with him as long as Sheriff Oldham will let me.”

“I'll tell him I've ordered you to.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I'm guessing your life has always been between hay and grass, but you have a big heart. That's plain to see.”

“I do care, and that's a fact.”

The room felt empty after he left. She sat on the edge of the bunk and touched Brett's dark hair. It was soft just as the hawk's feathers had been.

She sensed a wound much deeper than that left by the bullet. One that had scarred his soul. Her brother had once told her that kisses held magic, healing. They never had for her, but maybe they would for Brett.

Rayna lightly traced his lips with her fingertips. She could steal a kiss and he'd never know. It was too tempting. She'd never kissed anyone before without being forced. Just one time, she wanted to know how it felt because
she
wanted to. Bending her head, she gently placed her mouth on his.

It felt nice. Real nice.

So much that she tried it again.

* * *

Brett forced his eyes open, then promptly shut them against the glare of the lanterns. Why were there lanterns there? Where was he?

Someone moved beside him and a cool hand touched his forehead.

“Who?” he murmured.

“Rayna. Don't you remember?”

Images of his flight from the posse, the bullet slamming into his back, and the jail in Steele's Hollow came flooding back. “Is this a wake? Am I dead?”

“No, silly.”

“What are you doing in my cell?” He tried to joke. “Did you escape so you could steal my moccasins?”

“I thought about it. I do believe they're the right size if I stuff the toe with newspaper.”

“Don't get any ideas,” he muttered, but his lips curved a little against his will.

The light finally allowed him to see her clearly. He couldn't say she was especially pretty—not traditionally so, in any case—but her cloud of auburn curls reminded him of the flames of a campfire on a cold night. Her eyes danced with mischief. Their color was as difficult to nail down as she was. One minute they were blue, the next green. They changed with each movement.
They
, he decided, were beautiful.

As he pondered that, sleep overtook him again.

The next time he woke to find a hand in his trousers. His head jerked around as he flared back into full consciousness. “Trying to pick my pockets now? I'm afraid you'll be sadly disappointed. I'm one of the have-nots.”

Color flooded Rayna's cheeks. “I was only giving you something.”

Brett threw his long legs over the side of the bunk and, with great effort, struggled to a sitting position. “Giving me something? Now that's a new wrinkle.”

“It's true.” She sat down beside him.

“Then I suppose I need to see what you left in my pocket. Does it bite?”

“Good Lord, what kind of a person do you think I am?”

“God only knows.” He allowed a smile as he stuck his hand in his trouser pocket and found a small object. He pulled it out. It was a smooth piece of wood that someone had carved into the shape of a heart. He stared into her blue-green eyes and raised a brow.

“You need it more than I do,” she said. “My grandfather carved it a long time ago. It's always brought me good luck.”

Brett fought the impulse to laugh and, except for a quirk of his lips, managed to keep a straight face. His gaze swept the iron bars, the plank floor, and the grim windowless space. “Yes, I can certainly see that this brought you all manner of good fortune.”

Rayna twisted a piece of her dirty, threadbare dress. “Well, it did before I got here to Steele's Hollow.”

He caught the quick glisten of tears before she looked down. He took her small hand in his. “Thank you,” he said softly. “It's the best present anyone ever gave me.”

“So you'll keep the heart? It would mean a lot.”

“In that case, I can't refuse.”

He tucked the small heart into his pocket. “You never told me why you're in my cell.”

Her hand curled inside his. “I was helping Doc. He can't see well and had trouble locating the bullet fragment, so he got the sheriff to let me try.”

“Then I owe you a debt of thanks.” He squeezed her fingers impulsively.

He took in the woman who'd saved his life. Both delicacy and strength showed in her face. It seemed apparent that she'd had her share of disappointments. Still, it hadn't beaten her down. She had plenty of spunk and then some.

“I think I'll lie back down if you don't mind.”

She rose and stood beside the bunk, then hesitated. “I wonder… Do you think I could stay? Just for a while? Maybe watch you sleep? Just in case you start feeling poorly again and need…something.”

Brett studied her face and noticed that, though she'd blinked away the shimmer of tears, worry and fear darkened her eyes. Through the haze of his pain, he saw that Rayna hungered for human contact. He couldn't deny her that. He turned on his side to make more room. “Lie down beside me. We'll watch each other sleep.”

“Do you snore?”

“I never stayed awake to find out.”

“I'll take that as a no.” She curled up next to him and laid her head on his arm. “Good night, Brett.”

“Good night.” He hesitated a long minute, impulse warring with reserve…then slowly laid his other arm protectively across her stomach.

A sense of peace flooded over him. This slight woman who seemed to have no one had awakened a part of him that he'd long buried. He impulsively kissed the top of her head, silently vowing to protect her for however long he had left.

Read on for an excerpt from

by Rosanne Bittner

From the author…

Outlaw Hearts
is the story of wanted man Jake Hark
ner, who became an outlaw because of a traumatic childhood that led him to think there was no other way to live…until he met a woman who completely changed his life…and his hardened heart. Together they struggle through a life on the run while raising a family, until the law finally finds Jake. This story is about the power of love, a love that is strong enough to see through an outlaw's heart into the goodness that lies deep inside, a love that rises above all obstacles to hold two people together against all odds. This book was so dear to me that when I finished it, I knew I had to write a sequel. Recently I did just that, and along with the reissue of
Outlaw Hearts
in 2015, the sequel,
Do Not Forsake Me
, will also be published, continuing the beautiful love story of Jake and Randy Harkner, and bringing the readers into the lives of their grown children, who possess the same qualities of strength and enduring love as their parents. I'd like to share with you an excerpt from
Outlaw Hearts
.

In Chapter One, Miranda Hayes witnesses outlaw Jake Harkner shoot a man inside the Kansas City mercantile where Miranda is shopping. Startled and frightened, she pulls a small handgun from her purse and shoots Jake, thinking he might kill her, too. To her surprise, the dangerous-looking man just stares at her, seemingly dumbfounded, then stumbles out of the store and flees. Everyone in town praises Miranda's bravery in fending off a notorious wanted man, but secretly Miranda can't help wondering if the man is perhaps not as bad as his reputation would dictate. He could have shot her, but he didn't, and now she feels guilty that the man has ridden off somewhere, wounded and in pain because of her.

In Chapter Two, Miranda, a widow living alone, goes home to her farm, where she finds a surprise waiting for her…