He pulled himself through the opening and crawled away from the hole.
“Oh, my word,” she gasped, and Deke took a look at his torn pant leg. Blood saturated the fabric of his trousers. He tried to stand, but his world became fuzzy just before everything went black.
“Mister, get up mister.” Odessa wiped his face with a cool wet cloth Hannah had brought up the hill. When he’d passed out, she’d called for Hannah to bring the wheel barrow. She rolled it over the hole so no one—or nothing else would fall down it.
Her task accomplished, she turned to the deputy. Deacon Ramey, huh? She surveyed his face. He looked young with his eyes closed. So handsome. Ori had been twenty years her senior. This man, well, he looked to be about her age.
Leaning over, she held the light over his bleeding leg. He moved and groaned. It was a wicked cut he’d gotten. She’d stopped the bleeding for now, but it would probably start right back when he roused. She needed to get him inside and sew the wound closed. Daylight wasn’t far from breaking on the horizon as his blue eyes opened.
Deke gazed into the face of an angel. Cat green eyes assessed him and full lips pouted. Long honey curls framed her face. He couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. Or where he was. He just enjoyed that pretty face staring down at him. He reached up and caressed her cheek.
“Deputy Ramey, would you kindly remove your hand?” she snapped, and he woke fully.
Odessa Courtland. She was even prettier than Jonah said.
“I...am sorry. I forgot...” His gaze traveled the length of her face. Green, almond-shaped eyes smiled down at him in gentle understanding. The ends of her mouth lifted and gave assurance she believed him.
“I know.” She shushed him. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, and I do mean a lot of blood. There’s probably a pint in those britches. I tied a rag around that leg and cleaned it a bit while you were out, but I need to get you in the house to tend it right.”
“How long was I unconscious?”
She shrugged. “Maybe ten—twenty minutes at the most.”
He heard childish whispering and became aware they weren’t alone. His gaze traveled from the widow’s face. A little head peered over each of her shoulders. Was this what a dead man might see, an angel with a cherub at each side? He blinked again trying to clear his woozy head.
“He’s covered with ashes and soot.” The taller cherub sounded a bit sassy.
The other nodded, an exaggerated gesture. “But he’s not plump, like Ma.”
Odessa Courtland shook her head with patience. “This man is a deputy. His name is Deacon Ramey.”
“Or so he says.” The taller, sassy cherub crossed her arms.
“Deputy, these are my daughters, Hannah,” she gestured to the outspoken one, “and Leah.” Leah was shorter, obviously younger, and the very likeness of her mother. “Leah, go cover my bed with an old quilt. Hannah put water on the stove to boil, just like we’ve been practicing for the birthing.”
She stood to her feet. It was clear why they’d been practicing. Jonah wasn’t kidding when he said she was carrying. Shoot fire, this woman was ready to give birth. His ire rose a bit. The townsfolk knew she was here, alone, and instead of helping, they were just talking. Wasn’t that the way of the world? Lots of talking, not any action.
He sat up and waited for his head to stop spinning. Somehow he had to get down the hill and in the house. Odessa Courtland sure couldn’t support him, nor could her two daughters. Flapjack waited back in the woods with some supplies and his saddlebags. He whistled three short bursts.
The widow jolted back as if burned. “Who are you calling to?” Her eyes went to the surrounding dimness of daylight.
“My horse. I’m calling my horse.”
She cocked her head, but remained wary. When his gray spotted gelding came trotting up the hill. She relaxed her anxious stance.
Flapjack approached and whinnied. Flapjack smelled his blood and nudged Deke’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Flap.” Deke rubbed the horse, and in response Flapjack nuzzled him and nickered. Deke continued to pet the animal. His buddy, River, bred horses and had given him Flapjack saying he was a good horse, just too ugly to sell. Deke and Flapjack had been buddies ever since. He had to admit the horse wasn’t pretty, but he was smart. Spoiled to the core, but a good loyal friend.
“Lay down.” Deke commanded, and the horse knelt. Odessa Courtland wasn’t the only one who prepared ahead. He knew one day he’d need Flapjack’s help. The horse held still and Deke maneuvered onto his back.
“Just take the reins and lead him down the hill,” Deke muttered through the white hot pain in his thigh. He was probably going to get blood poisoning from this—or gangrene that was bad too. Lockjaw was another possibility.
“Girls, go get the door.” The woman led Flapjack down the incline to the valley. She maneuvered the horse to the wide porch of her house.
“Reckon you can crawl from here?” She tilted her head in question.
“I think I can walk.” Deke focused on the woman. She looked like an angel sure enough. Her hair with the dark and the light hues of gold surrounded her head like a halo. The long ivory skirt of her muslin gown blew in the chilly December breeze. She shivered and pulled the man’s shirt tighter around her big stomach.
“Well, get on in the house. We’re letting all the warm air out.” She inclined her head and motioned to the front door held open by one of the cherubs. “I’ll tie your horse to the porch and tend to him when the sun comes up. He’s right smart.”
“He’s a good house,” Deke said, then thought what a stupid comment that had been, but his musing was short lived as he put weight on his foot. He sputtered and started to let loose a tirade nasty enough to make an outlaw blush. Two pairs of rounded green eyes stopped him. The children both leaned backwards a bit, bracing for the words coming.
He closed his mouth and let loose a growl.
“Whew. That’s better. I thought you was going to cuss for a minute.” The one who’d been doing all the talking put her hands on her hips. “Ma’d have to wash your mouth out with soap if you did that.” She shook her head and sighed. “And that don’t taste too good.”
He wanted to laugh—or maybe he should cry at the pain. Either way, the room was spinning, and he wanted it to stop.
The door opened and shut, in its wake a frigid breeze brushed over him.
He collapsed onto the floor. The angel stood over him and tilted her head. “What are you doing down there?”
“I can’t—go any further.” He closed his eyes and let darkness claim him.
Dessa frowned—the man had passed out cold in her floor. Well, the least she could do was make him comfortable.
“Hannah, go get another old quilt. Looks like I’m going to be doctoring right here. Leah, fetch me a needle and thread. Guess if I’m going to have to sew this up, it’s best he’s not awake.”
Hannah ran to her room, and Leah padded to the one dresser they owned.
Dessa retrieved the laudanum and dropped a bit into his mouth. As she held his head so he would swallow, she tried not to admire the masculine fullness of his lips. Or the strong set of his jaw. The tingles racing up her arms as she removed his sooty shirt and pants were from tiredness nothing else, and so what if his torn and bloody long johns fitted his muscular form like a second skin. Dessa rubbed her tired eyes and bit her lip. Take them off or not? While the undergarment left little to her overactive imagination, at least he was covered. After a moment’s indecision, Dessa snipped off the lower right leg of his underwear. Garments could always be repaired.
It had certainly been a long night. Dessa’s eyes grew heavier with each stitch in his flesh, but she finished and tied off the thread. Ten neat stitches had closed the gash. She wrapped his thigh with a clean bit of muslin and secured it, then cleaned the mess he’d caused and checked the girls, who’d fallen back to sleep.
His clothing, truly covered in ashes and soot, needed a good washin
g. He slept in his one-legged long johns by the fireplace in the front room, and she covered her guest with an old quilt.
What would it be to have a man like this to love? She placed her palm on his forehead to check for fever. He stirred a bit, and she rested beside him for just a second. “Shhhhh.” She patted his chest.
Although the rays of the morning were streaming in the window, her eyes were so heavy she closed them.
Chapter Four
Dessa stirred and gave a sigh of contentment. She didn’t want to wake. A strong masculine hand kneaded her shoulder pulling her close, and her hand splayed across the washboard stomach of the man in her dreams. This was how she’d always dreamed she’d sleep with a husband, nestled under his arm, next to his heart.
Their nights would be filled with loving splendor, and he would hold her through the night. Her dream was nothing like the short impersonal couplings with Ori. He only wanted her around when he’d had an urge. She snuggled closer and yawned. The bed sure felt hard. But the man at her side was warm and breathing... Her eyes flew open.
Lord help her. She was lying on the floor cuddled up to the man who’d gotten stuck in her chimney. Hot flames of mortification flooded Dessa’s face. Her gaze darted about the room. Where were Leah and Hannah? Were they awake? Had they seen her?
She looked up and found them still cuddling in the loft, just like she cuddled to the deputy. Relieved, her head relaxed back onto the man’s shoulder.
She had to get out of his arms. “Good heavens.” She tried to extricate herself from his grip, but Deke Ramey just clenched tighter. She removed her leg from its place, swung over his uninjured one, and her hand from his stomach. All the while his hand caressed her hip. He murmured something unintelligible. He wasn’t letting go.
She hated doing this. She clenched her eyes shut with dread and shook him.
“Sir, sir.” She gave an anxious whisper. She sure didn’t want to startle him or wake the girls.
She guessed the events of the predawn hours had sapped them all of strength. The girls had made several trips to the well for fresh water to boil in the wee hours of morning. They had to be as tired as she, and this poor deputy lost quite a bit of sleep and blood as well.
Dessa was grateful again she’d removed only his pants and shirt, with plans to mend and wash them. The long johns were simply a matter of modesty around her two daughters.
The wound had been a slice more than anything, and in that he was lucky. A jagged tear was harder to piece back together.
She jostled him. “Sir? Mr. Ramey.” He caressed her shoulders, and she poked him again. “Let me go.” She roughly jostled his stomach with her hand, and he moaned. “Wake up.”
His eyes opened slowly, and he smiled. She’d only dosed him with a small amount laudanum, but he was obviously still a bit woozy. He gazed back at her and to his bandaged leg sticking out from the quilt. He moved his roving arm, and she could have sworn he blushed a little.
“Good morning, ma’am.” He assessed his surroundings. “Wait, who are...” He backed away from her with a frown. “Odessa Courtland?”
“Pleased to meet you.” She took the opportunity to pull from his arms completely and sit upright.
“What time is it?” He wiped his face with his hand as if trying to remove the lingering sleepiness.
He obviously wasn’t going to comment on their sleeping arrangement. And if he wasn’t, she wasn’t.
Least said, soonest mended. Wasn’t that the old adage?
“By the angle of the sun, I’d say it’s close to ten, a few more hours until noon to be certain.” She scooted back and wrapped a cover around her shoulders. Without so much as a look behind her, she padded to her room.
While she dressed she pondered Deputy Deke Ramey’s appearance. Beckett had said he’d send him. He did have a badge, and the badge had his name inscribed. He carried guns, but they were nothing fancy, just serviceable, and something befitting a lawman. Deke Ramey seemed to be on the up and up. He sure didn’t seem dangerous.
She emerged wearing a different tent-like dress. Of all the dresses made for her confinement, this one was her favorite. And she’d chosen to wear it because she liked it, not because the green matched the green in her eyes. She simply wanted to look her best, and it had nothing to do with the handsome deputy who’d gotten stuck in her chimney.
He was sitting up examining her needlework leaving an all too powerful thigh exposed for her to see. The old quilt still covered his left lower half. “Thank you for sewing me up.” His eyes were the color of a blue sky so clear and so cloudless the sun brightened even the darkest spot—a most lovely, soft shade of blue. He blinked, and she couldn’t help but admire the long lashes rimming those baby blues.
What was wrong with her? Here she was carrying a child, ready to give birth, and practically swooning over this deputy.
He moved his right arm and winced as he put a hand to the shoulder.
“Ma’am? I hate to ask but my shoulder ain’t feeling too good either. Could you take a look?”
“Sure.” Dessa nodded and knelt on the floor in front of him as he began to unbutton his long john top. Her rowdy heart pounded like crazy at the sight of his tanned and muscled chest.
“It could be out of place.” His voice was a seductive whisper, and she felt liquid heat settle deep in her belly.
“Oh?” Was that her voice? She sounded positively breathless. He flexed his bicep, and she was reduced to mush. “Really?” There was that vixen tone again. She sounded for the world like one of those floozies J.J. had often brought home.
Deacon Ramey turned to expose his back. He was bruised for certain. She gently reached up and checked the area. His flesh burned like a hot branding iron. She jerked her hand back. “I can’t feel anything out of place.”
“Well.” He shifted. “The pain’s actually lower, but that felt so good...” She lifted her head to see his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.
Dessa steeled herself and probed again. She pushed and prodded while he rotated his arm. She couldn’t help but notice the little scars all over his back. It looked for the world like he’d been peppered good with bird shot.
“Can you...” He looked over his shoulder, and his gaze locked with hers. His words simply stopped a moment before he said, “You sure are pretty.”
She smiled and raised her chin bumping her head into his. He took a deep breath and hovered at her mouth as if he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or not. Finally, he moved away.
“Sorry, that kind of slipped out.” He shrugged and his shoulder gave a resounding pop. “There, it’s back in place. That feels better.”
“Deputy...”
“Deke, please.”
She nodded and squinted his way. “Exactly how’d you get stuck in my chimney?” She forced herself not to look into his eyes. They seemed to drain her of all coherent thought. His gaze was more potent than Medusa’s, but while goddess's turned to stone, his melted and burned.
“There have been reports of outlaw activity around these parts.” His soft voice had a soothing cadence. “Like I said, there was a man on your roof. I chased him and fell through that dang hole.”
“A man on my roof?” That was likely. She huffed. “I bet it was that Blake Henry. He’s been out here more times than I can shake a stick at.” She crossed her arms after pushing a stray curl from her eyes. “Wait, how come you were there to see him?” She raised a brow.
“I work for Sheriff Beckett, Jonah Beckett. I brought you some food. And I was sent to watch your house.”
She nodded. “Why?”
His face clouded, and he looked down to her stomach telegraphing his thoughts. She remembered Sheriff Beckett’s pointed question concerning her baby’s father.
She stiffened and asserted. “It’s my late husband’s.”
“Some of the folks in town think differently.” He bit his lip and directed that steely blue gaze her way. “Not saying I do, mind you.”
Des
sa straightened her spine, but she couldn’t get mad at him. He was doing his job, and Deke Ramey’s charm softened the question. That crooked grin of his was hard to resist. He drew her like a flame drew a moth, even when he riled her—like now with this ridiculous notion. “Really?”
“The townsfolk say it’s Blake Henry’s.”
“Ohhhh.” She gave a cry of disgust and exasperation. “I wouldn’t let that snake touch me with a ten-foot pole. And you know what really makes me mad? Those good folks knew he’d been out here and still they did nothing. They knew I was alone and knew Blake Henry was visiting every week or so.” She groaned her consternation.
Deacon Ramey smiled as if he understood completely. “Kinda hoped you’d do that.”
“What?” She asked.
“Get all riled about Blake Henry. So why’s he been coming here?” She was aware he watched her closely. He measured her words for truthfulness that was evident.
She settled back down. “My husband was in league with him, and, supposedly, he stole some money from Blake Henry. If he did, I never knew it, nor did I ever see a penny of it. But Blake Henry thinks I have some strong box full of money secreted away. I sure wouldn’t be here if I did. I’d go home to Kentucky, leave this place, and not wait here like a sitting duck.
“I have tried to explain this to Mr. Henry, but he is disinclined to believe me. He’s been visiting and poking around. Last time he was here, he threatened me and my girls. He said if I didn’t find his strongbox by Christmas Eve he was going to kill us all.” She lowered her voice. She didn’t want her daughters to hear, but every instinct told her Deke was a man she could trust, a man who could—and would—help. “I’ve been praying for a miracle, and I think you’re it.”
Deacon Ramey’s eyes grew wide. “Me? Shoot, I’ve been called lots of things, but never a miracle.”
She didn’t speak again because Hannah’s head popped up, and when she saw Deke awake and conversing, she jostled her sister.
“He’s awake! Get up, Leah. Saint Nicholas is awake!”
Down the Chimney Page 3
