Whirlwind Cowboy

by Debra Cowan

  * * *

  He believed her. Finally.

  Deborah was surprised at the measure of relief that brought. For the first time since regaining consciousness in Monaco, she didn’t feel completely alone.

  Still, she really needed to remember. Not for Bram, but for herself.

  Hours later, instead of sleeping, Deborah wondered how entangled she was with this Cosgrove character.

  The wind whined in the background. Had she participated in that bank robbery in any way? Were there other illegal activities she might have been party to? Right now she had no answers.

  Though all the excitement and fear of the day had left her exhausted, she had trouble falling asleep. Maybe because of Bram’s accusations or maybe just because of the man himself. For someone she couldn’t remember, he sure had an effect on her. He made her nervous. And giddy. When she tried to remember him, an unsettling heat spread through her.

  Thinking about it, about him, made her head hurt and she’d had enough of that.

  The wind buffeted the cabin, hurling dirt and pebbles against the walls like hail. She shook out the sheet before pulling it over her head and closing her eyes. She tried to slow her thoughts so she could get some rest.

  After a short time, a dark mist engulfed her and she thought she felt someone touch her. A warm heavy hand, a glimmer of an image and then—

  “Deborah!”

  She jerked awake to find Bram shaking her. He sat on the side of the bed, concern in his eyes.

  Watery daylight flowed into the windowless room through the open bedroom door. A fine layer of dust covered the floor and the bedclothes. One of Bram’s big hands rested on her left shoulder, setting off a flutter of sensation in her belly. Was his the touch she’d felt in her sleep?

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re crying.”

  She sat up, her movement stirring the dirt on the sheet. Her mind scrambled through a tangle of emotions—terror, loss, unease. Why was she crying?

  “Did you have a bad dream?”

  Until now, she hadn’t realized. “Yes.”

  With trembling hands she pushed her hair out of her face. A light sweat had her chemise clinging to her and she gulped in a big draft of dusty air. Oh, dear. She felt as if she were drowning, being pulled down into a seething mass of uncertainty.

  A powerful sense of horror pressed in on her. The same horror she had felt when she’d woken behind that building. Swept by a wave of fear and panic, she reached out. One hand gripped Bram’s strong forearm. Her head dropped forward, brushing his wide hard chest.

  He didn’t push her away or pull her close. He didn’t move at all. A sob jerked out of her. She wanted to be folded into those big arms. Just the strength in his body, the thud of his heart, calmed the panic tearing loose inside her.

  How ridiculous. The man couldn’t abide her. Still, Deborah couldn’t make herself move away from him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat stiffly, his voice hoarse. “What was the dream?”

  She tried to recall it. A suffocating heaviness hovered on the edge of her mind, making her shudder.

  “Deborah?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure. There was nothing, then...I was thrown into some kind of horror.” She stared down at her shaking hands. “It was awful, terrifying. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. There was a feeling of violence, something coming closer to me, then it was gone before I could tell what or who it was. I can’t make any sense of it.”

  She shuddered, her voice muffled against his warm muscular torso. One of his big hands closed around her waist, steadying her. With his other hand, he lifted the far corner of the sheet and wiped her eyes.

  She realized she was still crying.

  “You okay?” The gruff worry in his voice made her want to snuggle into him. He moved his hand up her back, warm, reassuring, and cupped her shoulder.

  Pain flared, causing her to flinch.

  Bram jerked his hand away. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

  She nodded, turning her head to look at her shoulder. “It’s sore.”

  Before she could blink or check for herself, he nudged her hair aside and lifted her chemise strap. He cursed. “There’s a bruise here. A big bruise.”

  She craned her neck to see. The mark was wide and bluish-black.

  Bram studied it, too. “This must’ve happened at the same time as your other injuries.”

  She looked up, startled to see how cold and hard his eyes were. “Do you think I fell? Or maybe was struck?”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw as he shifted his gaze to the cut on her temple. “Hard to know for sure.”

  His breath drifted warmly against her skin. Just his presence made her feel less shaky. She was overwhelmed with the urge to climb into his lap and huddle into his strength. It unsettled her how much she wanted that. Her grip tightened on the sheet.

  The dark stubble along his jaw softened the rough

  angles of his face. She found herself staring at his mouth, trying to recall how it felt. Despite not remembering, she had no doubt they had kissed.

  She became aware then that he was also staring at her mouth.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she lifted her hand to his face and lightly touched the raw scar on his cheek.

  Their gazes locked and in his she saw heat, hunger, then nothing. A chill crept over his face.

  He gently but firmly removed her hand, then surged to his feet and moved to the door.

  She tried to dismiss the sudden knifing sense of aloneness. He shouldn’t be the only one pulling away. She had rejected the man’s marriage proposal, after all.

  “Do you think it was Cosgrove who hurt me? Just as he did you?”

  “Most likely.” Bram’s gaze flicked to her face, then to her bruised shoulder. “I came in to let you know we can leave. The storm is over.”

  The noise outside had stopped, she realized. “So, you’re taking me home?”

  “Unless you don’t want to go.”

  “Where else would I go?” She prayed her family wasn’t as angry at her as he was. “Do you think my family will welcome me back? If I hurt them as badly as I hurt you, they may never want to see me again.”

  “They’ll be glad to see you.”

  She tangled her fingers in the sheet she still held to her chest. “How far is my house?”

  “Less than an hour’s ride from here.”

  She was so close, yet she’d had no idea. She brushed the grit off her hands. “Can you tell me something about my family? So I won’t feel as if I’m meeting complete strangers.”

  He hesitated, plainly reluctant to answer, but finally said, “You, your ma and sisters moved to Whirlwind to be near your brother, Jericho.”

  Deborah nodded. “Why does my brother live here? Where did we move from?”

  “You moved from Uvalde. Your brother came here tracking some outlaws and stayed because he fell in love and married a woman in Whirlwind.”

  “What else?”

  He looked impatient. “I’m not sure what you want to know.”

  “Anything. Please.”

  “All of you kids were named after people in the Bible. Jericho is the oldest, seven years ahead of you. Jordan is two years younger than you, Michal a year behind her and Marah’s a year behind that.”

  Deborah had hoped the information might spark some memory, but it didn’t. Her mind was still a blank slate. “You said my brother is married.”

  Bram nodded, keeping his distance by staying at the door. “To a fine woman named Catherine. They have a baby girl, Evie.”

  His gaze went again to her mouth, putting a tingle in her blood.

  Earlier, when they had both studied h
er bruised shoulder and his face was close to hers, she had thought he was going to kiss her. She had wanted him to.

  The admission had her squirming inside. It was disconcerting to have such feelings about a man she didn’t remember. Just how well did they know each other? Had they been intimate?

  She couldn’t bring herself to ask. At least not yet.

  She had no idea if her family would welcome her back, but anything would be better than being with Bram and dealing with this edgy anticipation. Wanting him. Because he certainly didn’t want her in return.

  It was good that they were leaving the cabin. She needed some distance from him.

  She flapped the sheet, sending a puff of dirt into the air. “Are you going to return the stolen money before taking me home?”

  “No, I’m taking you back first.”

  “What if Cosgrove comes looking for the money and me? You said you thought he would.”

  “Oh, he will.” Suddenly his gaze turned speculative.

  What was he thinking? Not understanding the flare of apprehension inside her, she studied him. “What should I do if that happens? If Cosgrove finds me?”

  “You won’t need to worry about it.”

  “Why not? You just said you thought he’d come looking.”

  “He’ll have to go through me to get to you.”

  She went still inside. “What do you mean?”

  A slow, calculating smile spread across his face, causing a chill to ripple through her.

  “When Cosgrove shows up, I’ll be waiting.” Bram stepped out of the bedroom, looking over his shoulder at her. “I’m going to be your shadow.”

  Shadow? “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.” His gaze shifted back to her, almost as if he’d been talking to himself. “I’ll saddle the horses while you get dressed, then we’ll go.”

  She nodded, staying on the bed as he walked out.

  He was using her as bait.

  Regardless of what they had been to each other in the past, that’s all she was to Bram now—a way to get to the man who had stolen from him, tried to kill him and his family.

  How much time was she going to have to spend with him? Look how just the past twenty-four hours had gone. Now she was stuck indefinitely with a man she had refused to marry. A man who plainly resented her.

  It didn’t bode well.

  Chapter Four

  Bram wanted some distance from Deborah. He needed it. Just a few minutes.

  He escaped from the cabin and strode to the barn to saddle their horses. The morning air was still, choked with the smell of dirt. His boots left deep impressions in the drifts stirred up by the wind.

  He struggled to dismiss not just the horror he had seen in Deborah’s eyes minutes ago after the nightmare, but also the feel of her satiny skin beneath his hand, the sight of yet another bruise on that ivory flesh.

  The sheer terror in her face had rattled him, enough that he had been ambushed by a gut-twisting urge to hold her. Kiss her.

  But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t.

  After the incessant shriek of the wind, the lack of sound was stark, disorienting. Like looking into Deborah’s eyes and realizing she didn’t recognize him. That had sliced right through Bram.

  Did she really not remember? Part of him still resisted the notion.

  Once they were under way, he wouldn’t have to look at her. Or even talk to her if he didn’t choose. Itching to get on the trail, he opened the barn door, breathing more easily now that he was away from her.

  He was relieved to see Scout looked none the worse for wear aside from the blanket of dust coating his yellow-tan body and black-tipped ears. After saddling the dun gelding and steering him outside, Bram made his way to the back of the barn.

  Cosgrove’s black mare was covered in dirt. If it hadn’t been for the whites of her panicked eyes, she would’ve blended into the shadows.

  The sight of him had her shifting jerkily as if she might bolt. Bram spoke softly to the skittish animal, easing closer. She tossed her head and stepped back, her rump hitting the barn wall. He laid a comforting hand on her neck and stroked until she settled, then he coaxed her into the wedge of light at the front of the barn.

  She was limping. With a frown, he stooped to examine her legs and discovered her right front fetlock was swollen. Likely sprained. She had been fine when he’d left his own mount in here last night.

  The mare must have become distressed during the dust storm and tried to rush the door or kick down the wall. At least the injury wasn’t more serious. Still, Deborah wouldn’t be riding this horse today. Nobody would.

  Bram cursed under his breath. Scowling, he tugged off the bandanna he had dampened and used to wipe the most recent layer of grit from his face, then knelt and wrapped the horse’s lower joint. He saddled and bridled her, then led both mounts to the porch where Deborah stood with his and Cosgrove’s saddlebags.

  In her bloodstained dress, she looked small, fragile. The cut at her temple stood out in stark relief against her fair skin.

  Her uncertain gaze sought his. That infernal protectiveness rose inside him again. Jaw tight, Bram gestured at the black mare.

  “Cosgrove’s mare is injured, so you can’t ride her.”

  Alarm flitted across her delicate features. “Did I ride her when I shouldn’t have? I was so focused on getting away that I didn’t notice she might be hurt.”

  “If she’d been hurt while carrying you, you would’ve known. I think she got spooked in the barn during the storm.”

  Deborah stepped to the side as Bram bent to pick up Cosgrove’s saddlebags and drape them over Scout’s withers in front of the saddle horn. He settled his own bags on Cosgrove’s mare behind her saddle.

  Deborah frowned. “If she’s hurt, you shouldn’t be riding her either, should you?”

  “I won’t be. I’ll be riding Scout.”

  “Then how—”

  “You’ll have to ride with me.”

  “With you?” she squeaked, her spine going rigid.

  “Behind me.” He sure as hell wasn’t having her sit in his lap all the way back to her house.

  She licked her lips. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  No, he did not. “I can walk.”

  “No. I don’t want that.” She shot a look at the outlaw’s saddlebags on Bram’s mount. “I guess you don’t want to let that money out of your sight?”

  “That’s part of it. If we run into a threat, the lame horse won’t have the burden.”

  Concern flashed across her face. “Run into a threat? Do you expect trouble?”

  “Thanks to the dust storm erasing any tracks, I have no way of knowing Cosgrove’s whereabouts.”

  She paled, her eyes vivid blue in her ashen face. “He could be over the next rise.”

  “Yes.” Bram didn’t particularly like scaring her, but she needed to be prepared. “If something happens to me, you ride like hell for help.”

  She looked stricken.

  “Deborah?”

  At his sharp tone, she nodded. “Yes, all right.”

  “Keep the sun in front of you and ride until you come to the Circle R.”

  “All right.”

  After checking the cinch on Cosgrove’s black mare, Bram mounted Scout and held his hand out to Deborah. “Ready?”

  She hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded, impatient to get going.

  “I assume I’ll have to ride astride.”

  “Yes.”

  She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “My skirts...”

  He gave a heavy sigh. “Did you ride astride on your way here?”

  “Yes, but I was alone. And I tried to make sure no one saw me.”

/>   Bram bit off the reminder that last night he’d seen a damn sight more than her stockings or petticoats. The memory of her full breasts and slender thighs revealed by the lamplight shining through the thin cloth of her chemise was seared on his brain.

  “You’ll be behind me, so I won’t see anything. Besides, you wouldn’t last two minutes if you tried to ride sitting to the side.”

  After a moment she stepped to the edge of the porch. He gripped her forearm and swung her up behind him. She didn’t weigh anything.

  She shifted, tugging her skirts down on one side then the other. Every time she moved, her soft full breasts brushed his back. He couldn’t stand much of that.

  Jaw tight, he pressed the mare’s reins into Deborah’s hand. “You lead Cosgrove’s horse.”

  “All right.”

  From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of a white stocking and the hem of her pale blue floral dress. He glanced over his shoulder, her silky hair tickling his neck.

  “Ready?” he asked gruffly.

  When she said yes, he urged his horse into motion. Deborah fell full against him, her oomph of breath burning through his shirt.

  “Oh!” She jerked away, startling Scout, who gave a backward hop to keep his balance. Deborah bounced against Bram.

  “Be still,” he ordered.

  “Sorry.” She sat stiffly, quietly at his back, holding herself away from him.

  Fine with him. All he had to do was get her home and deliver her to her family. He wouldn’t let her get to him.

  Scout started down a steep hill and Deborah pitched to one side, yelping.

  Bram grabbed for her, his hand clamping down on whatever limb he could reach because of her odd angle behind him. He steadied her at his back, registering a froth of skirts over his arm and a thin layer of fabric under his fingers. Fabric like...undergarments. Drawers.

  He froze. So did she.

  He realized then that his hand was up her skirts, high on her thigh. Beneath his touch, he felt a whisper of muscle. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to have Deborah making a sound deep in her throat.

  A kind of sighing moan that made Bram’s body go hard.

  He jerked his hand back, batting away the yards of fabric.