His Wild West Wife. Lauri Robinson

      “Why? We are still married.”

      As frustrated with himself as he was with her, he let her go and watched as she scrambled off the bed. The temperature of his blood dropped instantly, as if he’d just been overcome by a cold wind blowing off the lake in December.

      “You’re—you could have made your injuries worse,” she said, smoothing the material of her blue dress along the slender swell of her hips with shaking hands.

      “What difference would that make to you?”

      “They’ll never heal with that kind of behavior,” she said, walking around the foot of the bed, tugging the sheet to cover him once again.

      “Wounds heal, Clara,” he said coldly.

      “Not all wounds, Blake,” she answered without looking at him. “Some get infected.”