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“Woman, if I stay in that house with you, something’s gonna happen between us.”
The words erupted from him.
His words sank in and her mouth formed an O. Her cheeks pinkened, but she didn’t run.
She plucked nervously at the top button of her bodice and he said tightly, “Go on back to the house.”
She didn’t. Looking uncertain, she drew in a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance.”
He nearly swallowed his teeth. “You can’t say things like that to a man, Catherine. To me.”
‘It’s true.”
“I don’t think so.” Want thrummed inside him. He gripped his crutch so tightly that his knuckles burned.
Her skirts whispered around his legs, between them, and her pulse fluttered wildly in the hollow of her throat.
“Dammit, woman! Back up. I may be injured, but I’m not dead…!”
Praise for new Historical author Debra Cowan’s previous titles
“Penning great emotional depth in her characters, Debra Cowan will warm the coldest of winter nights.”
—Romantic Times on Still the One
“Debra Cowan skillfully brings to vivid life all the complicated feelings of love and guilt when a moment of consolation turns into unexpected passion.”
—Romantic Times on One Silent Night
“The recurrent humor and vivid depiction of small-town Western life make Debra Cowan’s story thoroughly pleasurable.”
—Romantic Times on The Matchmaker
Whirlwind Wedding
Debra Cowan
MILLS & BOON
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In memory of my cousin, Billye Su Watson
For our shared love of words
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
West Texas, 1884
C atherine Donnelly had never been adept at handling men, and now she had to admit she was no better with boys. After more than a day spent searching in and around dusty Whirlwind, Texas, until well past dark, she’d finally located her oft-missing younger brother, Andrew, and marched him home.
Now Catherine sat alone at the small dining table in the front room of what had been her mother’s house. A loud knock sounded on the door. After the harrowing span of time she had spent worrying over her twelve-year-old brother, she wasn’t inclined to be charitable to whoever was calling so late.
Picking up the kerosene lamp from the small kitchen table, she opened her door to one of the tallest men she’d ever seen. The mild May night seemed to swirl around him. He wore a dark hat pulled low, and was dressed all in black except for his blue shirt, which looked nearly white in the filmy amber glow from the lamp. Moonlight sliced a sharp cheekbone and a whiskered jaw, making him quite possibly also the most intimidating man she’d ever seen.
Eyes that might be either blue or silver stared flatly at her. He braced a shoulder on her doorjamb, regarding her as if she were the one invading his territory. His dark, ragged hair and a tangible determination gave him the look of a man unused to niceties.
“Name’s Lieutenant Jericho Blue.” He held up an official-looking piece of paper. “I’m a Ranger and this is my Warrant of Authority issued by the Adjutant General’s Department under authority from the government.”
Apprehension skittered through her and her grip tightened on the lamp. The Sisters of Mercy had taught her too well for her to dismiss anyone out of hand. Still, she would dispense with him quickly. She smiled and asked as kindly as she could, “May I help you?”
He seemed to have trouble getting the paper back into his trouser pocket.
“Sir?” Out beyond him, at the edge of the lamplight, she saw a riderless horse, and another one beside it with a dark shape slung across its back. A body? The warnings about nearby outlaws she had heard only hours ago, as she had looked for Andrew, rushed back.
According to Sheriff Holt, the McDougal gang had ambushed a pair of lawmen yesterday. Catherine had been nearly ill with worry over the possibility that her brother might run into the outlaws. The sheriff had offered to look for the twelve-year-old with the posse he’d formed to track the gang. She’d accepted, but continued her own search, frantic that her brother might have gotten in the way of the brutal men and suffered a fate far worse than her denying him any more of her apple
