Haskell’s that had been provided by the town. Instead, he stood in the street staring at the soft lamp glow in an upstairs window of the Whirlwind Hotel.
When he had returned with the things Catherine wanted, Josie hadn’t looked any better. He wanted to check on her one last time, knew he wouldn’t sleep until he did.
Using the key Penn had given him so he could keep an eye on the hotel if he heard something after-hours, Davis Lee let himself in, moonlight marking his way to the corner of the registration desk. He lit the candle always kept there by the old man and carried it upstairs to Josie’s room.
Mindful of the other guests, he rapped softly with one knuckle. When there was no response, he knocked. Nothing.
He tried the door and found it unlocked, pushing it open to peer into the room. “Catherine?”
But it wasn’t Catherine in the chair beside Josie’s bed. It was Esther Wavers. The lamp on the bedside table threw a warm blanket of light around the room and Davis Lee stepped over to pinch out the candle on the dresser.
Josie was in bed, the blanket on the floor, the sheet down around her ankles. A splint braced her lower left leg and he saw the white gleam of the bandages Catherine had applied over the poultice. At the same time he registered that Josie wore only her chemise and drawers, his attention moved to the older woman who hadn’t reacted to his arrival. “Esther?”
He walked to the bed, his attention snagged on the dark hair spread like sable silk across Josie’s pillow. Smoky yellow light slid over her, tucking shadows between her breasts, her legs. Her gossamer-light undergarment fit close to her body, the flush of fever evident even in the muted light.
Davis Lee dragged his gaze to Esther, concerned that something was wrong. The older woman slumped in the chair, head bowed, hands resting loosely on a water-filled basin in her lap. The steady rise and fall of her chest told him that she was asleep. Relief that she wasn’t dead or unconscious mixed with a surge of irritation. What good was she doing this way?
Josie made a low, ragged sound, her breath catching in a way that had him turning. He was startled to realize she was crying in her sleep.
“Esther?” He kept his voice quiet and calm, reaching down to take the tilting bowl from her lap.
Moving fitfully, Josie threw a protective arm across her face. He eased down onto the edge of the bed.
Esther snuffled softly and his jaw tightened. He bumped the washbasin into her knee.
“Huh?” She jerked awake, blinking rapidly then squinting at him. “Oh. Sheriff?”
“Where’s Catherine?” he asked tightly.
She covered a yawn, her voice scratchy with sleep. “Pearl Anderson’s daughter-in-law finally went into labor and there was a problem. Pearl asked Catherine to come so I told her I’d stay with Josie.” Her gaze went to the bed, no doubt seeing the distress in Josie’s face and body that Davis Lee saw. Guilt darkened the older woman’s eyes and she snapped straight in her chair. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Is she worse?”
“I don’t know,” he said evenly. “Was she like this the last time you remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her wilted bun wiggling loosely on top of her head.
“Do you know what time that was?”
“No.”
Josie made more of those choppy sobbing noises. A hardboiled knot lodged in his chest. Was she dreaming or in pain? Catherine had said she might be disoriented, not that she might be delirious. It had to be due to the fever. He placed a hand on her forehead. She was burning up.
“I came by to check on her.” A rag floated in the bowl of water and Davis Lee scooped it up, squeezed it. He moved Josie’s arm down to her side so he could wipe her face.
“I’m so sorry.”
He wanted to reassure the older woman, but all he could think about was Catherine saying that breathing might become difficult for Josie. She might have suffocated before Esther ever woke up.
He forcefully dunked the rag again, wringing it out before moving it gently over Josie’s face. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Esther? I’ll stay with her.”
“Oh, Sheriff, I’ll be fine now. I really didn’t mean to—”
“I insist,” he said quietly.
“But someone might find out you’re alone in here with her.”
And doing what? he thought ruefully. The woman was practically unconscious. He gave her a flat stare. “In light of things, I don’t really care.”
“She might.”
“I’m staying. Leave the door open. Hopefully Miz Webster will recover enough to take me to task herself.”
Esther hesitated, watching him wet the rag again and repeat the stroking motions on Josie’s face. “All right.”
She walked to the door. “I’m truly sorry, Sheriff. I don’t know what happened.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention on the slight figure in the bed.
Esther’s footsteps sounded down the stairs then faded away. The rag warmed with the heat of Josie’s flesh. The nearly transparent garment she wore wasn’t a chemise as he had first thought, but some one-piece thing that looked like a chemise and drawers combined. Except it wasn’t loose and shapeless like any shift he’d ever seen. This undergarment was fitted. Edged with delicate lace, it curved to her body like a second skin.
Especially damp as it was from repeated efforts to cool her down. The thin fabric clung to her breasts, revealing the darker flesh of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were small but full, and the perfect size for her petite frame. There was nothing wanting about them at all.
His mouth went dry and he grabbed the sheet, pulling it up over her. He dipped the cloth and ran it over her face, her neck, her chest. The faint tang of kerosene drifted from the lamp, but it was the scent of soft warm woman and honeysuckle that filled his lungs. Secluded with her like this, cornered by the night and the heat, Davis Lee felt his body harden. He lost track of how many times he wet the cloth, soothed her skin then repeated the motions.
He lifted her, applying the cool rag to her nape and the patch of skin on her back not covered by that infernal sheer piece of nothing. Her sobs quieted, but she twisted on the bed, kicking off the sheet.
He pulled up the cover and she moved it again. He couldn’t tell if her fever was coming down. High color still flushed her cheeks and chest. Her hairline was wet, her underwear and the sheets damp. He reached out and stroked a finger lightly against her temple.
She turned into his touch, moaning, “William.”
Who was William? Husband? Lover? Brother? She had never answered his questions about her family.
She mumbled incoherently, her arm slanting across her face again.
He murmured soothing words, lifted her arm to draw the wet cloth over her face and chest. She twitched
