Читать книгу Cowboy In The Crossfire - Robin Perini - Страница 10

Chapter One

A wicked gust of winter wind buffeted Amanda Hawthorne toward the front entrance of her brother’s home. She wrapped her flimsy coat tighter around her body and lowered her head. Another cold blast nearly knocked her down. Even the weather fought to keep her out of Vince’s house. Well, this freak ice storm wouldn’t win, and neither would her brother. He’d be furious, but she was staying. Just until she found another job.

She breathed in, hoping to kill the perpetual French-fry smell that permeated her clothes from her final shift at Jimmy’s Chicken Shack. She could have lived with the odor and her aching feet, but she couldn’t take his octopus hands, his foul breath or his large body trapping her against the wall in his storage room. She shuddered at the memory. She wouldn’t go back. But first, she had to face Vince.

With a deep breath, she unlocked the door. “Big brother, I’ve got bad news. You may have houseguests for a while—”

Her voice trailed off. The photos that had lined the entryway hall lay shattered on the tile floor. The small table near the doorway teetered on its side, crushed.

“Vince?” Her heart thumped like a panicked rabbit. She ran into the living room. The place was in shambles. “Ethan?” Oh, God. Where was her son?

She rounded the couch and skidded to a halt. Vince lay on the floor in a pool of blood, eyes staring up at her, sightless. A hole in his chest, a gun in his hand.

Her knees shook and she swayed. No.

She whirled around the room, frantic, searching. “Ethan!” she screamed. He had to be here. He had to be okay. He was only five. “Ethan, where are you?”

Deadly silence echoed through the house. Her body went numb. This couldn’t be happening. Her son was her life.

Then she saw it. A small, bloody footprint on the wood floor. Streaks of red trailed across the carpet toward the entertainment center. So much blood. Too much blood.

“No!”

A horrified, wounded cry ricocheted through the quiet room.

The sound came from her.

Shaking, her mind whirling through unthinkable images, she followed the blood to the cabinet. Sobs clutched her throat as she tossed aside a slew of DVDs dumped in front of the oak furniture. Bracing herself for the worst, she held her breath and opened the door.

Empty.

She clutched at the wood to keep herself from collapsing. “Ethan!” Her stomach roiled. She should never have left him. Ever!

A choked whimper broke from behind another section on the unit.

“Ethan?”

She snatched the brass handle and yanked it open to reveal her five-year-old huddled in a ball, rocking back and forth.

Alive.

Amanda’s knees quaked with relief. She couldn’t stop the tears that poured down her face. Her son was alive. She snatched him from the cabinet and folded him into her arms. She couldn’t stop touching him. His arms, his legs, his hair, his tear-streaked face. With a trembling hand, she stroked his blood-stained pants. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. “U-Uncle Vince.”

“I know, little man. I know.” She rocked him back and forth, her chin on his soft hair. His small arms clung to her as if he would never let her go. “It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” She repeated the words over and over again, as much for herself as for Ethan.

She shot up a thankful prayer, then her gaze fell to her brother’s body. Blindly, Amanda searched for the cell in her pocket to call 9-1-1. She pulled out the phone and started dialing.

Ethan grabbed her hand, his eyes wild with panic. “No, Mommy. Uncle Vince said for us to run away.”

She clasped Ethan to her, trying to calm him even as an icy wave of terror threatened to freeze her from the inside. Vince had been a stand-and-fight kind of guy. A cop. If he’d said that, then they weren’t safe in this house. Maybe not safe anywhere.

“Where?” she murmured. “Where can we go?”

Ethan wrapped his arms tight and squeezed. “Blake. Go to Blake,” he whispered in her ear, his voice shaking with a terror no child should ever feel.

She stilled. “Where did you hear that name, little man?”

“Uncle Vince.” Ethan buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Go to Blake.”

Ethan stuck his thumb in his mouth, something he hadn’t done in over a year.

Go to Blake? Why would Vince say such a thing? Blake Redmond hated her brother. No way was she going to Blake for anything. She’d take care of herself and her son.

Pressing Ethan’s face against her shoulder, she ran to her brother’s body. With a gulp, she crouched down. She snatched the gun from Vince’s hand for protection, hurried to his desk and wrenched open the drawer. Thank goodness. The grocery money was still in the bank bag. She stuffed it and the gun into her purse.

Amanda carried Ethan to the front hallway, pried her son’s arms from around her and set him down. “We’re getting out of here, Ethan.” She kissed his forehead, then bundled him into his navy-and-orange coat, scarf and gloves. She tugged on his hat and covered his ears.

Ethan sneaked a look into the living room at Vince, and his face went blank. He’d shut down. Amanda gave his hat a last tug. “Don’t worry, Mommy will take care of you.”

With Ethan in her arms, she raced out of Vince’s house into the cold late-November night. How would she ever make things all right? She had nowhere to go, no one to help her. She only knew they had to get away.

Hands shaking, she unlocked the car, tossed her purse inside and settled Ethan into his booster seat. He scooted back. She brushed his hair aside. “We’ll be safe.”

Someone grabbed her from behind. “You won’t keep the promise,” the deep voice sounded in her ear.

Amanda whirled around. A man in a ski mask loomed above her. She shot a panicked glance to the car. The gun was still in her purse. She reached into her pocket for her phone. The man grabbed the cell, threw it to the ground and rammed her against the car. “Where did Vince hide it?”

“What are you—”

“No games.” His grip tightened. “Tell me, and you and the kid live.”

The cold look in his eyes belied his words. He’d never let them go.

“Where’s Vince’s file?”

The man’s arm pinned her neck. He pressed against her windpipe, harder and harder. She gasped for air, tried to pry him away. Stars exploded in front of her. Blackness threatened to swallow her whole. Oh, God. She was dying.

“Mommy!”

At Ethan’s scream, the man’s hold slackened. Just enough.

“No!” she choked. Aiming for his knee, Amanda kicked out hard. She heard a sickening pop. With a shout, he fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

She dived into the front seat, shoved the key into the ignition and jammed the car into gear. The attacker struggled to his feet, cursing at her.

Amanda backed through Vince’s front yard and spun into the street.

Shots rang out, followed by the thwack of bullets hitting metal. Fire seared across her side. Half-crazy with shock and fear, she punched the accelerator. Her car jerked forward and sped down the street, but not before she saw the man limp to his car and start after them.

He would not get Ethan. She’d die first.

In desperation, she screeched around a turn into an alley. Headlights followed dizzyingly in her rearview mirror. She had to lose him. “Are you all right, Ethan?”

His panicked whimper was the only sound from the backseat. Oh, no. Had he been hit? She twisted around to check on him even as pain sliced across her ribs. Fighting through the agony, she scanned her son. He was in shock but looked unhurt. Unlike herself. Amanda pressed her palm hard against her side. It was warm and wet.

She stared at her hand. It was red. Very, very red.

She’d been shot.

Right through the door.

Her panting matched Ethan’s. Her fingers had gone numb with cold. She had to stop the bleeding or she’d pass out. She gripped the steering wheel tight. Think, Amanda. Think of someplace safe to stop.

A quick right, then left brought her to a dark side street. She floored it and streaked toward Main. With a quick prayer, she skidded to a halt in a parking lot full of cars and turned off the engine and lights.

“Duck, Ethan. Hide.”

He slid out of the booster seat and sank to the floorboard. Trying to ignore the pulsing pain in her side, Amanda crouched low against the cracked vinyl. With one hand she reached back and stroked Ethan’s head, buried in his arms. She tried to comfort him without words, but his body trembled, and her heart ached.

With the other hand, she searched her purse for the gun. Holding the weapon firmly, she shrank down even more and gripped the butt hard. Her fingers shook. Please, let her live. Let her keep Ethan safe.

The cold seeped into her skin. Every shallow breath turned into a visible wisp of air.

“Mommy? I’m scared.”

Ethan’s small voice pierced her heart. “We’re okay, little man.” She kept her voice calm and reassuring, while inside the panic had her heart galloping. “We just have to be very, very quiet.”

“So the bad man doesn’t find us?”

“Yes, sweetie. Hush now.”

His sniffles were the only sound as she waited. Headlights passed by, but she couldn’t chance raising her head. Her fingers cramped around the metal of the gun. She stayed still. Seconds dragged into minutes as she waited, praying no one would see or hear anything.

After what seemed an eternity, Amanda sagged against the seat. “I think it’s safe.”

At her words, Ethan scrambled into the front and dived into her arms, his face streaked with tears. She fought not to cry out in pain, but couldn’t stop a small gasp.

He leaped back. “Are you hurt? Like Uncle Vince?”

“I’m fine, honey. Just fine.”

But she wasn’t. And she knew it. She grabbed her thin scarf and used one end to pad her wound, the other she wrapped around her torso. The makeshift bandage would have to do. She had bigger problems. The gunman knew her. He’d seen Ethan. The bullet-ridden car would be easy to spot, and she couldn’t risk being found.

Vince had warned her if anything bad happened to him not to stay in Austin. No matter what. She had to get out. Amanda scanned the parking lot. Her ex’s penchant for stealing cars would come in handy. She could use the lock jimmy Ethan’s father had left under the seat to break in to and hot-wire a car.

She clutched the handle, but the simple movement nearly tore her insides. She bit her lip. If anything happened to her… She stared at Ethan, his lips trembling, his expression haunted. They needed help.

Gritting her teeth, she slipped out of the car and into the night. She had no choice. She had to go to Blake.

* * *

SHERIFF BLAKE REDMOND paced the wooden floor, nerves wound tighter than an overcinched saddle. He had a bad feeling about tonight but didn’t know why. Sleet pounded the roof, hammering the century-old ranch house with what the Weather Channel had termed the worst ice storm in decades. Four-foot-long icicles and West Texas didn’t go together.

Below-freezing temperatures and unrelenting ice made travel deadly. He’d issued an order hours ago for folks in his county to hunker down until further notice, but there were always those fools who didn’t listen.

A whine escaped the Lab mix curled on the rug next to the fire.

“I know, boy.” Blake glanced at the old police radio sitting silent on the hand-carved sofa table. He’d spent several hours tinkering with the ancient equipment. A few paper clips and pencil erasers strategically placed, and it worked like a new one. “Gonna be a long night, Leo.”

The dog rose and paced the floor, unable to settle.

“You feel it, too?”

Blake bent and ruffled the oddly shaped ears of the stray mutt. He’d wandered into his barn shortly after Blake had moved back to Carder, Texas, to take over as sheriff following his father’s sudden death. The dog had hung around until finally they’d both surrendered to the inevitable.

The animal’s unease didn’t bode well, and the sparse living room gave Blake no distraction. Despite moving into his childhood ranch home nine months ago, Blake still kept his memories stored away in boxes. Easier to avoid them that way.

The police radio cracked with static, and the dispatcher’s voice broke through the old speaker. “Sheriff?”

Blake snagged the microphone. “Donna, are you still manning the station? I ordered you home hours ago.”

“Deputy Parris just called in. Streets are clear, though he couldn’t stop complaining the storm ruined his trip to his fishing cabin.”

“No one’s supposed to be on these roads tonight but me. If Mom finds out her best friend’s working on a night like this, I’m dead. Go home.”

“You’re like your father,” Donna said.

Which meant she ignored Blake’s orders, too. Maybe that’s where his unease had originated. Donna had run the Sheriff’s Office dispatch for his father since he was a kid. He’d inherited her just like he had the job. He’d also learned from his dad exactly how to handle her. “Go home, Donna. Or I’ll put you in jail and lock away the key to be sure you’re safe.”

“Yep, just like him.” She chuckled. “Dispatch out.”

Blake glanced at the clock. He’d give her fifteen minutes. On his patrol, he’d verify she got home. He tugged on a wool sweater over his corduroys. His uniform didn’t have the warmth he’d need tonight.

A low growl rumbled from Leo. The dog rose and his ears lay back as he stared at the front door. Blake tensed, his hand automatically going to his sidearm. A movement outside the front window caught Blake’s attention. A pair of blue eyes under a thatch of reddish-brown hair peered just above the windowsill. Right at him.

“What the hell…”

Blake flung open the door. Freezing wind and needles of sleet invaded the room. A small boy huddled in a Chicago Bears coat and scarf stared up at him, his cheeks red, his lips blue, dried blood on his pants. “My mommy’s dying. She said you’d help us.”

The boy sank to his knees.

With an inward curse, Blake scooped up the shaking child, kicked the door shut and sat him down by the fire. He crouched down and slid the boy’s pant leg up to his knee. No obvious injury. “Where did this blood come from, son? Are you hurt?”

The boy shook his head and pursed his lips together. “Please. Help Mommy.”

“Where is she?”

“Our car slid. It crashed.” The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Mommy kept falling asleep. She made me leave her.”

No one could survive for long in that storm. Blake shoved his arms into his shearling coat, yanked on his gloves and grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. “Is it only your mom out there? No one else?”

The boy nodded. “Only Mommy.”

“Stay here. Understand?” The kid couldn’t have walked far. His mother had to be nearby. “Leo, come.”

The dog, who’d been nosing at their small visitor, bounded to Blake. The boy waited pathetically in front of the fire, shivering, yet his eyes locked on Blake. “Are you a good guy?”

Blake pulled his Stetson down over his ears. “You can trust me.”

The boy’s lips quivered in uncertainty. He was a brave little guy. A sharp pang twisted Blake’s heart. Did every boy practice that same look? In that one instant, he’d looked…just like Joey. Just like the son Blake had lost.

He shoved the pain into the hole where his heart had been. “I’ll be right back. Stay by the fire. Don’t touch anything.” He gave the kid his most stern look.

With Leo at his side, Blake yanked open the door and stepped into the frozen night. The lights from the barn were bare flickers against the onslaught of sleet and roaring wind. Ice pricked his face, making his eyes water. He scanned for any movement through the darkness. Nothing between here and the horse barn. He had only minutes or the boy’s mother was dead.

Long icicles dangled from the porch eaves and looked like something out of a horror movie. He shoved through them, breaking off several. They fell to the steps, the howl of the winter wind swallowing all sound.

Even if the woman were screaming he wouldn’t hear her until he tripped over her body. He swept his flashlight across shiny layers of ice. As he stepped past a large pine, blinking orange just at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Hazard lights. Tilted. The car must be in the ditch. He veered toward the vehicle, but Leo barked, tugged on Blake’s sleeve and shot in the opposite direction.

“You’d better be right, mutt.” Blake hurried after the animal, swinging his light toward a small gully that lined his long driveway.

Nothing was visible from the road. When he reached the edge and shined the beam into the ditch, Leo leaped toward a small, snow-covered figure, huddled out of sight of the driveway. Blake slid down the frozen dirt and turned her over. If it hadn’t been for her son and the dog, Blake may never have found her in this mess. She was soaked and freezing, but a small puff of air escaped her nose. Thank God.

He lifted her into his arms, and she moaned, squirming, pushing at him. “Ethan—”

“Your boy’s fine,” Blake said. “Now stay still or we’ll both freeze to death.”

“Blake?” She clutched at his collar feebly. “Please. Help us.”

Blake’s ears had gone numb, but he could have sworn she said his name, although with this wind he couldn’t be sure. He could barely feel his hands, even through the gloves. She must be closing in on hypothermia. He had to get her inside. Fast.

He struggled up the gully, his boots losing traction even though she didn’t weigh more than a minute. Each step was treacherous. Leo raced past Blake to the porch light as he slugged his way home. The wind and sleet slammed at him from the side. He stumbled, jostling her to maintain his balance. She whimpered in his arms.

Blake’s legs stung with cold. Each step took more and more effort. He squinted toward his house. The curtain pushed back, and a small face pressed to the front window. The ranch house looked unbelievably far away. By the time he reached the porch, the woman in his arms quivered uncontrollably.

The boy flung open the door, his face streaked with tears. “Mommy? Is she…dead?”

Blake shouldered past the kid and laid his mother on the sofa. What kind of youngster asked a question like that? Ignoring his own tingling hands and feet, he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it and his Stetson on the chair, and knelt beside the unconscious woman. “Is your name Ethan?”

Wide-eyed, the boy nodded.

“How old are you?”

He held up five fingers, and Blake nodded. “I thought so. What’s your mom’s name?”

“Mommy.”

Not much help there. Blake pulled the scarf and hat from the woman’s face. A tumble of wild, auburn curls fell to her shoulders. He rocked back on his heels in shocked recognition.

Amanda.

He couldn’t believe it was her. The woman he’d nearly lost his senses to beneath the mistletoe one very memorable Christmas Eve. The woman who’d tempted him beyond endurance. The woman he’d known he could never have because she was his best friend’s sister. And she’d almost died.

“Amanda?” What was that bastard Vince’s sister doing in the middle of an ice storm four-hundred miles from home?

Ethan scooted under Blake’s arm and laid a small hand on his mother’s cheek. “Mommy?” he whispered. “Wake up. Please. I’m scared.”

At the boy’s plaintive words, Blake nearly doubled over. Had his four-year-old son said the same thing to his mother after the accident? Blake knew from the autopsy report his ex-wife had died instantly, but Joey had lived for several minutes after their car had been blindsided. His son had been alone, frightened and dying, probably begging for his mother to wake up. Maybe calling for his father to save him. But Blake hadn’t been there.

Well, he was here now. For Amanda. He ripped off her gloves and clasped her hands. Ice-cold. No way could he warm her in these wet clothes. He unzipped her insubstantial coat. The right side of her shirt was soaked in blood.

“What the hell?”

He pushed the denim aside and stared at the injury just below and outside the soft curve of her left breast. He recognized a gunshot wound when he saw one.

Blake grabbed a clean dish towel from the kitchen and pressed it to the gash, causing Amanda to moan. “Get your coat on, kid. We’re taking your mom to the doctor.” One look out the window told him the ride would be an interesting trip. The visibility had deteriorated even more in the last few minutes. “Hopefully I’ll get us to the hospital in one piece.”

Amanda stirred restlessly on the couch.

He nabbed the microphone from the sofa table. “Parris, this is Blake.” The static from the line shattered the night. “Deputy, you there?”

Amanda tugged at his arm with a weak but desperate grip. “No hospital,” she whispered. “Hide us. Please. Or we’re dead.”

The stark words ricocheted through Blake as she struggled to sit, then collapsed in his arms. He eased her down, and pushed back the curls surrounding her face. She was hurt, and vulnerable, and she couldn’t tell him why. What had she gotten herself into that she’d risk her life to stay hidden?

He glanced at Ethan. With the gunshot wound, Blake had to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she was telling the truth, he refused to put the boy’s life in jeopardy.

“Sheriff? You heading out on patrol?” The ghost of a voice broke through the crackling radio.

“Not yet. Parris, let me know if you or Smithson see any strangers wandering the town. I’ll get back to you.”

He knelt next to the sofa and studied his unexpected visitor. Amanda had changed in the last six months. Thinner, her skin nearly translucent. Circles beneath her eyes, but still so beautiful, he had to remind himself to breathe. She’d obviously been through hell. Blake motioned to the boy whose eyes had grown wide and fear-filled. “Ethan? How did your mom get hurt?”

The boy looked at his unconscious mother and shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

Secrets. They burned Blake’s gut. He’d experienced too many in Austin. At the same time, he admired Amanda’s kid. Blake recognized Ethan’s terror from his trembling hands. The boy wanted to cry but bit down on his lip, fighting against the panic. Amanda’s son showed more courage in that moment than most grown men Blake had witnessed facing a gun on the streets.

He crouched so he was eye to eye with the boy. “Promises are important, but your mom came to me for help. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”

Ethan simply stared at Blake, his eyes too suspicious for a boy of five. “Mommy?” His tentative hand tugged at his mother’s sleeve.

“She’s hurt, Ethan. But she doesn’t want to go to the doctor. I need to know what happened. I want to make her well.”

The boy shifted back and forth, stared at his unconscious mother, then back at Blake. He lifted his chin and met Blake’s gaze. “A bad man tried to hurt us. Mommy saved me.”

* * *

THE BED WAS SOFT, the room dark except for a small night-light. Amanda felt warm for the first time in hours. She must be dead. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation.

She shifted. Her flesh burned like fire. This definitely wasn’t heaven.

Reality came flooding back.

Vince. Ethan.

She tried to sit up, but a sharp, blazing pain pierced her side. She fell back with a groan.

“Not a good move, considering you tried to stop a bullet with your body.”

She’d recognize the soft drawl of that voice anywhere.

Blake Redmond.

She scanned up from his worn cowboy boots, past his corduroys to a dark green sweater that emphasized the flecks of jade and gold in his glittering eyes. She’d expected the typical tan sheriff’s uniform at least. Still, she could see he was no longer a big-city Austin cop. All he needed was a cowboy hat to complete the picture of a small-town lawman. Not a friendly one, though.

Even with the dim light she could tell his face was carved in stone. Her heart skipped a beat. What had he found out? Had he called the deputy? Even now, was the man who murdered Vince and tried to kill her on his way here? Guarding her ribs, she struggled to swing her legs over the bed’s edge.

Blake rushed over and pressed her back against the pillow. “Don’t even think about getting out of this bed. Not until I look at that wound.”

“Where’s Ethan? Is he safe?”

Blake placed a medical kit on the nightstand and flipped on a small bedside light. “Hunkered down with my crazy mutt glued to his side. First door on the right. They’re fine. I won’t say the same for you.”

“Did you tell your deputy about us?” she countered.

“Trying to sidestep the issue?” Blake opened the supplies. “You can thank your boy I didn’t ignore your request. I didn’t like his responses to my questions.” Blake sat on the bed next to her and unpacked bandages, hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic ointment. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want answers from you.”

“What did Ethan say?”

Blake’s jaw tightened with irritation. “Not much. His mother’s been shot and has passed out. He’s dependent on a man he’s never met.” He glared at her. “He’s scared.”

The stark statement shattered a piece of Amanda’s heart.

Blake dragged a chair next to the bed. “What’s going on?”

She studied him warily. She didn’t know what to say. Blake prided himself on being honest. A by-the-book kind of guy. She doubted he’d appreciate what she’d been forced to do over the last day.

Not that she regretted one action. To keep her son safe, Amanda would do anything.

Anything.

And her horrifying suspicions? The unspeakable theory she’d pieced together on that long drive from snippets of a few conversations and emails with Vince over the past few months. Should she tell Blake what she suspected about the death of his ex-wife and child? She had no proof. What if she was wrong? Why hurt him more? Better to remain silent.

Blake waited, then shook his head. “Fine. Don’t imagine I won’t figure it out.” He stood and opened the first aid box. “Unfasten your shirt and lay on your side,” he said, his voice gruff. “This is gonna hurt.”

No kidding. She unbuttoned the bottom half of the shirt and rolled to her right. He pushed the denim out of the way, his fingers gentle. Somehow, when she’d fantasized about him touching her bare skin, it had never involved a bullet wound. She stared at his lean hips and focused hard, trying to distract herself with inappropriately lascivious thoughts. Anything rather than cry and act like a wimp in front of him.

He unscrewed a bottle of antiseptic. She ventured a glance at him. He hadn’t changed much. He still wore his light brown hair short, although it was long enough to run her fingers through. His hazel eyes flickered in the light, and she could have sworn flecks of gold glittered as he glanced down at her. He was one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. And so wrong for her. His wife had just left him when she’d met him in Austin, so she’d ignored the flip-flop of her belly whenever he’d entered the room. Until that one Christmas Eve after his divorce finalized, that one amazing kiss. She had no business thinking about Blake in that way. She had to focus on her and Ethan’s safety, but just for the next few minutes, maybe…

She shivered as he bared more of her torso. He probed at the sensitive skin she couldn’t quite see. She sucked in a sharp breath. Okay, so much for the distraction-from-pain theory.

That hurt.

“When did you get shot?” he muttered.

The agonizingly long trip flashed through her mind. Town after town. Dairy Queen after Dairy Queen. Ethan being as patient as a five-year-old could, as if he understood she only had small reserves left. “I don’t know. Sixteen, eighteen hours. Forever. The storm slowed us to a crawl. Five miles an hour some stretches.”

“You should have stopped.”

He pressed against the fevered skin, and slowly, painfully worked the dried, blood-soaked scarf away from the wound. She winced at each tug, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to scream. She held her breath until finally he pulled away the last of the material.

She sagged in relief.

“Luckily the bullet didn’t lodge inside. Bad news is the wound is inflamed. I’ve got ointment, Amanda, but you need a doctor. And antibiotics.”

“Doctors report gunshot wounds.”

“So do sheriffs.” He explored the area one last time, then sucked in a slow breath. “Brace yourself.”

The cold sting of peroxide hissed on her skin. She clutched at the sheets and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She didn’t know how close Ethan was. She couldn’t let him see her like this. He’d been through enough.

Blake quickly rubbed on antibiotic ointment, then covered the wound with a pad. “I need to secure the dressing. Sit up for me.”

He supported her back as she rose. When she was steady, he unfastened the remainder of the buttons on her shirt. Her cheeks burned. She hadn’t been able to wear a bra since it happened, and there was no getting around him touching her as he quickly wrapped the bandage around her torso.

Finally, he secured a last piece of tape. With jerky movements he rose from the bed and grabbed a large Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt from the drawer. “You can wear this. Your son doesn’t need to see all that blood.”

Hovering over her, Blake eased the soiled material off with the prowess of a cowboy who’d undressed his share of women. His touch lingered on her naked back before he choked out a cough and slipped on the clean, dry sweatshirt.

The awareness between them sizzled. She chanced a look over her shoulder. She’d never seen Blake more uncomfortable as he eased away from the bed. He planted himself in the center of the bedroom and crossed his arms, piercing her with a glare she welcomed. If he’d smiled or given her a soft, sexy grin, she might have done something stupid.

“Thank you.” She lifted her gaze and saw his cheeks flush before he turned on her.

“We’re not finished yet.” He stiffened his back. “I have some antibiotics in the barn. I’ll be right back.”

She heard the door open, and the harsh whistling of wind sounded from the other room before the oak slammed closed. He was going out into this monster storm. For her.

Who did that?

No one she knew, that’s for sure.

She rubbed her eyes. She had to think clearly. She was a fugitive, but Blake didn’t need to know that. She just had to keep her wits about her, get well and move on. Don’t let herself be taken in by a man who was like a hero out of a fairy tale. One step at a time, and she could put some miles between her and Blake. A lot of miles if she had her way.

She twisted, testing the bandage, trying once again to sit up.

“You’re gonna undo all my handiwork.”

Blake strode into the room, holding a prescription bottle and a glass of water. “The antibiotics were for the foal, but it’s better than nothing. Should be the right dose.”

“You want to feed me horse pills? Are you crazy?”

“You wanted my help. It’s this or a doctor. You’ve got a fever.”

She studied his face and could see he was deadly serious. Showing herself at any medical facility would put a target on her and Ethan. She had to stay under the radar for as long as she could. She wasn’t the criminal.

Well, not exactly. And certainly not voluntarily.

She snagged the pill and swallowed it with a grimace.

Blake studied her, his expression unwavering and speculative. “Just how much trouble are you in, Amanda? You take a horse pill to avoid the hospital, you drive eighteen hours in an ice storm after a bullet cut a furrow in your side. What are you doing here? Is your brother going to knock on my door next?”

So much for the fairy tale. She lifted her chin and swiped at her hair. “Vince is dead.”

The muscle of his jaw throbbed briefly. The only sign he cared at all.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? He was your best friend.”

“Best friend?” Blake crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Really? Is that what he was when he sold me out? When he didn’t show up for my son’s funeral?”

“He didn’t think you’d want him there.”

“He was right.”

Amanda rubbed her hands over her eyes to keep from looking into his perceptive gaze. He’d recognize the guilt, the secret knowledge. “There was never any proof Vince gave Internal Affairs evidence against you.”

“Only one person could’ve set me up to take the fall. Vince. You can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.” Blake leaned over the bed, crowding her. She shrank back against the sheets.

“Don’t hurt my mommy!”

Ethan launched across the room, the dog racing after him. The boy grabbed Blake around the legs and started pounding at him. The sight of her usually gentle son taking all his anger and fear out on Blake savaged Amanda’s soul. Would he ever be the same after what he’d seen? She shoved off the bed as Blake stopped and calmly grasped Ethan’s arms.

“I don’t hurt people, son. I’m a policeman.”

Ethan wrenched away. “Policemen are bad. Police made Uncle Vince dead.”