Desperate Hearts by Alexis Harrington Page B

unseeing, Her boot heel connected hard
with his arm and he scowled back.
    “ Ow! Damn it, Kyla, hold
still!” he snapped, tired and frustrated.
    Where did she find the energy to fight like
this, sick as she was? Some private demon chased her through her
delirium, he was certain of that, making his job too hard.
    After he’d put the horses away in the shop,
he carried her upstairs to this bedroom, grateful to find a
bedstead here, as well as one in the small adjoining room. The
mattress was, bare, but it beat sleeping on the ground in the rain.
In the hall he had found a battered chest of drawers that contained
threadbare linens, including patched towels and sheets, all worn as
thin as tissue paper. How to make the bed with her on it was a
chore he would think about later.
    Right now, he was trying to undress her, and
having no luck. The best he’d been able to do was get her out of
her coat and pull off one boot. He reached for the other one.
    “ Don’t you dare touch me
again, Tom!” she warned. Her husky voice was full of anger and
fear. “I swear I’ll get Pa’s shotgun and blow your goddamned head
off!”
    Hardesty, again, he thought, adding another
black mark to the man’s name in his mind.
    “ I’m not Hardesty, Kyla!”
he shouted back, trying to make her see reason. “I’m
Jace!”
    He jammed his hand through his hair. This
was ridiculous, they were getting nowhere. He stood with the boot
in his hand, wondering how to proceed. Her struggling had caused
the wound on her arm to begin to bleed again, and it had to be
tended. But she fought like a wild mare every time she felt his
touch.
    Wild mare.
    An idea came to him. This was an area he
knew something about; he had gentled his share of horses. A quiet
voice and a light touch sometimes worked wonders. Maybe the
technique would work with Kyla, too. He pulled a spindle-backed
chair close to the bed and sat down.
    “ Kyla, girl, listen now,”
he said, keeping his voice low and soothing. He leaned close.
“You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. We’re in Misfortune, in
the McGuires’s house. Travis and Chloe moved away, but they won’t
mind if we use the place. We’re going to rest here for a while,
till you’re better.”
    Her face was still flushed and damp.
Checking for fever, he touched her forehead. She jerked away. If
anything, she felt hotter than before. For a lucid instant her eyes
locked with his and he saw her terror. He had no idea if she
understood what he was saying, or was just responding to the
sound.
    He hurried on, trying to quell her fear.
“We’ve done some hard traveling lately, and that shoot-out in Cord
really put a kink in our rope. Your arm is starting to fester and
we need to take care of it.”
    Her eyes drifted shut, and a small frown
lodged between her brows and stayed there. She turned her head from
side to side, but she was quieter, mumbling now and then.
    Carefully, Jace put his hand over hers where
it rested on the blue-striped mattress tick. She didn’t pull away.
It was hot, too, and surprisingly soft considering “Kyle’s”
roughneck appearance. Her fingers were long and slender, their
smoothness a remnant of the woman who remained hidden. It felt nice
to lay his palm over her hand, he admitted to himself. Nicer than
he wanted.
    She stopped fussing.
    He broke the contact. Leaving the chair, he
paced to the end of the bed.
    “ Well—we’ve got to change
your clothes. There are no two ways about it.” He kept his voice
down, but his tone became businesslike. He’d never felt as awkward
as he did now. A flush crept up his neck and heated his
face.
    He had undressed women in his time, slowly
and quickly, depending on the urgency of the moment, with no
hesitation or fumbling. But this was the damnedest situation he had
ever found himself in. It had nothing to do with pleasure. If it
had, at least he’d know what to do. But he was Kyla’s doctor by
default and that seemed to make things more difficult