Shamus Mulcahy, but I know bet—” Her words ended with a yelp of pain.
At her shrill cry, something deep in his chest twisted. He had to get to her, to rescue his special woman. “Hey, leave the lady be.” Quinn tensed, fingers gripping the pistol until they ached. Again, her words verified what O’Malley said. Two men using the same name. So maybe the man in the jail shouldn’t be there.
He’d worry about that later. Now he had to get Ciara safely away from this culprit. He crept closer. His boot pressed on a squeaky floorboard that gave way, tipping him off balance. At the last moment, he lunged to grab the table and drew a bead on the man’s foot at the side of Ciara’s skirts. He squeezed the trigger.
Two shots rang out, the percussion reverberating against the walls. A flash of heat stabbed his right side, flattening him with a grunt.
Ciara screamed his name and footsteps pounded.
Damn . He levered himself up on an elbow, gritting his teeth at the fiery pain. He touched his side, and his hand came back coated with blood. Not good . He laid back and inched two fingers into his hip pocket until he pulled out a bandanna. With that clamped over his side, he rolled to his knees. Sweat beaded on his face, and he pulled shallow breaths through his opened mouth. He had to get to her. Ciara? He tried to form her name, but his mouth was too dry. Then he slumped to the side and blackness descended.
****
Would he ever wake? Ciara perched on a chair and dabbed a wet cloth on Quinn’s fevered face. Under her breath, she hummed an old lullaby that her mother used to sing when Ciara was a child. Anything to make up for what she’d done.
With jerky moves, she dipped the cloth in a bowl of water and wrung out the excess. She should never have gone to the hotel to confront the imposter. This time, her impetuousness had brought harm to another, to the man she held dear in her heart. The town had seemed empty in his absence, and yearning for his return filled her until she ached.
With gestures well-practiced over the past three years, she moved the cloth over his jaw and pressed it along his neck to his upper chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. His golden brown and muscled chest. Her fingers trailed along the taut plane, his crisp chest hair tickling her skin. A gasp escaped. “Oh my stars.” She jerked back her hand.
Chalk that action up for one more transgression. Forgiveness for causing his injury didn’t matter. All she wished for was to see his dark eyes open and hear him say something infuriating. Then she’d know he would live.
Doc Anderson stepped through the curtain and slipped his fingers over Quinn’s wrist. “Any change?” He pulled out his pocket watch and focused on the timepiece.
Over the past few years, Ciara had seen enough doctors perform the same action and waited until he looked up. “None in the past half-hour. He mumbled something but I couldn’t understand his words.”
“The first few hours are the worst. That’s why I gave him a good dose of laudanum.” He patted her shoulder and chuckled. “Quinn’s strong. He’ll be just fine.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’m clinging to that.”
“His deputy’s outside and wondered if he could come in.” Doc jerked his head toward the waiting room. “Feels like he let the sheriff down.”
A sentiment she knew well. “Tell him he’s welcome here. Quinn can use any and all support.”
Doc walked to the curtain and held it aside.
Bud Forrester entered, pulled off his hat revealing reddish hair, and walked to the side of the cot. “Ma’am.”
“Deputy.” She looked up and offered a wan smile. “Doc says he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, the sheriff’s tough. I just wanted to see for myself.” His fingers worked the hat brim in a jerky circle. “Kinda in the habit of going over the policing matters with the sheriff.”
“Oh.” Of course, others who’d known Quinn longer would want time with him. Loosening her grip on his hand,
At her shrill cry, something deep in his chest twisted. He had to get to her, to rescue his special woman. “Hey, leave the lady be.” Quinn tensed, fingers gripping the pistol until they ached. Again, her words verified what O’Malley said. Two men using the same name. So maybe the man in the jail shouldn’t be there.
He’d worry about that later. Now he had to get Ciara safely away from this culprit. He crept closer. His boot pressed on a squeaky floorboard that gave way, tipping him off balance. At the last moment, he lunged to grab the table and drew a bead on the man’s foot at the side of Ciara’s skirts. He squeezed the trigger.
Two shots rang out, the percussion reverberating against the walls. A flash of heat stabbed his right side, flattening him with a grunt.
Ciara screamed his name and footsteps pounded.
Damn . He levered himself up on an elbow, gritting his teeth at the fiery pain. He touched his side, and his hand came back coated with blood. Not good . He laid back and inched two fingers into his hip pocket until he pulled out a bandanna. With that clamped over his side, he rolled to his knees. Sweat beaded on his face, and he pulled shallow breaths through his opened mouth. He had to get to her. Ciara? He tried to form her name, but his mouth was too dry. Then he slumped to the side and blackness descended.
****
Would he ever wake? Ciara perched on a chair and dabbed a wet cloth on Quinn’s fevered face. Under her breath, she hummed an old lullaby that her mother used to sing when Ciara was a child. Anything to make up for what she’d done.
With jerky moves, she dipped the cloth in a bowl of water and wrung out the excess. She should never have gone to the hotel to confront the imposter. This time, her impetuousness had brought harm to another, to the man she held dear in her heart. The town had seemed empty in his absence, and yearning for his return filled her until she ached.
With gestures well-practiced over the past three years, she moved the cloth over his jaw and pressed it along his neck to his upper chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. His golden brown and muscled chest. Her fingers trailed along the taut plane, his crisp chest hair tickling her skin. A gasp escaped. “Oh my stars.” She jerked back her hand.
Chalk that action up for one more transgression. Forgiveness for causing his injury didn’t matter. All she wished for was to see his dark eyes open and hear him say something infuriating. Then she’d know he would live.
Doc Anderson stepped through the curtain and slipped his fingers over Quinn’s wrist. “Any change?” He pulled out his pocket watch and focused on the timepiece.
Over the past few years, Ciara had seen enough doctors perform the same action and waited until he looked up. “None in the past half-hour. He mumbled something but I couldn’t understand his words.”
“The first few hours are the worst. That’s why I gave him a good dose of laudanum.” He patted her shoulder and chuckled. “Quinn’s strong. He’ll be just fine.”
“Thanks, Doctor. I’m clinging to that.”
“His deputy’s outside and wondered if he could come in.” Doc jerked his head toward the waiting room. “Feels like he let the sheriff down.”
A sentiment she knew well. “Tell him he’s welcome here. Quinn can use any and all support.”
Doc walked to the curtain and held it aside.
Bud Forrester entered, pulled off his hat revealing reddish hair, and walked to the side of the cot. “Ma’am.”
“Deputy.” She looked up and offered a wan smile. “Doc says he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, the sheriff’s tough. I just wanted to see for myself.” His fingers worked the hat brim in a jerky circle. “Kinda in the habit of going over the policing matters with the sheriff.”
“Oh.” Of course, others who’d known Quinn longer would want time with him. Loosening her grip on his hand,
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