Jake's Angel

“I see,” Isabel said, although she didn’t. She studied him a moment, then from the tray picked up a pile of fresh cloths and a new poultice she’d made. Setting them down on the bedside table, she poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, then turned to him again. “I need to look at your leg.”

“It’s becoming a habit with you. Do you enjoy it that much?”

Isabel smiled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Flipping back the edge of the quilt, she busied herself removing the old bandages. When she’d finished, she ran her fingers lightly over the bullet wound.

Jake flinched at the gentleness of her touch and she glanced at him in concern. “Is it that painful?”

“No—no. It’s—I’m not used to being touched like that.”

“That I can believe. You have more scars than my furniture and believe me, with two boys in the house, that’s saying a lot.”

“You said you had children.”

She nodded, her attention fixed on cleaning his wound and reapplying a poultice and bandage. Her hands moved deftly over him, warm and sure, more soothing than the herbs she used to ease his pain. “My grandmother and sister live here, too. You’re my only boarder.”

“And your husband?”

“Is dead,” she said shortly. She kept her eyes down, not because of any pretense of modesty, Jake guessed, but because she wanted to guard her feelings from him.

“Don’t get any ideas that I can’t protect myself and my own,” Isabel said when he let the silence stretch between them. She yanked the quilt back over him, her stance defiant. “I’m used to doing it and it’ll take more than a down-on-his-luck outlaw to give me trouble.”

“That, I don’t doubt.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why are you in Whispering Creek?” With her family to protect, she had to know. Obviously, Jake Coulter was no miner, and he didn’t have the smooth charm of a gambler, nor the rough edges of a cowboy.

He reminded her, instead, of a hunter, dark and dangerous, and not quite civilized.

“I’m here because I can’t ride out on my own,” Jake answered. “But you don’t have to worry. You’re not going to find my face on any of the sheriff’s wanted posters. No one will be looking for me here.”

“I see,” she said, unsatisfied. She decided to try another approach. “Where are you from, Mr. Coulter?”

“Jake. And where I’m from depends on what day it is. Yesterday I came from Taos. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Isabel said slowly. “Perhaps it should.”

“It doesn’t to me, not anymore.”

The words were heavy with weariness and he closed his eyes against them, rousing both concern and curiosity in Isabel. Something had hurt Jake Coulter and it was more than a bullet. The healer in her wanted to know what it was. The woman in her warned against finding the answer.

“Mr. Coulter…Jake—”

The sound of a downstairs door slamming and a clatter of footsteps up the stairs stopped whatever Isabel intended to say.

There was a scuffling noise outside Jake’s door, and a flurry of whispering before Nate poked his head inside. He darted a quick curious glance at Jake, then looked at Isabel, his face suspiciously innocent.

“We wanted to know if we could have jam tarts. Nana made them, but she’s visiting Mrs. Parker, and well…we thought we’d ask.”

“Did you now?” Isabel shook her head, unable to hide her smile. “It sounds to me as if you needed a reason to come upstairs and meet our new guest.”

“It was Nate’s idea,” Matt piped up behind him. “He wanted to see the gunfighter.” He peeked around the corner, wide-eyed. “But we would like jam tarts, too.”

“Ah, I see. Matt, Nate…” She took their hands and led them just inside the room. “This is Mr. Coulter. He’s not a gunfighter,” she said, praying she didn’t lie, “and he’s going to be staying with us until his leg is healed. He’s not feeling very well, so he won’t be up to having any visitors for a while. Now go downstairs to the kitchen. I’ll be along in a minute and I’ll help you eat those jam tarts Nana left for you.”

Before Jake could respond, Isabel shooed her sons out the door and the boys scampered off, clattering noisily down the stairs. “You didn’t tell me I was contagious,” he said, watching after them.

“They’re very impressionable,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze. She quickly gathered up her supplies and put them back on the tray. “They’ve already decided you’re a dangerous outlaw and that you can tell them all sorts of exciting stories about gunfights and stolen gold. I don’t want to encourage them.”

“I don’t know any stories about stolen gold.”

“At least you don’t deny the gunfights.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Unless you want to confess you shot yourself in the leg.” Returning to his bedside, Isabel handed him a cup. “Drink this. It will help the pain.”

Jake sniffed warily at it, not liking the smell or the look of the pale-green liquid. “By the time you’re through with me, I’ll have tried every weed in the territory. Whiskey would be kinder.”

“Not to your head.” She waited until he’d downed the herbal brew, then gently pushed him back on the pillows. Her fingers brushed his forehead, pushing aside a heavy dark wave of hair that stubbornly refused to stay aside. “No fever. I think you’ll do, Mr. Coulter. A week or so and you’ll be up and around again.”

Her fingers lingered for a moment on his skin and Jake captured them with his own, absently rubbing her hand, enjoying the smooth feel of her. “Is that a promise, ma’am, or a threat to throw me out then?” he asked, his voice low and dark, teasing her.

“Perhaps both,” Isabel said, freeing her hand from his disturbing touch. “I must go. The boys will be waiting, and you need to rest. I’ll be back in a few hours with supper.”

Jake stared after her, wondering what had caused the crack in her cool facade, and why he found it so pleasing to know he’d played a part in it.

Isabel had just finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, and was getting ready to make certain the boys had fed and watered all their animal boarders for the night when a loud rapping sounded at the front door. Pushing her hands down her skirts to dry them, she hurried to answer it.

“Cal,” she said, opening the door to a tall, squarely built man holding a battered hat between his hands. “What brings you here this time of day?”

Isabel forced herself to sound casual, but she’d known Calvin Reed all her life, even before he’d taken over as sheriff in Whispering Creek, and knew he wouldn’t be stopping by twice in two days simply to chat. She remembered her grandmother’s talk about Jerico Grey and wondered just how much of it had been rumor.

“Wearin’ out my welcome, am I, Belle?” Cal asked.

Isabel smiled a little over the familiar nickname, one only Cal used. He’d taken to calling her that ever since she was a little girl and Calvin Reed had been a young deputy, paying court to her mama after her papa had abandoned them.

“Of course not,” she said, leading him inside with a hand on his arm. “Come inside and I’ll get you some coffee.”

Cal ran a hand over his graying hair. The lines in his face seemed deeper, and his eyes sober, telling Isabel more than any words he was worried over something.

“I hate to turn it down, but I’d best get my business out of the way first. I need to speak to your new boarder, if he’s in any shape to have a conversation. Elish tells me you slipped him one of your fine elixirs to get him out of the Silver Rose this mornin’.”

“He’s well enough to talk to you.” Isabel hesitated, then started, “Cal…”

“Now don’t you worry, honey. I just want to see what his business here is. With this recent string of robberies at the mines around here, I can’t be too careful.”

“Do you think…” Isabel stopped, not certain if she wanted to put her fears into words. But it would be better to know. “Is it Jerico?”

“Now Belle—”

“Is it? He did it before. He was robbing camps all over these mountains before he fled the territory.”

“Don’t you worry, now. I know you were sweet on him once. Don’t bother to tell me it’s not true,” he said, holding up a hand to ward off her protest.

“I was a girl, in love with the idea of loving a dangerous man. You can trust my illusions about Jerico faded quickly. If you’re thinking he’d come back to Whispering Creek for me, you’re mistaken.”

“You’re probably right. I suspect his reasons for headin’ this way have more to do with him havin’ the law on his tail in Texas.”

Isabel saw a shadow of doubt in Cal’s eyes and put her hand on his arm, looking straight at him. “If I knew anything, I would tell you. The thought of Jerico coming back here, after all these years—” She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her uneasiness. “I seem to have a knack for attracting the wrong kind of man,” she said with a small smile.

“Like your new boarder? Well, now, he’s probably just what he appears to be, one of them thorns in a sheriff’s side whose luck’s run a little muddy. I’ll have a talk with him, but I doubt he’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Isabel said more to herself than Cal as she turned and led him up the staircase, to the loft.

She knocked once at Jake’s door then opened it halfway and looked inside. Slouched in the rocker he’d shoved next to the window, he was looking out at the deepening evening, a slight frown tensing his face. He’d pulled on a man’s robe he’d found draped over the bed, loosely tying it at the waist.

He turned slightly when he heard Isabel step into the room, and then looked back to the window with a view of the rear garden. “Back again with your weeds so soon?”

“No,” Isabel said, watching him carefully for his reaction. “You have a visitor. Sheriff Reed wants to meet you.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he does,” Jake drawled.

He shifted to look at Cal and surprised Isabel by grinning. “I suppose you’ve decided I’m responsible for robbing every mining office between here and the Texas Panhandle.” Rubbing a hand through his hair, he gave a wry shrug. “Can’t say that I blame you.”

“Then maybe you can tell me why you are here in Whispering Creek, and we can get this settled and leave Mrs. Bradshaw with some peace of mind.”

“I don’t know if it’ll give her any peace of mind but I’ll tell you why I’m here. Jerico Grey.”

Isabel caught her breath and the slight sound caused Jake’s gaze to shift sharply to her. She tried to keep her expression blank, to conceal the twist of emotion she felt hearing Jerico’s name over again after not even thinking it for so many years, and this time hearing it from a stranger.

“What’s your business with Grey?” Cal asked, his expression wooden.

“The same business I’ve had for over six months, only now I intend to finish it.” Pushing himself up out of the rocker, Jake limped over to the corner where Isabel had propped his saddlebag and fished out a mud-spattered badge. He turned and handed it to Cal.

Cal rubbed away the dirt and shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Answering the question on Isabel’s face, he smiled broadly and said, “It looks as if we were paintin’ us a devil’s face on an angel, Belle. Mr. Coulter here is a Texas Ranger.”

“He’s a…” Isabel stared at Cal a moment, trying to decide if she felt relieved Jake Coulter wasn’t an outlaw or angry for how thoroughly she’d been taken in by his appearance.

As Cal’s words sank in fully, she whirled on Jake, her eyes blazing. “I suppose you enjoyed playing the wounded gunslinger, letting me believe I’d let an outlaw into my house, around my boys. You have a strange way of amusing yourself, Mr. Coulter.”

“If I wanted entertainment, I’d have stayed at the Silver Rose, Mrs. Bradshaw. I came here for rest and privacy. I’d just as soon Grey didn’t hear that I’m laid up. None of us want him to come looking for me under your roof. I don’t know how much you know about Jerico Grey, but you can trust me when I say he’s not the kind of man you’d ever turn your back on.”

All traces of warmth had vanished from his face as if they’d never been there and Isabel felt a shiver up her spine looking at the ice in its place.

Jake Coulter might be one step on the right side of the law, but Cal was wrong. He was dangerous, maybe even more so than the man he vowed to bring to justice.

Jake watched her, trying to decipher the odd play of emotions on her face. Anger, worry, he could understand. What confused him was the strong sense that Isabel Bradshaw’s interest in Jerico Grey was more than concern a woman alone would have for herself and her family knowing an outlaw was somewhere in the area.

She seemed strong-willed enough to face down the devil if necessary to protect her own. Yet one name washed the color from her face and put fear in her eyes. At least he thought it was fear.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring at her, trying to figure her out, until the sheriff cleared his throat.

“I’d like to talk to you more about this, when you’re feelin’ up to a walk to my office,” Cal said. “Until then, you’re right, it’s probably best everyone in town thinks you’re another drifter Belle’s taken under her wing for a spell.”

He said something else but Isabel didn’t hear the rest of the conversation between the two men. Jerico was coming back to Whispering Creek and Jake Coulter wanted him dead. What kind of man had she taken into her home? Yet how could she turn him out when he was wounded?

“…you tomorrow, Belle.”

She started, realizing Cal was talking to her. “Yes, yes of course.”

“I’ll see myself out, let you get back to your business.” Shoving his hat back on, he nodded to Jake and gave Isabel’s arm a reassuring pat before clomping back down the stairs.

As his footsteps receded Isabel turned to look fully at Jake.

“I’ll leave. Tonight if possible.” He limped toward the bed and shoved the badge back into his saddlebag. “I’ll see if I can sweet-talk my way into Anita’s room at the Silver Rose.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go walking around town in your condition. Lie down before you fall down,” she commanded, coming to him and pushing a hand flat against his chest.

“I’m going. I had to tell the sheriff the truth. But now that he knows why I’m here, word’s bound to get back to Jerico. I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“I don’t recall asking you to be my protector. You’re hurt, I can help you. That’s the end of it.”

“Is it? Well, I don’t recall asking for your help. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you to stay out of my life. Yet, here you are.” He gestured to her hand, still pressed against his bare chest.

Isabel suddenly became acutely aware of the hard wall of muscle under her palm, and that she stood close enough to him to feel the heat and tension in him.

“Get back into bed,” she said, jerking her hand away. “I refuse to let you go wandering around Whispering Creek, making yourself an easy target for any drunk with a gun. A dead patient isn’t good for business.”

Jake said nothing and for a moment, Isabel thought he would ignore her and limp away anyhow. But finally, he sat down heavily on the bed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t count on me.”

“For what?”

“For anything. Anything at all. I’m here to do this job and then I’ll be moving on to the next one. That’s all I can promise.”

“Do you think I’m so desperate for male companionship I’ll be begging for your attention by week’s end?” Isabel nearly laughed at his arrogance except the shuttered look on his face stopped her. His expression told her he hadn’t made the comment lightly and she wondered what meaning she was supposed to find in it.

“Let me assure you, the only promise I want from you is that you’ll pay your rent on time. Five dollars a week for the room, breakfast and supper. I do laundry and linens once a week.”

“Does that include your weed potions, too?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing with a corner of his mouth.

“Those are on the house. I couldn’t charge for anything you take so much pleasure in.”

There seemed to be nothing else to say, but in the hush that suddenly fell between them, Isabel sensed there was much more, yet neither of them knew how to give it voice. She finally forced herself to end the strange, tense silence, and, murmuring a quick good-night, left him alone.

Jake leaned back against the pillows. He felt completely thrown off center by her. It was a disarming, unsettling feeling unlike any he’d ever known with any other woman.

Not even his wife. It irritated him, like a splinter just under the skin. And it annoyed him even more that he had to depend on her to get back on his feet.

Nothing about Isabel Bradshaw was easy, he was discovering. Except the way she touched him. And that, if he was honest, disturbed him most of all.

Chapter Four

Golden-yellow afternoon sunlight streamed down between snowy clouds, and Matt danced a hopscotch path on the patches of light and shadow across the backyard.

“I get to do it! I found her!” he cried, glancing over his shoulder and picking up his pace as he heard Nate catching up behind him.

Lagging in their wake, Isabel glanced across the stone path to her rose garden and sighed. She had planted the bushes shortly after her marriage, her one indulgence. Some years roses flourished in the high country; other times the extremes of hot days and cold nights, fierce sometimes even here in the valley, drained the life from their fragile petals.

Better to be sturdy than beautiful in this wild place, she thought, looking at several tender new pink and silver blossoms and wondering if they’d have the stamina to survive.

“Mama, hurry!” Matt yelled over his shoulder. “Nate is going to let the roadrunner loose before I even have a chance to say goodbye to her.”

Nate gave a disgusted snort. “Am not! You’re just trying to get me in trouble.”

“I think this is something we can all share,” Isabel said, ruffling Matt’s hair and rubbing Nate’s shoulder. She moved up directly between them and released the wire latch on the cage. “Go ahead, Nate. You can take her out. Gently now.”

Gingerly, Nate reached into the cage and cupped his hands around the bird’s wings so the small creature wouldn’t panic. He spoke softly to it as he eased it into his arms, stroking its tiny head.

“Come on, little one. You can go home today.”

Pride surged through Isabel as she watched him. He was learning. Learning as she had from her mother and Nana that healing was more than medicine; it was also touch and the power and music of the voice. Learning that sharing another’s pain meant sharing their hopes and also rejoicing in their recovery.

An image of her new reluctant patient flashed across her mind. Absently, she glanced upward to where the white lace curtains fluttered in the open window of the room where Jake slept. She’d given him another dose of a willow powder elixir for pain, and had started applying hourly mashes of blue corn to his leg. Despite her care, the wound seemed to want to fester and she worried infection and fever might set in, delaying his recovery, possibly jeopardizing his leg.

And having Jake Coulter under her roof longer than necessary wasn’t something either of them wanted, she reminded herself.

“My turn. My turn,” Matt insisted beside Nate, wriggling with his eagerness to hold the roadrunner.

“Slowly, now,” Isabel encouraged. “Hold her firmly.”

As though lifting a priceless treasure, Matt wrapped his small, sun-browned fingers around the bird and squatted to set it on the earth beneath them.

“Adios, amiga,” he whispered. “Come visit us again one day.”

As soon as he released the long-legged bird, its head darted up at one end, its tail perked at the other. With a quick twist of its neck to look back at his caretakers, it shot away, dashing across the yard toward the evergreen mountains beyond.

“I’m going to miss her.” Matt snuggled close to Isabel. “I wish she could have stayed with us.”

Isabel hugged him to her side. “She’s a wild creature, and she doesn’t need us any longer. But don’t worry, darling, you’ll find another lost or wounded creature who needs a home before you even have this cage cleaned out. Which by the way, you can do after dinner tonight. For now, I need you two to run out to the shed and get a hammer and nails and go up and knock on Mr. Coulter’s door. He may need that dresser space, but the drawer has to be fixed before he can use it.”

“Yes, ma’am. C’mon, Matt, I’ll get the hammer and you can take the nails.”

“I want to hammer! You always get to do the fun part,” Matt grumbled, hopping again from light patch to light patch across the yard after his brother.

Isabel laughed to herself as she turned to head back up the path to the back kitchen door. Those boys…my boys, best friends, worst enemies. At least they have each other, she mused, recalling how all her life she’d longed for a brother or a sister, until Katlyn had come unexpectedly into her life.

She wished she’d known about her half-sister earlier. But their father, a gambler who never stayed in one place longer than his luck held out, left Isabel’s mother before Isabel was born. Five years later, he found his way to Missouri and charmed a vivacious riverboat singer into his bed, leaving her with three-month-old Katlyn.

Something, perhaps guilt, had finally motivated Katlyn’s mother to tell her daughter about her half-sister in Whispering Creek. Shortly thereafter, Katlyn appeared on the doorstep at a time Isabel most needed a sister. She recalled with warmth how Katlyn’s spunk and vigor had been tremendously cheering to her and to the boys when the news came that Douglas wouldn’t be coming back.

As Isabel pushed open the back door, she saw Esme had already begun to set out the simple blue-and-white floral-patterned china on the kitchen worktable for dinner.

Isabel took a brightly painted pottery vase from a shelf on the kitchen wall and arranged a handful of yellow-and-white daises in it she’d plucked on the way back to the house.

“I’ll get the white tablecloth with the little yellow tulips around the edges to go with these,” she told Esme. “Katlyn loves that old thing. I don’t even think she sees all of the stains. She’s always the optimist.”

Esme held a spoon up to the light then wiped a spot from it with the corner of her apron. “Katlyn is too restless to see what is in front of her eyes. She is always looking to the horizon, seeking something she cannot even name.”

“Oh, Nana, I’m sure you said the same about Mama and about me at one time.” As soon as she said the words, Isabel regretted them. It would only give Nana an opening to talk about husbands and Isabel’s refusal to consider another one.

“No, my daughter was not restless, not like Katlyn is. Sonalda dreamed of family, a place for her spirit to rest. My daughter always trusted a man would bring her that happiness.” Esme shook her head. “I warned her, but she could hear nothing but that gambler’s pretty words. He left her before he ever saw you. And you were no different when I told you Douglas Bradshaw and that devil Jerico Grey would do the same.”

Isabel started at the name. She certainly didn’t intend for Esme to bring that up. She stepped over to a simply crafted pine dry sink and pulled open the latch to the shelves beneath to rummage through the linens for the tablecloth. “Yes, well, I can’t say I listened to you about either of them, but Jerico at least was never more than a girlish crush for me. He always frightened me, even then.”

Esme followed Isabel into the dining area and helped her smooth out the cloth on the scuffed pine table, perked up with a good rubdown and a thick coat of beeswax.

“And with good reason,” Esme said, clicking her tongue in disgust. “Ay, that one is more wicked at heart than any I have seen.”

“Well, our new boarder seems determined to find him, one way or the other,” Isabel said lightly. She brought the vase in and centered it on the table, giving her hands something to do as a distraction for her troubled thoughts.