the patient.
“You’re not touching me!” A low pain-filled voice whispered. “I’d rather die.”
Adam watched the youth before him, more frightened by what he saw than by the pistol. Blood pulsed out with each heartbeat from the wound at the man’s side.
“Dear God, didn’t they apply a pressure wrap?” Adam shoved the gun aside and pulled the man’s bloody fingers from the injury.
His patient relaxed, too weak to stand his ground as Adam began pulling away clothes.
He noticed the reb didn’t turn loose of the Colt, even when unconscious. The youth wore a thick cotton undershirt that was skintight. With sure hands, Adam grabbed the small scissors in his bag and went to work.
As he cut the cotton away, surprise almost made him cry out, not at the wound, but at the body of a woman.
This Gray Shadow was female. Thin to the point of starvation, pale from lack of sun, but definitely all woman.
Adam smiled. Probably another reason he’d be dead come morning. If the others let him live, she’d kill him for finding out her secret. She’d kept it well by binding her now free, full breasts and her bulky clothes covered any curve of waist or fullness of hip. If Tyler had known she was a woman, Adam knew he’d never have left them alone. And if the woman guarded her secret so carefully, she’d have to see him dead… if she lived through the night.
There was no time to worry about tomorrow or her being a woman. With each heartbeat, she was a little closer to death. Right now all he had time to think about was that she was his patient and he had to fight to keep her alive.
TWO
NICHOLE FELT THE stranger’s hands moving along her side. The wound still throbbed but it no longer burned, and the pounding in her head had eased. She seemed to be floating deep beneath murky waters. Only the skin he touched came alive as his warm fingers moved over her.
Without opening her eyes, she waited, trying to guess what this man in blue might do next. If she’d learned nothing else from her big brother, it had been to anticipate the unexpected from the enemy. Only this Yank wasn’t acting like an enemy.
Slowly, she tightened the fingers of her right hand and felt her Colt still in place. The fool hadn’t bothered to remove the weapon when he’d had the chance. After years of riding with the Shadows, she’d learned to keep her grip tight even in sleep.
Warm water dripped across her waist just before a cloth gently stroked her flesh. Long strong hands moved to her back and lifted her slightly from the table. She felt his fingers spread along her skin as he began wrapping a soft bandage around her.
Nichole tensed. She’d never encountered a man who so boldly touched so much of her body. In fact touching anyone, or being touched, was not a part of her life.
“Easy now,” he whispered as he worked. “I’ll have you all bandaged up in a minute.”
She tried to relax, as if still in sleep, while his fingers slid along the bandage, checking his work. The warmth of his caress penetrated the material in healing strokes. She’d always thought a lover’s hands would feel like this- strong, and sure, and kind.
He lifted her carefully from the table and rested her head on his shoulder as he pulled her shirt down over her injury. She felt his heart pounding next to hers and smelled the hint of shaving soap and wool. Nichole pushed the memory of a blue uniform from her mind and gave herself over to the sanctuary of his arms.
“You’re going to be all right,” he whispered against her cheek. “No matter what happens to me come morning, you’re going to live. Who knows, maybe you’ll even allow the world to know what a beautiful woman you are hidden beneath these dirty clothes.”
He cradled her against him and moved to the half-crumbled fireplace. Very gently, he knelt and sat with his back against the brick. He sat her between his chest and knee as she stretched her legs toward the warmth of a dying fire. She could feel his heart beating as his knee braced her back and his outstretched leg rested against hers.
She fell asleep with his hand gently brushing over her short hair and the warmth of his body barring any cold from her back. For the first time in years, her fingers uncoiled from her weapon. Her hand moved against the wall of his chest. His embrace seemed to welcome her safely home.
It was almost dawn when she awakened. Without moving, she slowly opened her eyes. The man, only inches away, slept soundly, his warm breath brushing her forehead. One of his arms draped across her shoulder, the other lay along her leg, his hand resting just above her knee.
Nichole shifted slightly, watching his face. As her hand found the gun, she couldn’t stop staring at the man. His hair was chestnut brown, his face tan and handsome. Tiny worry lines ran along his forehead. Light brown stubble covered a strong chin. Nothing seemed hard or cold about him, unlike every man she’d known. There was a strength about him, a quiet strength.
Slowly, she raised the Colt.
He reacted to her movement and opened his eyes.
Sleepy, brown eyes, filled with worry, stared at her for a moment before he smiled with what she thought was pride.
“’Morning,” he whispered as his hand moved along her leg and across her hip to gently rest against her side. “Feeling better?”
Nichole straightened. He’d touched her so easily, so naturally, as if he’d done so for a lifetime. “I’m fine,” she lied. In truth she wasn’t sure she had the energy to stand. “And I thank you for taking that bullet out of me last night.”
The man chuckled. “I somehow guessed your voice would have a slow low drawl to it, but I never thought your eyes would be green. So green. Like full summer just after it rains.”
He looked away, thinking he was making a fool of himself. She was his patient, his enemy. “I checked the stitches I had to make in your side about an hour ago. They were holding, but you’ll have to take it easy for a few days.”
His voice died suddenly as she brought the barrel of her weapon to his throat.
“Did you touch me last night?” Nichole had to know how much liberty this Yankee took while she was unconscious.
“I did,” he answered as if he didn’t know he’d just signed his death sentence. “Doctors usually do touch their patients.”
“How much?”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “No more than was necessary during the operation. Afterward, I did my best to clean away all the blood around the wound.” He let out a long breath. “But when you were bandaged and sleeping.” His confession came slowly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen anything but war. I couldn’t stop myself from…”
Nichole forgot about the throbbing in her head and the pain in her side. Her finger tightened slightly on the trigger. This man had to be telling the truth. Why would he lie about such a thing? Unless he had a death wish. She’d heard of men just looking for a reason to die and be done with the war. She was torn between killing him for what he’d done and letting him live just to ruin his plans.
“Where?” she demanded. “Where’d you touch me?”
The man stared at her with gentle brown eyes. “I assure you, miss, it was nowhere improper. No more than we’d have touched if dancing.”
Now it was Nichole’s turn to laugh. She’d never danced in her life, and probably never would. She was in the company of men enough to hear how they talked, and she’d be willing to bet most of her comrades would have fondled her plenty if they had the chance and knew she was a woman.
Pushing the gun against his throat, she whispered, “I have to kill you, Yank.”
