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