“There’s a covered pot in the corner of the bedroom. It’s clean. Use it.” Miranda wished she could keep from blushing, knew he was trying to upset her, perhaps intimidate her. Was everything she had heard about this man true? Thank goodness he was too weak to try anything, but what about when he was stronger? If she had any sense, she would tie him up once she got him back into bed, and she would go for help.
“Your generosity…is appreciated,” he answered sarcastically. He turned, and Miranda forced back a gasp at the sight of deep red scars on the man’s back, which looked as though he had been whipped. She raised the rifle again and aimed it at that back, part of her telling herself to be very, very careful; another part of her strangely touched by the things he had muttered, the scars she had seen; and yet another part of her attracted to his very masculine build, the broad shoulders and solid hips.
Jake stumbled back into the bedroom, cursing his condition, even angrier that it was because of the woman who held a rifle on him now and who still had the upper hand. How in hell had he gotten into this ridiculous situation? “Do you need any help?” he heard her asking.
“Hell, no!” he growled, only hoping he was right. It took every ounce of strength and determination he had left to tend to himself. He heard her walking about in the main room, and he hated this feeling of dependency. He was entirely at the woman’s mercy, when if he had his normal strength he could break her in half—her, the same woman who had shot him in the first place! God, his gut burned, and his head ached so fiercely that he kept seeing bright flashes. Was she really serious about hiding him if someone came? Why in hell would she want to do that? He was worth five thousand dollars! What was that line she fed him about a man’s life being worth more than a reward? Certainly not his life. The woman was either stalling him or a little bit crazy. He just couldn’t figure out which.
He managed to put the lid back on the pot and stand up long enough to wrap the towel completely around his waist.
“If you’re able to stand a little longer, I would like to put some clean blankets on the bed, Mr. Harkner.”
Jake turned to see her standing at the doorway. He twisted the towel so it would stay in place, then braced himself against the chest of drawers. “Go ahead.” He watched her come into the room. She avoided his eyes as she quickly jerked some blankets off the feather mattress. “What about my horse?” he asked. “He needs his saddle—”
“I tended to him last night. Once you’re settled back in this bed, I’ll let him and my own draft horses out to graze. There is some low ground not far from here where there is always water. They’ll find it.”
He swallowed against a sudden feeling of nausea, hoping she got the bed ready before he passed out. “What if somebody sees him?”
“He won’t be saddled,” she answered, turning to the trunk with the faded flowers on top and raising the lid. She took out clean blankets. “If anyone notices, I’ll tell them I don’t know where he belongs—that he strayed here from somewhere. It happens all the time—other farmers’ horses get loose. You left town so fast yesterday, I don’t think anyone even knew what kind of horse you were riding. I didn’t know myself until I found him in the shed.” There was a moment of silence as she kept working.
“Where’s that rifle of yours?” he asked then.
Miranda glanced up at him. The man was all power and experience. “Hidden in the other room.” She returned to tucking blankets. “I figured you were in no condition to manage to ransack a room to find it or your own guns, and I don’t imagine you would even be very effective in trying to hurt me. I simply decided to take a chance on your present weakness.” She quickly remade the bed, amazed at how she was able to carry on a conversation with a killer, still wondering why she was bothering to help him. She finished and stepped back. “There. You can lie back down.”
She moved to the doorway, and Jake watched her a moment, seeing the fear then. She had let her guard down for a moment. A big, strong, naked man was standing in her bedroom, a man with a reputation as a killer and rapist. She must feel awfully vulnerable herself, he thought. He had never been in such an odd situation with a proper woman before. Why did he feel this sudden compassion for her? “Look, lady, you can believe me…or not. I didn’t do…what that bounty hunter said. I have killed men…but mostly out of…self-defense…men wanting to challenge me when I’d rather be left alone. I’ve done a lot of wrong things…and I expect I deserve prison for it…but I’ve never laid a hand wrongly on a woman, never beat one, never raped one, proper…or not. Fact is…part of the trouble I’m in is…because I tried to help a woman…more than once. You don’t have to be afraid of me. That’s…the God’s truth. All I want is to get well…and get out of here.”