Her Montana Man by Cheryl St.john Page A

the
    threshold.
    “He’s gonna be fine,” the other man told them. “Doc dug out a slug.”
    “Walk him on up to his rooms, Mr. Baxter,” Lily said.
    “Lead the way, Eliza Jane. I’m not climbing those stairs again tonight.”
    Eliza had helped Lily and Phoebe prepare the bed with additional layers of sheets. They’d warmed
    water for washing. His quarters took up one entire end of the second floor and consisted of a large sitting
    room and a separate sleeping area. The furnishings were dark heavy wood, solid, but not elaborate.
    Eliza opened the door and stood just inside as the man in his union suit entered behind Jonas.
    “I’m all right.” Jonas’s skin appeared dark against the white bandages.
    “Take that elixir the doc gave you,” Baxter told him.
    Jonas nodded, and the man left.
    “There’s warm water,” Eliza said.
    He placed his revolver on the bureau and met her gaze in the framed mirror. “You all right?”
    “Perfectly.” She moved forward. “Let me help you.” She took the washrag, soaked it and wrung it in the
    basin. Streaks of blood had dried on his arm, and she wiped them away gently with the wet cloth. “I
    heard you didn’t find anyone.”
    “He got away.”
    “Has anything like this ever happened before? Do you have any idea who it might have been?”
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    “First thought was Baslow,” he said.
    She’d considered him, too. The man had been furious with Jonas.
    “Do you want to wash your face?”
    He nodded.
    She soaped the cloth and handed it to him. After he washed, she rinsed it out and gave it back. He gave
    his skin a halfhearted swipe.
    “Here,” she said, taking the cloth and wiping his face. He closed his eyes. Standing close, reaching up to
    perform the task, her breast brushed the back of his fingers where they protruded from the sling.
    His eyes opened and his dark gaze burned into hers. A sensation like heat lightning skittered through her
    body. Their kiss was foremost in her thoughts, but she suspected Jonas had more significant things on his
    mind.
    A flash of lightning lit the end of the room, followed by the low rumble of thunder. She busied herself
    drying him with the towel. Sweat had already broken out on his forehead. “Where’s the medicine?” she
    asked.
    He reached into his left pocket with his good hand and drew out a slim brown bottle. “A teaspoonful.”
    “I’ll get a spoon.” She hurried downstairs and fumbled her way into the dark kitchen to retrieve the
    utensil. The rain beat a rhythm on the tin stovepipe as she searched drawers and cupboards. When she
    returned, he was lying on his back on the bed, one booted foot crossed over the other, mouth in a grim
    line.
    She measured the dose.
    “I’ll do it.” He sat up and took the spoon from her, their fingers brushing. A drip hit his trousers during
    the transfer.
    She capped the bottle and set it away. “Let me help you get your boots off.”
    He offered one leg at a time, and she tugged until they slid off. Uncomfortable now, she wondered if he
    wanted to strip out of his trousers. “I can get someone else to help with the rest.”
    “I can undress myself,” he assured her. “C’mere first.”
    She took a hesitant step closer to the edge of his bed. He reclined and closed his eyes, but not until he’d
    reached for her hand and she allowed him to hold it. “You need to rest,” she told him.
    “Tell me now if you’re gonna pretend like nothin’ ever happened, so I’ll know what to expect.”
    It took her a minute to collect her thoughts.
    “I don’t think I could pretend that well,” she replied at last. Whatever happened next, that tantalizing
    kiss—and his warm embrace—would be with her forever.
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    He opened his eyes to look at her then. “That’s good to know.”
    She should have told him right then and there that