The Outlaw Bride by Sandra Chastain Page B

remained still. “Yes.”
    She lifted a cup and a reed, studied him for a moment, then placed the reed into the cup and sucked water into it. Next she covered the top of the reed with her finger to trap the liquid before she inserted it into his mouth.
    The water was tepid, but he thought it was the most welcome thing he’d ever experienced. Considering he had no memory of the past, that probably meant very little.
    Twice more she drew up water and dribbled it into his mouth. “Enough?”
    “Yes.”
    She pulled a muslin sheet over him and tucked it beneath his chin. “You should rest.”
    She started to move away.
    “Wait!”
    “Yes?”
    “Your name?” he whispered.
    “I’m Rachel,” she answered.
    “Where are the others?”
    Tiny worry lines wrinkled her brow. “You mean the other travelers? They’re in their wagons.”
    “And your husband?”
    She averted her eyes. “I don’t have one … any longer. He’s passed on.”
    There was something wrong with her answer. He didn’t know yet what it was. Then it came to him. “You found me? You took me into your wagon when you didn’t even know me?”
    She waited a long time before she answered. “I didn’t have to. I always knew you would come.”
    She didn’t know him, but she had been expecting him? Nothing made any sense. Suddenly he felt a cold rush of fear, as if he were stumbling through icy water,being sucked down by a current he could neither see nor touch. As he tried to line up his thoughts, a feeling of urgency swept over him. There was somewhere he had to be. “I thank you, ma’am, for taking me in and caring for me. But I have to get back home.” He had to—
    “Where is your home, Jacob?”
    He started to answer, then realized that he didn’t know. “I … I’m not sure. I can’t seem to remember. I don’t know. I don’t know who I am.”
    “You’re Jacob,” she said softly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”
    “Why? Why are you doing this? Why were you expecting me?”
    “Because I prayed for a good man. And God sent you.”
    Josie walked into the Laramie City jail in the middle of the afternoon. She hadn’t wanted to come, but after three days of assuming that Will was changing Callahan’s bandages, she knew it was time for her to resume some responsibility for her patient. Now he was her client.
    The town jail had started out as a store with two windows on the front. Dr. Annie had insisted that they be opened in the heat of the summer, so they’d covered the windows with bars. But the bars didn’t keep people from looking in. From the sidewalk she could see Will Spencer. He sat in a rickety chair, his back to the street, his feet crossed at the ankles and resting on his desk.
    She entered the open door, walked past him, and stood outside the only cell. Will snored lightly, his head leaned against the crude log wall behind him.
    Callahan sat on his cot with his back against the far wall, watching her.
    “How are you?” she asked.
    “About as well as you could expect, considering I’m shot to hell and in a jail cell.”
    His reply made her feel like a schoolgirl. “I meant, how are your wounds?”
    “You don’t want to know.”
    “Yes, I do. I’m your doctor.”
    “You’re my lawyer, too. Why haven’t you gotten me out of here?”
    Their conversation came in jerky sentences, as if they were strangers, instead of—what were they? He’d kissed her, that was all. No, that wasn’t all. He’d called her darlin’ and he’d touched her—‘loved her,’ he’d said.
    In spite of her past, Josie had never heard anyone talk about a man loving a woman that way, not like Callahan had loved her. She shook off the rush of sensation those thoughts dredged up. He was out of her house now. All that was behind them. She understood he was just a man with manly needs that he expected to be satisfied. Yet, she was the one whose needs had been satisfied. What, she wondered, did that do to the