Wild Is My Heart (3 page)

First Colt removed her oversize jacket which had no doubt been meant to disguise her feminine curves. Moving his hands to the buttons on her checkered shirt, he carefully peeled the blood-soaked garment from her shoulders, earning a groan from her bloodless lips as he raised her to slide her arms out. The sight that met his tawny eyes turned them to glittering golden slits.

He had thought her a half-formed schoolgirl, but her generously proportioned breasts crowned by dusty rose nipples were hardly childlike. Samantha, or Sam as she was called, obviously was a woman full grown. One fully responsible for the crime she had just committed. Despite the familiar tightening in his loins, Colt deliberately turned his eyes away from those tempting forbidden fruits and concentrated instead on her wound.

Lifting the blood-encrusted kerchief he had used to stanch the blood, Colt saw at a glance that the bullet was still embedded in her chest. He’d hoped it had gone cleanly through, leaving a neat hole, but that hadn’t been the case. The bullet had to come out, and mere was no one to do it but him.

“What are you doing?” Sanchez had just reentered the room with a stack of towels, soap, whiskey, and a basin. “You’ve removed Senorita Sam’s clothes.” His voice held a strong hint of reproach and his face was filled with indignation.

“Christ, Sanchez, I can’t take the bullet out with her clothes in the way. Either do it yourself or let me do what has to be done.”

Muttering in Spanish beneath his bream, Sanchez shambled out of the room, returning moments later with a kettle of boiling water. Colt retrieved a long, slim knife from his boot, dropped it in the basin, and poured the boiling water over it. He let it sit a few minutes and men carefully removed it and plunged his hands into the water, scrubbing vigorously with the bar of lye soap. He had seen too many men die of infection in the war to discount cleanliness when it came to open wounds. He didn’t want to touch Sam’s pristine flesh with filthy hands and dirty fingernails. Then, to Sanchez’s surprise, he poured whiskey over the knife, his hands, and the wound in Sam’s chest. She jerked violently but did not awaken.

“What can I do, Senor?”

“She’s goin’ to start thrashin’ around when I probe for the bullet,” Colt said. “You can help by holdin’ her down.”

“Si,”
Sanchez nodded grimly. “Senorita Sam is very brave, she will live.”

“She’s also very foolish,” Colt muttered darkly. “If you’re ready, I’ll begin.”

His hand steady on the knife, Colt started the delicate operation as he probed ruthlessly into Sam’s tender flesh. Deep in unconsciousness, Sam felt the pain and reacted violently. But Sanchez was ready, his gnarled hands somehow finding the strength to hold her narrow shoulders pinned to the bed. Her head thrashed from side to side, and she screamed once, twice, then went still.

“Is she dead?” Sanchez asked fearfully.

“No, but she’s in shock,” Colt noted, wiping at the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.

“Have you found the bullet, Senor?”

“No, dammit. Can you wipe away some of this sweat, Sanchez? I can barely see what I’m doin’.”

No longer needed for the previous task Colt had set for him, Sanchez complied.

“There it is, I found it!” Colt shouted, elated as the tip of his knife scraped against the metal ball. “It’s lodged against the breastbone.”

Carefully, his hands shaking with the strain, Colt pried the bullet out of the wound. When it was visible to the eye, he used his fingers to lift it free, dropping it in the basin.

“It’s done.” Colt sagged wearily, staring at the gaping hole in Sam’s chest.

She looked so innocent lying there. Innocent and vulnerable. He had probably saved her life, yet duty dictated he must turn her over to the sheriff in Karlsburg once she was well enough to travel. Perhaps it would have been kinder to let her the. Well, it was done. He had only to finish up and watch carefully for infection. The next thirty-six hours would be crucial.

Reaching for the whiskey, Colt poured a liberal dose into the wound, then took up needle and thread and made a few clumsy stitches to hold the edges together. He finished by preparing a thick bandage and holding it in place with strips of cloth wound about Sam’s chest.

“Bring more water, Sanchez,” Colt directed tiredly. “I need to get her cleaned up.”

“Where did you learn to do that, Senor?” Sanchez asked, gesturing toward Sam’s neatly bandaged chest.

“When you’ve bummed around as long as I have you learn many things,” Colt said wryly, not wanting to go into details. The truth was that one of his duties in the Mexican War had been assisting the surgeon. After the war ended he’d considered studying medicine until he found his parents brutally murdered and his sister missing. That incident had changed the fabric of his entire life.

Once Sanchez had refilled the basin and left to prepare a broth from the squirrel he had shot that morning, Colt set to work cleaning Sam’s mud-splattered body. The first thing he did was remove her boots and pants. Tawny eyes widened appreciatively as he bared long, slender thighs, shapely calves, and trim ankles. But what really drew his attention was the jet black forest crowning the vee between her legs. Judging from her ample proportions, Colt assumed her to be over eighteen. He couldn’t help wondering about her accomplice and if they were lovers. He’d ask Sanchez about it later, but unless Sam was isolated from civilization, her body was too lush, too developed for her to be an untouched virgin. Perhaps he …

“Don’t even think it,” Colt muttered aloud, mentally chiding himself for his erotic thoughts about the female bandit he had unknowingly shot and nearly killed. He had a job to do, a town to defend, an oath to uphold. Colt was astute enough to realize this woman meant trouble, and in any event she’d soon be behind bars where she belonged. Once she revealed where her partner had gone with the money, he’d turn them both over to the sheriff. The sooner he was rid of the treacherous little beauty, the better he’d like it. Colt sensed in her a threat—a threat to his independence, his freedom, his very existence.

Shaking his tawny head to rid himself of thoughts that could only bring him woe, Colt set his mouth in grim lines and began bathing Sam’s face and body. So beautiful, he thought distractedly when her face was shiny clean.

The tangled mass of black hair was long and straight, accentuating high cheekbones and golden skin. The contrast of tan skin and ebony hair was startling. It surprised Colt that her flesh was golden all over, not just where her exposed parts had been kissed by the sun. She had a lovely mouth, full-lipped and red—enticing enough to make him want to taste the sweet nectar within. With firm resolve and a tiny bit of reluctance, Colt pulled the sheet over Sam’s clean body and left the room. There was much he wanted to know about the wounded girl lying in the bed. Information only Sanchez could supply.

Chapter Two

H
er name is Samantha Howard,” Sanchez revealed grudgingly. If this gringo meant harm to either Senorita Sam or Will, he would volunteer nothing substantial. “She is twenty years old.”

“Where are her parents?”

“Dead.”

“A guardian?”

“No one. Her father was killed by the Crowder gang six months ago. Her mother thed long before that.”

“Does no one else live here on the ranch?”

“There’s no one left but me and W—just me,” Sanchez amended. “Who are you, Senor? Why did you shoot Senorita Sam? She is a good girl.”

Colt snorted derisively. “I hadn’t the slightest inklin’ the bandit I shot was a woman,” Colt defended stoutly. “She robbed the stagecoach and I went after her. My name is Colt…Andrews,” he improvised, choosing the last name he had used during the years he drifted from place to place. Somehow, using his real name had seemed an insult to his parents. “I’m a Texas Ranger. I was ridin’ the stage from San Antonio when a holdup occurred. Two bandits escaped with a considerable amount of gold. Imagine my shock when the one I shot turned out to be a woman! What do you know about her pardner? I’m almost certain the one that got away was male.”

“Nothing, Senor, I know nothing,” Sanchez returned quickly. Almost too quickly. “Senorita Sam told me nothing. She knew I would disapprove.”

“Did she have a…friend who might have talked her into this dang fool idea? Whatever possessed her to pull a dangerous and foolhardy stunt like that?”

“You’ll have to ask Senorita Sam,” Sanchez insisted staunchly, clamping his mouth shut. “It’s not for me to say.” Fiercely loyal, Sanchez refused to say a word against the young woman he had known since her birth. There were even things Senorita Sam didn’t know about herself. Things he had promised Senor Howard he would never divulge. “What do you intend to do with her?”

“As soon as she’s recovered—if she recovers,” Colt added ominously—“I intend to learn the identity of her pardner and recover the gold. They’ll both be turned over to the sheriff in Karlsburg.”

“No, Senor Colt, I beg you. Not that. Senorita Sam could be sent to prison. Or worse, if Sheriff Bauer has his way. He is one mean hombre.”

“She should have thought of that before she tried anythin’ so reckless.” Colt scowled, wondering what the old Mexican had meant by his last remark about Sheriff Bauer. “What made her do such a thing?”

Sanchez knew exactly why Sam robbed the stage but held firm to his resolve to divulge nothing to this fierce Texas devil. “I am an old man, Senor, and the years have taught me to mind my own business.”

Snorting in disgust, Colt replied, “You’re doin’ Sam no favor by remainin’ mute. No matter. One way or another I will have the truth—and the gold. I’m hungry, Sanchez, rustle me up some grub.”

Twenty-four hours later Samantha returned to the world of the living. Surprisingly, her wound remained infection-free, and, though still gravely ill, she had not suffered extensively from fever.

Huge violet eyes reacted slowly to the relentless stab of sunlight upon weighted lids, and with difficulty Sam clawed her way through layers of suffocating cotton into stark reality. She blinked repeatedly until the mist before her eyes cleared and a rather startling image came into focus.

Lounging against the doorframe, hands laced across his flat, buckskin-clad stomach, one long leg crossed in front of the other, a tall, slim man stood looking directly at her. His thick hair was sun-streaked tawny gold. His nose was straight and bold, his mouth full and sensual. In one lazy motion he pushed himself away from the door, gliding to her bedside with catlike grace and a hip-rolling stride. At close range his golden brown eyes appeared liquid and shiny. For some reason this intriguing stranger looked vaguely familiar. Was he a friend of Will’s? And what was he doing in her bedroom? Had he named himself the devil, Sam wouldn’t have been shocked, for an aura of something dark and mysterious surrounded him.

A sudden untoward movement sent shards of agonizing pain knifing across her upper body. She struggled to sit up, unaware that her motions caused the sheet to drop around her waist, baring breasts the color of rich cream tipped with dusty coral.

“Hellfire and damnation, I hurt,” Sam moaned, tears springing to those incredible violet eyes. Colt felt as if he could lose himself in their mysterious velvet depths forever. “What happened? Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember?” Colt asked cautiously. No answer, just a wide, innocent stare that completely unnerved him. “Lay back, you’ve been wounded.” With gentleness rare in a man of his calling, he pressed her back against the pillow. “You’re a mighty sick gal and damn lucky to be alive.”

Glancing down to locate the cause of her terrible pain, Sam gasped in mortification to find herself naked from the waist up except for a bandage covering her upper chest. Groping clumsily beneath the sheet, she discovered her entire body was likewise unclothed. A deep red traveled slowly up her neck to the roots of her hair. “What have you done to me? Where is Will?” She pulled the sheet up to rest beneath her chin.

“Who is Will?” Colt asked with deceptive calm.

“Will is…” Suddenly Sam’s eyes flew open and her mouth clamped shut.

“You may as well tell me, Sam, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Now I remember!” Sam cried, appalled by what her memory had dredged up. “Hellfire and damnation, you shot me! Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“I saved your life, Miss Samantha Howard, you should thank me.” His use of her full name made Sam aware that he knew more about her than she would have liked.

“Thank you? You could have killed me,” she spat.

“Where is your pardner?” Colt asked angrily. “Where did he take the gold?”

“Why should you care?”

“My name is Colt Andrews. I’m a Texas Ranger. Mayor Mohler of Karlsburg wired Cap’n Ford for help with the Crowder gang. Seems like they’re terrorizin’ the town and disruptin’ business. I was on my way there by stage when the holdup occurred. Are you and your pardner mixed up with Crowders?” Colt really didn’t believe that, but one never knew. Looks were often deceiving.

“N…no! They killed my father! How could you think such a thing?”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

“Vamoose, Ranger, can’t you see I’m hurting? Haven’t you done me enough harm?”

An unaccustomed twinge of guilt contorted Colt’s rugged features. He had seen so much suffering during the war he had become immune to it. “Okay, Miss Howard, I’ll let you rest—for now. Sooner or later you’ll be well enough to pay for your crime.” He turned to leave.