The Lawman's Vow. Elizabeth Lane

charley horse. Need to get up and stretch.”

      “I’ll cover my eyes.”

      “I’ve got a better idea. Go out and get my clothes, wherever you’ve stashed them.”

      “I rinsed them, hung them to dry and put them away for you. But you don’t look strong enough to be up.”

      “I’m damn well strong enough to get my clothes on. Now, go get them. Go!” With the last word, he swung his legs to the floor, turning the expanse of his bare back toward her.

      “Oh!” With a gasp of indignation, she flung the quilt aside, sprang off the foot of the bed and fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

      He stood and stretched the agony out of his leg. He’d been hard on the girl. Too hard, given that she’d probably saved his life. But if she thought she was going to keep him locked up and buck naked, she had a few things to learn. He was getting out of here even if he had to wrap up in the sheet like a damn Roman.

      Now that he was up, the dizziness had come back. His head felt as if hammer-wielding gremlins were pounding on his skull. But he was on his feet to stay, he vowed. And he wouldn’t rest until he knew all there was to know about this place and what had happened to him.

      Legs quivering, Sylvie sagged against the closed door. For someone who’d resolved to take charge, she was off to a pitiful start. All the wretched man had to do was snap at her and bare his splendid back, and she was out of the room like a scared rabbit.

      But that was about to change. He wouldn’t be getting his clothes, or his breakfast, until he’d agreed to her rules.

      Moving deliberately, she added kindling to the coals in the stove and put some coffee on to boil. Two nights ago she’d bundled his clean clothes and dry boots and tucked them under the bed in her own room. They were still there, hidden from sight. And she didn’t plan to give them back until she felt it was safe to do so.

      After taking a moment to check on the sleeping Daniel, she returned to the closed door. From the room beyond, there was no sound. Sylvie hesitated, one hand on the latch. Was Ishmael waiting to ambush her, maybe lock her in and steal everything he could carry off? Even sick, he appeared strong enough to overpower her.

      Walking to the front door, she lifted the loaded shotgun off the rack. Better safe than sorry, she told herself as she thumbed back the hammer, returned to the door and opened it.

      Her breath caught in a gasp.

      Ishmael lay across the bed, wrapped in the sheet and passed out cold.

       Chapter Four

      Fog and drizzle blended with the dank smell of the harbor. Behind him, lanterns flashed in the night. Crowds of theatergoers surged against the cordon of police officers that kept them from rushing into the narrow alley.

       Recognizing him, the police had let him through at once. Now he was plunging through the murk toward a form sprawled on the grimy cobblestones. His eyes glimpsed a rumpled satin cloak trimmed in ermine, then the flutter of dark hair. A single silver kidskin slipper lay soaking up the rain…

       No! Lord have mercy, no!

      “Ishmael! Wake up!”

      He was being shaken with a force that triggered sparks of pain. He opened his eyes to the glare of sunlight. Sylvie was bending over him. Her hands gripped his shoulders. Her gray eyes were storms of worry that cut through the remaining fog of sleep.

      “What…?” He jerked himself awake.

      “Thank goodness!” She drew back, releasing him. “The way you were thrashing and moaning, I was afraid you were having some sort of apoplexy.”

      Sun dazzled, he raised his head. “Bad dream, that’s all. Must’ve blacked out.” His hand moved to his head. The wrapping had come loose, and the soggy poultice was threatening to slide down his face. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

      She saw the problem. “Of course not. In any case, I’ll want to check that head wound. But I’ll need you sitting up.”

      Pushing with his arms, he hoisted himself until the pillow was at his back. Before passing out, he’d used a bedsheet to wrap himself toga style from chest to knee. At least he was decently covered.

      He sniffed the morning air. “Glory be, is that coffee I smell?”

      “Hold still.” Bracing his head, she unwound the bandage and peeled off what remained of the poultice. “It’s looking better,” she said. “No festering, and the swelling’s down. But there’s no telling what’s happened underneath. Since you just fainted, I’d say you need to stay in bed for a day or two.”

      “I asked you a question.”

      “I know you did.” She picked up a strip of clean flannel and began winding it tightly around his head. “We’ll leave the poultice off for now. And yes, it’s coffee you can smell. I’ll bring you some after we’ve had a chance to talk.”

      He scowled up at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was focused on her task, her deft fingers tightening the bandage and tying the ends in a sturdy knot. Her spunk had surprised him. Little as he remembered about himself, it felt natural to be giving orders. Clearly, Sylvie wasn’t impressed. She had put him neatly in his place.

      “Some breakfast would be good, too,” he groused. As if to underscore the words, his stomach gave an audible growl.

      “So you’re hungry, are you? That’s a good sign. When Daniel’s up and the chores are done, I’ll make us all some cornmeal mush. Nobody eats till the animals are taken care of. That’s my father’s rule, and it’s mine, as well.”

      She was rolling up the leftover wrapping when he noticed the old single-barrel shotgun leaning against the door frame. His hand flashed out to catch her wrist. “What were you planning to do with that gun, Sylvie? Shoot me?”

      Her eyes held a glint of steel. “Yes, if it came to that. I have property and a young child to protect. A woman alone can’t be too careful. Now, let go of me this instant.”

      He released her wrist. She snatched her hand away and spun toward the door.

      “You said we needed to talk,” he called out, stopping her in her tracks. “How about now?”

      She turned back, her eyes wary.

      “That is, unless you’re planning to shoot me in the next couple of minutes,” he added, his mouth tightening in a twitch of a smile. “Don’t be afraid, Sylvie. I’m so weak I can barely stand. And even if I could hurt you, I wouldn’t.”

      “How do I know that? And how do you know that? You don’t even remember who you are.” She hesitated, her gaze narrowing. “Do you?”

      He shook his head. “Not yet.”

      “Then please understand if I don’t trust you.”

      “Not sure I even trust myself. But I can’t believe I’d harm you or your little brother. If I’m wrong, you’re welcome to use that shotgun. Now, what is it you want to talk about?”

      Her small hands bunched the hem of her apron. She cleared her throat. “Just this. Until my father comes home, I’m the one in charge here.”

      “I’m aware of that.” He also sensed that part of the picture was missing. Did she even have a father, or had she invented him as a means of protection? Clearly, the girl hadn’t built this cabin by herself. But there had to be more to the story than what she’d told him.

      Sylvie Cragun…Why did the name sound familiar? Blast it, why couldn’t he remember?

      “There are rules,” she was saying, “and as long as you’re here, you’re to follow them. First of all, you’re not to lay a finger on Daniel, or on me, or on anything that doesn’t belong