In Safe Hands. Linda Conrad

already made up his mind to find out everything. She would tell him first whether she had been sent to do him harm, and then she would complete her tale about his brother. The truth. Every bit of it.

      It mattered little that her appearance affected him like no other woman’s. With everything they’d been through, he couldn’t imagine why his body kept betraying him with primal, sexual reactions. But he swore to set all that aside.

      “What are you up to, Maggie Ryan? How did you know where to find me?”

      Maggie winced inwardly, not sure how to explain. “I’ll tell you everything as best I can. But let me work on your leg at the same time.”

      He didn’t bat an eyelash, just continued staring her down.

      “Please. I swear I can help you. Let me.”

      Something must have gotten to him, either her words or the way she stood up to him, because he relented at last. “What are you planning then? Shall we cut off the blasted leg entirely?”

      The words had been said without so much as a smile, but they made her chuckle. “Heavens no. I have some…um…lotions that I’ll make into a poultice. It’ll relieve the pain, I promise. And I can put a couple of sutures in, too, if need be.”

      Maggie bent to paw through the denim backpack containing her medicines. “Can you lie back again, please?”

      She took her bag into the bathroom and mixed up her healing concoctions. Back at his side, Maggie went straight to work, splashing blanquillo, a clear liquid, over his leg.

      Ready now to apply the poultice she’d made, Maggie gazed into his eyes. “This shouldn’t hurt. Try not to move.”

      He stopped her by holding up his hand. “Tell me what’s in the poultice first.”

      Impatiently, Maggie shook her head. “Look, I have training as a curandera—a healer—in Texas and Mexico. I can take away your suffering.”

      When he continued to stare at her, she sighed and went on, “The poultice contains herbs and dried plants, nothing harmful. Let me—”

      “Which herbs and plants?”

      Gritting her teeth, she told him. “It’s a basic mixture of basil, rosemary and rue, the holy trinity for Mexican witchcraft.” When he didn’t flinch at the word witchcraft, she went on. “To those I’ve added three specially dried plants. Mexican arnica—”

      “Camphor weed. Yes, I can smell the astringent. What else?”

      Surprised, she went on. “Spikenard for open sores and silk tassel for the pain reliever.”

      “I recognize the name silk tassel, it’s called quinine bush in some places. But the other…”

      “It’s rare. Also called elk clover, and found only in a few mountain areas in the Southwestern United States and Mexico.”

      He nodded his head and lay back against the pillows. “Okay, go ahead. But I want your story at the same time. I’d wager you’re the kind of witch that can do at least two things at one time.”

      “How do you know so much about the healing properties of some pretty obscure plants?”

      With his eyes closed, he answered in a weak voice, “I’ve spent time in some pretty obscure places in the world. The uses for medicinal plants and herbs are not just the province of Mexican witches, you know.”

      His eyes flickered open again for a brief moment. “But quit hedging, woman. Begin your story.”

      She began applying the poultice. “I’m from a little town in south Texas near the Mexican border. A place called Zavala Springs. It’s a ranching town, surrounded by the multithousand-acre Delgado Ranch. You may have heard of the ranch, it’s pretty famous. The Delgado Ranch is my family’s heritage, but the whole area is a really nice place to live and grow up in.”

      Was that a good enough recommendation to entice him to leave Emma there? Probably not.

      Colin sat back, watching her work with icy-blue eyes that were becoming evermore sharp and clear.

      She decided to approach this from another direction. “I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m sure your brother was the one killed in the auto accident late last spring. He was using the name John Sheridan and he and his wife had been living in Alexandria, Virginia.”

      Shaking his head, Colin leaned forward and spoke with quiet danger in his voice. “In the first place, my brother wasn’t married, as I said before. And second, how could you possibly connect a man named John Sheridan to my brother and then to me?” Not waiting for an answer, he plowed ahead. “I owe you a huge thanks for getting me out of that room, Maggie, and I’m grateful for your efforts at natural healing on my behalf. But what’s the truth of why you sought me out? What aren’t you telling me?”

      She fought to get control of the conversation. “Look, I’m sure of my facts. You’ve been searching for your brother, haven’t you? Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned already, and than we can compare what we know. I think what I know will hold up to whatever you have.”

      Colin had to admit that she’d saved his life. And if she had actually wanted him dead, there’d been plenty of opportunities to do the deed. But it was the vulnerable look in her eyes that finally got him this time.

      What did he have to lose? “All right. Fine.” He winced as she dabbed the poultice on his open wound. “I’ve discovered my brother was recruited by SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service, while I was overseas at war.”

      That idea still troubled Colin. Had John gone into covert work in an effort to impress him? Perhaps to get his attention?

      Focusing on the present, he went on, “A couple of years ago John participated in an international, interagency sting in Mexico. The mission was to infiltrate the Mexican drug trade, one organization in particular. But then the sting went sour and John disappeared.”

      Colin caught his breath and watched Maggie’s expression as he finished the story. “It’s taken me months to get a line on what happened to him, to assure myself that he wasn’t murdered in Mexico. A contact in your state department let me know that John had been threatened, yes, but he’d escaped. Someone, a shadowy figure and difficult to find, knew of his whereabouts. That was the man I expected to meet, when you arrived instead—and the shooting started.”

      Maggie’s eyes went wide. “I came only because I needed to ask how you feel about…”

      Halting her stumbling words, Maggie worried that she’d already said too much in the wrong way, so she began again. “After we…um…buried the Sheridans and I took in their child, I made every attempt to locate relatives, however distant. I searched the Internet for months. Even the rental car agency records were of little help. I found out that the Sheridans had rented a townhouse in Alexandria about a year ago, but their neighbors don’t remember much about them.”

      “Go on,” he urged impatiently, while she gulped in a breath.

      “Their licenses and the baby’s birth certificate were registered there, but that seems to be where the trail begins and ends. It’s like they appeared out of thin air a year ago.” She sighed heavily. “So, while I was searching, I became their child’s foster mother. Your niece’s foster mother. How would you feel about…I mean…”

      Her words died in her throat. She was too scared to ask.

      “You still haven’t said how you connected…”

      “You to John Sheridan?” She refused to think of the consequences and plowed ahead. “Witchcraft. My Abuela Lupe helped me. She possesses crystals that see things hidden to others, and she knows how to use their special powers. We weren’t looking for people so much as a specific location of the nearest relative.”

      Forcing herself to make eye contact, she continued,