Texas Rebels: Egan. Linda Warren

      She kept her eyes on the door and soon he walked in with a bucket of water, which he set on the floor. Blood covered his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

      “I have to clean those wounds and see how bad they are.”

      She pushed herself to a sitting position and brushed her fingers through her blood-caked, tangled hair. Egan’s hand touched her face and neck and she stilled. No one had ever touched her that way—gentle, caring and respectful.

      “The skin is broken in several places and your neck has two punctures, but they don’t look deep. I’ll clean them with the water and then I can see better.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dipped it in the bucket. Looking at her, he added, “It might be best if you remove your blouse. Some of the scratches on your neck go down.”

      Without a second thought, she lifted the blouse over her head and exposed her breasts in a lacy pink bra. He seemed completely unmoved by the sight. Gently, he wiped and squeezed water over each scratch and wound until the liquid in the bucket was bloody. The cloth was cool on her skin, but an inner fire was building in her. With each stroke, she wanted to catch his hand and hold it to her breasts, to feel his touch in a more personal way. It probably was due to the trauma she’d been through, because she’d never reacted this way to any man before.

      “I’m going to push on the neck bites to get them to bleed so it will cleanse the wounds of saliva and bacteria.”

      “Okay.” She winced as his fingers pressed into her skin.

      “I’m worried about rabies, even though Izzy takes very good care of those dogs. Still, they’re in the woods all the time and a few skunks have tested positive for rabies. There’s whiskey in the cabinet. Do you think you could stand it if I pour it over the scratches and bites? It’ll kill whatever bacteria is there and it’s all that I have available here. It’ll sting, but...”

      Rachel reached out and removed Egan’s hat. He drew back slightly, which was his only reaction. “I can’t see your eyes with your hat on,” she said.

      He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is it necessary to see my eyes?”

      “Most definitely.”

      He went to a small cabinet and came back with a bottle of whiskey. Handing it to her, he said, “You might want to drink some first.”

      “Straight?”

      “It’ll numb your senses.”

      “All righty.”

      She lifted the bottle and took a swig, swallowed and coughed as it burned her throat. Her eyes watered, but she took another drink.

      “I have to get more water and rinse out the handkerchief. Sip it slowly or your eyes are going to bulge out. Evidently, you’re not used to hard liquor.”

      “A margarita or a glass of merlot is more my style.”

      “I could’ve guessed.”

      She made a face and took another swig, coughing until she thought it was going to come up again. Lying back, she watched glittery rainbows float across the old wood beams of the ceiling. A numbness invaded her mind. She reached out for Egan’s hand. His strong fingers closed around hers and she knew everything was going to be okay. Egan would take care of her. That seemed odd, since she’d been fighting for years for her independence. But with Egan it was different.

      “I like you, Egan Rebel.”

      “Ma’am...”

      A bubble of laughter erupted from her throat, and she thought if she could hear him say that word in that tone for the rest of her life, she would be in heaven.

      * * *

      EGAN WENT OUTSIDE for more water and rinsed the handkerchief until it was as clean as it was going to get. Back in the cabin Rachel was falling in and out of consciousness. He placed his hand on her forehead to see if she had a fever, but her skin was cool. She was just getting drunk and he had a feeling she didn’t do that often. If ever.

      “Ready?” he asked, squatting by the bed.

      She drew a deep breath. “Yes.”

      He took the bottle from her and soaked the handkerchief. He started with the scratches on her hands and arms, where she’d fought the dogs. The moment the whiskey touched the open wounds she bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. He admired that. She had guts.

      Quickly, he continued, making sure each scratch was covered with alcohol. She flinched when he did the ones on her face.

      “Is it bad?”

      “It’ll heal in no time and you’ll still be beautiful.”

      “Ah, you think I’m beautiful?”

      He soaked the bites on her neck and she bit her lip again, preventing her from talking, which he thought was good. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. God had heaven in mind when he’d created her. Natural blond hair, blue eyes and model-like features. Everything about her was perfection, including her curved, feminine body. Touching her skin was an exercise in restraint. Egan had never felt anything so soft, supple and tempting. One scratch arrowed down to a breast and his hand slowed as he reached its fullness. He wanted to cup it, to feel its weight in his palm. With superhuman strength, he pulled away and screwed the top on the bottle of whiskey.

      Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Then he whipped his T-shirt over his head and handed it to her. “Your blouse is ruined, but you can wear this.” He wanted to cover up those breasts any way he could.

      She tugged it over her head and pull the duster around her. “I’m so sleepy.”

      “It’s the whiskey.”

      Her eyelashes were light brown and lay softly against her skin as a liquor-induced sleep claimed her. He touched her forehead one more time to make sure she didn’t have a fever. Once he was sure of that, he walked outside to the long porch on the front of the cabin.

      He sat on the stoop and stared at the creek and the valley below. If she had a fever, they’d have to leave quickly to get her medical attention. They could probably reach the ranch by noon if they walked at a steady pace. He’d let her sleep for a bit and then they’d start out.

      Egan’s emotions were all over the place and he couldn’t think straight when he was around her. He’d never had this problem before. She was making him forget that he’d ever known Judge Hollister. But the memory always returned. Egan would never be able to forgive the man for what he’d done, and that meant he couldn’t have any kind of relationship with his daughter.

       Relationship?

      Where did that come from? He wasn’t planning a relationship with Rachel Hollister. He just wanted to get her back to wherever she belonged. And that wasn’t with him.

      He ran his hands up his face and took a deep breath. It would be a long time before the memory of those dogs clawing at her would fade. He’d been so afraid they would kill her. And that was unacceptable and terrifying. He was glad he’d gotten there when he had. Izzy was going to pay for this one way or another. Egan would call the sheriff just as soon as they made it back to the ranch. Izzy had trained those dogs to kill, and that wasn’t safe for anyone.

      Glancing down, Egan saw that his knife was in its sheath. He didn’t even remember putting it there. The handle was covered with blood. He pulled it out and saw that the blade was, too. He got up and made his way to the well. There wasn’t anything to clean it with but water. He scrubbed the dried blood with leaves and that did the trick. Slipping it back into its sheath, he knew he might have to use it again.

      “Egan!”

      His name echoed through the valley with mind-splitting terror. He ran back to the cabin and Rachel flew into his arms.

      “Egan.” She threw herself against him and held on, her body trembling. “I...thought...you’d