Jake's Angel. Nicole Foster

scar running diagonally from shoulder to collarbone, and another slashed horizontally, just under his rib cage.

      “You again. I thought you were a bad dream.”

      “Did you also dream the bullet out of your leg? If so, I wish you would teach me the trick. It would make my work so much easier.”

      “What are you doing here?”

      “I came to make sure you hadn’t died in Elish’s bed. He hates that.”

      “Then you’ve done your duty. You can leave me to suffer in peace.”

      Isabel ignored his nasty expression. “I fully intend to, after I take a look at that leg.” She rummaged in her basket for a jar of salve and the ingredients for a new poultice. Without asking his permission, she pulled back the quilt enough to bare his leg to her scrutiny.

      “Anything else you’d like to see while you’re down there?” Jake asked, annoyed when she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

      “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Are you still in pain?”

      “It’s nothing a bottle of whiskey won’t cure. Look, lady—” Jake propped up on one elbow and trapped her wrist with his free hand “—I’m sure you do a real nice job soothing stomachaches and curing skinned elbows, and you did get the bullet out of my leg. For that I’m much obliged. But your weeds are more likely to kill me than do any good and I’m not anxious to be knocking on hell’s door any earlier than necessary. I’ll send one of the girls along to pay you for your trouble.”

      “Mister, for what I’ve been through trying to help you, you can’t afford my trouble. Now let go of me or I’ll yell loud enough to bring Elish and every cowboy in the saloon up here with guns drawn.”

      He held on hard for a moment, his pulse thrumming against her skin. Isabel knew he sized her up with his eyes before releasing her wrist. She resisted the urge to rub at her skin, feeling the impression of his strength long after his physical touch.

      “I’ll give you one thing, lady, nothing much seems to rattle you. Remind me to never play poker with you.”

      “I’m not interested in playing any game with you. I came here to check your wound and that’s what I’m going to do. Now be still. Is this tender?” Isabel ran her fingers over the wound, probing gently.

      Jake started at the touch of her, jolted more by her tenderness than the pain. “It hurts like hell. Did you bring any whiskey?”

      “No, Mr.-whatever-your-name-is—I didn’t. I’m not a saloon keeper.” She thrust the jar of salve at him. “Here, put this on it daily for the next few weeks, if you have any desire to keep your leg from rotting off, that is.”

      Jake eyed the thick, yellow-colored grease warily, then sniffed at it, drawing back with a grimace.

      “It’s Coulter, Jake Coulter, and what is this stuff? It smells like horse dung.”

      “Mouse.”

      “Mouse what?”

      “It’s mouse dung,” Isabel said matter-of-factly. “Mixed with butter, horsetail and a little turpentine. It’s quite useful.”

      Jake stared at her, wondering if she meant it or if she were trying to bait him into asking a dumb question. “You’re not serious.”

      “Of course I am. I use it often.”

      “To attract flies? Do you have a jar of leeches around somewhere as well? No—don’t answer that. Whatever this is, I sure as hell don’t want it smeared on me. Look, I’ve no doubt you mean well, you did a fair job cutting that bullet out—”

      “Such generous praise. And I’m overwhelmed by your gratitude.”

      “—but my leg probably needs stitches and definitely a good dose of sulfur powder and someone who knows how to administer both without a shaking hand.”

      “Ah, I see. And did you gain this knowledge from some drunken fool who’s only claim to being a doctor is that he can cut off limbs and pour whiskey faster than the man before him?”

      “And where did you get yours? From a vision after chewing peyote?”

      “Well, if I did, it’s too late for you now. You’ve drunk my potion. Perhaps you’re already under my spell.”

      The look she gave him, a little mysterious smile, a flash of laughter, roused in Jake a sudden, sharp awareness of her nearness. He could smell the wildflower scent of her, feel her warmth almost as a touch. It had been a long time since he’d let a woman get close to him.

      This woman…He shook his head, trying to clear it.

      “Am I?” he said, his voice rough-edged.

      Piercing gray eyes locked with hers and for a moment, Isabel could think of nothing to say in reply.

      She realized she hadn’t taken time to study him fully yesterday. There was certainly an almost frightening strength in him, and an unflinching directness in his eyes. But there were also lines in his face left by an experience of bitterness or suffering, she didn’t know which. It left her intrigued, wondering exactly what he was and why he was here. It also left her disconcerted, questioning her reaction to him.

      Feeling shaken, Isabel took her jar of salve from him and jerked the quilt back up over his leg. “Since you don’t want my help, I’ll go.”

      She started to gather up her basket and Jake watched her hands move over the jar and cloths, efficient, graceful. She riled him to the point of fury, but he liked looking at her, though he couldn’t have said why. He preferred his women lush and pliant, but with her delicate fairy face and her quick tongue she was neither. She didn’t even go out of her way to make herself particularly attractive the way most women did.

      Her hair hung in a loose braid down her back and, as far as he could tell, she wore nothing but a thin cotton dress that looked as if the sun had scorched all the color out of it. There was nothing deliberately provocative about her. She seemed indifferent to the way she moved, except when she plied her dubious trade and then all the sensuality was in her hands, the intimacy in her touch.

      “You aren’t coming back, are you?” he asked suddenly, surprising them both.

      “I’m not a glutton for punishment. If you’re bored, I’m sure Chessie or Anita can find some way to amuse you.”

      “Maybe I should have been more careful. I’ll be wondering now what spell you have cast over me.”

      “I wouldn’t let it trouble you. I’m not adept enough to charm serpents into your room. Yet.”

      She walked to the door and turned to give him a tight smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Coulter. I promise you, the only sorcery you’ll find here will come from the hands of one of Elish’s girls.”

      Jake stared after her, torn between following her just to take away her advantage of getting the last word or trying to forget she ever lived to annoy him. Before he could decide, Elish Dodd appeared in the doorway, stopping Isabel from leaving.

      “If you’re lookin’ for magic, you’re gonna have to find it somewhere else,” he said, stepping past Isabel to face Jake. “I just got word a dozen or more men finishin’ a cattle drive will be ridin’ in tonight lookin’ for whiskey and girls and I’m gonna need all the rooms I have. Since you ain’t in no condition to be takin’ advantage of the amenities here, you might want to consider a room in the nearest thing we got here to a hospital.”

      “And where might that be?” Jake asked, already suspecting he knew the answer and not wanting to hear it.

      “Why, in Mrs. Bradshaw’s house,” Elish said, flashing a grin between Jake and Isabel. “You know, the woman you’ve managed to rile enough for her to turn a knife on you. I’m sure she’ll take you in, she has this fondness for strays no matter how ornery they are.” Before he left, Elish winked at