Give Me A Texas Ranger. Jodi Thomas
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that she’d passed it along to the Ranger while he’d kissed her.
“You getting sick?” he asked, already ten feet ahead of her.
“No.” She picked up her bag and followed.
“Well, then hurry up. We want to be off this hill by the time they ride by here.”
She almost laughed. Her brother was probably having his second cup of coffee and telling everyone about how his sister couldn’t manage to do anything right, including get to him.
Two hours later, when they were almost to the trail that served as the stage road, she collapsed. Her legs simply folded. Three days with nothing to eat and little to drink. More hours than she could count without sleep. Like a clock running down, she stopped.
As she lay in the dirt, she heard the Ranger backtracking to her. She half expected him to yell at her to get up, but he simply leaned down, picked up his hat and her bag, then lifted her into his arms.
Without a word, he began walking, carrying her like she was a child and not a woman almost his height.
Annalane closed her eyes. She’d have to kill him later. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep.
Chapter 4
McCord walked half a mile before he found an old cottonwood tree with branches almost touching the ground. He pulled Anna into the cool shade where roots bowed from the earth, making a natural cradle for her.
Anna’s eyes fluttered open. She watched him, a mixture of fear and panic in her exhausted gaze, but she didn’t say a word.
“You all right?” he asked, feeling her face to see if she had a fever. “We about froze last night in the rain, and now it’s hot. I swear, Texas is the only place I know of where you can experience all four seasons within twenty-four hours.”
She didn’t act like she could hear him. McCord pulled his leather coat off her shoulders and spread it out on the ground, saying, “You’ll be safe in no time, Anna. I promise.” He tugged her arm, leaning her down atop his coat, with her head on her bag for her pillow. She didn’t fight him, but the stiffness in her movements told him she didn’t believe him.
“That’s better.” He patted her hip, liking the roundness of it on her slender frame. “Rest.” There was no telling how long it had been since she’d eaten. He’d seen her shoving food around on the tin plates when they stopped yesterday, but he hadn’t seen her lift a bite to her mouth.
He laid the back of his hand against her cheek. She was warm, but not burning with fever. When he began unbuttoning her traveling jacket, she moaned and shook her head.
“Easy now,” he said, thinking that was probably more something he should say to a horse rather than a woman. “I’m just going to make you comfortable, then I’ll watch the road for your brother.”
Her fitted jacket was tight across her ribs and he wondered how she’d stood it all night when they’d been climbing in the rocks. When he finished undoing the last button, she let out a sigh and closed her eyes. He couldn’t resist sliding his finger beneath the wool and feeling the warmth of her covered only by a layer of wrinkled cotton.
He brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “You’re quite a woman, Anna. You collapsed before you complained once.” He pressed his lips against her cheek. “Sleep now, but remember that we’re not finished, me and you. Not by a long shot.”
She moaned something in her sleep and McCord brushed his fingers over her ribs. He liked the feel of her, the look of her; but most of all, he liked her spirit.
When he was sure she was sound asleep, he moved to where he could see down the road in both directions. If the army didn’t come soon, looking for the coach, the outlaws would be finished with the men at the station and realize what they were looking for was not in the mailbag. Thorn, the leader of the worthless gang, would be madder than hell and heading toward them.
McCord tugged the envelope from a slit in the lining of his boot. The letter Thorn was fighting so hard to get wasn’t in the mailbag. It never had been. The governor had trusted it to one Ranger. McCord had orders to burn it before letting it fall into the wrong hands. There’d been no need to ask—he knew he was expected to protect it with his life and deliver it to a Quaker who served as an Indian agent in this part of the world. This one document could change history, maybe end the Indian fighting years early and allow settlers and Indians to live in peace.
McCord knew without any doubt that he’d die before he’d fail. For the first time in longer than he could remember, his actions might save lives. He smiled, thinking he would do just that, even if he had to kill Thorn and all his gang to do it.
He moved away from Anna, fighting the need to lie down beside her, fearing that if he did, he’d frighten her even more than he had. He wanted her, but not tired and half-asleep, at least not the first time. He wanted her awake and willing in his arms, and to reach that goal he knew he’d have to go slow, very slow.
Problem was, he had no idea how.
McCord frowned and turned his back to her, hoping his need for her would ease. For a man who’d counted his life in days and never looked too far in the future, going slow toward anything was not his nature. He’d been seventeen when he’d ridden with a posse that tracked raiders who’d burned a farm near his parents’ place. He’d killed his first man that night, seeing the bodies of the family they’d pulled from the fire and not the outlaw he’d killed. From that night on, McCord had always felt he’d been playing cards with the Grim Reaper, and one of these times he’d draw the short hand.
He glanced back at Anna curled in among the cottonwood roots. “Slow and easy,” he promised, proud of himself for taking the time to talk to her a little and not just leave her among the branches. It had been a long time since he’d comforted a woman.
An hour later, he heard riders coming and watched until he recognized the blue uniforms of the cavalry.
McCord stepped in the trail, his hand up, his gun pointed down.
One rider stood out among the soldiers. A young officer on the short side who sat a horse like a greenhorn. He had to be Anna’s brother, same black hair and dark eyes. Wynn remembered her telling the gambler on the stage that her brother was a new doctor who’d just been transferred to Texas before being sent to Camp Supply.
The Ranger decided he disliked the man on sight.
The short doctor, in a uniform that didn’t quite fit, half climbed, half tumbled from his mount and hurried to catch up to a sergeant heading toward McCord.
“Ranger McCord.” Sergeant Dirk Cunningham smiled and offered a friendly salute. “When we heard the stage was late and you might be on it, I headed out just in case you needed help.” He laughed. “You know, burying the bodies or hanging the outlaws. I’ve known you long enough to know if there’s trouble you’ll be the last one standing.”
McCord touched his hat in a two-finger return salute to a man he’d crossed paths with so many times over the years they’d become friends. “I thought you might be worried about me, Cunningham.”
The sergeant shook his head. “Not you. I followed you when we was dodging Sherman in the war. You’d fight a twenty-gun man-of-war with a tug boat and still come out ahead.”
The doctor finally reached them. Anna’s brother pushed his way forward. “If you were on the stage, where are the others? My sister should have been with the stage, unless she missed her connection. I swear, if there was a dog in the road, she’d stop to help it even if it meant missing the stage.” When both men just stared at him, the doctor added, “Was there trouble? Is anyone hurt?”
Cunningham took the lead. “Ranger Wynn McCord, this is Doctor Devin Woodward. You’ll have to excuse his manners—he’s worried about his sister.”
Wynn faced Dr. Woodward. “Your sister is all right, sir.” He turned back to his friend.