The Outlaw and the Lady by Lorraine Heath Read Free Book Online Page A

made her ill. “You have to do something.”
    He sighed heavily. “I have already told you that I cannot risk a fire so I cannot cauterize it.”
    “You could sew it. I always carry needle and thread,” she said.
    “Neither I nor my brothers can sew in the dark.”
    “I can.”
    He released a low, soft chuckle that somehow carried a threat with it. “I think not, señorita . A needle in your hand would cause more harm than good.”
    She didn’t want to acknowledge how his words stung. True, he was an outlaw with a bounty on his head—wanted, dead or alive. She should let him take his chances…if only he would treat her badly so she could justify shooting him. She twisted around until she thought she was facing him squarely. “I give you my word that I’ll tend your wound properly.”
    “Your word? This afternoon you were going to ruin my saddle, and yet you sat and played with your cards as though we had all afternoon to while away the hours.”
    With a huff, she flopped onto her side. “Fine. Bleed to death. I don’t care.” How she wished that was true. But she did care. She didn’t want to be responsible for his death, only his capture. Maybe when he fell asleep, she could determine the severity of his wound. Based on the way he’d been holding her, she could ascertain its location, prod gently…and awaken him, but perhaps in a drowsy state he might accept her ministrations.
    “You have experience sewing?” he asked cautiously.
    A small thrill of victory speared her. She didn’t want this outlaw to see her as inadequate. “Yes,as a matter of fact, I’m a seamstress. I use my fingers to determine the shape of the seam and sew incredibly neat, meticulous stitches,” she assured him.
    “I’ll probably regret this, but…” He growled low, and she imagined him narrowing his dark eyes at her in warning. “You can stitch me up.”
    She rolled into a sitting position, reached into her pocket, and removed the small sewing case that her parents had given to her shortly after she’d announced that she’d acquired a position as a seamstress. She skimmed her thumb over her initials carved within the gold lid. She heard the whisper of movement and the brush of air ripple across her face. “What are you doing?”
    “Taking off my shirt.”
    “Can’t you just roll up your sleeve?”
    “The bullet went through near my shoulder.”
    “Oh.” She hadn’t considered that he’d sit before her shirtless. Unsettled, she decided to finish the task as quickly as possible. “I need your canteen.”
    He handed it to her. She opened it and poured water into her cupped palm. He snatched the canteen from her.
    “You’re wasting my water!”
    “I’m trying to clean my hands so you don’t get an infection.”
    “No more water. Just do the best you can. I’ll deal with infection later.”
    “I know a man who died from an infected little toe,” she said as she spread the little bit of water she’d managed to obtain over her hands. Dryingthem on her skirt probably would undo what she’d tried to accomplish. She flicked them in the air until the droplets were gone. She opened her sewing kit, pulled out a small spool, broke off a long piece of thread, and deftly inserted it through the eye of the needle. All by touch. She’d pricked herself a hundred times when she’d first decided that she would learn to sew. Her father had said she was stubborn. Her mother had called her “determined.”
    Now, she was going to prick Lee Raven. She tore off a section of her petticoat. “I’ll need you to lead me to the wound.”
    He wrapped his fingers around her hand and slowly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles before placing her hand on his arm. The heat of his flesh nearly scorched her fingertips, and she imagined that his entire body felt this smooth, this taut, this muscled, this hot. With the strip of her petticoat, she wiped at the wound. “Keep your arm straight and try not to twitch when I poke