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

you.”
    “I do not twitch.”
    “And you do not beg,” she said caustically.
    But he did intake a sharp breath when she trailed her fingers over the ragged edges of mutilated flesh. “I’m just going to…” She swallowed in an attempt to stop the tingling in her jaw. “I’m going to prod around just to make sure there’s no bits of cloth…” Oh, God. A bullet created such an ugly mess.
    When she was certain she’d done her best to clean the wound, she jabbed the needle into hisskin. She thought she might have preferred something from him other than stoicism. “I’m sorry. I know it must hurt.” Her voice quivered but at least her hands were steady.
    What sort of man was Lee Raven? She knew he’d been put out with her for taking his gun and holding it on him, but he’d never hinted that she’d shot him. He’d never raised his voice or his hand to her. If someone had shot her…he would have faced her unmerciful wrath. The man was a contradiction to all she knew about him, all she believed.
    Leaning close, she bit off the end of the thread and then proceeded to tie it off. She heard him exhale slowly. She stuck the needle into her waistband before reaching for the end of her skirt.
    “Here, use my shirt,” he ordered, and thrust the chambray garment into her hands.
    When she’d lost her sight, her fingertips had become her eyes. She’d wanted to again know all that she’d once seen. She’d learned to identify all sorts of textures and shapes, making her family crazy as she requested item after item, hungry for the feel of everything, desperate to rebuild a world that she’d lost—the only thing that now eluded her was color. She missed it with a passion.
    She handed his shirt back to him. She opened her kit, removed more thread, retrieved her needle, and proceeded to thread it. “I’ll do the other side now.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you have any whiskey.”
    “You drink?”
    “My father owns a saloon. Of course I drink.”
    He released a quick burst of laughter. “I think your father should have had a son.”
    She smiled warmly. “But my mother wanted daughters, and he usually gives her what she wants. Whiskey?”
    “No.”
    Her smile faded as she touched his arm and located the other side of his wound where the bullet had torn a larger hole going out. “I suppose you’re going to try and tell me that the notorious Lee Raven doesn’t drink,” she chided.
    “I don’t.”
    She paused in disbelief. “You’ve never been drunk.”
    “No.”
    Incredible. She’d never met a man who hadn’t indulged in too much liquor on at least one occasion. She touched his arm.
    “Have you?” he asked.
    She halted, her fingers resting against his flesh. “Been drunk?”
    “ Sí .”
    She smiled at the memory. “In celebration of my sixteenth birthday, my two younger sisters and I snuck a bottle of whiskey out of the saloon and proceeded to gulp down the contents. Then abruptly brought it all back up. Since then, I drink a little more cautiously.”
    Once again, he hissed through his teeth as she began working. When she was finished stitching, she tore off another section of her petticoat and wrapped it around his arm, tying it to protect the wound. “There. All done.”
    She pushed the needle into her waistband and reached for her skirt. Raven stopped her, taking her hands in one of his and holding them out. She heard the swishing of water and then felt the warm trickle as he washed the blood from her hands.
    “Your precious water,” she murmured.
    “We’ll find more tomorrow.”
    He again used his shirt to dry her hands, gently, as though her hands were fragile and he feared breaking them. She felt tears sting her eyes. It had been such a grueling day and she was incredibly weary. She did not want him to treat her kindly.
    When he moved away, she slid her needle into her sewing kit before lying down on the blankets. Hearing his movements as he slipped on his shirt, she