Texas Rebels: Egan. Linda Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ the scabbard on his waist, then stabbed until the dog released her and lay motionless.

      Rachel cowered there, covered in blood, the hairbrush clutched in her bloody hand. “It’s okay,” Egan told her. “I’m here.”

      “There’s...more,” she gasped.

      He raised his head and saw Izzy McCray and two more dogs about twenty yards away. Egan’s gun lay on the grass and he immediately reached for it.

      “You killed my dogs, you bastard!” Izzy screamed.

      “You’re next!” Egan shouted back. He fired over Izzy’s head and he and the dogs retreated into the woods.

      Rachel shook from head to toe and her teeth were chattering. Egan pried the brush from her hand and threw it on the ground. Seeing the green sweater, he reached for it. With a sleeve, he wiped blood from her face and her throat. “Calm down,” he cooed, as if to a child. “I’m not going to let anything else happen to you. Take a deep breath. Take another.”

      “E-gan,” she cried, and tears rolled from her eyes.

      He dabbed blood from the scratches on her face and neck. Luckily, they didn’t look deep. “Come on, we have to get out of here. That crazy fool might be waiting in the woods.”

      Rachel shook violently. Egan grabbed the duster and wrapped it around her. Then he looped her purse over his shoulder and lifted her into his arms. The rifle lay on the ground and he bent for it. Walking into the woods to where he’d dropped the canteen, he squatted and reached for it, while resting the rifle against his leg. He screwed off the top with his thumb and forefinger and put the canteen to her lips.

      “Drink.”

      She raised her hands and he saw how bloody and scratched they were. His gut tightened at what had been done to her. He should never have left her. Damn!

      After she finished, he screwed the top back on and let the canteen rest on her chest. Holding her close, he got to his feet with the rifle in hand and then took off into the woods, trying to walk as fast as he could.

      “Where are we going?” She laid her head against him, her blond hair matted with blood.

      “My great-great-great-grandparents settled on Yaupon Creek and their cabin is still there. I try to keep it up. It has a bed and the bare necessities, but you can rest and I can clean your wounds. The only problem is it’s taking us farther from the ranch, but I think you need medical attention more right now.”

      “Do you think he’s following us?”

      Egan wanted to tell her no, but he wasn’t sure about crazy Izzy, and he wanted to be honest with her. On the other hand, he didn’t want to scare her to death. She’d been through enough for one day.

      “Don’t worry. I have my rifle and we’ll be at the cabin in no time.”

      Egan thought he was in good shape, but by the time he saw the one-room log cabin nestled on the bank of the creek his muscles were tight and aching. Tall oaks and scrappy yaupons surrounded the place. The view from the front porch was the same as it had been over a hundred years ago. The lazy creek flowed like a pale ribbon and was inhabited by fish, frogs, snakes and turtles. Animals came to drink at different times of the day. Enormous live oaks and cedars shaded it. The yaupons had been cut back for a better view of the valley below.

      The steps creaked as he put his weight on them. He needed to fix that, but never seemed to find the time. Juggling Rachel and the rifle, he managed to open the door and carry her inside. “Doin’ What She Likes” by Blake Shelton blared loudly.

      He laid her on the mattress of a single bed in a corner across from a stone fireplace.

      “Where’s that music coming from?” She curled up on an old patchwork quilt of his grandmother’s.

      “A transistor radio I keep on to discourage little critters from coming in. It works pretty good. If they hear a human voice, they go elsewhere.”

      “How clever.”

      “Yeah.” He turned off the radio. “Rest,” he told her. “I’m going outside to get more water.”

      She sat up, her eyes wild. “Egan...”

      “It’s okay. I’ll be right outside. The only way in is through this front door and I’ll have my eye on it. Just try to relax.”

      It didn’t take him long to get the old pump working at the well. It had been repaired so many times, but still provided water. He filled the bucket and carried it inside, keeping his rifle in hand and a close eye on the surrounding woods as he did so. An armadillo rooted about and birds chirped. Other than that, it was just a normal day in the woods.

      But it was anything but normal.

       Chapter Three

      Rachel’s skin burned and she wanted to scream. But she feared if she started, she would never be able to stop. She kept her eyes open, because if she closed them, she could feel the dogs on her—their smelly breath, coarse fur and claws so sharp they’d ripped through her skin.

      A scream clogged her throat and she pulled the duster closer around her. The woodsy, masculine, sweaty scent enveloped her, but it wasn’t abrasive. It was soothing because it reminded her of Egan.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ