Whirlwind Cowboy. Debra Cowan

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      She lifted her chin and he saw a bruise on her jaw. And a cut on her temple. He went still inside. Had Cosgrove done that to her? The idea shook Bram. He gestured to her face. “What happened to you?”

      “I think … someone hit me.” She touched the faded streaks of blood on her damp bodice. “There was a big spot of blood beside me. I don’t think it was mine.”

      He might not believe she had memory loss, but someone had roughed her up. A cold fury gripped him. He didn’t hold with violence against a woman. Ever. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

      “I don’t think so.” She curled her hands over the edge of the chair as if she needed support. Though she looked as if she might bolt if he so much as blinked, she didn’t move. Her gaze held his. There was no guile in the blue depths and no spark of recognition at all.

      “Your name. Please.”

      His hold tightened on his rifle. Grit seemed to settle in his throat. “I’m Bram Ross.”

      “Bram Ross,” she said softly in the same sweet, almost shy way she had the first time he’d told her to call him by his given name. And just as it had then, the dark velvet of her voice stroked over him like a hand, making his body go tight. Dammit.

      “How do we know each other?”

      Bram felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut. “We live near the same town, Whirlwind.”

      “Are we friends?”

      “Not exactly.” He wanted to grab her and kiss her, ask if she remembered that. At the confused look on her face, he said flatly, “I asked you to marry me.”

      “Oh!” Hope lit her eyes. “So you’ve been looking for me?”

      “No. I’m actually looking for your … beau.” Bram could barely force out the word.

      “But if you …” She frowned. “I thought you were my beau.”

      “So did I,” he muttered under his breath.

      “This man you’re looking for is my beau?”

      “It appears so.”

      He could see her trying to reconcile what he was saying. Well, hell, he was trying to reconcile seeing her.

      Her brow furrowed. “Why would I be with someone who steals cattle, who kills people?”

      “I’ve never been able to figure out why you even talk to that double-crossing polecat, and neither has your brother.”

      “My brother?”

      Bram stared hard at her. Was she pulling his leg? “Jericho’s a retired Texas Ranger, married with a baby. He and his wife are in New York City, visiting the nuns who raised her.”

      “Do I live with them?”

      “No, you live with your ma and three sisters on the edge of my property. The Circle R ranch.”

      She put a hand to her head, her lips bloodless. “This is so much to take in.”

      “Tell me what you remember.”

      “Nothing!” The look of irritation on her face was familiar to Bram. It was the same one she’d gotten the night he tried to convince her not to take the teaching job, to stay with him in Whirlwind.

      He ground his teeth. “You remember riding here.”

      “Yes.”

      “And before that?”

      She closed her eyes, pain etching her features. “I woke up outside, behind a building. Two-story. I had no idea where I was, but my head hurt and there was blood on my dress.”

      “Maybe from that cut on your head.” His gaze dropped to the damp fabric of her bodice where she’d tried to get out the blood. “How did you get Cosgrove’s horse?”

      “It was behind the building, just as I was.” Her brow furrowed. “I heard someone coming. A man. He yelled after me.”

      Bram’s head came up. “Did you see him?”

      “No, and I didn’t wait to find out who it was. I was terrified—I don’t know why—so I took the horse and rode away.” She gingerly touched her temple, pain stark on her delicate features.

      Bram didn’t think she could fake that look of agony, but what did he know? She’d faked her feelings for him for months. “Why did you come here, to my cabin?”

      “I didn’t intentionally come here. I just rode until I was sure no one was following. When the dust storm came up and I saw the cabin, I took shelter.” She briefly closed her eyes, her chin quivering. “My head hurts.”

      She was pale, her skin waxy in the smoky lamplight. Dust sifted in around the edges of the window frame. “How far did you ride?”

      She stared blankly at him.

      Reining in his impatience, Bram rubbed the nape of his neck. “How long did you ride before you reached this place?”

      “Over an hour. Maybe an hour and a half.”

      “Was the horse running full-out the whole time?”

      “No, about ten minutes.” She swayed. “It hurts.”

      Frowning, Bram steadied her with a hand on her elbow. He wasn’t going to get more out of her right now and she really did look spent.

      Hooking a foot around a chair leg, he steered her over to the table and sat her down.

      She held her head in her hands. “Thank you.”

      The threadiness of her voice raised Bram’s concern. He might be mad as hell at her, but he didn’t like seeing her hurt this way. “Is there something I can do?”

      “I think I just need to sit for a minute.”

      He glanced around, his gaze skimming over the silt-layered room. “I don’t think there are any headache powders here.”

      “The pain isn’t quite so bad now.” She gave him a small forced smile, then closed her eyes.

      In the flickering light she looked helpless and fragile. Her pretty mouth was drawn tight with pain. He stiffened as his gaze fell to the bruise on her jaw then moved to the cut on her temple.

      He had to fight the urge to hold her and he didn’t understand why. She’d left him, run off with a murdering cattle thief. He shouldn’t want to be within a hundred yards of her. What was wrong with him?

      Cosgrove was the one Bram wanted, the one he’d expected when he had come through the door earlier.

      Instead, he’d found the one woman he never wanted to see again, and until this storm blew over, he was stuck with her.

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