The Sheriff's Widow

By Desiree Banks

They had both loved and lost. Can they risk loving again?

He would give her his name. Nathan Taylor’s wife saved his life in a tragic shooting five years earlier. Now sheriff of Devils Lake, he’s shut his heart down to feeling and focused on bringing law and order to town. But not everyone’s interested in settling the Dakota Territories, and he finds himself indebted to a woman who threatens the barriers surrounding his heart.

She would win his heart. Her husband’s dying wish and viscious enemies send Lydia Flynn to Sheriff Nathan Taylor, a man whose knowledge of grief offers her the comfort she needs and whose sense of honor compels him to offer marriage. But both a widow and a bride, Lydia is torn between the husband of her past and the man who values her life above his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desiree Banks
• Release date: Apr 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310201998

Desiree Banks

Desiree Banks is a Midwestern author who spent a lot of time in the car without a cell phone as a child. This led to an overactive imagination and even longer trips to England, France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Mexico, and Panama. Now as a wife, mother of four, and a high school English teacher, she uses her imagination to travel to other times and places. She hopes you enjoy her 'travels' with her.

Book preview

The Sheriff’s Widow

West of Second Chances: Book Two

Desiree Ann Banks

Copyright 2014 Desiree Ann Banks

Smashwords Edition

Cover Photo: Desiree Banks

Cover Illustration: Matthew Wolff

Cover Models: David Young and Faith Pointer

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

About the author:

Desiree Banks is a Midwestern author who spent a lot of time in the car without a cell phone as a child. This led to an overactive imagination and even longer trips to England, France, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Mexico, and Panama. Now as a wife, mother of four, and a high school English teacher, she uses her imagination to travel to other times and places. She hopes you enjoy her 'travels' with her.

Other Titles:

Landry’s Last Love

Small town gossip and her abusive father made Rachel Moore swear never to return home, but that all changes when she and her son are threatened. With danger on her heels, Rachel reunites with her life-long friend Sheriff Brandt Landry and finds more in his arms than she ever expected. But Brandt faces his own problems in his meth-riddled county and the killer stalking its residents has him fighting to protect everything he holds dear. Will Brandt be able to protect the woman he has come to love? (Excerpt following The Sheriff’s Widow.)

The Gallows’ Bounty

West of Second Chances: Book One

She had every reason to die until he gave her every reason to live... When former bounty hunter Ezra Boden catches sight of Willow Donovan, he determines to show her that he's one of the good guys, a man who can be trusted. Willow Donovan learned never to trust a man, not even a man who saved her from hanging. Can tenderness forge a trust, a love to last a lifetime?

To all those in my life who have taught me how to grieve and how to heal.

To those who have held me and listened as I have done both.

This book is for you.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Prologue

Two Creeks Ranch, Dakota Territory, June 1885

SPIN. CLICK. DRINK.

Spin. Click. Drink.

He sat in front of the fire, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and his Colt in the other. The initial fear he’d felt when he’d begun his one-man game of Russian roulette had long since vanished. He’d spun the barrel and pulled the trigger so many times he’d lost count.

He eyed the gun thoughtfully a moment before checking the chamber. Maybe he’d been too far gone and forgotten to load the one cylinder. With drunken fingers, he flipped the drum open. In an exaggerated motion, he closed one eye and studied his gun.

Huh, he said and slammed back another drink. There was a bullet in there all right, but he couldn’t even kill himself properly.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to spin the drum every time. Hmm…

He eyed his gun belt on the table next to him and reached for it, spilling some of the whiskey on himself as he stretched. He slammed the whiskey bottle down on the table and slapped his holster into his lap. He removed five more bullets and shoved them into the Colt. His unsteady fingers shook fiercely, and more than one bullet slipped through them before he fully loaded the gun. He snapped the drum back in place with a sense of finality.

That should do it. He lifted the muzzle to his temple. Now to pull the trigger.

Bracing himself, his fist curled into the fabric of the quilt she’d given him on their wedding day. The soft contours of the material snagged on his work-roughened skin, and for a sheer instant he could almost feel her smooth flesh beneath that same hand.

In protest to the surging feelings, he curled his index finger tighter around the trigger, but every time he began to squeeze, she fought him. Grappled from the grave for his life. His other hand flinched on the quilt he had balled into his fist. He glanced down into his lap, let loose his grip, and reverently smoothed the fabric once more. And in that moment he was...

...falling into bed with her, laughing, smiling.

...handing her their first-born son.

...curling her into his warmth.

If he killed himself, he wouldn’t see her again. God didn’t exist. Heaven was a farce. He was pretty sure of that now. There would be no reunion in heaven, just unending darkness. Nothingness. He lowered the Colt into his lap. He would have to subsist on memories.

I’m a coward, he muttered.

With renewed determination, he shoved the quilt to the floor. It didn’t even smell like her anymore; reeked only of the flames that had consumed their home and their dreams. Death had to be better than the guilt swamping him and the grief devouring him.

He lifted the gun again, the steel of the barrel cool against his skin. Whether his eyes were opened or closed, her sacrifice kept replaying itself over and over in his mind—every damn time she threw herself in front of him, taking the death sentence meant for him. He’d been more than willing to take it, too.

She hadn’t let him.

God hadn’t let him.

He wanted to curse them both. More than anything, he cursed himself. If only—

Even as drunk as he was, he sensed a form shifting in the shadows. Had one of his boys gotten out of bed? He dropped the gun into his lap. Hell, what had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been. The thought of one of his boys finding his body hadn’t even crossed his mind. No, he’d only been thinking about his pain.

He was a selfish bastard.

Go back to bed, damn it. His voice crackled with the whiskey and the anger. The shame. He didn’t look over his shoulder. He couldn’t meet Marshall or Benjamin’s eyes. They’d lost their mother, and they’d lost him. And it was all his fault.

No footsteps scurried away. Instead, a long-legged stride sounded behind him. He whirled in his chair. He snatched the pistol and aimed it toward the noise he’d heard. His head spun from the motion, and he planted his feet awkwardly on the floor.

Hold it right there. He mustered as much control of his speech as he could. He hated the slur of the words almost as much as he hated himself.

You had me worried a minute, a familiar voice said just before its owner slipped out of the shadows and took the chair next to his own.

Haven’t you already done enough? he asked, his tone weary and his syllables still stubbornly slurred.

Not hardly, the man replied.

Thought you might say that. He lowered his weapon back to his lap and leaned his head back with a sigh. His friend hadn’t let him die that day either. No, he’d just kept fighting by his side, killing those who’d dared to attack them even after the bullets had run out and grief had knocked him to his knees. What are you doin’ here, Boden?

A throat cleared somewhere behind them. I got him, Mr. Taylor.

Flynn, you’re fired. He pretended not to notice when Boden waved away his foreman in a manner that said for him not to listen to a word his boss had just said.

You look like hell. Boden turned back to the fire and stared into the flames. Maybe he, too, was remembering. After all, that had been the day he’d earned his nickname—Butcher.

Yep. Nathan drew his hands over his whiskers. He looked down at his unkempt appearance, catching the smell of stale liquor and body odor. Nope, not the man today Laura had married all those years ago. On the outside or on the inside for that matter. She would hardly recognize him. He hardly recognized himself.

You’re a better man than this, Nathan Taylor. Boden met his gaze full on.

Well, I didn’t kill myself. Probably won’t either. You can be on your way. He stood. He didn’t need anyone looking into his soul right now, and he sure as hell didn’t want any encouragement.

Nope. Boden remained seated.

You’re not stayin’ here. Anger scored Nathan’s unsteady words. No one could wrest away his misery; he couldn’t give it up. If he did, it would mean accepting she was gone.

No, you, Marshall, and Benjamin are coming with me. The Lair is no place to raise your boys. Butcher Boden rose and loomed over him. I’m getting my ranch up and goin’. I need a foreman I trust enough to watch things while I’m away.

Well, I just fired mine.

We both know I meant you.

Nathan laughed, but it held no joy. His joy had died with Laura. What gave you that idea?

You need some time to heal, and living above a bar isn’t goin’ to help you any. Boden looked him in the eye. Plus, I plan to make sure you don’t end up killing yourself in the meantime.

You’re on His side. He pushed past his longstanding friend, feeling like God Himself dogged his steps. More like breathed down his neck.

She would be, too, were the only other words Boden spoke.

Nathan whirled and stumbled, clutching at the wall for support. The truth of Boden’s words stung like alcohol burning an open wound. He didn’t want the wound in his soul cleansed; he wanted it to fester. Why couldn’t he understand that?

Only the thought of the boys kept him from giving into his selfish desires. His boys. Laura’s boys.

Fine, we’ll go with you. He looked his friend in the eye and smirked. I don’t plan to make keeping me alive easy on you, though.

I don’t ‘spect you will, Boden returned. Now why don’t you get some shuteye? You and the boys have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.

One thing I gotta do first. He pushed away from Boden and peered into the darkness. He may not be able to end his life, but he could break away from his past, claim a fresh start. I know you’re still here, Flynn.

The younger man stepped out of the shadows. Yes, sir.

You shoulda just let me kill myself. He gripped Flynn’s shoulder and breathed what he was sure must be 90-proof breath in the other man’s face. But since you didn’t, I reckon I owe you one.

You don’t owe me a thing, boss. David Flynn cast a wary glance in Boden’s direction, and Nathan set down the gun he hadn’t been aware of holding.

With an unsteady hand, Nathan withdrew the deed to Two Creeks from his vest pocket and smacked it clumsily into Flynn’s chest. I don’t want this anymore.

Flynn snatched the deed from the air as it fell from Nathan’s unsteady hands. You should wait until you’re sober to make a decision like this.

I planned on losin’ it in a game of cards anyway. Give me a dollar and the whole spread’s yours. He pushed the deed back and focused on enunciating his words. Drunk or sober, it doesn’t matter. I’m done with the place.

But your boys, Flynn argued.

Marry that gal you’re always goin’ on about and have your own sons, Nathan countered.

If you change your mind–

I won’t. He staggered away.

Behind him, Boden and Flynn conspired in low tones. Let them try and save his life. He didn’t care, especially not about that. He sank into his chair in front of the fire, pulling the quilt back up into his lap. The husky smell of smoke taunted his nostrils, and he sighed wearily. He missed the scent of her in the pillows, the blankets, and he knew he’d never want the one thing back that had cost him her life.

He’d never set foot on Two Creeks again.

Ever.

Chapter One

Devils Lake, Dakota Territories, April 1889

BLOOD SPURTED FROM SHERIFF Nathan Taylor’s nose as he fell backward against his own barn wall. Three against one were never good odds. Then again, the odds hadn’t been in his favor the whole damn day.

Make that his whole life.

He forced himself to his feet even though his bleeding nose and the impact of his fall made it hard to breathe. He wasn’t sure why he kept fighting, except perhaps the survival instinct surged stronger than he had figured. His six older brothers had pounded survival into him before they’d all moved on, leaving him alone to care for their ailing mother. He’d wanted a piece of his brothers back then, and he planned to take a piece of these men now. He reckoned he could bring down at least one of them before they managed to kill him.

And they would kill him.

The barrel of one of his pistols glinted in the evening light shining through the open barn doors. It lay just out of his reach on the dirt floor beneath his horse’s dancing hooves. Defiance skittered away from the commotion of the fighting men, kicking up dust and turning the tiny particles into a sparkling wall as the dying sun shone through them. Heaven only knew where the other pistol had gotten to.

Get that horse outta here, Max Dalton grunted at his younger brother.

Terrance Dalton hurried to do as he’d been asked. He grabbed Defiance by his bridle and jerked the horse toward the open barn door with one hand while he smacked the horse on its rump with his other hand. The gelding thundered into the barnyard.

Nathan reached out a hand to steady himself and shook off the punch Luke, the middle and dumbest Dalton brother, had just pummeled into his nose. He lifted his free arm and swiped at the blood spilling from his nostrils. Black and yellow dots dancing in his vision, blood coursing onto his lips, Nathan attempted a sardonic smile.

You hit like a girl, Dalton. Nathan spit blood into a pile of manure.

What’d you say? Luke Dalton stalked forward.

You heard me. Nathan braced his feet for the impact.

As Luke pulled back his fist, Nathan honed in on the man’s tells, looking for the weaknesses he must have. While Luke was built as thick as an ox, it took him just as long to get going. By the time Luke finally threw his punch, Nathan had effectively determined where he planned to land his bent knuckles.

Nathan shifted and Luke’s heavy fist brushed the stubble on his cheek, sailing past to splinter the stall door behind them. Nathan took the unguarded moment to drive his own punch into Luke’s unguarded abdomen. Air left the man’s lungs in a great whoosh, and he sank to his knees. Max and Terrance surged forward. Nathan turned to face the men.

One down.

Two to go.

You son of a— Terrance began only to come to a crashing halt when Nathan’s right flew into his bearded jaw.

Nathan put everything he had into that punch, and he followed it up with his left to make sure the man went down. His knuckles cracked with the impact and his skin pulsed with the bruising. The Daltons were built like oxen. Then again, his older brother Ronny had been built the same way, and Nathan had managed to take him down—once.

Behind him, he could hear Luke shuffling in the dirt as he struggled to get to his feet. If Nathan planned to make it out of this, he’d have to make short work of Max Dalton before his brothers managed to come out of their stupors.

He leapt forward only to be stopped by the sound of a hammer cocking back. He stared down the barrel of his own Colt.

Killing you wouldn’t have taken so long, Sheriff, if you hadn’t insisted on takin’ our guns when we rode into town. Max’s face contorted in fierce lines; angry spittle emphasized his words. We got ourselves a right to carry our guns.

Unless you and your brothers shoot up Devils Lake every time you all ride through town, Nathan countered. He had to keep Max talking before the man blew a hole in him with his own pistol. The Daltons weren’t a bright bunch, but they were plenty mean enough to get the job done.

Shootin’ that little whore was an accident. Hell, she’s Terrance’s favorite. Max spoke the necessary words, but his grin widened wickedly. She didn’t press charges, and Kern says she’ll make it. She’ll be on her back again before you know it.

Not if I can help it. If Nathan had anything to say about it, Mirabel would be in an altogether different line of work when she healed up. He’d been looking for honest work for her over the past week, but marriage to an honest man would be even better and provide her with protection and security. Course, honest men were hard to come by in Devils Lake.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he looked for an escape route or his second pistol. No exit plan. No gun. The loft ladder descended in front of him, just past Max, with the barn door yawning to its right. Stall doors lined the barn on both sides. Most likely, he’d get shot no matter which direction he headed.

Damn you, Taylor. First you take away our guns and now you’re tryin’ to get rid of our whores. Max spit a stream of tobacco into the dirt. Then there’s statehood acomin’ and folks are even discussin’ prohibition.

Times are changin’, Dalton. He backed slowly away from the enraged man. Best plan on changin’ with them.

I’m not changin’ a damn thing other than your bein’ around to ruin my way of life. Max advanced a menacing step.

A slight movement from the loft drew Nathan’s notice. Careful not to draw Max’s attention in that direction, he kept his eyes focused on the threat in front of him even as he watched the small flicker of movement take form on the loft ladder. If it was one of his boys, heaven help him. Much to his surprise and relief, lady’s boots followed by a charcoal riding skirt and an ivory colored blouse came into view.

Not Marshall or Benjamin. A woman.

She descended the loft ladder and stepped onto the barn’s packed dirt floor. She turned to face him, keeping to Max’s back. The light shining through the barn door reflected off her light brown hair and illuminated her ivory blouse. The play of light gave her the look of an angel, an angel beautiful enough to put Lucifer to shame. Angel or not, if she stayed where she was, she was likely to get hurt.

Nathan tilted his head slightly to the right, indicating the barn door.

She shook her head in return.

Beside his older brother, Luke struggled to his feet. Shoot him already, Max. He damn near killed me!

Max took aim.

I’d rather you didn’t shoot him, gentlemen, the woman suggested in a voice as smooth as whiskey.

The Daltons whirled to face their newest opponent, but sadly neither man was dumb enough to take their eyes completely off of Nathan.

Damnation. What was she doing? Now he wouldn’t be the only casualty of the day. This woman would die with him, and there wouldn’t be a thing he could do to stop it.

Ironic, that. Laura had died on this day five years ago. Was God taunting him? Or were his personal demons finally catching up with him?

The old impotence sucker punched him in the gut, and it hurt worse than the physical blow Luke had landed earlier. More than his brothers’ blows had wounded him all those years ago. He bit back on the old grief and forced himself to focus on the moment. No one was dead yet. All he had to do was find a way out of this for both of them.

And why’s that? Max asked, refusing to lower the Colt.

I’ve come a long way to speak with him. She strode a few daring steps closer to the Dalton men. Fire crackled in her eyes and her steps were sure. Did she have a death wish or something?

Hope you can speak with the dead, Max turned his back to her, ‘cause he’s goin’ to be any second now.

Don’t worry none. Luke struggled to his feet, but still managed a suggestive wink in the woman’s direction. We’d be glad to talk to you once this is all over.

If Nathan got himself killed, no doubt these men had a few things worse than death in mind for the Angel. The vivid images of her at their mercy pierced his thoughts, his self-control. Not happening.

Get out of here! Nathan urged the woman to make for the barn door.

Shut up, Taylor, Luke returned.

The woman brazenly ignored his warning and stepped even closer to the looming danger.

Nope, nothing could be that easy.

Put the weapon down, sir. The threat obvious in her tone, in the way she held herself, the woman took another step forward.

If she possessed a weapon, Nathan couldn’t see it, but even though the Dalton brothers discounted her, he saw the determination in her eyes. They blazed. They sparked. They promised. She sure as hellfire meant to see this through. Even idiots like the Daltons should understand that.

And who’s goin’ to make me? Max taunted, a dismissive smirk on his face. The sheriff here?

Luke and Max joined each other in laughter.

I am. Her words drifted over the sound of the brothers’ mirth.

The men heard her, and they laughed all the more. This was his chance. Nathan launched himself forward, his booted feet digging into the dirt. Max whirled, steadying and leveling the Colt on him.

Before his brother could fire, Luke shouted a warning and motioned to the woman who now stood a mere fifteen feet away, knife in hand. As Max swung back, Nathan launched himself at the man’s knees. Simultaneously, the Angel flipped her wrist forward and released a knife from her hand in one smooth, fluid motion.

Light glinted on the blade flipping end over end through the air just before the whir of the knife came to an abrupt halt. It embedded in Max’s chest with a sickening thud. The woman’s face flinched with grim lines, but she held her ground, watching the deadly tableau unfold before her.

Max pitched forward, and Nathan fell with him to the floor. The Colt flew from the big man’s slack hands and tumbled to Luke’s feet. Luke scooped up the gun and didn’t hesitate to pick his target.

Luke pointed the barrel of his weapon at the Angel.

Hell. No.

Luke shouted a curse in the woman’s direction, and for the first time, the Angel backed up a couple of steps, genuine concern flashing across her intriguing features. Her fear kicked Nathan in the gut. He’d seen that look before, the realization, the understanding, that all would soon be lost.

Nathan untangled himself from Max’s still form and sprang for Luke. He hoped the action would draw his fire, but Luke only had eyes for the woman who had ended his brother’s life. Nathan tackled Luke just as the Colt fired.

Red blossomed on the Angel’s ivory blouse, and she staggered backward. Rage erupted within Nathan as he followed Luke to the ground. He grappled for the gun the man held even before they hit the dirt, but Luke’s anger flared as savagely as his own.

Nathan curled his finger around part of the pistol’s grip, and in retaliation, Luke threw a fist into the side of his face. Nathan’s ear rang with the impact. Stars danced in his vision and darkness crept to the edges of his sight.

Not. Giving. Up.

He’d lost before. He knew what it was to lose. It cauterized your heart, devoured your soul.

He gritted his teeth, using both hands to yank on Luke’s single-handed grip of the gun. The effort cost him, and even as Nathan gained an edge, Luke sent another punch rocking up into his chin.

How does that feel? Luke grunted the words from between rotten, tobacco-stained teeth.

Not all that good actually, but Nathan grinned and provoked, You sure your mother didn’t teach you how to fight?

Luke growled low in his throat as he lunged off of the ground, knocking Nathan back into the dirt. You rotten bastard!

He surged over Nathan, but each of them maintained an inflexible grip on the heated steel. On instinct, Nathan lifted a booted foot and slammed it upward into the other man’s gut. The motion jerked Luke up and back, and as Luke fought to keep his grip on the pistol, the man’s own finger forced the trigger.

A shot rang out.

Luke Dalton’s grip on the pistol slackened as the man fell face forward. Gun in hand, Nathan rolled out of the way and stood just as the other man’s body crumpled in the dirt, stirring up small whirls of dust.

Nathan slid the single Colt home.

Without a backward glance, he strode to where the woman lay in the dying tendrils of the fading sun.

Once again, he’d escaped with his life while a woman paid the price.

Chapter Two

HEART HAMMERING IN HIS chest, Nathan knelt next to the Angel. She wasn’t as still as he’d first feared. Her blue eyes opened wide with pain, sweat beaded on her smooth brow, and her breaths came in short little gasps. The force behind a shot like that could knock many a full-grown man unconscious. How was this woman staying conscious?

What did you go and do a thing like that for? Anger made his words rough. He was angry with her. Angrier with himself. If he had just moved faster...

She smirked, despite the pale color of her skin.

Couldn’t—let them—kill you. She forced the words from between her lips with concentrated effort.

As he watched, the bloodstain pooled even darker on her shoulder. The bleeding had to be stopped or she didn’t stand a chance. Buttons snapped as he impatiently tore his shirt from his body. He folded the garment, using it to apply pressure to her upper right shoulder. She sucked in a breath even as her body began to tremble from shock.

She reached out and gripped his left arm, her eyes beseeching his. My—daughter.

Her voice was weak, her grip even weaker. The color drained from her smooth complexion with a rapidity that left his heart pumping at a dangerous rate. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. Past guilt and known fear clawed at his insides and clamored to control him. He bit back on his emotions.

No room for weakness.

What about your daughter? He sought the Angel’s vivid blue eyes, the same color as a clear summer’s sky. He couldn’t look away.

She’s in the—loft. Asleep. Her hand drifted back down to her side, the beautiful blue eyes blurred with her body’s shock. We—were waiting for you.

I’ll get her once I have the bleedin’ stopped, Nathan promised as his free hand followed hers down. He took her thin fingers in his and squeezed them in an attempt to reassure her. She’ll be just fine.

Take care of her. Her eyes drifted shut.

I will, Nathan replied even though he doubted she could still hear him. He lifted the Angel into his arms. She weighed nothing in his hold, a mere slip of a thing really, especially when compared to the weight of his guilt.

Please, God, let her live, whispered through his mind. His steps faltered. He hadn’t talked to Him in five years. He wasn’t about to start now.

Nathan! Deputy Randy Larson’s shout ripped through his thoughts and focused him on the here and now.

Here, Randy. Nathan strode from the barn. His anxiety escalated as the Angel’s blood seeped against his bare chest. He bit back another unwelcome prayer.

What the heck? Randy Larson loped across the barnyard, drawing his weapon and scanning the area for a threat.

The Dalton brothers are in there, Nathan began to explain to his deputy only to have his boys rush him.

You shot, Pa? Benjamin’s eyes darted to the blood. We heard shots and then we went for Deputy Larson.

You look like you got trampled, Marshall commented as he fell into step with his father. Your nose is crooked.

Nathan halted midstride. While proud of his boys for fetching Larson, he had to get command of the situation or the woman would bleed to death. He turned to his deputy. Randy, two of the Daltons are dead. Terrance is out cold. Take care of them.

Larson hesitated, casting an uncertain glance at the woman Nathan held then at him. They’ve got a point about your nose. You don’t look so good.

Now, Nathan urged Larson.

The other man nodded. Stepping toward the barn, Deputy Larson lifted his firearm as he warily entered the shadowed interior.

Nathan turned to his boys. Marshall, find Kern and bring him to the house.

Marshall took off at a run without hesitation or questions.

Nathan needed Kern if he planned to keep the woman in his arms alive. The mercantile owner remained the closest thing to a doctor in Devils Lake.

Benjamin, Nathan said, automatically gentling his tone for his younger son, wait for Deputy Larson to clear the barn. When he has the Dalton brothers taken care of, take a look up in the loft. The woman claimed her daughter is up there. Get her and be careful.

All right, Pa. Benjamin cast him one more anxious look before he took up a safe position outside the barn door and waited.

With a last glance at Ben, Nathan headed for the house. He glanced down at the woman. Her face had gone completely pale, even her lips had lost their color. Her head rested warmly against his chest, but he could tell the support of his upper arm kept it from lolling back.

She should have stayed in the loft.

She should never have challenged the Dalton brothers.

If she hadn’t interfered, she wouldn’t be suffering, and he wouldn’t be drowning in memories from years ago. He wouldn’t be remembering holding tight to Laura as her life ebbed away. He wouldn’t be reliving the helplessness of the past while at once battling the reality of the present.

The woman he held now wasn’t his wife—he didn’t even know her name for Pete’s sake—but she stirred protective instincts within him in a way he hadn’t experienced in five long years. And how could that be? She was a stranger to him, yet with her one act of bravery she had tied herself to him in a way few others ever had. He owed her his life, something he’d sworn never to owe anyone again.

Reaching the house, Nathan swept inside and carried the Angel to his bedroom. Settling her carefully on his bed, Nathan set about doing the best job at doctoring he knew.

It wasn’t much.

Come on, Kern, get here, Nathan urged.

He gently lifted her upper body in his arms and looked at the back of her shoulder. Sure enough, the bullet showed signs of exiting.

Moving to his dresser, he removed some of the materials he kept for patching himself up. Turning back to the Angel, he folded the makeshift bandage over itself several times, and placed it at her back before laying her down again. He did the same with another cloth and replaced his shirt at her front with fresh linen.

While he waited for Marshall to return with Kern, he turned his attention to her clothing. He started with her boots, untying the laces and removing them from her small feet. Next he removed her stockings. He felt like an intruder as he lifted her skirts and removed them, but leaving her fully clothed and abed for an undetermined amount of time wasn’t much of an option.

However, what he saw superseded any feminine undergarments he’d ever seen.