Winter Fire by Elizabeth Lowell Page A

no more than straw floating on the wind. Sitting up, he shook his head, trying to clear it.
    She put her hand on his thick hair and soothed him like a wounded hawk.
    â€œCase,” she said distinctly. “Case, can you hear me?”
    Slowly his eyes opened and focused on her.
    An odd kind of gray-blue-green , she thought. Not really hazel. More a pale green .
    Clear as winter and twice as deep. Colder, too .
    â€œSarah?” he asked hoarsely. “Sarah Kennedy?”
    â€œThat’s me,” she agreed. “Lie down, Case.”
    She pressed on his shoulders again. This time she noticed the resilience of his muscles beneath her palms, the male power coiled under his naked skin.
    And the heat. Not fever. Just…life.
    â€œWhat happened?” he asked thickly.
    â€œYou were shot. Ute found you and brought you here.”
    â€œCulpeppers?”
    â€œReginald and Quincy.”
    â€œGot to get up,” he muttered. “Coming after me.”
    â€œI doubt it. From what Ute said, the only place those two are going is straight to hell.”
    Case blinked and rubbed one hand across his eyes.
    â€œOther Culpeppers,” he said.
    His left hand moved as though reaching for a gun. His fingers found nothing but bare skin.
    â€œGun,” he said hoarsely. “Where?”
    â€œLie down. You couldn’t fight a baby chick in your condition.”
    Case shook off Sarah and tried to stand. A wave of pain slammed through him. Stifling a groan, he sank back down onto the bed.
    â€œGot to—get up,” he said.
    â€œI’ll bring you a gun if you’ll just lie down,” she said quickly. “Please, Case. If you move around you’ll start bleeding again and then you’ll die!”
    The urgency of Sarah’s tone got through to him. He stopped struggling and allowed himself to be tucked in again. Then he watched with pain-hazed eyes while she stood and went to get his gun.
    As was her custom, Sarah was dressed in men’s clothes. Skirts and petticoats were worse than useless when she was climbing the stone canyons searching for treasure, or tending sick animals, or riding one of the skittish mustangs Conner and Ute had caught to provide mounts.
    â€œMen’s clothes,” Case said in a blurred voice.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œPants.”
    She flushed brightly. “I, er, that is…”
    Her voice faded as she remembered the picture Case had made when she undressed him. Even bloody and half-dead, he had been enough to make her heartbeat quicken.
    Ninny , she told herself. Just because he kissed you sweetly as a butterfly doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt you for his own pleasure .
    He is, after all, a man .
    A big one .
    â€œI’ll bring your shirt as soon as I get the blood off it,” she said. “But you shouldn’t wear it or pants for a time. All the rubbing would just make it harder for your wounds to heal.”
    He looked confused.
    â€œI was talking about your clothes, not mine,” he said carefully.
    â€œGood thing,” she retorted, “because you’re not wearing any to speak of at the moment.”
    He tried to answer, but dizziness was breaking over him like a long winter storm. He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and fought to keep a clear head.
    But it was one battle Case knew he would lose.
    â€œHere,” she said. “I emptied the first chamber.”
    He felt the cold, familiar weight of his six-gun pressed into his left hand.
    â€œNow lie down again,” she ordered.
    He allowed himself to be pushed back onto the pallet. When she bent to tuck the bedcovers around his shoulders, one of her braids fell forward. It brushed across his cheek like a silken rope.
    â€œRoses,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    He opened his eyes. He found himself staring into eyes that were the color of mist and silver intermixed, compassionate and wary and admiring all at once.
    â€œRoses and