Jillian Hart Read Online Free

into the skin beside his eyes and cut around his mouth, as if he were a man who knew how to smile and laugh.
    Please, let him be a good husband.
    She'd not confided her fears to anyone, not even Blanche. What was he like inside, past the handsomeness of his face? Was he fair, or judgmental? Did he have a quick temper, or a slow, steady patience?
    At least she'd made the decision to come to town when she did, and found him. Her heart clenched, remembering how vulnerable this big man had looked, sprawled unconscious on the road. She tried to quiet her uncertainty about how he'd come to have a bullet wound at all.
    He'd come. He kept his promise. Surely that was a good sign.
    John moaned low in his throat, then rolled his head on the pillow, his face contorting with pain.
    "Easy, now." She laid a hand on his cheek. The heat of him, the rough feel of the day's stubble whiskering his jaw, made her pulse jump.
    His hand closed around her wrist. Such well-shaped fingers, tanned by the sun, callused as if he knew how to work, and work hard. He twisted on the pillow to look up at her. Shadowed eyes met hers, glazed with pain. "Thirsty."
    "Let me pour you some water." She lifted her hand, and his grip fell away. Lissa stood, nervousness flowing through her veins.
    If only she weren't so shy, perhaps it would be easier. She feared he would find her less than he hoped—less pretty, less desirable, less everything. Lissa knew he was a man tough enough for the job ahead of him. She so wanted him to be pleased with her, too.
    Her hand trembled as she filled the tin cup. She clinked the pitcher against the basin accidentally. When the intensity of his gaze latched onto hers, though, she felt surer. His steady presence felt like strength. John Murray was a substantial man. Hope warmed her like sunshine.
    "Here. Don't sit up." Lissa lowered the cup to his lips, but his hand caught the cup, as if he weren't used to being waited on.
    He sipped, the relief audible in his sigh after he swallowed. "Thank you."
    At least he was polite. That's a very good sign, right? "Would you like more?"
    "Later, perhaps." He sank back into the fluffy pillows. "Has the doctor been in to check on me?"
    "Less than twenty minutes ago." Lissa found the edge of the chair and eased into it.
    "What did he say? Am I going to be all right?"
    "Yes. He said you must have a harder head than most men. In this instance, that's a good thing."
    A smile stretched across his generously cut mouth. An attractive smile, simple and easy, brought out twin dimples in his cheeks.
    Warmth bubbled in Lissa's chest. "You're looking better than you did when I found you."
    "You brought me here?" His interest was quick and sharp.
    "Yes. You must have fallen off your horse."
    "Must have?" Frown lines puckered between his eyes. "Were you there?"
    "No, I found you lying on the road leading to my ranch."
    "And you brought me here all by yourself?" His blue gaze fastened on hers, curious, measuring.
    She felt the impact like a touch to her face. "Yes. I laid you on the blanket I keep beneath the seat and dragged you to the tailgate. Then I hoisted you up into the bed of the wagon."
    "You're strong for such a little thing." He had a gentle voice, gentle eyes.
    "I'm a country girl." She shrugged, uncomfortable with his compliment. She wasn't used to them. "Lucky for you I am fairly strong, or I never would have managed to pull and push you into the wagon. My son is too small to help."
    "Your son?"
    "I suppose you don't remember anything about him, either." Sadness crept into her voice, and she couldn't stop it.
    "No. I'm sorry."
    Somehow that made the situation worse, more hopeless. Chad was one of the reasons she had even considered John Murray's offer of help, why she'd written him about the towheaded little boy so different from Michael, a child who needed a father, a home, someone to help protect and provide for him.
    John had answered with a promise to bring his guns and his might. He'd worked as