The Devil's Own Desperado Read Online Free Page A

without delirious ravings and fevered thrashings.
    Amelia could attest to his physical condition. In his delirium, she had struggled more than once to keep him quiet. There was more strength in his lean body than she would have thought. More than once, the muscles across his chest and in his arms had knotted as he struggled against some assailant known only to him. Amelia had a bruise on her arm where his iron fist had connected in one of those struggles.
    A quiet groan broke from him and he stirred. His eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes. His gaze darted around the room before he scrutinized her with cool, lucid eyes.
    “You’re awake.” She looked away from that level expression. Those gray eyes hinted at things no person should ever see, or that no respectable lady should even try to imagine. His delirious ravings had convinced her he’d lived a life she never wanted to contemplate. His language had been enough to peel the hide from the toughest mule. Her mother would have been mortified to know that Amelia had heard such words.
    “Yeah,” he grunted, his voice rough from lack of use. “I guess I am.”
    Amelia stood and set her book on the seat of the rocker. “That’s good. Would you like something to drink?”
    He shook his head and winced. His eyes closed for a moment. “That was a mistake,” he ground out. “Shouldn’t have moved my head. It feels like it’s splitting into lots of little pieces.”
    Amelia pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “I think your fever has broken.”
    “I still have my arm too, I see.” A thin ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. No warmth reached his wintry gray eyes. “Not sure if I should thank you for that or not.”
    “Thank Dr. Archer. He didn’t see it necessary to amputate.” Amelia crossed the room to the doorway. She chose not to mention his delirious ravings, and his plea for the “sawbones” not to take off his arm. “I’ve got some broth on. I’ll go get you some of it.”
    “Lady, I’m hungry enough right now to eat a whole yearling steer.”
    “My name is Amelia, not lady. And Dr. Archer said I wasn’t to give you any solid food for at least two days after you woke up.”
    He shot a bitter-cold glare at her. Amelia smoothed the front of her dress and suppressed the shiver threatening to rush over her. “You haven’t had solids in several days and with the fever you ran, the doctor is worried that you will vomit. No solid food, only broth and water to drink.”
    “I don’t want broth, lady.” His brows lowered. The tone of his voice sounded younger than he appeared. “I want real food. Steak, fried potatoes, green beans, and carrots, with coffee to wash it all down. I don’t want broth.”
    A smile tugged at Amelia’s mouth and she bit the inside of her mouth to stifle a laugh. Perhaps he was not quite so rough around the edges as he tried to act. “You sound exactly like Saul when he’s pouting and wants something he can’t have.”
    “Who the hell is Saul?” He tried to push himself up, but gave up the effort. Sweat dripped off him, and his face drained of color again.
    “My twelve-year-old brother. I’m sorry, but Dr. Archer was very plain about what you could and couldn’t have when you finally woke up. No solid food for two days.” Amelia walked to the bedroom door. “I’ll bring some broth for you.”
    “Don’t bother,” he flung at her back.
    A few minutes later, Amelia returned, carrying a tray. She set the tray on the nightstand, taking a moment to steady the wobbling table. “I’ll help you sit up.”
    He shot a glance at the bowl of broth on the tray and shoved it to the floor. Amelia jumped back in time to avoid being splattered with the warm chicken broth. Anger with the waste, with the loss of one of her mother’s china pieces, and anger for his seeming ungratefulness flared up.
    “That was rude and uncalled for.”
    “I said I didn’t want that.”
    Amelia forced herself to draw a calming