Free A Fire in the Blood by Shirl Henke Page A

of dog he had ever seen. A timber wolf? He shook his head, which was spinning from loss of blood. Was he seeing things? He reached for his gun, aware that his hand was moving horrifyingly slow. Then he heard Lissa’s cry as she ran up behind the brute.
           "Don't shoot, Jess. He's only a dog—an Irish Wolfhound. You're hurt. What's happened?"
           She reached up as he started to dismount. When he stumbled against her, the dog interposed his considerable bulk between Robbins and his mistress. Shooing him away, she placed Jess's left arm on her shoulder and began helping him toward the house. When her right hand touched his side and came away wet with blood, she gasped.
           "You're bleeding!"
           "Sometimes that happens when I get shot," he said through clenched teeth.
           "But who? Where?"
           "Three rustlers—one of them worked for your father. Don't recall catching their names."
           "Worked . . ." she said with dawning horror.
           "Yeah. I tried to bring in their horses but couldn't pull the reins. Had to turn them loose about an hour ago."
           Swallowing her bile, she said nothing.
           They were approaching the ranch house porch before Jess realized where she was headed. "Not here. I need to get to the bunkhouse."
           "Don't be foolish. You'll never make it that far."
           “I need patching up. That's usually the cook's job."
           "Not at J Bar. I'm the nurse. Come on." She tugged him toward the steps.
           Jess considered resisting but knew he would pass out soon and opted not to do it in the yard. A grim-faced Germaine came charging down the hall to head them off at the front door.
           "He can't come in here," she hissed at Lissa.
           "We always treat injured hands at the big house."
           "He's no cowhand," Germaine replied.
           "Get out of my way or I'll turn Cormac loose on you."
           Germaine gasped in indignation but backed stiffly aside as Lissa and Jess entered the front door. "He'll bleed on my carpets," the housekeeper said tightly.
           "Thoughtless of me, ma'am," Jess said with a grin that ended in a grimace.
           Lissa ignored the woman's hateful remarks and headed down the long hall to the kitchen. "Make yourself useful, Germaine, and boil me some water."
           They made it into the kitchen and she eased him onto a high-backed chair, then set to work gathering bandages and disinfectant while Madame Channault, moving as stiffly as if she were moribund, boiled a kettle of water on her fancy new cast-iron stove.
           "Let me help you take off that shirt," Lissa said with a briskness she was far from feeling. "You've lost a lot of blood. You're soaked all the way down your pant leg!" Beneath his swarthy skin, his face was deathly pale.
           "You should've seen the soogan I wrapped around me. It took the worst of it," he said as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. "You got something to drink around this place? I need reviving."
           "Germaine, fetch a glass of brandy from Papa's stock."
           "I do not think your father—"
           "Considering how much of his liquor you consume, I'm sure he won't mind Jess having a small draught for medicinal purposes." Her eyes met the housekeeper's in a steely glare which convinced the older woman to capitulate.
           Lissa finished unbuttoning Jess's shirt and peeled it off, trying not to cause him any further pain.
           Germaine returned with the brandy and handed it to Jess, then attended to the water now boiling on the stove. He raised the delicate crystal glass in a mock salute, then downed its contents in a quick gulp and shook his head. "Better," he pronounced.
           Kneeling, Lissa inspected the deep gash. "I've never treated a gunshot wound before," she said, chewing her lip as she wrung