up.
âI came by to check on her.â A rag floated in the bowl of water and Davis Lee scooped it up, squeezed it. He moved Josieâs arm down to her side so he could wipe her face.
âIâm so sorry.â
He wanted to reassure the older woman, but all he could think about was Catherine saying that breathing might become difficult for Josie. She might have suffocated before Esther ever woke up.
He forcefully dunked the rag again, wringing it out before moving it gently over Josieâs face. âWhy donât you go on to bed, Esther? Iâll stay with her.â
âOh, Sheriff, Iâll be fine now. I really didnât mean toââ
âI insist,â he said quietly.
âBut someone might find out youâre alone in here with her.â
And doing what? he thought ruefully. The woman was practically unconscious. He gave her a flat stare. âIn light of things, I donât really care.â
â She might.â
âIâm staying. Leave the door open. Hopefully Miz Webster will recover enough to take me to task herself.â
Esther hesitated, watching him wet the rag again and repeat the stroking motions on Josieâs face. âAll right.â
She walked to the door. âIâm truly sorry, Sheriff. I donât know what happened.â
He gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention on the slight figure in the bed.
Estherâs footsteps sounded down the stairs then faded away. The rag warmed with the heat of Josieâs flesh. The nearly transparent garment she wore wasnât a chemise as he had first thought, but some one-piece thing that looked like a chemise and drawers combined. Except it wasnât loose and shapeless like any shift heâd ever seen. This undergarment was fitted. Edged with delicate lace, it curved to her body like a second skin.
Especially damp as it was from repeated efforts to cool her down. The thin fabric clung to her breasts, revealing the darker flesh of her nipples, the dip of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were small but full, and the perfect size for her petite frame. There was nothing wanting about them at all.
His mouth went dry and he grabbed the sheet, pulling it up over her. He dipped the cloth and ran it over her face, her neck, her chest. The faint tang of kerosene drifted from the lamp, but it was the scent of soft warm woman and honeysuckle that filled his lungs. Secluded with her like this, cornered by the night and the heat, Davis Lee felt his body harden. He lost track of how many times he wet the cloth, soothed her skin then repeated the motions.
He lifted her, applying the cool rag to her nape and the patch of skin on her back not covered by that infernal sheer piece of nothing. Her sobs quieted, but she twisted on the bed, kicking off the sheet.
He pulled up the cover and she moved it again. He couldnât tell if her fever was coming down. High color still flushed her cheeks and chest. Her hairline was wet, her underwear and the sheets damp. He reached out and stroked a finger lightly against her temple.
She turned into his touch, moaning, âWilliam.â
Who was William? Husband? Lover? Brother? She had never answered his questions about her family.
She mumbled incoherently, her arm slanting across her face again.
He murmured soothing words, lifted her arm to draw the wet cloth over her face and chest. She twitched beneath his hand, her head turning from side to side on her pillow. Her hair slid across her face and Davis Lee nudged the wet strands away.
âBlood,â she whispered brokenly. âSo much blood.â
Another sob choked out of her and his heart caught at the deep-reaching agony of it. Blood? What was going on in her head? Just another question to add to the others he had about her.
He wished her fever would cool, that Catherine would return. He took her hand and dipped it into the water up to her wrist, spreading the wet rag on her chest