Jodi Thomas - The Lone Texan

The animal took the second blow and limped a foot away, whimpering.

The man wasn't finished. He swung back his leg to plant another blow.

Sage reacted before she thought. Her bag slammed into the stout troublemaker at the same moment his foot reached the wounded dog. The man fell backward against the boardwalk, and the dog rolled farther into the street.

She jumped to snatch the animal back and too late realized she'd stepped directly into the path of a team of galloping horses.

Sage scooped up the pup and closed her eyes, bracing for the blow to come.

Bonnie's and her screams blended, but neither had time to move.

Like a swift wind, something or someone brushed against Sage and lifted her off the ground a second before impact.

Feeling suspended between life and death, Sage didn't dare breathe. Maybe that's how it is when you die, she thought. Maybe the angel of death grabs you a split second before you feel the pain.

But she could feel the dog in her arms. She could feel something strong and warm locked around her waist. A second later, she was plopped down on the walk out of harm's way.

"Damn it, Sage!" a furious voice thundered. "You about killed yourself over a stray dog."

Sage cringed. Recognizing the voice, she opened one eye. "Roak?"

The man before her was filthy from his dusty hat to his mud-covered boots. If Satan hired wranglers, this trail duster would get the job. He was tall, dark, and the kind of lean that's molded from solid muscle.

"Roak?" she whispered again. After almost four years there was no mistaking the wildness of Drummond Roak. His stormy gray eyes glared at her as if he was considering murdering her for almost getting herself killed. The lean boy's face she remembered seemed chiseled in strong, hard lines now. Just as she'd suspected, he'd grown up mean and heartless, probably tossing women aside in every settlement from here to the Oklahoma Territory

She opened her other eye. "It is you, isn't it?" None of the boy she'd known remained. This man before her almost frightened her.

He pulled off his hat and shoved midnight hair out of his eyes. "Of course it's me, damn it. Teagen told me you'd be in this week. I had to ride like hell to get here, and what do I see…" He swallowed hard as if choking down curses by the dozen. "I have half a mind to turn you over my knee and whip some sense into you. You must have left your brain back at that college you went to”

"Stop swearing at me!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

From behind him, Bonnie pushed her way through the gathering crowd. She stood almost eye-to-eye with Drummond Roak. "Who is this man, Dr. Lander? He can't talk to you like this. I won't stand for it." There was no doubt Bonnie thought she could straighten him out with a few words.

Sage almost laughed. Bonnie saw herself as not only nurse but bodyguard. As far as Sage knew, the nurse had never met anyone who didn't bend to what the hospital called her "sergeant tone” Sage had seen entire waiting rooms grow silent at her order, but Nurse Bonnie Faye had never encountered Drummond Roak.

He turned toward the nurse before spitting his words out. "Who am I? Who in the hell are you?"

Sage faced them both, her anger blending with embarrassment as a crowd gathered. "He's a dirty, foulmouthed kid named Drummond Roak," she answered before Bonnie could defend herself, "who has been driving me mad since he was no more than half-grown. I thought I would have at least a few months' peace before I ran into him again.^” Sage glared at Roak as if she were six feet tall and not barely over five, but to Bonnie she said, "I don't need protection from this man. I only need distance” She shoved the rock-hard wall of his chest one last time for good measure as though she believed she could budge him.

"I just saved your life, Sage!" Drum shouted. "The least you could do is thank me before you start insulting me.”

"Stop yelling at me.” She poked him with her finger as if it were a saber.

"Stop calling me a kid.” He shoved her hand away, but it swung back.

She had to admit there was little of the boy she'd known standing before her. She was three years older than he was, but he'd never acknowledged the difference that made between them. He'd stolen a kiss from her when he'd been fifteen and always told her that someday she'd be his. Looking at him now, she realized how ridiculous his dream had been. In the years since her brother Teagen had caught him sneaking onto their ranch, from his dress Drum hadn't changed much from the dirty, wild kid raised in an outlaw camp. He looked like he belonged back in the lawless wilderness he'd come from.

Bonnie finally found her voice. "You're Drummond? The Drum that the doctor has told everyone about for years? The boy who tried to fight her big brother, a man twice your age and size? The kid who can swim the Guadalupe River to climb onto their ranch at Whispering Mountain? The Drum who fought with them against invaders and swore he'd die with the McMurrays if need be?"

"Who are you, lady?" Drum asked. "How do you know about me?"

"I'm Bonnie Faye Pierce. Dr. Lander's assistant.” Bonnie stood tall. "You got to be Drum Roak. She said you had the gray eyes of a wolf."

Sage wished she could take back every word she'd ever said about Texas. She'd thought the stories on cold winter nights at the hospital were harmless. Everyone seemed to think they were just adventures in fiction. Now, Bonnie was staring at Roak as if he were a hero from a novel come to life.

He lowered his voice and frowned. "Who is Dr. Lander?"

Sage knew it was time to mention what she'd left out of her letters to her brothers. She only wished she were telling them first and not Roak. "I married five months ago. My name is Lander now."

His stormy eyes flashed for a moment with something that might have been pain. "You're married?" he said. He straightened and added, "You're Dr. Lander?" All emotion suddenly was gone from his voice.

"Widowed," she answered.

Eyes that had drunk in the wonder and sadness of the world when he'd been younger showed no sign of feeling anything now, and Sage realized that standing before her was a stranger she didn't know at all.

The dog moved in her arms. She said in the level tone of a professional. We need to move someplace where I can have a look at this animal."

Roak stood stone still, and she knew if she wanted his help, she'd have to ask.

Biting her lip, she said, "Drum, will you see us safely across the street?"

He nodded, silently accepting her tacit apology. He reached for her bag and would have lifted both of Bonnie's as well, but the nurse grabbed the carrying cage. "I'll handle Bullet.”

Roak raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

They dodged their way across the street and into the alley beside the hotel.

"You can see to the dog in the washroom out back," Drum said over his shoulder. "I'll drop your bags at the front desk and tell them you'll be by later to pick them up along with the key.” He reached for the cat, but Bonnie was not willing to hand her pet over to a stranger, even if she had heard stories about his bravery.

Roak seemed to understand, for he nodded. "Then I'll be on my way, Dr. Lander. Miss Pierce.”

Sage wanted to yell at him a little longer, but the whimpering dog in her arms demanded her attention. After taking a few steps toward the back entrance, Sage looked over her shoulder belatedly to thank him, but Drummond was already gone. Apparently he wanted no more of her than she wanted of him.

DRUMMOND ROAK DROPPED THE LUGGAGE AT THE desk and stormed out. Over the years he'd thought of a hundred things he'd say to Sage McMurray if he ever saw her again. He'd even thought of a few things he wouldn't mind doing.

That had all changed. Nothing today had gone like he'd planned. Much as he wanted to blame her, he knew the fault lay with him. He'd been so frightened when he saw her about to be hurt that he boiled over in anger, and she'd answered in kind.

Part of him wanted to grab her and say simply that it was about time she came back. He'd waited for her. Dear God, how he'd waited for her.

Time may have passed, but she was never far from his thoughts. He could have filled an entire book with the dreaming he'd had of her. Apparently, he was never even a footnote in her life.

Sage would be far too busy with the mutt to worry about her own comfort, so he'd ordered her a bath and tea sent to her room once she arrived. Evidently she was still picking up strays. Drum figured he was probably only one of hundreds.

Crossing the street again, he retrieved his horse and headed for the first bathhouse he could find. He hadn't expected to see her five minutes after he hit town. He'd thought he would at least have time to clean up and shave.

He swore under his breath. It had been years, and she still looked at him as if he were the scrawny, wild kid they'd tied in their barn when they caught him on their land. He'd proven his worth to her family a dozen times over the years, but that hadn't changed a thing in her eyes.

Drum tossed four bits on the table at the bathhouse door. "Hot water, lots of it, and whiskey.”

The old man behind the table nodded and pointed to the third door. Half door really. For a foot at both the top and bottom had been sawed off. The bottom was left open so the bathwater could run out and the top so that the owner could know what was going on in his establishment. The old guy looked like he allowed pretty much everything, but he'd want a price for anything more than a bath.

Drum slammed the flimsy door closed and dropped his saddlebags on the bench. He pulled out his fine tailored black shirt and pants and the leather vest he'd planned to be wearing when he saw Sage. He had a new hat with a silver band hanging on a peg at the Ranger station a few blocks away. She wouldn't have thought him a kid if she'd seen him dressed up.

He stripped off his filthy trail clothes and slid into a tin tub of lukewarm water. Part of him knew it didn't matter what he wore; she'd never think of him as her equal.

Before he could relax, the old man kicked the door back and added two steaming buckets of water to the tub, filling it completely. "You paid for soap and a towel. We'll settle up on the whiskey when you leave." He marked the level of the bottle before setting it next to the tub.

Drum leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the heat settle around him. He never should have come to Galveston. He should have stayed half a state away from Sage. He'd asked for trouble and, as usual, he'd found it. No matter what he did, she'd never see him as anything but worthless. He had more important things to do than come here to be insulted.

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. No one else in Texas would have the nerve to insult him but Sage.

"You want me to wash your back?" A woman's voice jarred him from his thoughts. A round head covered in orange curls popped just above the door.

Normally, he would have said no, but today, he nodded once.

A stout woman in her thirties squeezed along the side of the tub. She had soap in one hand and a scrub brush in the other. She smiled and began her work. Within seconds, the front of her blouse was soaking wet, showing her wares, and her washing had become stroking.

When her hand dipped beneath the water, Drum pushed her away gently. "Thanks for the scrub, but I can do the rest."

She winked. "Are you sure? I don't mind. With a man built like you, it would be a pleasure."

He reached across to the coins lying next to his guns and tossed her one. "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks”

She looked disappointed.

Drum dropped his head into the water. When he raised it again, she was gone.

He grinned, wondering how much of her desire was spurred by the need of money. Leaning back in the water, he took a long drink of whiskey and tried to imagine Sage offering to wash his back.

Not likely.

He knew he was wild. How could he not be? He would have had better parenting if he'd been raised by wolves. His mother never even attempted to tell him which one of the bandits who lived in the hole of a town where he was born had been his father. She'd lifted her skirt so often for the price of a drink that most of the time she was so drunk she didn't remember having a child and never thought of caring for one. Other boys had mates; his first memories were of fighting the stray dogs in the camp for food.

Drum let the past he usually kept tucked away flow through his mind: the time he'd been five and had been beaten because he couldn't hold the target still so the drunks in the camp could fire, winter months when he'd hidden in the wood by the fire for warmth, cleaning up his mother when she threw up on herself.