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it seemed that he was taking an inordinate amount of time mounting up, but then she began to wonder if her sheriff weren’t just a tad slowwitted—not an admirable trait for a lawman. Why hadn’t she noticed this before?
    When the sheriff finally trotted away and disappeared from sight, she spun on her heel and dashed inside. As she approached her patient, the jittery nerves she’d had with the sheriff fell away from her, replaced by another, more cautious feeling, mixed with a firm sense of purpose, as she touched her hand to the man’s warm forehead. Fever.
    No wonder he’d groaned. He had also turned over, and now a long, thick leg dangled over the side of the settee like a fallen branch.
    A big man…Dark…You can always tell a killer… .
    Pushing the troubling words aside, she turned and marched upstairs to her room to fetch some more blankets. As always, she felt most comfortable when she was busy making herself useful. Even if the man she was making herself useful to was an outlaw.
    Lorna’s boots clattered behind her on the stairs as she came back down. “Is the sheriff gone?”
    Emma nodded.
    “Did he say anything about William?”
    She decided a gentle lie was in order. “We didn’t discuss William.”
    Blue eyes widened as they looked at her. “And you didn’t tell the sheriff about the outlaw?”
    “No,” Emma admitted. “Our visitor won’t be able to cause any harm in the state he’s in. Right now he’s as helpless as a kitten.” She gave Lang Tupper’s muscled physique a quick inspection, remembering the forceful way he’d caught her by surprise last night and pulled her lips down to his. Kitten? More like a feral jungle cat…
    She added quickly, “But just in case he awakes, I’m going to hide his gun…and Doc’s old rifle…and anything else that seems even remotely related to weaponry.”

Chapter Three
    “M r. Tupper?”
    Through a dense fog of fatigue Lang could hear the sweet voice calling to him again. The sound had an almost musical quality to it, reminding him of the gentle coo of the mourning dove, or lullabies women sang to their children.
    “Mr. Tupper, can you hear me?”
    His eyelids flickered against a blinding light. Then a shadow appeared, and he was able to keep his eyes open. The shadow looming over him was the angel with the voice—a pretty woman, real respectable, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. His whole body hurt, from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet, which felt as though they had walked six hundred miles. And maybe they had. He didn’t know where in tarnation he’d landed himself.
    “I’m Emma Colby.” And as if this Emma Colby had the uncanny ability to read his thoughts she added, “You’re in my home.”
    Tilting his head, he glanced away from Emma Colby’s wide, luminous green eyes to the room around him. A carved wood clock ticked on a mantel, and his head seemed to pound in time with it. Confusion blurred histhoughts. All around were the trappings of the good life—fancy curtains, finely carved furniture, a rug with deep pile. How the hell had he ended up here?
    “I found you on my doorstep.” He turned his head back to Emma Colby, amazed. Could she read his mind? “You were hurt.”
    That was pretty damned obvious! His consciousness honed in on the burning pain in his side and his right leg.
    “You were shot just below your ribs, Mr. Tupper. I removed the bullet. I also tended to the wound on your leg.”
    “You patched me up?” Lang had never met a lady doctor before.
    She nodded. “This morning you developed a severe fever, but you seem to have pulled through nicely.”
    Shot. In a blast almost as strong as a gunshot, he remembered the tumbling sequence of events that had led to Amos’s betrayal. And now, after all his effort to get away, it appeared he’d reached the end of the line. He couldn’t move, much less work up the spunk to run.
    His gun. His hand moved defensively to his hip, where it grasped nothing but