Page 75 of West Wind

The man grinned. “Sandy hair, shaves once or twice a year, mean as a snake…”

She relaxed and slumped back to the pillow. “That’s him. He’s not sick?”

“No. He’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Travis,” she said dreamily. She was ready to fall asleep again. “Is that his real name?”

The man’s broad shoulders rose and fell. “Yes. What did you call him? Shelley?”

She looked around the bedroom with its high ceilings and gilt-framed mirrors, polished wood and arched windows. “Like the poet. Where am I?”

“My home. Travis’s home, too, though he’s rarely here.” He took the chair by the bed.

“This is Shelley’s home?” Intriguing as that news was, she could barely keep her eyes open.

He nodded. “I’ll let him tell you all about it when he returns.” He tucked the covers tightly around her, frowned as he touched his hand briefly to her forehead. “Damned if you’re not a bit warmer than you were when Travis left. Sleep, my dear.”

She was glad to oblige, but before she closed her eyes she asked the stranger with the oddly familiar face one more question. “Who are you?”

There was that grin she knew so well. “I’ve spent so much time hovering around this bed I forgot that we’ve never been properly introduced. Pardon my atrocious manners, Miss St. Clair. I’m Travis’s brother, Bartholomew Shelton.”

It was dark before he returned to the quiet house.

“It’s about time,” Bart growled when Shelley opened the door to his bedroom.

His smile faded when he saw Bart’s consternation. “She’s worse?”

“Yes, she’s worse,” Bart snapped. “I can’t get her to take the medicine, and she slapped my hand when I tried to bathe her face. She’s more stubborn than she looks. This is really not my forte, Trav.”

Shelley ignored his brother and leaned over Annie. A touch of her forehead made him curse. He reached for the medicine on the bedside table.

“Come on, darlin’.” He measured out the medicine and gently lifted her head. Annie cooperated and took the medicine he poured down her throat, never even opening her eyes.

“Shelley?” she whispered.

“Right here, darlin’.” He dampened a rag and cooled her hot face. Annie was completely relaxed in his arms. Bart shook his head in obvious dismay.

“I thought you’d left me again.” Her eyes opened slightly. “I told you I didn’t love you,” she admonished.

“You did.” He wiped the cool cloth across her throat. “I don’t love you, too.”

She smiled. “Then you don’t have to leave.”

He rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and bathed her arms, then dried them tenderly before rolling her sleeves down again. What to tell her, and when?

“I’ve got some news for you,” he said as he finished bathing her and tucked the covers around her. “That fella who said you stabbed him? Albert Gibson?”

Her eyes flew open. He almost swore at the terror he saw there.

“No. It’s all right.” He brushed loose tendrils of hair away from her face, unable to keep his hands away from her. “He went to the police and told the truth, that he killed your fiancé and stabbed himself, and tried to place the blame on you. He told it all. You’re no longer a wanted woman.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” Bart muttered under his breath. Shelley shot him a piercing glare. “Sorry, Trav,” he apologized insincerely.

“You can go,” Shelley said sharply. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her.”

“Do I have to leave?” his brother asked as he slowly rose to his feet. “This is just getting interesting.”

“Is it true?” Annie asked, ignoring the exchange between brothers. “Albert told the truth?”