Page 30 of The Bastard Heir (The Gilded West #2)

There was silence for a moment, and then she laughed.

She tried to hold it in and it made her shoulders shake.

It was one of those laughs that came from deep inside, and it was apparently contagious because he started laughing, too.

A badly needed moment of levity for such a tense topic of conversation.

He had to turn his back to the room so no one would notice.

She did the same, holding onto the edge of the table as she tried to get herself under control.

She pulled off her spectacles, wiping daintily at a tear that had escaped her eye.

He watched her fingers move over the creamy skin of her cheeks and felt that rush of arousal come back.

He had the strangest urge to brush her fingers aside and feel her silky skin for himself.

To delve his fingers into her hair and pull her close so that he could cover her mouth with his.

To possess her fiery strength and beauty.

Putting her spectacles back on, she looked up at him and her smile had faded. His thoughts must have been clearly written on his face, because her gaze darted down to his mouth. He was watching her pink tongue so intently that he felt the phantom tingle of it against his own lips.

“You’re worried. I noticed that the men on watch moved in closer to the house today.”

He must’ve had a question on his face, because she nodded out toward the night.

There was a tiny dot of an orange glow from a lit cigar just past the stables, halfway to the hills.

Castillo had had them move in closer since he was taking some men out chasing Derringer today, and those tracks from the morning had gone unexplained. She was too observant. “Yes.”

She nodded, letting out a breath as if she’d been holding it, then took the last sip of her wine.

Forgetting his wound, he reached out and took the empty glass from her to set it on the table, an excuse to touch her, but he grimaced when his shoulder throbbed from the movement.

Reading his face, she looked down for some sign of his injury.

“You’re bleeding!” She kept her voice low but her face registered shock at the little bit of blood that had stained his shirt cuff.

He sat her glass on the table and covertly pulled his coat open. The white sleeve of his shirt was streaked red with blood, and it was making its way across the front of his shirt.

“Mierda…” he muttered and closed his coat before anyone else could see it.

“No wonder you look pale. What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He clenched his teeth as he looked from the open double doors leading to the porch to the doors opening into the house, trying to determine which route was best for his escape.

“How long ago did it happen? Have you bandaged it?”

He shook his head, refusing to discuss it here. “I have to go.”

She nodded and seemed to realize this wasn’t the place for this conversation. “Of course. Go upstairs and I’ll follow to bandage it.”

“No. I can take care of it.” The last thing he needed was to be alone with her in his room again. Wounded or not, he didn’t think he had it in him to stop things again if they got out of hand.

“If that were true, you would’ve already taken care of it,” she muttered through a smile she flashed Emmy as the people in the room started to break up into smaller groups for conversation.

“I didn’t have time.” Castillo didn’t know why he was defending himself to her, because he had to admit her concern was nice.

“Go, and I’ll follow you,” she whispered.

“I can do it,” he said, but he turned and slipped out onto the porch, hopeful that she’d ignore him.

***

Caroline had to wait nearly twenty minutes before she could make her escape.

The evening had been winding down until Castillo and Hunter walked in, and then it seemed as though everyone got a second wind.

As soon as he disappeared, she’d been pulled into a discussion that she couldn’t even remember now as she hurried up the stairs to her room.

Thankfully Grant Miller had realized he should keep his hotel room in Helena for the length of his stay and had left before supper, so he wasn’t a complication she had to deal with tonight.

Part of her wanted to tell Castillo, but his wound was more important right now.

She’d tell him tomorrow. As if the maid had been waiting for her, Mary poked her head out of the sitting room that had been turned into her bedroom, ready to help with Caroline’s gown.

Caroline wanted to wave her off, but acknowledged that she couldn’t get out of the gown on her own, and it’d look suspicious if she said no.

Instead, she plastered on a smile and allowed Mary a few minutes to help her out of her gown, but as soon as she’d put on her night rail and wrapper she said goodnight and locked the door behind the maid.

Rushing to the armoire, she grabbed the bag containing her medical supplies and ran to the balcony door.

When she pulled it open, Castillo was right there, staring down at her.

She would’ve yelped in surprise had she not remembered Mary just next door and caught herself. His expression was unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“Waiting for you.” He glanced down to her bag. “I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone. I came so you wouldn’t risk getting caught in my room. Let me in.”

She moved back, and when he’d stepped inside she locked the door and pulled the drapes closed.

“Do you really think it matters if I’m in your room or you’re in my room?

If we’re caught, then we’re caught.” She didn’t know why she was arguing the point with him.

Her hands shook a little as she fully comprehended the fact that he was in her room and they were alone and there was nothing at all stopping them from kissing as they had last night.

A pleasant rush of heat moved over her skin as she remembered it.

Castillo had already taken his coat off and changed his shirt in his room, though this fresh one already had a blood stain growing over his upper arm.

Oh. Right. Nothing was stopping them from kissing again but for the fact that he had a potentially serious injury and was bleeding.

She berated herself for forgetting even for a moment that he was in her room for a very good reason.

“Come sit down by the lamp.” She rushed over to set her bag down on the bed and hurried into the washroom to wash her hands and fill up a pitcher with water.

Grabbing a towel, she rushed back to his side.

He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he eased down to sit on the edge of the bed and shrug it off his shoulders. When he grimaced, she helped him pull it off, draping it over the footboard.

“What happened?” she asked and started to gently wash the wound. Some of the blood had dried so it was difficult to see the extent of the damage.

“I was shot.”

“Shot?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice, and what could only be described as absolute terror squeezed her chest. Someone had tried to kill him.

Biting her lip, she forced herself not to think about it and concentrate on the wound.

There was only flesh and blood in front of her right now. Not Castillo.

She’d never had to treat a gunshot wound before, had never even seen one, and searched her memory for some mention of that type of a wound from her father. Should she go get him?

“It’s not bad. It was only a graze,” he said, staring at the lamp.

Now that some of the blood was coming away she could see that he was right, there was no bullet lodged in his arm.

It looked as if the bullet had grazed his upper arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh with it, but overall it was a clean wound.

She tried to keep herself from imagining what sort of activity could’ve resulted in such a bullet wound and how close he’d come to being killed.

There’d be time for those thoughts later.

“You’re very lucky. A few more inches and it would’ve splintered bone, which would’ve required surgery. ”

He nodded. “It’s not the first time.”

She had to swallow to keep her voice steady. “You’ve been shot before?” She kept her gaze on his wound as she cleaned it. The wound wasn’t horrific. There were no bits of cloth to dig out and the flow of blood had likely kept any infection from festering.

“I’ve been shot at before,” he clarified.

“Derringer?” she asked, moving the bowl of blood-tinged water to the table and patting his arm dry with the towel.

He took a deep breath and hesitated before he answered. “This,” he indicated his shoulder, “is the closest I’ve come to Derringer in years.”

Was he involved in something far worse than simply trying to find his grandfather’s murderer?

“Then, who shot at you before?” She tried not to sound too interested as she opened her bag and rifled through it for the bottle of iodine and the package of surgical gauze, but she suspected that she failed miserably at keeping the interest from her voice.

“You don’t want to know, Carolina. It’s better if you don’t know.” His voice was tired, and his eyes were troubled and wary.

“But I want to know.” Lord help her, she did. Instinct was telling her there was more to him than met the eye, but her heart was telling her that whatever was going on, she wanted to help.

“I don’t want you involved.”

She hesitated, knowing that she should heed his warning. “You might feel a little discomfort from this.” She applied the iodine and covered the wound with the fresh gauze. He sucked in a breath but it was the only indication of pain that she saw. “Will you hold this so I can get your bandage?”