He just stared at her a moment. She was actually smiling and looked relieved that he might be better. And today…today she was the prettiest he had ever seen her. She wore a deep blue calico dress that fit her small but nicely curved frame. Her long, honey-blond hair was hanging well past her shoulders, drawn up at the sides with combs. There was no more fear in her eyes as she came closer and touched his face with the back of her hand, and what a slender, gentle hand it was.
“The fever is finally gone. I’d say you’re going to live, Mr. Harkner. And I must say, under all that trail dust and that neglected beard, you turned out to be quite a handsome man once I found your real face.”
Jake’s eyes moved over her, and Miranda immediately regretted the remark, wondering what had made her say it. She moved to the foot of the bed, draping a light blanket over his bare feet, then moved to the window and opened the curtains. “It’s a beautiful day.”
Jake tried to sit up, but dizziness overcame him. He groaned, and quickly Miranda was at his side, grasping his shoulders and pressing him back into the feather mattress. “Not yet. Don’t be so anxious, Jake.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Nearly a week now. I imagine it will be another few days before you can think about walking around, let alone riding a horse.”
Again Jake tried to sit up. “I don’t have another few days. I’ve been here too long already. Where are my guns? My clothes?”
“Jake, if you do too much too soon, everything I’ve done, all the hours I’ve sat with you through the night, will be for nothing. You’ll kill yourself. Let your body heal.” She straightened and folded her arms. “I’m not giving you any guns just yet. As far as your clothes, they’ve been boiled and pressed and are clean whenever you’re ready to wear them again, but at the moment you are far from that.”
Again he settled back into the bed, hating to admit she was right. She had called him Jake twice, using the name as easily as if he were her best friend. And was that true concern he saw in her eyes? She left the room, and he heard the sound of dishes clinking, water being poured. She returned a few minutes later with a tray. “A cup of good, strong tea is just what you need. Good for a stomach that hasn’t seen food for a long time.” She set the tray on the table beside the bed. “And if you’re so determined to sit up, then let’s do it right. Then you can get the tea down better. If it stays down, I’ll cut you a piece of bread and we’ll see if that stays down.”
She reached over to help him raise up a little, bracing an arm under his neck. She reached around him then to fluff the pillows and grasp an extra one to prop against the cross-poles at the head of the bed.
Jake noticed her neck was small and pretty. She was so close, smelled so good. He thought how if he were at his usual strength and felt all right, it would be very hard not to pull her to him and taste her mouth, feel her soft skin. How long had she been a widow? How often did she think about what it had been like to let a man bed her? Had it been good with her husband, or were there things he had never even taught her?
“I’ll help all I can, but you’re going to have to push with your hands a little.” Miranda grasped him under the arms and used all her strength to help scoot him up slightly, thinking what a solid, muscular man he was, in spite of his last week of sickness. His skin was so dark, she wondered if he had Mexican or Indian blood. She struggled to ignore his closeness, tried not to think about how good it might feel to have a man hold her again in the night, treasure her, make love to her. It was certainly ridiculous to think such a thing about a man like Jake Harkner.
She got him to a sitting position and quickly moved away from him, turning to take the tray and set it across his legs. She took the cup then and raised it to his lips. “Try to drink some.”
Jake took the cup into his own hands. “I can hold it.”
Miranda watched him a moment, confused by her own feelings. Taking care of him, nursing him through his agony and knowing she was the cause of it, hearing the things he had said in his delirium, all made her feel closer to him, responsible for him. Her curiosity about his past had only grown stronger, as had this strange, unexplainable sympathy for him. Why on earth should she feel sorry for this man who was probably no better than those who had killed her father? Was it foolish to believe that deep inside, every man had some good in him?
“I don’t know why I haven’t told anyone you’re here,” she said. “I only know that no matter how much part of me argued for it, I simply could not turn you in for bounty money. I did go into town once.” She watched his dark eyes turn distrustful again as he lowered the cup. “Don’t worry. I had no intention of turning you in,” she assured him. “I only went so that everything would appear normal and so my friends could see I was just fine. I wanted to avoid anyone coming here to check on me. As long as you were sick, I couldn’t count on you keeping quiet if someone came around.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to know the latest rumor about you?”