What would he have done if Rachel had said yes? Take her right there amid the lumber, in full view of anyone who passed by? He’d told her she deserved more, better, yet he was neither of those things. He’d stepped out of bounds and heaven only knew what Rachel would think of him now. He was no better than Kirkpatrick, holding power over her and using it against her.
Not that she was immune to his touch. He could tell from her rapid breathing, the way her expression softened and her lips parted in invitation. He’d almost taken her up on it. Almost waved goodbye to all his common sense and pulled her into his arms and kissed her so soundly they both would have felt the effects long after the kiss ended. If she hadn’t stepped back, he would have done exactly that.
He was a dang fool!
He’d almost walked directly into a trap of his own making. A trap he swore he would never be caught in again.
Caleb shook his head as he stabled Jasper and filled his trough with oats. He couldn’t afford such a lapse in judgment. He’d done that once before, thinking he could have the type of life where a man settled down comfortably in a home with a wife and a family.
Marianne.
It’d been a while since he’d thought of her. The pain of her betrayal, once a sharp knife through his heart, had since dulled, turning to disappointment more than anything else. He couldn’t fault the choice she’d made, but it served as an ominous reminder. Some men weren’t meant for settling down. Some men had a past, and that past didn’t care one whit about dreams or wants or desires.
He couldn’t allow himself to give in to whatever feelings were developing for Rachel. Feelings that grew with each passing day as he watched the strength with which she kept her family going and the limitless love she surrounded them with. He could not deny an overwhelming need to know what it would be like to be a part of that circle any more than he could deny the urge to protect her, the way she did everyone else.
But he was not the right man for the job. Eventually, his past would come calling. It always did, one way or the other. And it never left empty-handed.
By the time Caleb returned to the bunkhouse he could feel the dampness in the air. Daylight had given way to darkness, but gray clouds still smothered the stars. The others had already turned in. The lights in the main house had been extinguished.
He quietly opened the bunkhouse door and was greeted by Foster’s snoring. Brody, sleeping on the top bunk, had rolled over to face the wall, his blankets pulled up around his ears. The woodstove radiated a stifling warmth and filled the small space with the scent of burning wood.
Each night, Caleb hoped his opinion of the bunkhouse would change, but it never did. It was still a small, dark room, even more so with the sun long set.
He sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, his bedroll next to him. His heartbeat had picked up the minute he’d stepped inside and the sheen of sweat on his forehead had nothing to do with the heat from the stove. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself somewhere else. The trail leading along the creek with the breeze teasing the hair at his neck. The sound of the rushing water. Birds warbling overhead, calling out to each other in song. Rachel, her long hair dark against stark white sheets, spread out over naked shoulders—
His eyes snapped open. No. Not that.
Sweat trickled down his back.
Breathe.
Like every night before, the walls closed in.
Just breathe.
His throat constricted.
It was no good. Caleb stood, grabbed his bedroll and slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him. A straight-backed chair leaned against the outer wall. He sat down and stretched his legs out, covering himself with the bedroll. Overhead, the sky rumbled. A few minutes later, the first few raindrops splattered against the toe of his boots.
He sighed and surveyed the dark, starless sky. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
As if in response, lightning split the sky and the rain increased in force. He twisted his mouth into a scowl.
“Thought not.”
He pulled his hat lower and the blanket higher. It was going to be a long night.
Rachel lit the candle on the kitchen counter and worked the pump until water filled the kettle. The rolling thunder and her memories of the afternoon made it impossible to sleep.
She had crept from the room, careful not to wake Ethan, who had curled up next to her. He had his own bed tucked in the corner of her bedroom, but the rain and thunder had driven him to hers.
She’d spent half the night tossing and turning. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Caleb’s image dancing beneath her lids, tormenting her in the same way his touch had teased her earlier. She was mortified by her response. Horrified she hadn’t immediately pulled away. Shamed by how much she wanted to experience it again.