How had she come to this? Her whole life she had done her best to keep her wanton desires under lock and key. It had never been too difficult. Certainly, on occasion, she had felt the stirrings of wanting...more, but she’d never fully understood what more meant.
Until now.
And now she could not erase the shocking visions that mocked her each time she closed her eyes. Visions of herself with Caleb, naked and writhing beneath the ministrations of his hands and mouth as he explored every inch of her body until—
Thunder cracked and rumbled, blessedly interrupting her thoughts. She placed a hand to her forehead and stared out the window over the sink. She was hanging by a thread, and if she didn’t get control of herself it was going to snap.
Forks of lightning flashed across the sky, stretching its spindly fingers and illuminating the outbuildings and the landscape beyond. Rachel hadn’t realized what she’d been staring at until the sudden light revealed the bunkhouse in the distance. What she saw there was unexpected, but the eerie glow dissipated before she could be certain it was nothing more than the result of her overtaxed imagination.
A few seconds later thunder rumbled, shaking the foundation of the house beneath her bare feet. She continued to stare out the window, waiting. Within a minute, another flash of lightning gave her a second look.
What was Caleb doing out there?
Rachel grabbed her coat from the peg by the door and pulled her shawl over her head to protect it from the driving rain. The man had obviously gone mad. She shoved her feet into her boots and turned up the wick on the lantern as she headed out the door.
Sidestepping as many of the puddles forming on the pathway as she could, it took her only a few minutes to reach the bunkhouse. She held the light up to eye level, still in disbelief.
Caleb poked a finger out of the edge of the soaked blanket covering his body and tilted the brim of his hat back far enough to glance up at her and scowl. “What in tarnation are you doing out in this?”
Her mouth fell open. “What am I doing out in this? I’m not the one sleeping in the rain. Have you lost your mind?” The question seemed redundant. Obviously he had. No man in his right mind would sleep in such conditions when a perfectly warm, dry bed awaited him on the other side of the door. Brody complained of Foster’s snoring, but surely it wasn’t so bad that being soaked to the skin was preferable.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You were perhaps enjoying the lovely weather?”
His scowl deepened. “Get back to the house before you catch your death.”
“Me?” Did the man think he was immune to Mother Nature’s wrath? “I’m not going anywhere until you get back inside.”
“I’m not going back inside.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.”
To prove her point, Rachel sat down hard on the step leading up to the door.
She didn’t sit for long. Caleb’s strong hand wrapped around her arm and lifted her to her feet. She barely had time to grab the lantern before he propelled her forward toward the house. Her legs did double time, two steps for every one of his long strides. He was far less careful about missing the puddles than she had been, and the water splashed up beneath her soaked nightdress to chill her bare legs. He didn’t say a word. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had. The rain and thunder would have drowned him out. He let his actions do the talking, and they spoke volumes.
Rachel didn’t protest. She didn’t particularly care for the manhandling, but ultimately she was getting what she wanted. Him out of the rain. He didn’t slow until he had her inside the house. She set the lantern on the kitchen table and swiped at the water on her face. When he turned to leave she called after him, stopping him before he reached the door.
“I’ll only follow you back out.”
He turned, slowly, his hazel eyes piercing through the dim light. A chill made goose bumps dimple her skin. “You’ll stay put.” His voice brooked no argument.
“You might own this land, Caleb, but you don’t own me. I’ll do as I see fit.”
He pointed a finger at her. “Stay put,” he repeated, biting the words out one by one. He turned and walked out the door.
Lips pursed, Rachel followed. His mule-like tendencies aside, she was not about to let him sleep out in the pouring rain. It had nothing to do with concern over his well-being, she told herself. She simply didn’t have time to play nursemaid when he fell ill.
He spun on his heel at the sound of the door slamming shut behind her. Rachel barely had time to get her bearings in the dark when she was lifted up and over his shoulder, and carried back into the house.