Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(45)

He couldn’t walk away. Not yet. She needed help, whether he liked it or not.

He would do what he had to.

He owed her that much.





Chapter Twelve

Rachel stacked the last of the supper dishes on the shelf. Next to her, Freedom hummed an old spiritual, filling the quiet kitchen with her rich voice. This used to be Rachel’s favorite time of the day. The men had been fed and the lively energy of the late dinner hour had dissipated as the hands and Brody went off to their respective bunkhouses. With the work of the day completed, Rachel could put up her feet, maybe read Ethan a story from the book of fables her father had given her years ago.

This was the time of day when she could relax.

At least it had been, before her world had been turned upside down. Now, when she finally had time to stop working, her mind filled with worry and she started fretting over what she would do.

It didn’t help matters that Caleb had ignored the call to supper, as was his habit, and continued banging away. He’d framed up the roof with Foster’s help, but when Freedom rang the dinner bell only Foster hurried his old bones to the table. The hammering continued, competing with the whine of the harmonica Ethan abused each night in an attempt to learn to play properly.

Rachel rubbed at her temples. If she wanted quiet, likely she would have to hike well into the mountains at this rate. As for peace, well, she had given up on that elusive item. Especially since, any minute now, Caleb was bound to make his way into the kitchen and pick up the plate she’d set aside, warming on top of the stove.

Rachel usually tried to ensure she had removed herself from the kitchen by then, retreating to her room, but there had been potatoes to scrub and beans to soak and time simply got away from her. But if she sneaked away now and let Free—

“I’s be headin’ off to my own bed,” Freedom said. “You be sure and see to it Mr. Beckett get his supper. Man been workin’ hisself to the bone all day. He’ll need a full belly lest he drop over from lack of sustenance.”

“You’re leaving?” She couldn’t leave. Freedom always stayed behind to ensure Caleb got his meal. If Free left then...well, then Rachel would have to face him, and that was the last thing she wanted. Her eyes strayed to the cot and heat flushed her skin.

“Been a long day. These ole bones are right weary tonight. I’ll take Len his plate.” Len had missed supper, sending word back with Brody that he planned to complete his work on the fence while there was still daylight left.

“I can do that.” Anything to avoid being left alone with Caleb.

Freedom waved her off as she headed to the door, taking the spare lamp with her to light her way. “He’s right on my way. Poor fool must be starvin’, waitin’ so long on a meal. You mind Mr. Beckett get his too. Cain’t have my good cookin’ goin’ to waste.”

Rachel didn’t have a mind to do anything save run into her room and hide. She didn’t want to lay eyes on Caleb. Every time she did, she was reminded of the expression she’d seen in his hazel eyes seconds before he’d kissed her. They had been filled with compassion and desire and loneliness. She couldn’t shake the sense he had needed to kiss her every bit as much as she had wanted him to.

She touched her lips. At times, she swore she could still feel him there. The gentle pressure awakening things inside of her she’d left dormant for more years than she cared to count. And other things she hadn’t even known existed before his kiss. As much as she fought against it, as much as she hated the thought of turning out like her mama, she couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to be kissed by him again. Couldn’t help wanting it deep in her bones, until every thought she’d had since then somehow led back to him.

Rachel gave her head a quick shake. That was the kind of perilous thinking that got a girl into trouble, and she already had more trouble than a body could handle.

“This mine?”

Rachel jumped and spun around, too deep in her thoughts to have noticed the hammering had ceased.

“Yes,” she said, taking a step back, even though Caleb was on the other side of the room. The more distance the better. “Be careful,” she warned as he reached for the plate. “The dish is still—”

“Dang it!”

“Hot.”

“Son of a—” Caleb winced, shaking his hand as if he could agitate the burn right off it.

“Come here.” Rachel crossed the room and took him by the wrist, leading him to the sink. She cranked the pump handle and stuck his hand under the rush of cold water.

“I’m fine.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Rachel held firm, tucking his arm against her ribs to hold him in place.