Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(46)

“Don’t fight me. You don’t want it to blister.” But even as she said the words she became overly mindful of his body next to hers. The feel of sinew and strength in the arm pressed against her ribs. The rough calluses on the hand she held beneath the stream of water. He’d stop trying to pull away, and when the water petered out he made no move to step back.

Rachel froze, awareness pulsating through her with each heartbeat. She had no idea how to gracefully extricate herself from this position. Worse, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It surprised her how good it felt to simply stand next to a man, this man, and have his presence surround her, to feel the weight of him leaning into her. If she turned, they would be face to face. Close enough to kiss.

Her breath shuddered in her chest and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment as much as she wished it away.

“Thank you.” The low rumble of his voice vibrated into her.

She opened her eyes and gripped the edge of the counter. Her knees had become inconveniently weak. “You’re welcome.”

In the window over the sink, she watched their reflection. He tilted his head toward her. “You smell like violets, you know. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

She shook her head. He’d shaved since their kiss. The newly exposed skin only served to enhance the sharp lines of his jaw and the prominence of his cheekbones.

“It’s my soap. I wash my hair with it.”

“Well, it smells nice. Real pretty.”

He glanced up and caught her gaze reflected in the window. She couldn’t speak so she nodded, thinking it would be impolite to let his compliment go unacknowledged.

A slow smile creased his face. “I need my hand.”

She looked down quickly, horrified to realize she had yet to let go. “Oh!”

Rachel released her hold, mortification scalding her skin from head to toe. Once Caleb stepped away, she spun around.

He held up his hand. “See, I’m fine.”

Already the redness had begun to fade. She’d overreacted.

She cleared her throat. “Be more careful the next time.”

His smile grew and light danced in his mercurial eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

She found it difficult to breathe. She needed to escape to her room, but Caleb had stepped back and now blocked her way. She would have to pass him to leave. She didn’t trust herself to get that close again.

They stood like that for a moment, staring at each other.

“I think I got it!” Ethan rushed into the room in his nightshirt and boots, waving the harmonica in his hand. He stopped between them, his face beaming, completely unaware of the tension choking the air. Or was that something only she felt? But no, she could see it in Caleb’s eyes, as well. She wasn’t the only one who’d felt it. The sizzle. The heat.

“What did you get?” she said, thankful for something else to focus on.

“I think I can play a song. I made it up myself. Wanna listen?”

Rachel forced a smile. “Absolutely. Play away.”

Ethan raced to the table and pulled out a chair, scrambling to stand on top of it. He motioned to the two of them, pulling the harmonica away from his mouth.

“You have to dance. It’s a dancing song.”

Suddenly, Ethan’s diversion was less appreciated. “What kind of dance?”

“The kind where you—” He waved his hands back and forth, motioning the two of them together. “You know. Dance together.”

Caleb’s voice sounded behind her. “A waltz?”

Ethan nodded, the instrument already to his lips. He blew a harsh note that made Rachel wince then glared at them when neither had moved. With a huff, he jumped off the chair and stalked toward them. “C’mon.”

Ethan grabbed Caleb’s wrist and pulled him toward Rachel. He placed Caleb’s hand on her waist and then gave her a small push. She stumbled toward Caleb but his hand on her waist kept her steady—while setting her insides on fire.

Ethan climbed back onto his perch and put the harmonica to his mouth. This time, the sound that came out of it was quieter. He stopped and glanced down at them. “Don’t forget to dance.”

Rachel wasn’t sure she remembered how to dance, it had been so long. She hadn’t danced since her wedding, really. There had been no call for it afterward. And Ethan’s uneven tune did not help matters. Nor did the fact her knees had become as wobbly as a foal’s.

Caleb picked up her hand. The other hung limply by her side. “I believe the other one goes on my shoulder.”

She stared at his chest, where his shirt opened at the neck. Maybe, if she didn’t look him in the eye, she could imagine he was someone else. Someone less likely to put her brain in a dither. Then maybe she could control the insatiable need to step into his arms and let him sweep her around the kitchen as if they were in the middle of a fancy ball, the likes of which she’d only read about.