Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(55)

What? Did he honestly expect her to rest peacefully after she had just propositioned him?

“I just thought—”

“Go to bed, Rachel,” he said, walking over to her and drawing the blanket from around her shoulders. The sudden coolness of the air did nothing to douse the burning heat of her body. His fingers grazed her bare skin and need raged through her. She wanted to pull him back, but her boldness had been used up.

The uncompromising firmness of his rejection mortified her. She had offered herself to him like a wanton and he had turned her down. She’d been certain he’d wanted her as much as she did him. Had she misread the signals? Misunderstood what he had said? Perhaps she had been a passing fancy, only of interest at the moment he wished to slack his lust. Perhaps a walk through town and glass of whiskey was the only cure he needed to forget he’d ever wanted her in the first place.

He left her standing alone as he returned to the chair, the chill in the air cooling her ardor if not her embarrassment. A small grunt of discomfort escaped him as he settled. His preference for the unforgiving chair over being with her only served to add insult to injury.

She turned, unable to face him and crawled beneath the covers, keeping her back to him. Tears stung her eyes. She was no stranger to rejection, but repetition did not make it an easier hurt to bear.

Silence permeated the room, broken only by the occasional pop and hiss from the hearth as the fire burned itself out.

“It isn’t that I don’t want you,” he said. His dark whisper taunted her.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain. I know I’m not the kind of woman men want.” Hadn’t Robert always said so?

“You’re exactly the kind of woman men want. But it wouldn’t be right. You and me.”

“Why not?”

He went silent again and she wondered if maybe he had said all he meant to, but eventually he answered her question. “You don’t know me. You don’t know the things I’ve done. If you did—”

“It wouldn’t change my mind.” She’d tried changing it. Lord knew she’d tried, but her desire for him burned through every inch of her until there wasn’t a single part that wasn’t scorched. She did not want to want him like this. She’d never felt like this before and she had no defense against it. It made more complications than she cared to manage. But the feelings were there and they refused to budge.

“Yes, it would.”

The finality of his words rocked her. What had he done?

Outside, the wind buffeted the window, rattling the glass in the frame. A draft rushed down the chimney and teased the fire, making the flames lick and dance in the hearth before settling down once again.

She should leave well enough alone. If he didn’t want to share her bed, she should be happy about it. Grateful even. He’d saved her from turning into her mama, if nothing else. Saved her from that long ride down a painful road.

Still...

Rachel tried to forget her feelings, to ignore the aching pull deep in her belly. She prayed for deep and silent slumber, to escape the tumult in her heart and mind. Her behavior this evening shocked her. She’d never allowed herself to voice such feelings before, and having done so now left her stupefied. Is this what had happened to her mother? Had desire addled her mind to such a degree she had given into the immoral cravings? A new understanding of her mother began to dawn on her, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive.

Sleep continued to elude her and eventually the fire in the hearth burned low. She had no idea how much time had passed. Darkness altered the natural feel of things.

“Are you still awake?” she whispered.

“I am.”

Her heart raced. There was something strangely intimate about talking to a man in the dark.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose.” He drew the words out, his tone laced with hesitation.

“Why don’t you like small spaces?”

It seemed strange that a man like Caleb would fear anything, let along something so innocuous.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”

He sighed, the sound drifting between them. “It isn’t exactly a bedtime story.”

“Sometimes sharing with others can make a burden less heavy.”

“Know that from experience, do you?”

She didn’t miss the thread of sarcasm sewn around his words. “I’m going by what I’ve heard.”

He chuckled, low and deep. The night clouds broke and a shaft of moonlight slid between the thin curtains illuminating his sharp profile.

“My grandfather was a harsh man,” he began, his voice sounding strangely far away. “Pious and self-righteous, he expected his family to adhere to his strict rules and beliefs.”