Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(64)

It was one thing to come after her. It was something else to come after her family.

She straightened and blinked.

Family. When had Caleb become family?

She couldn’t say, but he had. In a matter of weeks he had woven himself into the fabric of her life until she found it hard to imagine what it would be like without him. He couldn’t die. He simply couldn’t. She looked down at Caleb, who hovered somewhere between consciousness and oblivion.

“Don’t die on me.” Maybe saying the words out loud would give them more power.

“Do my best,” he mumbled.

“Promise?”

His mouth twitched but he remained silent, his hand lifting slightly to cover hers. She stared down at the torn skin and pain welled inside of her. She lifted her head to stare at the ceiling, fighting back the threat of tears.

Not now. Just a little longer. She could cry later, she promised herself.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Good.”

She took a steadying breath and turned her mind back to the task at hand, unbuttoning his shirt. The well-worn cotton twill was soft to the touch and frayed at the edges from wear and washing. She peeled it away, pushing it back from his shoulders then did the same to the top half of the long johns underneath.

Bruises had already begun to form, discoloring his well-muscled skin. Without thinking, she ran her fingertips lightly over his warm skin. He flinched slightly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said, his voice thick with pain. “I like it when you touch me. Gives me something else to think about.”

He managed a weak smile, wincing when it pulled at the cut on his lip.

“Quit talkin’,” she said, trying to ignore the thrill his words gave her. This was hardly the proper time. “And quit thinking about me touching you.”

“Can’t.”

“Can you sit up? I need to get your clothes off.”

“Music to my ears.”

Rachel closed her eyes. Her face burned despite the gravity of the situation. He was not making this easy. How was she supposed to concentrate on what needed doing if he kept putting those images in her head?

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk. Conserve your strength.”

“For when you get my clothes off?”

The vision of his strong hands exploring her body made her falter. She glanced at the bedroom door.

Lord have mercy, where was Freedom?



Caleb didn’t need two good eyes to know he’d managed to fluster her. He hadn’t meant to, but the verbal sparring took his mind off the pain throbbing through every inch of his body. He gritted his teeth. Even through his pain, as she struggled to get him out of his clothes he couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation of her hands running along his body, gently peeling away the torn and bloody material. She’d stripped him down to his underclothes before Freedom bustled into the room all business.

By then, Rachel was breathing hard. He wasn’t sure how much was from the exertion of trying to maneuver him and how much of it was from his constant commentary about getting him out of his clothes.

“Good lawd liftin’,” Freedom said.

He squinted though the eye that was only partially swollen shut. “That ugly, huh?”

Freedom gave him a rueful smile. “Guess you ain’t too bad.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I think I’m a hard day’s ride from ain’t too bad.”

Ethan’s head poked out from behind Rachel, who had started tearing strips of bandages from the sheet Freedom brought in. “Does it hurt?”

“It sure don’t tickle,” he said. No sense lying to the boy. He had eyes. He took in a deep breath, wincing as his ribs screamed in protest. He turned his head toward Ethan. “You think you can take Jasper down to the barn and help Foster brush him down and feed him?”

Having something to do, something useful, brightened the boy’s expression. “Yes, sir.”

Rachel glanced down at him, appreciation glowing in her dark eyes. He tried to smile, but the motion became increasingly difficult.

He heard the uncorking of a bottle and prayed it was the whiskey Rachel had requested. The amber liquid would numb his body, and he needed the relief. Not just from the pain. He didn’t want the added humiliation of certain areas of his anatomy taking on a mind of their own while Rachel administered to his wounds.

“Help me get him up on the pillows,” Rachel said to Freedom. “I’ll get him under the arms, you swing his legs around.”

Caleb wished he’d had a long, hard swig of the whiskey before Rachel leaned over him, her soft breasts pressing into his chest as she slid her arms beneath his and worked with Freedom to haul his body lengthwise on the bed. He nearly passed out from the pain of it. It was a shame he didn’t. Parts of him were stirring in ways that were about to get real embarrassing, real quick if he didn’t get a handle on things.