Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(68)

Rachel reached out and laid a hand upon his bare shoulder to calm him.

He continued to mumble incoherently, but every now and again a word would catch her attention.

“Killed him...didn’t...my fault...”

Rachel pushed herself up to a sitting position and touched Caleb’s face, careful to stay away from any of his wounds. The poultices had been removed an hour ago, replaced by Freedom’s homemade salve. In the morning, she would whip up another batch of poultices.

The lamp still burned at the side of the bed, creating a dim glow. She studied Caleb’s face. Whatever magic Freedom used had worked miracles. Though the cuts and bruises remained, the swelling had lessened considerably and the angry redness had receded. Neither did his skin feel so hot to the touch. Relief loosened the tightness in her muscles. The fear he would survive his wounds only to be taken by fever lessened a little.

“Shh. Settle down. Everything’s fine. No one blames you.”

She regretted bringing up his past. She’d had no right dredge up old memories. Lord only knew she was well aware of the pain they brought. It had been a purely selfish need to know more about him. And what had she learned? He’d loved another woman. Loved her enough to want to make a life with her.

The revelation ruined her theory that Caleb would tire of this type of life. She should have known better. The moment he’d arrived he’d thrown himself into life on the ranch, working hard without complaint. It seemed to give him a deep satisfaction, as if he were born to it.

His eyes remained closed, but he gripped her wrist firmly, placing her hand against his heart. A strong and steady beat thumped beneath her palm.

“I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

But her words, meant to comfort, only seemed to plague his cloudy mind even more. “No...not okay. I need to...have to make right...”

If she needed further proof of his sense of honor, she had it now. A man had tried to kill him, shot him in the back like a coward and ruined his future. Yet Caleb harbored a sense of guilt and responsibility for having taken the man’s life in his own defense.

“Caleb, you need to wake up.” She rubbed at his chest, wishing now they had put his clothes back on. Instead, they had stripped him bare to ensure that no wounds that needed tending were missed. They’d placed a towel over his private parts, but with all the thrashing about, Rachel guessed it was long gone.

She looked down at herself. She had undressed down to her chemise when she’d lain on the bed to rest. Her clothes had been covered in blood and poultices, and soaked with water. At the time, it had seemed practical to avoid dirtying the blankets with them. It would just make more cleaning for her to do later. But now...

She glanced up at Caleb who had grown silent. Both eyes were open—though one more than the other, and he stared at her. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist where he held it, sending tight shivers up her arm.

“You were dreaming,” she said. Her quiet whisper in the hushed night air gave a sense of immediate intimacy. “And you talk in your sleep.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed as if remnants of the dream still lingered there, but now, awake, he couldn’t quite piece them together. “What did I say?”

“That you were sorry. About shooting the young man, from the sounds of it. You seemed to want to make things right. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have brought up such bad memories.”

He looked at her for a long moment as if there was something he wanted to say but he couldn’t quite find the words. She waited, but instead of speaking he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, it was something else entirely she saw there. Something that made her even more aware of her state of undress. She may as well have sat next to him naked, the way his gaze traveled over her. She shivered. Caleb’s hand slid from her wrist to gently rub her arm, only making it worse.

“Cold?”

She shook her head. If anything, an uncomfortable heat had kindled deep inside of her, pooling low in her belly.

“That’s unfortunate. I was going to suggest you crawl under the covers with me if you were.”

His voice, low and enticing, caressed her gently. She leaned in closer. Her hair, long since freed from its knot, draped over her shoulder, creating a curtain between them and the rest of the world.

“Perhaps I am a little chilly.”

His hand drifted up to her neck. His touch held a powerful magic. Seductive with promise, it took away the loneliness that had become an intrinsic part of her life. She wanted desperately to give in to the sensation, to believe in it.

“You’re injured.”