Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(76)

Their lovemaking had left him exhausted, yet exhilaration filled him at how she had responded to his touch. She was a wonder. A constant whirl of contradictions he could barely understand. Every time he thought he had her figured out, something new would crop up.

One moment she was shy and uncertain, the next bold and fearless. She amazed him and scared him and made him glad his drifting days were over. It was time to stop, to set down roots. Time to make a life he could be proud of. A happy life.

Tonight he’d held that life in his hands.

But the idyllic image soon faded. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Shamus Kirkpatrick had to be dealt with and Caleb didn’t delude himself into believing that would be an easy task. Men like Kirkpatrick didn’t give up easily, if at all. Most likely he would go down swinging and try to take as many people with him as possible.

It would be Caleb’s job to ensure none of those people included Rachel or her family.

He turned his head, feeling the pull of his sore, beaten muscles, and kissed her gently on the forehead, letting her warmth seep into his aching bones.

Rachel stirred, rubbing her nose against his arm. There was something comforting about having her next to him. The feeling went beyond wanting her, exploring deeper until it settled into the very core of him.

But his happiness was marred by the prospect of what he needed to do. He had to tell her the truth. The whole truth. Not the bits and pieces he’d doled out here and there.

She deserved to know everything. Sheriff Donovan didn’t appear likely to stop digging until he uncovered Caleb’s secret. Eventually he would stumble across it, and when he did he’d make a beeline for Rachel.

She deserved to hear it from him first.

He closed his eyes and tried not to wonder what she would do. He’d been down this road before. But Rachel was not Marianne. Rachel had a strength to her he’d not seen in most men. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she could look beyond his past, the things he’d done, and find a way to forgive and accept him.

Caleb rested his cheek against her forehead and breathed deeply. The scent of violets lingered on her skin. Violets and—

Smoke?

His eyes shot open.

The acrid scent filtered into the room. Caleb bolted upright and took a deep breath. The smell wasn’t strong enough to be in the house, so where?

His sudden motion woke Rachel. Her slow, languorous movements were a testament to how depleted she was after their lovemaking.

“What...?”

He reached over and squeezed her arm. “Get dressed.”

She stopped midstretch and opened her eyes. “Get—? What’s going on?”

Caleb had already thrown his legs over the side of the bed and groped in the dark for his clothes.

“I smell smoke.”

Rachel froze for a brief moment, then the reality of what he’d said sent her scurrying in the dark for her own clothes. She relit the lamp next to the bed, but by then, Caleb had already dressed.

Rachel’s gaze shot to the window. “The bunkhouse! Foster!”

She threw on her discarded nightdress and dressing gown then ran past Caleb before he could stop her. He tore after her. As he passed through the kitchen, he motioned to Ethan, who rubbed one eye and stared at them with the other, still half asleep.

“Stay put,” Caleb ordered. He had used a similar command on Rachel once. He hoped Ethan paid more attention.

Outside, Rachel screamed Foster’s name. The lamp bobbed in the distance, illuminating her as she ran toward the flames, her nightdress billowing out around her. He didn’t bother trying to call her back. It would have been a wasted effort.

The door of the bunkhouse swung open and the old man staggered out in his faded red long johns, his white beard a stark contrast to the dark night. He fell to his knees a few feet from the door, his body racked with coughs. Rachel reached him and fitted her body beneath his arm, pulling him away from the burning building.

In the distance, the shouts of Stump and Everett echoed through the still air as they made their way down the hill. The clang of buckets behind Caleb caught his attention. Freedom, her billowing white nightgown swirling about her legs, ran from her own cabin, two buckets in each hand.

Seeing Rachel had Foster taken care of, Caleb ran to the water pump to start filling the buckets. The effort pummeled his ribs. Freedom gently pushed him aside and took over, using her weight to drive the handle down and keep a steady stream pouring from the spout.

“You should get back to bed afore you make yourself worse.”

Caleb shook his head, ignoring her suggestion. Being in bed was partly to blame for his current state of soreness. He called to Everett and Stump as they arrived. “Start a line!”