days.
Rachel's eyes sparkled. "This is the first meal I've cooked since it got
so hot. I've been living on fruit and cereal and salad, anything to keep from
turning on the stove. But since I've been running the air conditioning to keep
him comfortable, tonight cooking didn't seem so bad."
After they'd cleaned the kitchen
Honey checked her watch. "It's not too late. I think I'll stop by Rafferty's and check
on one of his mares that's due to foal. It may save a trip back out as soon as
I get home. Thanks for feeding me."
"Anytime. I don't know what I'd have done without you."
Honey regarded her for a moment, her freckled face serious.
"You'd have managed, wouldn't you? You're one of those people who do what has
to be done, without fussing about it. That guy
in there owes you a lot."
Rachel didn't know if he would see it that way or not. When she
came out of the bathroom after showering she watched him intently, willing him
to open his eyes and speak to her, to give her some hint of the man behind
those closed lids. Every hour that passed increased the mystery that surrounded
him. Who was he? Who had shot him, and why? Why was there nothing being
mentioned in the news media that could apply to him? An abandoned boat found
floating in the Gulf or washed up on shore would have made the news. A missing
person's report would have been in the newspaper. A drug bust, a prison escape,
anything, but there had been nothing that would explain why he had washed in
with the tide.
She got into bed beside him, hoping for at least a few hours of
sleep. He was resting better, she thought, the fever not climbing quite as high
as it had at first. Her fingers closed over his arm, and she slept.
The shaking of the bed awoke her, startling her out of a sound
sleep. She sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. He was moving
restlessly, trying to kick the cover away from him with only his right leg, and
finally he succeeded in getting most of it off him. His skin was hot, and he
was breathing too heavily. A glance at the clock told her that it was well past
the time he should have had more aspirin.
She turned on the lamp beside the bed and went into the bathroom
to get the aspirin and fresh water. He swallowed without fuss this time, and
Rachel got him to drink almost a full glass of water. She eased his head down
onto the pillow again, her fingers slow to move from his hair.
Daydreaming again! She jerked herself sharply away from the
dangerous direction those daydreams were taking. He needed to be cooled down,
and she was standing there fantasizing about him. Disgusted with herself, she
wet a washcloth and bent over him, slowly wiping his torso with the cool cloth.
A hand touched her breast. She froze, her eyes widening. Her
nightgown was loose and sleeveless, with a scooped neckline that had fallen
well away from her body when she bent over him. His right hand moved slowly
inside the neckline, and he brushed the backs of his lean, strong fingers
insistently over her nipple, back and forth, until the small bud of flesh
tightened and Rachel had to close her eyes at the sharp, unexpected pleasure.
Then his hand moved lower, so slowly that her breath halted in her chest,
stroking over the velvet underside of her breast. "Pretty," he
murmured, his voice deep, the single word slurred.
The word echoed sharply in Rachel's mind, and her head jerked
around, her eyes opening. He was awake! For a moment she stared into
half-opened eyes that were so black it was as if light drowned in them; then
his lashes slowly dropped and he was asleep again, his hand falling away from
her breast.
She was so shaken that she could barely move. Her flesh still
burned from his touch, and that instant when she had stared into his eyes was a
moment that was frozen in time, so imprinted on her memory that she felt
branded by his glance. Black eyes, blacker than night, without any hint of brown. They had been hazy with fever and
pain, but he had seen something he liked
Rachel's eyes sparkled. "This is the first meal I've cooked since it got
so hot. I've been living on fruit and cereal and salad, anything to keep from
turning on the stove. But since I've been running the air conditioning to keep
him comfortable, tonight cooking didn't seem so bad."
After they'd cleaned the kitchen
Honey checked her watch. "It's not too late. I think I'll stop by Rafferty's and check
on one of his mares that's due to foal. It may save a trip back out as soon as
I get home. Thanks for feeding me."
"Anytime. I don't know what I'd have done without you."
Honey regarded her for a moment, her freckled face serious.
"You'd have managed, wouldn't you? You're one of those people who do what has
to be done, without fussing about it. That guy
in there owes you a lot."
Rachel didn't know if he would see it that way or not. When she
came out of the bathroom after showering she watched him intently, willing him
to open his eyes and speak to her, to give her some hint of the man behind
those closed lids. Every hour that passed increased the mystery that surrounded
him. Who was he? Who had shot him, and why? Why was there nothing being
mentioned in the news media that could apply to him? An abandoned boat found
floating in the Gulf or washed up on shore would have made the news. A missing
person's report would have been in the newspaper. A drug bust, a prison escape,
anything, but there had been nothing that would explain why he had washed in
with the tide.
She got into bed beside him, hoping for at least a few hours of
sleep. He was resting better, she thought, the fever not climbing quite as high
as it had at first. Her fingers closed over his arm, and she slept.
The shaking of the bed awoke her, startling her out of a sound
sleep. She sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding. He was moving
restlessly, trying to kick the cover away from him with only his right leg, and
finally he succeeded in getting most of it off him. His skin was hot, and he
was breathing too heavily. A glance at the clock told her that it was well past
the time he should have had more aspirin.
She turned on the lamp beside the bed and went into the bathroom
to get the aspirin and fresh water. He swallowed without fuss this time, and
Rachel got him to drink almost a full glass of water. She eased his head down
onto the pillow again, her fingers slow to move from his hair.
Daydreaming again! She jerked herself sharply away from the
dangerous direction those daydreams were taking. He needed to be cooled down,
and she was standing there fantasizing about him. Disgusted with herself, she
wet a washcloth and bent over him, slowly wiping his torso with the cool cloth.
A hand touched her breast. She froze, her eyes widening. Her
nightgown was loose and sleeveless, with a scooped neckline that had fallen
well away from her body when she bent over him. His right hand moved slowly
inside the neckline, and he brushed the backs of his lean, strong fingers
insistently over her nipple, back and forth, until the small bud of flesh
tightened and Rachel had to close her eyes at the sharp, unexpected pleasure.
Then his hand moved lower, so slowly that her breath halted in her chest,
stroking over the velvet underside of her breast. "Pretty," he
murmured, his voice deep, the single word slurred.
The word echoed sharply in Rachel's mind, and her head jerked
around, her eyes opening. He was awake! For a moment she stared into
half-opened eyes that were so black it was as if light drowned in them; then
his lashes slowly dropped and he was asleep again, his hand falling away from
her breast.
She was so shaken that she could barely move. Her flesh still
burned from his touch, and that instant when she had stared into his eyes was a
moment that was frozen in time, so imprinted on her memory that she felt
branded by his glance. Black eyes, blacker than night, without any hint of brown. They had been hazy with fever and
pain, but he had seen something he liked
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