by Diana Palmer
“No, she isn’t,” Winthrop said from the doorway, limping heavily toward them with a tray on which were perched a soup bowl and a teacup and saucer. “She’s too busy trying to do a pivot without falling into the venison stew.”
“Sorry about that,” Dominic murmured sheepishly. “I did tell Carol to stay out of the kitchen.”
“No harm done. Mary seems to be having the time of her life.” With a hard glare, Winthrop bypassed Dominic and put the tray down on the bedside table. “Well, don’t just lie there, prop yourself up. You can’t eat flat on your back.”
“I was just trying to do that,” she shot back, “and you don’t have to snap at me!”
“I’ll check on you again, Nicky,” Dominic said as he started toward the door.
“Okay.”
He closed the door and Nicky tried to take the soup from Winthrop’s steely hands without letting him see how much hers were trembling. But the bowl seemed pretty unsteady even before she touched it.
He looked down into her eyes and they exchanged a glance that set her heart running away.
“Here, this won’t do,” he said under his breath.
He sat down beside her on the bed and began to ladle the soup gently into her mouth. She watched him, fascinated at his unexpected tenderness. The way he pampered her, the way he looked at her—even the gentle smile that touched his hard mouth as she accepted the soup like a child—tugged at her heart.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Much, thank you.” She swallowed some soup. “Winthrop, my throat hurts,” she whispered.
“Yes, I imagine so. I’ve got something for that, and for your cold. Nonprescription, but they’re what our doctor always prescribes for head colds. I’ll take care of you, daffodil.”
“Somebody needs to take care of you,” she said softly, studying his hard face. “Your leg must hurt terribly.”
“It usually does after a day as hard as this one,” he said carelessly. “I’ve got something to take for it.”
“Well, thank you for rescuing us, anyway.”
“Gerald sounds worse than you do,” he told her. “You’re both greenhorns.”
“You were out in it, too,” she reminded him.
“That’s so,” he said agreeably. “But I’m a woodsman, honey. I know how to survive a snowstorm. You and my citified brother are lucky to be alive.”
“Yes, I realize that.” She took the last bit of soup and sat quietly while he mopped her up with a napkin. She knew she must look terrible. Her hair hadn’t been combed, her face was pale and her throat felt scratchy. But Winthrop was looking down at her with pure pleasure…almost possession.
“You need sleep,” he said.
“I’ve been asleep on and off since you brought me home,” she said. “I don’t want to sleep.”
“It will help you heal.” He got up, put down the bowl and offered her a cup of steaming tea to swallow down the capsules he’d put in her hand. She hesitated but he looked determined, so she swallowed them, finished the tea and lay back against the pillows.
“I hope you don’t catch my cold,” she said.
“I don’t usually get them,” he replied. He smiled slowly. “Even from kissing sick little girls.”
Her face colored and she lowered her eyes to his chest. That was even worse. He had a sexy chest, and she wanted very much to draw her hands over it.
“You have expressive eyes, Nicole,” he murmured, watching her intently. “You want me, don’t you?”
The color in her cheeks deepened. She glared at him. “Well, I do realize that it isn’t mutual. You don’t have to throw it in my face. It isn’t something I can help.”
His eyebrow arched. “Was I doing that? I didn’t mean to. I’m pretty used to speaking my mind.”
“Well so am I.” She stared at the coverlet. “What I said…earlier,” she faltered, glancing at him and then away. “I was overwrought and tired, and I guess I kind of got carried away.”
“You mistook a chill for true love?”
She glared at him. Damn that mocking smile. “I got carried away.”
“You’re one of a kind, Nicky,” he mused. “As for getting carried away, if you weren’t so frail, I’d throw you back against those pillows and lie down against you. And in a very few minutes, we’d both know what you feel for me.”
He was doing it again. She felt completely out of her element when his voice dropped into that sensuous drawl and his eyes began to make love to her body. She felt her breasts tautening and drew the sheet slowly over her bodice so that he wouldn’t see what he was doing to her.
But he did see her response. His eyes seemed to darken at the proof of how easily he could arouse her. She couldn’t know that it made him feel ten feet tall.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he picked up the tray, still watching her. “I’ve got sound survival instincts. I meant what I said about commitment.”
“You’ll grow old all alone,” she said quietly, her eyes steady on his hard, dark face. “You won’t have anyone to look after you or care about you. Eventually, you’ll grow a thicker shell than you have now, and no one will be able to touch you. Is that really what you want?”
For just an instant, his expression was open. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t want my heart torn out of my body a second time, either. I like my life as it is.”
“Unhampered,” she said.
“Exactly.” He left her with that parting shot. He was still limping badly, and he was scowling when he left the room.
Nicky must have slept then. She wasn’t aware of the quiet, watchful man sitting beside the bed. He looked at her as if he couldn’t help himself, staring at the steady rise and fall of her firm young breasts under the sheet. She looked innocent in sleep. Everybody did, he reminded himself.
But there was something different about this woman. She was special. Much too special. He was going to have to get a grip on himself before he pitched headfirst into that sweetly baited trap. He’d fought it too long to give in now.
He closed his eyes finally, with a long sigh, and tried to get comfortable in the chair. His knee was giving him hell. Probably he’d torn a muscle. But he hadn’t wanted anyone else to touch Nicky. She belonged to him. She was his responsibility.
The sound of the windup alarm clock was unnaturally loud. It woke Nicky in the early hours just before dawn. She opened her eyes and glanced at the tall man sprawled again in the chair, grimacing as he breathed. His leg was probably hurting, and here he sat, when he could have been comfortable in bed.
Nicky got up, just staring at him. Even unshaven and unkempt, he was a sexy man. His shirttail had been pulled from his jeans, and his shirt was half unbuttoned down a chest thick with hair and dark from exposure to the sun. He might not love her, but he was oddly protective of her these days. That was some small comfort.
She touched his hard, warm cheek with her fingertips, tracing its high cheekbones.
“Winthrop?” she whispered.
He made a sound and his head turned, but his eyes didn’t open.
“Winthrop, come to bed,” she whispered.
He never did wake up completely. He let her tug him out of the chair and he sprawled onto the bed with a mumbled protest. Nicky was glad that he’d already taken his boots off, as she wouldn’t have relished trying to remove them. She eased his legs onto the bed, careful not to jar the bad one. Then, with a mischievous grin, she crawled back under the covers and snuggled close.
His arm came around her instinctively, drawing her cheek to the soft cotton of his shirt. His fingers caressed her hair gently, and she thought that she’d never been quite so close to heaven. She lay quietly beside him in the dim light of the lamp and tried to imagine how it would be if they were married, if she had the right to lie in his arms every night like this, while the wind howled angrily outside the darkened window and snow fell.
It was so sweet that she lost all fear of the future and simply went to sleep, Winthro
p’s chest rising and falling steadily against her.
A drum was beating somewhere. She heard it in the back of her mind, its steady rhythm comforting. It was nearby. Growing louder. Louder. It stopped suddenly and then increased. Something moved against her. Her head fell back onto a pillow and she mumbled when she felt the mattress lower then return to its normal position.
The sound of footsteps grew dim. A door opened and closed. What a crazy dream, she thought, and drifted back to sleep again.
The light streaming in the window woke her. This time she opened her eyes, and found Mary standing at the curtains.
“How you feel?” the Sioux woman asked.
“Fi…” Her voice sounded hoarse. She tried again. “Fine. I think.”
“You look pale. I bring oatmeal. Best thing for scratchy throat and cold. Also buttered toast and coffee with lots of cream. Sound good?”
“Oh, yes,” Nicky sighed. “I’m so hungry!”
Mary paused beside the bed and bent down to touch Nicky’s forehead. “No fever. Good. You live yet.” She pursed her lips at the clear indentation of a head in the pillow beside Nicky’s. “You have pajama party last night?”
Nicky grinned. “He was sprawled in the chair and groaning in his sleep. I figured his leg was giving him the devil. So I got up and led him over here and tucked him in. He never knew.”
Mary’s normally placid face came alive. “He never knew?”
“That’s right,” Nicky told her, smiling broadly. “He was gone when I woke up, but I’ll bet he doesn’t remember how he got in the bed.”
“Well, well. New weapon, hmm.” Mary grinned, too, showing even white teeth. “Poor man. Shame on you. You should not take advantage of the helpless.”
“He wasn’t very helpless yesterday, was he?” Nicky asked with pride. “He carried me through a snowbank.”
“That leg is not as bad as he thinks it is,” Mary returned. “If he exercised it more and favored it less, it would heal properly. It is his hiding place, Nicky. He cannot accept being a whole man again because that would make him vulnerable to his emotions.”
“Not so anyone would notice,” Nicky sighed ruefully. “He can be pretty formidable.”
“He is still only a man.” Mary tucked Nicole back into bed. “Need medicine for your throat?”
“A lozenge would be wonderful. It’s scratchy.” She paused to sneeze and grab for a tissue. “And I think I have a cold.”
“It would seem so. I will bring your breakfast. And I will bring you venison stew for lunch. That should help clear your head.”
“It may take more than venison stew to do that,” Nicky replied.
“I make it with Tabasco sauce.” Mary leaned over her. “Trust me.” And she grinned again before she went out.
To Nicky’s dismay, Winthrop didn’t come back all day. She expected him every time the door opened. Mary brought breakfast and then Gerald came, red-nosed and sniffling, followed by her father and even Carol, who gave her a pretty scarf to cheer her up. But no Winthrop, not even when the venison stew was served.
When Mary came back after lunch to pick up the dishes, she cocked her head at Nicky’s forlorn expression.
“Something troubles you?” she asked.
“Of course not.” Nicky finished her cup of hot black coffee and set the cup on the tray Mary was holding. “I don’t care if he ignores me. I’ll just lie here and die.”
“He cannot get up just yet,” Mary said after a minute.
Nicky was immediately contrite and worried. “It’s his leg, isn’t it?”
Mary nodded. “The strain, you see. I think he may have pulled a tendon. I have made a poultice for it, which will take away the pain and make it heal. But in the meantime, he is an invalid. Mr. Mike has taken the hunting party out for him, and Miss Carol is watching…would you care to guess?”
“I thought I heard laser cannons,” Nicole replied grimly. “Does he have something for pain?” she persisted, her green eyes troubled.
“He will not take it,” Mary grumbled. “Even now, he is trying to work with a board across his lap on which to write.”
“It sounds as though he might need a little nursing,” Nicky suggested.
“You need it more. Lie down.”
“I could talk to him. It’s only a cold and a reaction,” she said and then added when the other woman looked doubtful, “Oh, please, Mary. How can I lie here knowing that he’s in pain?”
Mary shrugged. “Good point. All right. But put on your robe and leave door open.” Her dark eyes held Nicky’s with subtle warning. “He is still a man.”
“I love him,” Nicky said simply.
“Yes, I know. That will make it harder for you. He is a man who does not trust love.” The expression on her face was serious. “He will fight being vulnerable. Now more than ever.”
“I wouldn’t hurt him,” she said.
“You will have to prove that to him. And it will not be easy. But I would think less of you if you did not try,” Mary added. And she smiled as she went out.
Nicky put on her long white chenille robe and went along to Winthrop’s room, a little nervous about how she’d be received.
Her nervousness was justified as it turned out, because he was moody and restless and more irritable than she’d ever seen him.
He glared at her from his bed, where he lay taut-faced with only a sheet drawn haphazardly over his lean hips for cover. His dark hair was disheveled, his face unshaven. His long, powerfully muscled legs were bare, like his tanned chest, and all of him was covered with a very masculine feathering of black hair. He looked like an outlaw in his sprawled dishabille, and Nicky wondered if any woman could see him like that and not be affected. Her heart began to run away from her the minute she knocked on the door and was invited to open it.
“What do you want?” he asked curtly, and she noticed the scattered paperwork that had apparently been cast to one side with irritation.
“I thought you might need something,” she said, hesitating.
“If I did, Mary could get it.”
“Mary’s got her hands full with your hunting party.”
“They’ve gone out again. Carol’s watching movies. Gerald’s on the phone. So all Mary has to do is look after me. In any event,” he said with a mocking smile, “that’s what she gets paid to do.”
“And here I am about to cause a labor dispute by offering to do it for free,” she sighed. Her throat still felt a little raw, but at least her nose had stopped running. She moved closer to the bed, eyeing him warily. “How about some fruit juice?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “How about telling me how in hell I wound up in bed with you last night?”
Her eyebrows arched. “You were in bed with me?” she asked with pretended horror. “How scandalous!”
His lips made a thin line. “Don’t be cute,” he ground out. “And it wasn’t scandalous. Nothing happened!”
She lifted her chin. “A likely story,” she said.
He sat up, disrupting the sheet, but her eyes stayed on his face so that she didn’t see what it revealed. “Nothing happened,” he enunciated. “I don’t ravish women in their sleep.”
“Ah, but you don’t know what I might have done to you,” she said, lifting her eyebrows mockingly.
The glare got worse. “Cute. Real cute.”
“Anyway, you rejected me,” she reminded him. “You cut and ran before I woke up. But not,” she added with a slow smile, “in time to fool Mary, who saw the imprint of your head on the other pillow and asked how it got there.”
His eyes widened. “What did you tell her?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” she assured him. “I told her I didn’t have the slightest idea how you’d gotten in my bed.”
“Oh, my God.” He put his face in his hands.
“It’s all right, she understands perfectly that these things happen. She didn’t say a word; she just grinned.”
“Oh, my God,” he repeated.
> “And she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone except family and close friends and any acquaintances that happen past the mailbox.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Now, now, you don’t have to get upset, this is the twentieth century, after all—”
“This is rural Montana,” he said, half shouting. His eyes blazed at her. “You little fool! Your reputation will be in shreds!”
“People in Chicago don’t notice things like that,” she reminded him. “And Gerald and I are going back next week, you know. Your reputation will have hardly a blemish. In fact, it might even make you more desirable to some of the local belles if it gets around that you’re the same devil-may-care rake you used to be.”
He narrowed one eye. “How do you know what I used to be like?”
“I asked Gerald, of course. He said you used to score with every woman you dated—”
“Nicky!”
“Well, not in exactly those words, of course,” she amended at his shocked expression.
“Have you lost your sweet mind?” he demanded. “What were you trying to do?”
“Get you comfortable and warm,” she said with a smile. “You were groaning and I knew your leg was hurting you. Since you seemed determined to sit up with me, I thought you should be comfortable. So I led you into bed, and you went with me just like a lamb.”
“Which wasn’t what I felt like when I woke up,” he replied curtly. “Your gown was up around your hips and half off your shoulder, and men have it rough early in the morning anyway. Oh, honey, you had a close call you didn’t even know about!”
“I did?” Her eyes were wide, trusting and innocent. He sighed impatiently.
“Never mind. What did you really tell Mary?”
“The truth. She grinned and mumbled something about a new weapon.”
“It will backfire.” He bit his lip suddenly and grimaced. His hand went to his knee, where she noticed a poultice tied with white gauze.
“Will that help?” she asked.
“Mary says so. She usually knows. Even the local doctors have a measure of respect for her way with herbs. In the old days, the Indians had to have a healthy knowledge of it, since they didn’t have a neighborhood clinic.”
