The Loner And The Lady. Eileen Wilks

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СКАЧАТЬ of humor laced his voice. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to close my eyes, not you.”

      He was amused? She opened her eyes and frowned.

      If he’d been amused, he didn’t look it now. His face was as impassive as ever, frustratingly so. And she was still naked, quite entirely naked, whether her eyes were open or closed. She sighed. “Do we know each other at all?”

      “We do now.”

      “That’s a lousy answer,” she said, but she let go of the edge of the covers. There wasn’t much point, was there? He’d undressed her and—oh, Lord! That horrible bedpan yesterday! If she’d been in any shape to pay attention, that should have clued her in to her lack of clothing. “I guess I’ll need some help.”

      He sat on the bed beside her. With one arm he scooped her upper body off the bed. The covers fell to her waist. The movement made her head pound and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She tried to help him get her arms into the sleeves, but she was so dratted weak, her efforts were probably more hindrance than help. When she looked down to button the shirt, she got dizzy and nearly toppled over, so he took over doing that, too.

      She closed her eyes again. Illogical, maybe, but it gave her the illusion of privacy. It also left her oddly attuned to his scent, a unique blend of soap, coffee and male…to the movement of his hand…a sensation of warmth, the slight rasp of the cotton against her skin, her nipples, as he tugged button and buttonhole together…the careful way his hand shifted to avoid touching her breasts.

      By the time he finished, her head pounded miserably. She was dizzy. And aroused.

      She knew she should have felt embarrassed. He’d probably noticed her involuntary reaction to the intimacy of being dressed by his careful hands. But embarrassment, like fear, seemed like too much effort. So she just smiled at him when he settled her against the pillows he’d arranged to prop her up.

      “Whew.” Her heart thudded in rhythm with her head. “May I have some of that coffee now?”

      He looked at her doubtfully, but whatever his objections, he didn’t voice them.

      He helped her hold the cup. The coffee was strong, dark and hot. His hand on top of hers, steadying the mug for a few sips, was strong and warm, too. He set the mug down and held the plate of eggs and buttered bread for her, but she managed the fork herself.

      Apparently she wasn’t a fussy eater. The overcooked eggs went down fine. At least a reasonable portion of them did—he’d given her enough to feed a fullback.

      Once she persuaded him she really couldn’t eat any more, he gave her three aspirins and made her drink half a glass of water before he’d let her have the few last sips of coffee.

      “Thank you,” she said, leaning back fully on the pillows. So many questions…they’d seeped in while she ate. “I have a lot to thank you for.”

      He didn’t help her. Just sat there and watched her with his dark, dark eyes.

      She licked her lips nervously. “How long have I been here?”

      “Yesterday and last night. Part of the night before. I found you stumbling around Old Baldy in the middle of a storm.”

      “What’s Old Baldy?”

      “A mountain. Not especially high. Fifty years ago the top of it sheared off in an avalanche, so that today it looks bald. What do you remember?”

      “You.” And the bedpan. She bit her lip and glanced around. “I remember waking up in this room. Where are we?”

      “The Davis Mountains, not far from McDonald Observatory.”

      “Near Fort Davis?”

      He nodded.

      She knew where that was. Texas. She felt a strong, diffused sense of relief. The knowledge carried a sense of familiarity. Fort Davis was in the far southwestern portion of the state, a desolate area half desert, half mountains. The Davis Mountains were the highest range in the area, high enough to wrest some rainfall from the thin, dry air.

      They weren’t gentle, though, these mountains. They were rugged and rocky, home to porcupines, skunks, rattlers and the occasional mountain lion. Storms here could be deadly, gorging the little creeks with floodwater…

      …blinding her with a darkness that bled rain. Rocks sliding under her feet—falling, getting up, pushing on through a curtain of night and rain, and hurting, hurting from the fear as much as from the blow to her head—her head hurt so bad, so bad—

      No, she thought. No! And as the nightmare faded away, so did the crippling pain in her head.

      “…all right? Sophie?”

      She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing. Seth knelt by her bed, his hand on her shoulder.

      “What?” she asked breathlessly. “What did you call me?”

      “You had on a locket. That name is engraved on it.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “It says, To Sophie on one side. With Love, on the other.”

      She wanted to react to the name, tried to find a feeling that went with it. But her momentary breathlessness was gone, leaving only exhaustion behind.

      “Do you think that’s your name?”

      “I don’t know. When I reach inside, I feel…like I’m stuffed with clouds instead of memories. You can’t really touch clouds, can you? There’s nothing there.” Her eyes were so tired. “But you can call me Sophie. It was on the locket. Maybe—probably—it’s my name.”

      “All right, Sophie. Go on back to sleep now. Everything will seem better when you’re rested.” His voice was a quiet, cool ribbon in the darkness behind her closed eyes, a ribbon she held on to gladly as she sank into the soothing blankness of sleep.

      

      By the time Seth’s patient woke up that afternoon it was drizzling again, and he was worrying.

      Normally it didn’t bother him when bad weather made the road to his cabin impassable. Even when the timing was unfortunate, like now, and he was low on propane or other supplies, he didn’t mind being cut off from civilization.

      But normally he didn’t have an injured woman with beautiful breasts stretched out in his bed, wearing his shirt. Only his shirt.

      Dammit, he did not need this. He liked silence. Solitude. He sure as hell did not want to be responsible for another human soul.

      He glanced out the front door. Rocky lay on the porch, protected from the fresh drizzle. Being responsible for a dog was enough, more than enough. He didn’t want the woman here.

      But here she was, and neither of them had much choice about it. Seth sighed and looked at the book on the desk in front of him: A History of Texas Wildlife. Normally he enjoyed reading about his hobby, but today he couldn’t concentrate.

      He had a good view of his bed and its occupant from this desk. At least, he did if he turned his head to the right and looked through the crowded miscellany on the open shelves that divided СКАЧАТЬ