He didn’t know or particularly care what force drove him toward her. He yearned to break through the iron wall around her heart and get to the crux of her fears. No doubt he’d regret it, but he vowed to find out who had hurt her and to try to bring some peace and joy into her life.
Chapter Eleven
Trevor crawled out of bed and dressed quickly. The sun cast a yellow patina on the eastern sky as he headed for the bunkhouse kitchen. Rocky would be gone most of the day. Last night he’d left instructions for checking a fence line in the south pasture. A neighbor had reported seeing it on the ground. After breakfast he’d drive out to check on it.
The barn was unusually quiet when he passed through. The dining room, on the other hand, bustled. He ate in silence, watching the others interact. Carter and Jaret deemed themselves superior to the rest of the hands. Trik, the newest and least experienced, was about eighteen with fair hair, a bad complexion and alert grey-green eyes. Trevor got the impression the others intimidated him. Razor, Cullen, and Tannon were Native American. Razor carried a bowie knife at his hip and a talisman hung on a leather cord around his neck. Briggs and Lucas were Hispanic but didn’t act like friends despite that commonality. Matt, tall and lanky with blond hair and blue eyes, and the most personable of the crew, had rodeo’ed in college but hadn’t pursued it as a career. By all appearances, all the guys liked him.
After a breakfast of pancakes, eggs, bacon and an unending supply of strong, dark coffee, several guys went outside to smoke. Trevor stepped into the kitchen, said hello to Silas and thanked him for breakfast. Enjoying a hot home cooked meal was a luxury these days.
In addition to their regular chores, Trevor assigned specific round-up preparation tasks to each man. When they shuffled off to comply, he returned to the main barn. Horses stamped and snorted in their stalls. Rocky’s instructions to him yesterday were clear. Stay away from the girl.
Ignoring Rocky’s words, he wandered down Ketra’s wing of the barn, working his jaw back and forth. Every stall sported an empty hay bin and an almost dry water bucket. His brain screamed at him to mind his own business. At the same time, his gut cinched tighter than a hangman’s noose. He should obey his brain, the birth place of logic and good sense.
It hadn’t taken long for his logical brain to figure out that trouble surrounded her like flies surrounded manure. Unfortunately, the chivalrous part of his character, living somewhere in his chest cavity, demanded that he check on her. Her uncharacteristic absence worried him.
He rapped three times on her front door before faint footsteps approached. She leaned against the door, clutching a pale blue terrycloth robe together at her waist. Her skin was pallid, the delicate area below her eyes tinged purple, her high cheekbones stained bright pink.
“You’re sick.”
She sniffed.
“You weren’t in the barn. Your horses haven’t been fed—”
“Well, I’ve been a little busy barfing.”
“Don’t get your hackles up. I’m concerned, that’s all.”
She swayed a little and grabbed the door with both hands. Her white knuckles betrayed her efforts to remain upright. The robe gaped when she released her hold. He tried not to notice the pink baby doll pajamas, revealing way too much of her creamy skin beneath. He swallowed. “Can I get you anything?”
She clung to the door, her knees weakening.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around, and walked her into the house. “Get in bed. I’ll take care of your horses.”
She seized the end of a brown leather sofa, the main piece of furniture in her cozy living room. “Brooks knows what to feed them.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure he takes care of it.”
Her feet rooted to the floor. She maintained her death hold on the sofa.
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
He raised his brows but didn’t argue. “Don’t lock this door. I’ll check on you later.”
She continued to lean on the sofa. Trusting that she’d be okay, he eased the door shut and returned to the bunkhouse kitchen, instructing Brooks to tend to the horses. He saddled a horse and rode down to the pasture where some of the cowboys were practicing their roping skills.
An hour and a half later, he returned to the barn and tethered his horse to a hitching post. He opened the front door of Ketra’s cabin and called her name. Receiving no reply, he tiptoed into her bedroom, expecting to see her cuddled beneath the covers. The thought of her lying in bed in those cute little pink pajamas made his pulse quicken and his groin tighten.
Get a grip, Donaldson! She’s sick. And she hates you.
Concern knifed through him when he saw the empty bed. He peeked through the partway open bathroom door. She sprawled on the floor, tangled curls hiding her face.
He knelt beside her and brushed her hair back. Heat radiated from her forehead against his palm. He caressed her soft cheek longer than necessary. The top of her pajamas had slipped off her shoulder, exposing a full breast with a perfect rosy tip. His breath caught in his throat.
Donaldson, you’re a sick bastard. Now is not the time to enjoy her assets.
He tugged the pink fabric over the enticing view then slid his hands under her shoulders and pulled her on to his lap. She moaned. Her eyes fluttered open. He shushed her, dabbing a damp washcloth across her forehead and wiping the remnants of her stomach contents from the corner of her mouth and chin. He rubbed the damp cloth through pieces of her hair to remove more dried vomit. She struggled against him with all the strength of a newborn baby. He held her, whispering assurances he hoped were comforting.
She groaned and pointed a limp finger to the toilet. He leaned her over the bowl and held her hair while she vomited. Under the sink he found a bottle of mouthwash. When she finished retching, he managed to get a little bit of it into her mouth. She swished and spit into the bowl. He flushed the toilet and wiped her mouth while she sat shivering.
Without hesitation, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. She thrashed against him, a frail attempt to stand on her own two feet. He held her tighter. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He pulled the soft flannel sheets and thick flowered comforter under her chin. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she shivered under the covers. He placed his palm on her burning forehead then curved his fingers along her temple and cheek, following the path of her tears. His conscience stopped him from continuing the journey, down her glorious neck and into the valley of temptation.
“Have you been drinking water? Or juice? You don’t want to get dehydrated, it’ll make the vomiting worse.”
She moved her head from side to side.
“I’ll bring you something drink.”
When he returned from the kitchen with a glass of juice, she was asleep. He put the glass on the table next to her bed and watched her in repose, admiring her flawless skin and long curling eyelashes. I see why she earned the beauty queen titles. She looked angelic and sweet in the filtered light of her bedroom. He touched a forefinger to her cheek and traced her tantalizing jaw line. She moaned and turned onto her side, away from him. He drew in a deep breath before leaving.
Back at the barn, he loaded supplies for fixing fences into the short bed of a Yamaha ATV then went to the bunkhouse kitchen. He wanted to stay and check on Ketra periodically, but he’d promised Rocky he’d fix the downed fence. Most likely she’d sleep until he got back, but Silas agreed to check on her a couple of times.
Following the fence line on ATVs, Trevor and several hands headed south with an assortment of tools and fencing supplies. Several hours later, they returned to the ranch. Silas had dinner waiting and the crew was hungry. While they headed to the dining room, Trevor slipped into Ketra’s house. She was still in bed and there were no signs that she had gotten up. The juice he’d brought in earlier sat untouched on the bedside table
. He feathered his fingertips across her forehead, pleased that it was much cooler than it had been earlier.
He tucked her naked arm back under the comforter. In the living room he turned on a lamp and pulled the curtains closed against the invading darkness. He adjusted the thermostat then leaned against the wall and chewed on his lip. Several minutes of intense mental debate ensued. The sound advice of his brain eventually won out over the carnal urgings of his libido. He would not camp out on her sofa for the night. Rocky would for sure send him packing if he found out he’d spent the night in Ketra’s house. That is, if he didn’t flat out kill him instead.
Back at his own cabin, he showered and put on clean clothes, forcing his tortured thoughts away from Ketra. He turned on the TV, booted up his computer, and checked his e-mails; nothing from the captain or the chump heading up the Internal Affairs investigation. Damn. He hated waiting, doing nothing. He browsed a few news sites, thankful that at least the media had let the matter die for the time being.
At seven o’clock he inventoried the items in his refrigerator. Nothing appealed to him. The rumble of Rocky’s old diesel truck coming down the driveway drowned out the ramblings of the TV anchorwoman on the local station. He’d have to visit the bunkhouse kitchen for a hot meal. First, he’d visit his temporary boss.
Through the window Trevor spied Rocky preparing dinner in his brightly lit kitchen. “We got that south fence line fixed today,” Trevor said when Rocky opened the door. “I’ll send a couple of guys out tomorrow to the other side and make sure everything’s okay before we run the cattle down.”
Rocky nodded. “Come on in. You care to join me for a bite to eat?”
“That’d be great.”
Rocky set another place at the table. He handed him a cold beer before setting the food on the table. Steam rose from the platter of pork chops and mashed potatoes. Trevor’s stomach growled. Rocky raised an inquisitive brow. “You got enough to eat down at your house?”
Trevor couldn’t tell if the question was a joke or a sincere inquiry. “I’m good. I’m just not big on cooking.”
Rocky sat on the opposite side of the table, filling his plate. Trevor stabbed a thick pork chop then added a heaping spoonful of creamy potatoes and green beans to his plate.
“We need to get that bottom section of fence checked and those gates closed off before we head up the mountain. I’d like to keep all the cattle closer to the ranch this year. Makes feeding easier when it snows. I usually keep the lower hay barn stocked, but because I was shorthanded this year, I was only able to stock the one in the upper pasture.”
“I noticed that when I was out there,” Trevor said between bites.
Rocky swiped a napkin across his mouth. “You rode out that far?”
“Yeah, I wanted to see how much water was in the ponds. See if we need to put any tubs out. Looks like the rain we had should carry us through.”
“I meant to get down there myself. Thanks for taking care of that.” Rocky took a swig of his beer. “I was thinking of asking a couple of other guys if they wanted to join us for round-up again this year. I end up with a bunch of their strays all the time. Makes it easier if we all work together and cut out as we go.”
“Makes sense. With this group, we could for sure use help.”
“That’s what I think, too. I’ll head over to the Chisholm and Fargo ranches in the morning. Find out what their plans are this year and when they can head up the mountain.”
The conversation ebbed, and Trevor eyed the older man. “How have you been, Rock? I mean since…you know. You holding up okay?”
Rocky cleared his throat. “It’s tough, but I’ll wager you know exactly how I feel.”
Trevor nodded.
They sat in silence, staring into space until Rocky lifted his beer and said, “To lessons learned.”
Trevor clinked his bottle against Rocky’s. “To starting over.”
“I’m too old to start over.”
“I never thought I’d have to.”
They both took a drink then Rocky gathered up dirty dishes. Trevor carried his empty plate to the sink. “You want me to wash these for you?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
“Okay, I’ll go and check on Ketra then. She’s been sick all day.”
Rocky’s alarmed expression matched his tone. “Kettie’s sick?”
“Some kind of stomach bug, I think. She’s been in bed all day.”
“How do you know that?”
“I put her there.”
Rocky’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice before he asked in a strained voice, “Forcibly?”
Trevor’s disdain broadcasted loud and clear in his tone. “No, not forcibly! Jesus, Rock, what kind of bastard do you think I am?” He flung the door open with so much force it bounced off the wall.
“Take it easy, Son.” Rocky patted Trevor’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Trevor’s fingers flexed.
Rocky inhaled sharply, blew the air out slowly then explained. “Not much gets that girl down. She won’t stay in bed of her own accord, no matter how sick she is. I didn’t mean to imply that you were anything less than a gentleman. I’m just surprised.”
Trevor unclamped his teeth and stepped off the porch. “Thanks for dinner.”
“I’ll walk down with you. Check on Ket.”
They walked in silence until they reached Trevor’s cabin. Rocky clapped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.” When he reached the porch, Rocky continued on to Ketra’s cabin. Alone.
Chapter Twelve
Ketra woke with a headache and what felt like a pound of cotton in her mouth. She rolled over with a groan. The clock glowed half past seven. She flew out of bed and brushed her teeth. After a hurried shower, she dressed, stripped the sheets from the bed and threw them and the soiled towels into the washing machine. Her stomach churned so she bypassed breakfast. She snatched her hat from the coffee table and pulled on her boots.
The morning sun blinded as she stepped outside. She locked her door, turned and slammed into the hard wall of Trevor’s broad chest. She staggered backward.
He clasped her shoulders until she was steady on her feet. “Where’s the fire?”
Shrugging out of his grasp, she repositioned her hat. She inched around him toward the steps. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you’re all right. You were pretty sick.”
Memories of yesterday flashed lightning quick in her head. Had he actually held her while she threw up? Prickles of heat tiptoed up the back of her neck, igniting her ears and wrapping around her cheeks. He’d washed her face and carried her to bed. Damn. He’d been in her house; seen her at her absolute worst. Damn, damn, damn! She stopped at the bottom step and squinted up at him.
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I’m fine.” She knew she was being truculent, but extreme embarrassment did that to a girl. She needed to get away from him. Now.
He descended the steps and stood beside her. “You sure?”
The fabric softener scent of his shirt enveloped her. He’s too close. She swallowed. “Uh, yeah. I’m sure.”
His dark brows arched over light grey eyes. “Sometimes these flu bugs take a few days to work out of your system. If you need another day to rest—”
“I’m fine.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation then marched toward the barn. Halfway there he caught up with her.
“Okay then,” he drawled. “I gather from your sunny disposition that you’re back to normal and I won’t have to worry about you getting hurt because you’re not one hundred percent?”
She stopped, planting her hands on her hips. “Why do you care if I get hurt or not?”
For a few uncomfortable moments he studied her face. He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I shouldn’t, that’s for sure.”
Her s
tomach clenched and her lower lip quivered. “No. You shouldn’t.” His presence evoked emotions and memories she didn’t want to deal with. “I have work to do.” She all but ran into the barn.
Inside her tack room, safe from his all-consuming aura, she leaned against the wall and concentrated on slowing her breathing. The door banged open. She turned her head, prepared to scream at him for following her. Brooks smiled from the doorway. She released a ragged breath.
“There you are,” he said with his usual stunted cadence. “I thought maybe you were sick again.”
“Sorry, I’m late. I overslept. Is it too soon to start working the horses?”
“Start with the appaloosa. I fed her first this morning. Around five, I’d say.”
“Thank you, Brooksey. Let’s get her gear then.”
Brooks gathered up the lead rope, halter, bridle, reins, and grooming bucket, while Ketra hefted the saddle and blanket from their rack on the wall. They deposited the equipment outside the stall. She slipped the halter over the mare’s head, hitched her to a post, and began brushing her sleek coat.
“I’ll go re-set the barrels. I took them in yesterday. We re-dragged the dirt in the arena.”
“That was good thinking, Brooks. Thanks.”
She cursed her weakness as she struggled to lift the saddle onto the big mare’s back. While she’d never admit that Trevor was right, she didn’t have her strength back. She hoisted the saddle a second time, but it fell short of the horse’s back, falling into her chest. She grunted under the weight until long, strong arms encircled her from behind and hefted the saddle on to the mare’s back. She tried to turn around but found herself trapped between Trevor’s chest and the horse’s belly. Gritting her teeth, she pushed against him with her elbows. He grabbed her shoulders and maneuvered her to his left.
On Common Ground Page 7