"Has he fainted again?" Maggie asked.
He wished to God he had.
"Take him into the examining room," he heard one of the nurses command. "And if you'll just come with me, I need some information...."
And that, Tanner thought, got rid of Maggie. He breathed easier for the first time since she'd come out of the house.
He felt himself being rolled into one of the examining rooms. The door shut. Through his closed lids he could sense the glare of the overhead lights.
Nurses bustled, muttered and clanked things. Drawers opened and shut. Then the door creaked again. Heavy footsteps approached.
"Well, hell, Tanner," said a jovial masculine voice. "You again. Thought I told you I'd seen enough of you this year."
"Hullo, Brent." He didn't bother to open his eyes. "I tried to put it back myself."
Brent Walker had done his share of stitching and patching Tanner during the past three years. He'd put the shoulder back before, too.
"Roll this way." Brent patted the side away from Tanner's damaged shoulder, and carefully Tanner did as he was told, until he was lying on his face. He still hadn't opened his eyes. He didn't need to. He knew what was going to happen.
Brent took hold of his arm. "Just a little shot to make it hurt less. Marybeth?" More footsteps; a stool moved. Then the cool swab touched his back. A needle pricked and stung.
After a few moments Brent said, "Okay, Tanner. Ready? Hang loose now."
Two pairs of hands held him steady. He knew exactly what would happen next and braced himself. He dug his face into the starched pillowcase and wished for purchase lor the toes of his boots. Cool fingers touched his right hand. He gripped them fiercely, felt Brent move his arm, pull and—
"Hell!"
Involuntary tears sprang to his eyes. He crushed the hand he held in his.
"All done," Brent said cheerfully. "You can open your eyes now."
Tanner did.
Maggie was sitting on a stool just inches from him, her fingers locked tight in the grip of his hand.
He muttered an oath under his breath. "S-sorry." He tried to loosen his fingers. They barely worked.
She chafed them lightly with hers. "It's all right. Are you okay now?"
"I'm fine." He shifted around and started to sit up. The world was still unsteady.
"Take it easy," Brent said, catching him by his good arm. "You don't want to go fainting again."
"I'm not going to faint," Tanner said irritably. "I was just a little light-headed earlier. It'd been awhile since I ate."
"Right." Brent handed him a sling. "Wear it for a week. And sit still. You're not finished yet. While we've got you here, we might as well let these lovely ladies clean you up."
Tanner didn't know what he meant until one of the nurses eased his shirt clear off and two others started dabbing at his face and his neck and a spot on his head. Then he realized that when the cinch gave he'd suffered a bit more damage than just his shoulder. He was scraped from his neck to his ribs. He tried to sit stoically under their ministrations. Maggie watched avidly.
"You don't have to stay," he said.
"I don't mind."
"I thought you were filling out forms."
"I don't know much of your personal history."
She knew more than anyone else, Tanner thought.
"Anyway, they said you could do it after." She didn't move an inch. She waited until they were finished cleaning him up, until they had rebuttoned his shirt, trussed him up in the sling and, to his chagrin, had even refas-tened his jeans for him. Then, after he'd filled out the forms and swallowed two of the pain pills Brent gave him, she pocketed the rest and followed him out, like a herd dog with a balky steer.
"He'll be sore for a few days," Brent told her just as if Tanner were her child. "Looks like he whacked his head, too. Have someone keep an eye on him for the next day or so."
"See I don't fall off my horse again?" Tanner growled.
"You won't be on a horse for a few days," Brent said firmly. He turned back to Maggie. "Make him sleep, but wake him up every few hours. You got to keep an eye on this guy. Last spring it was his knee. This is the third or fourth time with the shoulder. Don't know if he's accident prone or what."
Tanner shot him a dirty look.
"He's a pretty good horseman usually. But, well—" Brent grinned "—I think every now and then he figures he needs a little TLC."
"The hell I do!"
"And with such a pretty new boss—"
"I still got one good arm. I can break your nose for you, Walker!"
"He gets a mite nasty when you call him on it, though," Brent said without missing a beat. "Humor him a bit. He won't malinger long."
"I've never—!"
"Shh, Robert." Maggie took his good arm and drew him along toward the exit. She was smiling at him, amusement lighting her eyes. "He's just teasing."
Tanner didn't think it was funny.
"Robert?" he heard Brent say behind him.
Maggie glance over her shoulder. "That's his name."
Brent cocked his head. "Well, I'll be damned."
The pain pills made him groggy. He caught his eyes closing and his head slipping sideways half a dozen times at least. He jerked upright again, wincing, damned if he was going to fall asleep and wake up to find his head on Maggie's shoulder. Or worse, and probably more likely, her lap.
"You ought to rest," Maggie said.
"I'll rest when I get back."
"Ev will make up the bed in Abigail's room. It won't take long."
"I'm not sleeping there! I live in the bunkhouse."
"You're supposed to have someone to watch you."
"Andy can watch me. He lives there, too." There was no way he was staying in the house with her. It was bad enough seeing her at a distance.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm staying in the bunkhouse. If you don't like it fire me. If you won't fire me, I'll quit." He glared at her, defying her to argue with him.
For a minute he thought she was going to. But finally she sighed. "Fine. Be muleheaded. Stay in the bunkhouse."
"I will."
"Robert?" "Uh?"
"Robert?" A hand touched his arm. "Wha— "
"Robert, can you open your eyes?" He blinked, dazed, into the darkness. Where the hell was he? "Who?"
"It's me," the voice said. "Maggie."
Maggie? Agitated, he started to sit up, then the soreness stabbed him again and he sagged back against the pillows, blinking up at the woman who bent over him in the darkness. "Wha' the hell are you doing here?"
"Checking on you."
"Andy—"
"Andy has to get up earlier than I do. He's doing your work now, too, remember?"
Tanner scowled. "Thanks for reminding me."
"Sorry. Are you all right? Do you need more pain pills?"
"No." Which was a lie.
"Doesn't it hurt?"
"Like hell."
"Well, then—"
"I don't want 'em. They make me stupid."
"Oh, is that what's causing it?"
He frowned. "I don't like the way they make me feel."
"But can you sleep without them?"
"I could if people didn't keep wakin' me up. Go away."
She didn't say anything, nor did she move. His shoulder was throbbing. His head ached. And he knew damned well she wasn't going to leave without stuffing the pills down his throat.
"Oh, hell. Give 'em to me then."
At least she didn't say "I told you so." She got a glass of water, then held it to his lips while he took the pills.
"If you need anything else, just call."
"I won't bother Andy." He would have rolled over and turned his back on her, but his shoulder hurt too much.
She woke him one more time before sunup. This time he was quicker coming around and he knew right away who it was.
"Damn, you're taking this serious, aren't you?" He glowered at her in the predawn dimnes
s.
"Just checking." She smiled. She looked like an angel again. He shut his eyes.
"Wakin' Andy, too, probably," he muttered.
"Andy's getting plenty of sleep."
"So can you. Leave me alone." This time he did roll over, even though it hurt like hell.
So he was rude. So he shouldn't have been so abrupt with her when she was only trying to help. But damn it, he didn't need her help! He needed her to stay away.
"G'way," he muttered.
"What?"
"Are you still here?"
She leaned over him again. "What's wrong?"
"You, damn it. Hovering. Go away and let me sleep."
She touched his hair lightly. A shiver ran through him. "Go to sleep then, Robert."
"Tanner," he muttered. "Tanner, damm it."
"Whatever you say, darling," Maggie whispered.
Oh God, were those her lips touching his hair?
The sun was up the next time he opened his eyes. This time Maggie didn't wake him. She was asleep herself. In Andy's bed.
Tanner blinked, disbelieving. He shook his head, felt it pound, a result of the fall and the painkillers. But even through the fog that was his brain, the image didn't change.
Maggie was there.
He eased over onto his right side and lay shoved up against the pillows, just looking at her. He knew she shouldn't be here. A part of him was furious that she was. And another part of him, the part that had for so long ached after her, simply wanted to look his fill.
The temptation was too much for him. She lay curled on her side facing him, one hand gripping the blanket, hugging it against her breasts, the other tucked under her cheek. Her gorgeous hair was loose and tousled, dark auburn against the white pillowcase. Her lips were slightly parted, curving in a tiny smile. Tanner's tongue touched his own lips, which felt suddenly dry.
There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't had enough sleep. No surprise there. She'd been bouncing up like a jackrabbit all night to see if he was all right.
And he hadn't even known she was there.
Ev and Andy had helped him to the bunkhouse. Ev had helped him get undressed. Andy had gone up to get some supper, offering to bring him some. But Tanner had said he just wanted to sleep—and he had, not even remembering when Andy came back.
Obviously, Andy hadn't come back. Maggie had.
And had slept less than three feet away from him all night. Nursemaiding him. And unless he got up and got himself dressed before she awoke, she'd probably insist on dressing him, too.
He eased his aching body around so that he sat on the side of the bed. His head felt as if some blacksmith had set up shop inside and was working three shifts. He would've liked to sit there and get his bearings, but he knew she'd wake up and find him if he did.
He hauled himself to his feet, grimacing when the bed-springs creaked, expecting any moment to see Maggie's wide green eyes flick open. Thank heaven she merely sighed and shifted slightly, then puckered her lips as if she were giving someone a kiss.
Tanner averted his gaze. Then, with his arm against his chest, he walked carefully toward the bathroom.
He would have liked to take a shower, but he was sure the noise of the spraying water against the shower stall would wake Maggie. So he contented himself with brushing his teeth and slopping water on a cloth and scrubbing his face and torso, all the while trying not to do more than he had to with his sore shoulder.
When he'd finally dried off, he crept quietly back into the bunk room and reached for his jeans.
"I hope that doesn't mean you're planning on getting dressed."
He jerked around, swearing from the pain in his shoulder. Maggie was still lying on her side, but those wide green eyes were open now and fastened right on him. He grabbed his jeans from off the chair.
"What the— Of course it does!" He bent over, lifting one foot, trying to stick it into his pant leg, a difficult business since he could hold the jeans with only one hand. He lost his balance.
Maggie leapt out of bed wearing an oversize T-shirt and nothing else. "Sit down!" She grabbed him by his right arm and hauled him down onto the bed next to her, so close their bare thighs touched.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin cotton. It wasn't something he should have noticed. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity. Both of them were breathing too damn hard.
"Go back to bed, Robert," she said after a moment. "You need the rest."
"Hell of a lot of rest I'm going to get with you waltzing around the bunkhouse half naked!"
Color flamed in her cheeks. "I was not waltzing! I was trying to take care of you."
"I don't need taking care of."
"Right. You're so tough and so capable and so perfectly fine on your own, aren't you?"
"I try," he grated.
"And you're determined to be that way forever."
"I have to be, and you know it."
"I don't." She touched his knee and his whole body stirred in response.
"Stop it," he said through his teeth.
"I don't want to stop it. I love you."
"What are you trying to do to me?"
"Get inside those walls you've built up around you. Break them down. Set you free." There it was again, her heart right there in her eyes, ripe for the taking.
"Damn it, Maggie!" He raked trembling fingers through his hair. "How the hell long do you think I'm going to be able to go on resisting?"
"I don't know," she said softly. "How long are you?" A faint line of color touched her cheekbones, but she didn't look away. And then she leaned toward him slowly and, keeping her eyes wide open, watching him every instant, she touched her lips to his.
Her mouth was sweet and warm, beckoning him, drawing him in, assuaging his desperate hunger, yet deepening it at the same time.
And Tanner was powerless to resist.
He'd fought too long, too hard. There was no fight left in him. He could only taste and touch and savor, could only open his mouth and press his lips even harder against hers, surrendering and conquering at the same time.
But even that wasn't enough, just as he'd known it wouldn't be. He wanted more. And more. He bore her back onto the bed, his mouth still locked with hers, his body clamoring for equal time. His shoulder ached, limiting what he could do, bludgeoning him with reality, and for an instant he pulled back.
But Maggie still looked at him, still beckoned him. She lifted a hand and lay it against his cheek, stroking his two-day-old beard softly. Her thumb ran lightly across his lips. "Robert, stop fighting it. Come to me."
Some needs were too great, some aches too deep. If she was willing—if even knowing the worst of him, she still wanted him—he couldn't say no.
Her small nipple erect beneath the cotton begged to be tasted. He touched it with his lips.
She shivered. "Yes, Robert. Yes!" Then, instead of holding herself still and compliant, she lifted her hands and slid them down to skim along his sides, to trace the line of his ribs, to brush lightly across his chest. The feel of her fingers on his bare skin was like fire, burning and arousing.
He slid callused fingers under the hem of her shirt, drawing it up so he could see her breasts, so he could watch them peak and see the way they trembled as he touched them gently, as he bent his head and laved them with his tongue. He wished his shoulder didn't hurt so much. He wished he had full use of both his arms and hands to give her all the pleasure he'd dreamed of giving her.
But he didn't have a long time to wish or to concentrate on his hurts. Maggie was sitting up now, pressing kisses against his chest, touching him lightly with her nails, then with her tongue. She set off tremors that centered his passion, his need for her.
"Maggie! Don't! You're going to—"
She stopped, her hands still against his chest as she looked up into his eyes. "You don't like it?"
"God, yes, I like it. It's going to... I'm going to..."
She smiled, a catlike, enigmatic smile. "So we'll slow down."
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against first one of his flat nipples, then the other, then she splayed her hands against his chest and he fell back, at the same time reaching for her with his right arm to draw her on top of him so that she straddled his thighs.
The shirt had slipped down again and he pushed it up. Maggie grasped it by the hem and pulled it over her head in one sensuous movement, then tossed it aside. Then she settled against him again, still smiling, her breasts bare to his gaze.
He couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop touching. There was a fine tremor in his fingers as he grazed the peaks of her breasts, as he made her shiver, as he made her smile.
He remembered the first time he had seen her: she had been looking down at him like this. She hadn't been smiling then; she'd been worried, concerned. Caring.
He saw that care in her eyes now, along with the smile. It made his heart lodge in his throat. No woman, not even Clare, had looked at him quite that way before—as if he were everything she'd ever hoped for.
He wasn't. He knew that. So did she.
She had to know. But just now, he needed to pretend. Just for the space of a few moments, a few hours, he wanted to be that man for her.
Again his fingers lifted to touch her, to trail lightly across her breasts, to draw a line down the center of her, slowly and deliberately, rough calluses against silken soft skin. Down, down, until at last, well below her navel, they reached the thin bit of material that were her panties.
His mouth crooked in a grin. He'd never known schoolteachers wore such scandalous panties.
Whenever he'd imagined undressing Maggie MacLeod, and despite his best intentions he'd done his share of it— why else would he have so many scars from mending fences this year?—he'd always stripped away her sweaters and jeans, her blouses and skirts to find serviceable, no-nonsense, white cotton underwear. Schoolteacher underwear.
Not underwear like this.
Never in a million years would he have imagined Maggie in panties that were no more than this scrap of peach-colored lace.
He swallowed, contemplating them and the woman who wore them, this woman who had tempted him beyond his endurance, who was more mysterious and more desirable than all the other women he'd ever met. She sat very still, watching him, waiting for him to make another move.
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