by Sandra Brown
* * *
Hewitt secured the bandage, lowered Banner's nightgown, and covered her with a quilt. Only then did he hazard a glance at Jake. His fearsome eyes were on the girl.
"Her color's not good," Jake observed worriedly.
"Her body has undergone a shock, one I personally and professionally thought was unnecessary, if you'll recall." The doctor thanked God the girl hadn't died under his knife, though he seriously doubted she would live through the night. Luckily the appendix hadn't yet burst, but it had been close. He thought such cases were hopeless and that it was much more benevolent to let the patient die without having to suffer surgery. "Try to keep her fever down with cool sponge baths. Put carbolic acid on the bandage now and again and give her laudanum if she's in pain."
He gathered his things, tossing them helter-skelter into his normally well-organized bag. He wanted to leave the house before the girl died, to get away from this gunslinger before he exacted his revenge for something Hewitt had had no control over. Some people just wouldn't let God go about His own business of giving and taking life without interference.
He couldn't leave the house fast enough, but he did have a few words with Jake before he made his escape. He didn't know what Ross Coleman was thinking of to leave his' daughter in the care of a ruffian, but then there had been that scandalously aborted wedding. Was the girl totally without discipline?
He couldn't wait to get home and tell Mrs. Hewitt the latest chapter in the life of Banner Coleman. He would swear her to secrecy, of course. This was a tale that couldn't be repeated to the town gossips and traced back to him. It wouldn't do to offend the Col emans, though the company their daughter kept was suspect and her conduct less than exemplary.
He hoped his wife had kept the chicken and dumplings warm.
And damn this rain that still came down in torrents.
* * *
Jake had pulled the straight, ladderback chair to the edge of Banner's bed. His elbows were propped on his knees. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth. His eyes never wavered from her face.
Her breathing was so light and shallow it barely stirred the covers over her chest. It scared him. He didn't know whether to be worried that she hadn't shown signs of coming around or glad that she was sleeping through the worst of it. Frequently her eyelids fluttered as though she were having a bad dream. Otherwise she lay motionless, soundless, limp.
He came out of the chair, willing away the thought of death. He laid his callused palm on her brow and told himself that it was definitely cooler than the last time he had checked it. When had the doctor left? He hadn't noticed or cared. All he cared about now was saving Banner's life.
In the corner of the bedroom he spotted the pile of blood-stained linens he had insisted they replace after the surgery was completed. The sight of them made him sick to his stomach. That was Banner's blood. He wadded them together, carried them through the dark house and threw them out the back door. He would wash them later.
Pulling on his slicker and hat, he went to the bam to attend a sorely neglected Stormy. Since the other horses had been transferred to River Bend while he was in Fort Worth, the stallion had the barn to himself.
"Hey, boy. Did you think I'd forgotten you?" Jake rid him of the heavy saddle and gave him a well-deserved rub down and a ration of oats.
Out there, in the stillness of the barn, with the soulful sound of rain dripping from the eaves, the gravity of the situation hit Jake like a tidal wave. He had known it was on the horizon, moving closer, threatening, but he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. Now it engulfed him.
Banner might die.
His fingers knotted in Stormy's mane and he laid his forehead against the tough flesh. "No, no," he groaned. "She can't." Not like Luke. Not like Pa. Heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. He would be devastated if he lost Banner. And not because he had loved her as a child, or because she was the daughter of his dear friends. He didn't want to lose her because a light in his life would be extinguished.
God, he had caused her pain. He had deliberately hurt her, insulted her repeatedly. He had told himself that it was for her own good. Now he had to admit the real reason. She had become too important to him.
Twenty years ago he had shut himself off from emotional attachments because they were too risky. You loved someone, you lost them. Better not to love at all. Loving Lydia all these years had been easy because that love was secret and demanded nothing of him. Lydia was already lost to him. But loving Banner...
Did he love Banner?
"I don't know," he whispered to Stormy.
All he knew was that he would move heaven and earth to see her face animated and laughing or haughty and angry or shining and flushed with passion. Anything, anything but in the stillness of death.
He left the barn at a run, hurdling puddles and wading through a sea of mud to reach the house. Haphazardly he hung his hat and slicker on the rack at the back door and tugged off his boots, dropping them heedlessly on the floor. He dashed through the house on stockinged feet. The bedroom was as sepulchral as when he had left it. He crossed to the bed and knelt beside it.
"You're not going to die, Banner. You're not going to leave me. I need you to want to go on living myself and you won't desert me. I won't let you," he whispered fervently, grasping her hand and pressing it to his mouth. Her only response was a low moan, but it was music to Jake's ears.
Laughing and crying in relief, he surged to his feet. He wasn't going to let her wake up in these dim, dismal surroundings. In a frenzy he raced through the house lighting lamps. Things had to look cheerfully alive when she woke up. The death angel wouldn't dare lurk in a house with all the lamps burning. He knew he was thinking like a madman, but he wasn't going to take any chances.
He stoked up the fire in the fireplace and refueled the one in the kitchen stove. He heated a tin of beans for himself and kept the kettle hot should Banner want something when she came around.
After that flurry of activity, he was exhausted. He sat with Banner until he couldn't hold his eyes open, then he went into the parlor, peeled off his clothes, and wrapped himself in a blanket on the sofa. He fell asleep almost instantly.
* * *
She was hot. So hot. Something was pressing her down, sealing her to the bed. Her mouth seemed to be lined with cotton. There was a throbbing pain coming from some point on her body, but she couldn't seem to locate it. She willed her eyes to open. The light was exceedingly bright. It struck her eyes as though they were virgin. It pierced. It hurt.
Gradually she accustomed her eyes to the light and let them come open all the way. They drifted toward the windows and she saw her bedroom reflected in the glass. It was dark outside, and still raining.
She tried to orient herself and pin down her last memory, but her random thoughts wouldn't be collected. Her room loomed large, then shrank. The foot of her bed seemed no farther than the end of her nose, then looked as though it stretched away for miles. These wavering ballets made her nauseous and she panted through open lips to ward it off.
She tried sitting up, but the pain bit into her middle and she collapsed back onto the bed with a muffled cry of alarm.
"Banner?"
Jake, his hair rumpled, stood framed in the opening of the door. His arms were widespread, bracing him in the doorway. She was delirious. She must be.
He was naked.
He rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside the bed, clasping her hands. His eyes wouldn't be still, but moved rapidly over her face. "How do you feel?"
She looked at him fearfully. "I don't know. I feel odd. What's happened to me?"
"You've had surgery."
Her pupils dilated in spite of the tight pouring into them. "Surgery? You mean cut open? Jake?"
"Shh, shh. Here, I'll show you." He carried one of her hands beneath the covers and rested it lightly on her bandage-wrapped stomach. She winced with even mat much pressure being applied to it. "Gently," he cautioned. "Hie cut is still fresh
. Don't you remember being sick?"
Her memory came back in snatches. The trip home in the rain. The feverish ache in her bones. The nausea. The gripping cramps. The sickness while Jake held her.
"Your appendix became inflamed."
"Stomach fever." Tears of terror filled her eyes. "You can die of that."
"But you're not going to," he said fiercely. "The doctor came and took it out. I'm going to take care of you. In a week or two you'll be as good as new. Better."
She tried to absorb all mis, keeping her hand over the sore place on her abdomen which was making her ache all over. "It hurts."
"I know." He kissed the back of the hand still clasped in his. "It will be for a few days. How are you otherwise?"
She blinked. "The light is awfully bright."
He smiled seif-derisively as he reached to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. "That's my fault. I didn't want you to wake up in the dark and be afraid."
"You're taking care of me?"
"Yes?"
"Where's my mother?"
He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry, Banner. I tried to get across the river and bring your folks back, but the bridge washed out. The river's impassable. Until the rain stops and the floodwaters go down, River Bend is isolated. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."
She lay still for a moment, staring up at him. "I don't mind that, Jake." She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, but it fell back weakly. "I'm dizzy."
"That's from the ether and your fever. You should go back to sleep. Would you like a drink of water?"
She nodded and he poured a glass from a pitcher on the table. "Just a sip." He cradled her head in his hand and tilted the glass toward her lips. It clinked softly against her teeth. She swallowed a sip, then another. "That's all for now." He returned the glass to the table and noticed the vial of laudanum the doctor had left. "Are you in pain? I can give you laudanum."
"No, but stay with me."
"Stay...?"
"Sleep with me. Like on the train."
"But, honey, you—"
"Please, Jake."
She was battling to keep her eyes open, but she made a feeble gesture to reach out for him. It was enough to banish his objections. He came to his feet, lifted the covers, and slid beneath them. He placed one arm under her shoulders and pressed her head against his bare chest. She rolled toward him. "No, no, lie still or you'll hurt yourself." He laid his other hand on her upper thigh so he would be alerted if she moved the lower half of her body. Her fingers curled into his chest hair and her gentle breathing blew through it.
Oh, God. What heaven. What hell. What delicious torment.
But miraculously, within moments of the time slumber reclaimed her, he fell asleep too.
* * *
In the morning, Jake crept around the house, not wanting to disturb Banner's healthful sleep. He tended to Stormy, carried in wood, stoked up the fires, cooked a breakfast of bacon he had found in the springhouse, biscuits of a sort, and strong, hot coffee.
When all that was done, he took up his post at her bedside. The imprint where his body had lain was still on the sheets. He closed his eyes as undiluted pleasure washed through him. He had never spent the entire night with a woman before. He had used them and left them. But there was something to be said for sleeping beside one, sharing body beat, exchanging breaths.
Not just any woman. Banner.
He gazed down at her. There was even more to be said about waking up beside her. Lord a mighty, she was soft, and warm, and sweet. He had awakened to find her hand curved over his heart, her slightly parted lips pressed against his chest. And his hand...
He swallowed, remembering where his hand had been. The softest, warmest, sweetest place of all. He had been cupping it protectively. But who was going to protect her from him? Not that he would ever hurt her again. Never. The need inside him to protect her was almost painful.
How long he sat there staring at her sleeping face he didn't know, ft didn't matter. That was where he wanted to be.
When she awakened, she was more alert, but also more aware of her soreness. "I don't think I'll ever move again."
He smiled. She wasn't going to die. Whether God's intervention or his cussedness had prevented it, he didn't know. But Banner wasn't going to die. "You'll be riding Dusty in no time." She groaned and he laughed. "It will take time, you understand. Would you like some tea?" She nodded and he went to fetch it.
When he came back, she was squirming beneath the covers. "Uh, Jake, there's something..."
"What?" Instantly concerned, he set the tea on the table.
"Nothing, never mind," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"What? Are you sick again? Do you need to vomit?"
Her cheeks flared red and this time he knew it wasn't from fever. "No."
"Then what? Are you in pain? Do you need some laudanum? Take it if you need it, that's—"
"I don't need laudanum."
"Then goddammit, what is it?" he said, losing patience. "Tell me!"
"I have to go to the bathroom!"
Jake took on the stupid expression of someone who had just been hit in the face with a wet tow sack. "Oh. I never thought of that."
"Well, think about it. And hurry."
"I'll be right back." He ran to the kitchen and came back with a shallow pan. "Until you can get up and use the chamberpot, you'll have to use this."
"What are you doing?" she cried as he flung back the covers.
"Well, we have to get it under your, uh, under there, don't we?"
"I can do it."
"You can't move."
"I'll manage."
"Banner, don't be silly about this. I held your head while you puked your guts out the other night and—"
"Thanks for reminding me."
"—and I stood by and watched the surgery. I changed your nightgown when that prissy doctor refused to. I've seen you, all right? Now let me slide this pan under your bottom before you wet the bed."
"I'll do it myself or I'll hold it," she said through gritted teeth.
Jake didn't know how he could want to hold and comfort her one minute and choke her the next. He turned on his heel and stamped out. "Women!" he said in disgust as he slammed the door behind him.
Banner noticed that she had graduated from being a "brat" to being a "woman." She supposed that was an accomplishment of some sort.
Five minutes later when Jake knocked on the door, he was greeted with a weak, "Come in."
He peered around the door and was alarmed to see her arm lying limply, outstretched across the bed. "Are you all right?"
She opened her eyes and saw his concern. "I'm fine, really. Just tired."
"You wore yourself out." Indifferently he removed the bedpan and set it on the floor. "And I didn't help. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Go back to sleep, sweetheart."
"All right, Jake," she whispered obediently. Eyelids lined with the darkest lashes he had ever seen came down over her eyes and she was immediately asleep.
He nursed her throughout that day and into the evening. "You'll stay with me again, won't you?"
He paused in the act of straightening the covers around her. "I shouldn't, Banner."
"Please."
"All right. But you go to sleep, I have some things to do around here."
"Promise you'll—"
"Yes. I promise."
She slept through the night, awakening only once when she tried to turn over. She moaned softly, rousing Jake immediately. His arms tightened around her. "Shh. Remember to lie still," he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek. And to keep her from moving again, he lifted his thigh to cover both of hers. She cuddled against him. This time he moaned.
He didn't go back to sleep for a long time.
The following morning, she complained of being hungry. "This tea wasn't enough," she said, handing him the empty cup.
"That's a good sign."
"Is that bacon I smell?"
"Yes, but I don't think you should
have that."
"Jake, I'm starving!" His brow puckered. "What's wrong?"
"There's very little in the house to eat. I need to ride into town and buy some fresh meat, some eggs and milk, get a few staples. Ordinarily we'd depend on Lydia and Ma to cook for you, but the rain hasn't let up. We're just damned lucky we're on this side of the river and can get to town." He looked at her closely. "Will you be all right if I leave you alone for an hour?''
The thought of being alone and immobile filled her with dread, but she couldn't whine to Jake about her fears. He was doing his best to take care of her. The least she could do was not make a nuisance of herself.
"Of course."
He made the trip in record time, battling the elements all along the way. The time dragged for Banner, though she dozed through most of it. When she heard him opening the back door, she almost forgot her soreness and sat up.
"You're back?" she called out.
"Why aren't you asleep?" he answered from the kitchen, where he was leaving his wet outer clothes.
"I'm tired of sleeping."
"You're getting ornery so you must be getting well." If his smile were medicine, she would have been healed immediately when he entered the bedroom. "Did you miss me?"
"What did you bring me? Steak and potatoes? Ham? Turkey?"
"Some beef to make a broth."
"Broth!"
He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Broth today. Maybe chicken stew tomorrow. And if you don't wipe that pout off your mouth, I won't give you your treat."
Her irritability fled. "What treat?"
He fished two candy sticks from his breast pocket and passed them to her. "One cherry, one sarsaparilla. Your favorites."
She clutched the candy sticks to her breast. "You remembered."
"Hell, when you were a kid I wouldn't've dared come to River Bend without bringing you those candy sticks."
Her hand touched his cheek. "The candy sticks had little to do with why I was glad to see you, then and now. But thank you just the same."
Jake's loins filled with a desire so explosive it rocked his whole body. He moved away from her before he remembered the way she felt against him in the night, before he remembered how sweet her mouth tasted. She was better, but she was still ill, and he didn't ever want to be accused of taking advantage of her again.