by Sandra Brown
"I'd better get that broth started," he muttered as he left the bedroom.
He didn't sleep beside her that night. And she didn't ask. Tacitly they admitted that it would be foolhardy.
TWENTY
The next day she showed marked improvement. She was able to sit up against the pillows. She hadn't had fever for twenty-four hours. There was no putrefaction of the cut. Her body only needed time to recuperate.
"Do you feel like getting up and walking around a bit?" Jake asked, lifting her breakfast tray off her lap. She had eaten a scrambled egg with the ravenous appetite of a scavenger.
Banner had thought she would welcome leaving the confines of her bed. But now that the time had actually come to try out her legs and see if they still worked, she hesitated. Her stomach was incredibly sore. Getting up, walking, getting back into bed seemed insurmountable tasks.
"Do you think I should? What did Dr. Hewitt say?"
Jake looked away. "He, uh, he didn't mention this. But that soreness is never going to work itself out if you stay in bed."
"Maybe tomorrow."
Placing his hands on his hips, Jake faced her challengingly. "Have you come to like that bedpan?"
Her eyes sparkled with the familiar militancy he had hoped to provoke. "All right, I'll do it."
"I kinda thought you would," Jake said dryly, trying to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice.
She cast him another murderous look as she threw back the covers and edged her legs to the side of the bed. The lower region of her torso painfully protested and she winced.
"Banner, wait," Jake said contritely. "Maybe I am rushing you. We'll wait until tomorrow."
She shook her head. Her face was pale, but her eyes were bright with determination. "No. You're right. I've got to start using these muscles again sometime. Whenever it is, it won't be easy."
By now she had inched to the side of the bed. Jake was anguished over how frail and small she looked, with her legs poking from the hem of her nightgown, bare toes searching for the floor.
He put his arm around her waist. "Lean on me."
She did. As her feet found the floor, she pulled herself up with the support of his strong arm. "I'm so weak," she gasped, as the room started a slow spin around her.
"From lying in bed so long. Can you take a few steps?"
Together they hobbled to the door and back with Jake trying to reduce his long stride to match her short steps. She clung to him, mindlessly pressing his arm against her breasts.
Jake wasn't unmindful of it. His head spun as dizzily as hers, as her breasts reshaped themselves around his biceps. Her hair, a tangled mass of waves and curls, kept getting in the way of his chin and nose as he bent over her, constantly asking if she was in pain.
When they came back to the bed, he eased her down on the chair beside it. "Can you sit here long enough for me to change the sheets?"
She smiled up at him, feeling victorious. "Yes. It's not as bad as it first was." He held her gaze for a heartbeat and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before turning toward the wardrobe to get the fresh linens. "Do you think I'll ever stand up straight again?" Her posture had been almost at a forty-five-degree angle.
Jake stripped the linens from the bed and smoothed on the clean ones. The room was suddenly filled with the smell of summer sunshine, captured in the sheets as they had dried on the clothesline weeks before.
"Sure you will, when you're certain you won't pop open if you do." He grinned at her as he plumped her pillow.
"It's silly of me, I know."
"But normal."
Suddenly she covered her mouth with her hand to trap a giggle. "What's so funny?" he asked. He had the pillow tucked between his chin and his chest and was struggling to work the pillowcase up over it.
"Maybe you could get a job in a hospital as a nurse. Only half of the time, of course, so it wouldn't cut into your cowboy work."
He frowned at her as he dropped the pillow back onto the bed. "I'm only letting you get away with remarks like that because you're convalescing. But once you're well, look out," he threatened with a soft snarl.
He helped her back into bed. When she was propped up on the pillows, she asked for her hairbrush. Her arms collapsed tiredly to her sides after a minute or two of brushing. "I'll never get all the tangles out."
"Want some help?"
Jake had been standing at the foot of the bed, idly watching as she lifted her arms over her head and pulled the brush through her hair. She was so beautiful. And he had almost lost her. His gut knotted every time he thought of how close he had come to losing her.
"Would you mind?"
Mind? He invented excuses to touch her. He came around to the side of the bed and levered her up. His hip barely settled on the corner of the mattress, but he propped himself there by planting his booted foot flat against the floor. He lifted the hairbrush out of her hand. "Tell me if this gets too uncomfortable for you."
"Hmm, it won't," she sighed, as he dragged the brush through her hair. "It feels good."
"It's pulling."
"A little, but it doesn't hurt."
It took several minutes of concentration just to work the brush through the matted strands on the back of her head. But after freeing them of tangles, he could comb the brush through the thick skein with ease.
Her hair was thick, wild, luxurious. He wanted to bury his face in it, to whisper endearments into the midnight density and express all that was in his heart.
Banner's neck went boneless. Her head moved with the movements of his hands. Each pull of the brush was like a lover's caress. Hands that were accustomed to twisting barbed wire, branding cows, and roping mavericks were as gentle as a mother's with her babe. She could feel his breath on her neck when he scooped her hair up with the brush, dragged it through the bristles, and let it sift back down. Listlessly, she settled against his chest.
"Are you getting sleepy?" he murmured.
"No. Just pleasantly drowsy."
Every cell in his body was wide-awake. The curve of her hip pressed against his thigh. Her back was supple and conformed to his chest. Even beneath the voluminous nightgown he could distinguish the delicate way she was shaped. He longed to reach around her and lay his hands on her breasts. Each time she drew a long, languorous breath the cotton covering them trembled enticingly. He ached to touch her, see her, taste her.
He grew hard.
He laid the brush on the bedside table. Closing his hands around her shoulders, he drew her against him. His face nuzzled in the glory of her hair. He closed his eyes against the spasm of emotion that rushed through him. He wanted her. He wanted to be inside her, loving her.
One arm slid around her. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Her face tilted up to his. Their mouths met in a whisper-soft caress. Briefly, briefly.
Then with tremendous self-sacrifice, Jake set her away from him and eased off" the bed. "Your hair looks real pretty now, Banner."
"Thank you." Her voice was small. She couldn't keep the disappointment out of it. For a moment, she had thought, hoped, that he was going to make love to her again. There was a new gentleness in his touch, in his whole attitude toward her, that hadn't been there before. She wanted to capture it while it was there. With a woman's intuition she knew his rugged exterior hid a deep hurt he had experienced in his youth. He was capable of loving, but wouldn't risk it. He safeguarded himself against letting his love for other people show. But there were cracks in the wall he had built around himself. Banner intended to probe each one until she was allowed inside, behind those implacable blue eyes.
"Where are you going?" she asked softly as he made for the door.
He turned and gazed at her with longing. She lay against the pillows, her hair spilling like dark ink over the linens. Her eyes were misty. "You're all spruced up." He ran a hand over his jaw. "I haven't shaved yet."
"Do it in here," she suggested spontaneously.
"What?"
"S
have in here, over there at my dresser." She pointed toward the bureau with the vanity table on top.
"Banner," he said, rolling his eyes, "I can't."
'Why?"
"Because, uh..." He searched for a viable reason. "Because there's nothing to shaving, that's why."
"If there's nothing to it, then why do you mind me watching?"
"I don't mind you watching. It's just that..."
"Well?"
"Oh, hell. If it'll make you happy."
He stamped out and she lay back, smiling complacently. When he came back in he was carrying a mug and brush, a razor and a towel. "I hope you realize I'm going to a lot of trouble to entertain you," he grumbled. He set his shaving tools on the vanity and left to fetch a pitcher of hot water from the kitchen.
"Don't think I don't appreciate it," she called after him.
He muttered something, but she didn't catch any of the words beyond "brat." He was scowling when he brought in the hot water and poured it into her porcelain washbowl. The yellow roses painted on it caught his attention.
"You'd better never tell anybody I shaved out of a bowl with flowers painted on it."
"My lips are sealed."
Her eyes were sparkling mischievously. That sign of health was the only reason Jake was putting up with this nonsense. She was improving every hour. Her normally sound body was emerging, replacing the one racked with pain and delirious with fever. He was committed to seeing that she went on healing.
She watched him unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt and tuck the collar inside. "Why don't you take your shirt off?"
He dipped his brush into the water, then into the mug of shaving soap, and began to work up a rich lather. "Why don't you mind your own business?" He slapped the foamy white lather on his jaw and painted it around until his lower face was covered. "I've been doing this for a number of years without needing a coach."
"I only thought that you might drip or something."
Just as she said that a dollop of the sudsy lather dropped to his shirtfront. He cursed, picked up a towel, and blotted it off. She giggled; he frowned darkly into the mirror. Somehow it didn't come off as a very threatening expression with his face covered in shaving soap.
He picked up the razor. "Aren't you supposed to strop the razor first?" she asked.
He ignored her. Angling his head to one side, he raked the razor from his sideburn to his jaw. He swished it clean in the bowl of water and made another pass. He rolled his lips inward to shave his upper lip. "You're making me very self-conscious." The words came out garbled from the way he was holding his mouth, and Banner giggled.
"It's fascinating."
"Oh, yeah, fascinating," he mocked.
When the lower part of his face had been scraped clean, he reached for the brush again and lathered under bis chin and down onto his neck. Rearing his head back, he placed the edge of the razor at the base of his throat and dragged it upward over his Adam's apple.
"Jake?"
"Hmm?"
"Would you say your pecker is larger than most?"
"Shit!" A bead of blood appeared in the area of his jugular. He whirled around. "That's a helluva thing to ask a man when he's got a razor at his throat."
"It just now came to my mind."
"Well, maybe you shouldn't say everything that comes to your mind. Did you ever think of that?"
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"None of your business!" He turned back to the mirror, racking up the towel to staunch the trickle of blood running down his neck. "What kind of question is that coming from an unmarried young lady? Or even a married one. Where'd you even hear that word?"
"Isn't that what it's called?"
"Sometimes, but where did you— No, let me guess," he said, raising his hands, palms out. "Your brother and mine."
"I came up behind them one time when they were relieving themselves in the woods. I think they were comparing their—"
"Don't say it again."
"Until then, I thought they were all the same. I guess they're like women's breasts. Some are just naturally bigger than others."
"Ohp, God." Jake's face took on a pained expression.
"What's the matter with you? There's no modesty between us, is mere?"
"Apparently not." He finished shaving and began sluicing water over his face.
"Our situation hardly conforms to the laws of propriety. Otherwise you might have thought twice about sleeping with me naked."
His head came up and, regardless of the water he was dripping onto the floor, he faced her again, stupefied.
"Do you always sleep like that?"
"How do you know I do?"
"I saw you."
"When?"
"That night after my surgery."
"You were crazy with fever and pain."
Not that crazy. Don t you think I would remember a naked man climbing into bed with me?"
He turned to the vanity table again and dried his face with the towel. Then tossing it aside, he flipped his collar out and began rebuttoning his shirt. "I'm not going to talk about it anymore."
"I've never seen a totally naked man before. Wouldn't you expect me to be curious?"
"Sure, I guess so. But I would rather you not tell me about it."
"Why? You're my first naked man."
"Will you stop saying that!"
"Well, you don't have to get so mad. You've seen me naked, too."
He pointed a finger at her and spoke sternly. "Only because it was necessary, Banner. I was assisting the doctor."
"I understand," she said primly, lowering her eyes. "But I didn't exactly go chasing after you and rip off your clothes. I didn't know when I woke up and cried out that you were going to come charging in here as naked as a jaybird."
"I always sleep like that!" he shouted defensively.
She stacked her arms beneath her head, settled back against the pillows, and smiled the proverbial smile of the cat that has just swallowed the canary. "Do you?"
Jake was furious at being tricked. He had told her what she wanted to know. The triumphant gleam in her eyes was as seductive as her reclining form on the bed.
To save face, he had to pull her smugness out from under her like a rug. His expression ceased being fulminating and became arrogant. His eyes toured her body insolently as he sauntered forward.
"We can't have you going around with an unsatisfied curiosity, can we?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, her complacency suddenly giving way to uneasy caution.
"I mean that we had just as well lay your mind to rest about everything."
Banner's eyes went wide with shock as he unbuckled his belt. She wet her lips. "Just a minute."
He paused. "Why?"
"What are you doing?"
He smiled, and the hard, strong fingers continued working the buttons on his pants. "I'm unfastening my britches."
She sat up straighter, no longer the temptress but the demure maiden. "Wait, Jake!"
He undid the last button on his fly. "You want an answer to your question, don't you?"
"I-"
"Well, here it is."
She slammed her eyes shut when his hands moved again.
"No, I don't always strop my razor before shaving. Just when it needs it. About once a week."
Her eyes popped open. He was calmly tucking in his shirttail. She watched in mounting rage as he finished the task, then refastened the buttons and rebuckled his belt.
"Any more questions?"
Stormy eyes lifted to his. "You... you..."
He made a tofcing sound. "Now don't get yourself all riled up, Banner. Remember you need your rest." He dodged the pillow that came sailing toward his head and raced for the door.
His booming laughter drowned out the vitriolic name-calling.
* * *
"Knock, knock. Am I going to get a pillow in my face if I come in to check on you?" Jake stuck his head around the door a few hours later. He had cared f
or Stormy, carried in firewood, and started soup for their supper. Years of cooking on the trail came in handy now. The food he prepared might not be superb, but it was filling.
"No."
He had expected her to be sulking, but as he swept the door open and moved nearer the bed, he could tell she wasn't even thinking about their earlier skirmish. She showed signs of discomfort.
"What is it, Banner?"
She moved her head fitfully on the pillow. "I know this sounds crazy, but my incision is itching like mad."
"Itching? That probably means it's healing." He paused for a second too long not to be noticed. "But we had better take a look."
She raised her eyes to his trustingly. "Whatever you think, Jake."
He peeled back the quilt and sheet. When he saw her small frame clothed only in the nightgown that molded to every rise and dip of her body, his throat constricted. He cleared it loudly. "Do you want to, uh... ?" He made a descriptive motion with his hands, then turned his back.
Banner raised her nightgown and adjusted it to cover her feminity, baring only that part of her abdomen that needed his attention. Of course it left bare one leg and hip and much of her side, but there was no help for that.
"All right," she said softly.
Jake turned around. His eyes didn't meet hers, but kept themselves trained on the bandage that crossed her middle. As gently as he could, he removed the wrapping.
Banner gasped. His head snapped up. "Did I hurt you?"
"No." She stared down at the thin pink line with its sprouting sutures. "I just realized that I really was cut open." Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, she fought off the revulsion that shivered through her. "It's so ugly."
"Compared to some of the wounds I've seen stitched up, Hewitt's work is a masterpiece." He probed the area around the incision gently. He could find no traces of swelling or redness. "See these little flecks of dry skin? That's what's itching. It's healing properly."
"I'm surprised Dr. Hewitt hasn't come out to see to me. Even with the rain and flooding, you would think he would."
Jake decided she didn't need so large a bandage and replaced the original with a soft square of gauze the doctor had left. As he worked, he said, "Banner, there's something I should tell you."