“Why don’t you go wash up while I see how bad this is?”
After James strode out of the room, Jillian turned to Annabelle, watched as the child slowly rolled the sock off Wade’s foot. Already the ankle was badly swollen.
“I didn’t wake him. That means I didn’t hurt him, right?”
“Right. That was a good job, Annabelle.”
With his daughter calm and reassured, Jillian focused on Wade. Though not schooled in human medicine, she knew the basics of what to do. With her fingertips holding down the handkerchief, she turned Wade’s head toward her. His cheek was bristly in her palm but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In fact, there was something unexpectedly pleasant about the abrasive scrape of his beard.
Eileen came back and placed a bowl of water at her feet, handed Jillian a clean cloth. “Is there anything else I can do?”
Jillian reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand. It was cold as ice. “He really will be fine. Why don’t you go for a walk? I won’t be too long.”
Though she nodded, she didn’t move. James stepped back into the room and placed a lit lantern on the small table beside the couch. Though it was daylight yet, the extra brightness would be useful in seeing how bad the gash was.
“I figured you might need it.” He shrugged when Jillian smiled at him.
“I do, thank you. I could also use a chair.”
After he’d brought her one, she said, “Now, really, why you don’t you two get some fresh air.”
“We won’t wander far,” James said.
“Truly, I don’t think it’s more than a cut and some bruises.”
James, at least, seemed to believe her. “Come on, Button, let’s give Miz Matthews room to work.”
“No! I don’t wanna go!”
“Annabelle, it won’t be for long and—”
“But Miss Matthews promised I could stay!” Fresh tears threatened to fall.
“She’s right, I did.” Jillian assured them before they could argue. “And she’s fine where she’s at.”
“Then we’ll leave you to it. Come on, Eileen.” James took her hand and they stepped outside.
Once the door clicked shut, Jillian removed her hand from the handkerchief, leaving the stained cloth on Wade’s brow for now. She took her seat and dipped the clean cloth Eileen had brought in the bowl. Warm water washed over her hand. Gently she lifted the kerchief off, then brought the clean cloth to his face. In tender strokes, she washed the blood from his temple and cheek.
He didn’t stir and for that Jillian was thankful. Bathing his face was far more intimate than anything she’d done and her inexperience in this area had her flushing. She felt the burn of it as she slid the cloth over his cheek. He had strong cheekbones and an equally firm jawline and both intrigued her. She liked the way his skin darkened where his beard grew. Enjoyed the way the cloth scraped the stubble.
Jillian was lingering at the task more than she should but it was like she’d told everyone else, his coloring and breathing were good and she wasn’t worried. She’d never had such an opportunity and though her heart hammered, she was enjoying herself. And it wasn’t as though bathing his face would lead to anything. She was in Marietta to work. Only work, she repeated as she brushed his face once more.
“Do you think he likes you washing him?” Annabelle asked.
Jillian’s hand jerked. Annabelle had been so quiet Jillian had forgotten she was there. Hoping Annabelle hadn’t realized how much she’d been enjoying herself, Jillian reminded herself she was here in the role as physician and nothing else. Absolutely nothing.
“I know when I wash an animal who’s been hurt, they seem to enjoy it. I think the warm water and a gentle hand reassures them, lets them know I’m not going to hurt them.”
“And you wouldn’t hurt my papa either.”
“No, Annabelle,” Jillian answered with absolute certainty, “I’d never hurt your papa.”
When the rest of his face was clean, Jillian moved to the gash that cut across his temple. He flinched, hissed in a breath. Opened his eyes.
“Jillian?” His voice was low and confused.
“Papa!” Annabelle cried.
He moved his head, grimaced when he did. “Hi, Button.”
“Are you all better now?”
“Better?” His brows creased and then smoothed out as he remembered. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Grandma and James wanted me to go outside but Jillian said I could stay. Is it okay that I stayed?”
“I’m glad you did, Button.” He rolled his head Jillian’s way.
Jillian took the curve of his mouth to be his thanks. “She needed to be with you,” she said simply.
The room had been warm before but suddenly it was stifling. Since distraction had worked on Annabelle, she decided to use the same trick with the girl’s father.
“You have a nasty cut above your temple. I was about to have a closer look when you woke up.” She leaned closer, much too aware of his moist breath on her neck. She wiped away more blood. The wound wasn’t deep but the blood kept coming. “You’re going to need a few stitches.” She clutched the cloth in her hands and sat back. “I’m not sure about your ankle, though, as I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet.”
His eyes continued to hold Jillian’s for a few long beats then he shifted them back to his daughter. “See, Button, I’m going to be okay.”
Despite the words, his daughter’s chin trembled. “Can I give you a hug now?” she asked, her small voice cracking.
Tears stung Jillian’s eyes. In that moment she missed her father desperately. She dropped the cloth in the bowl.
“I’ll go get some clean water. Here, Annabelle, you can sit in my place.”
She gave them plenty of time, even taking a moment to step outside where she found James, Eileen, and Scott lingering on the porch. After reassuring them Wade was awake and talking, James and Scott thanked her, then went back to work. Eileen, being a mother, rushed inside to see for herself.
*
“Ma, quit hovering!”
She hadn’t stopped touching him since she’d run into the parlor. First his hair, then his cheek. At the moment she held his hand in a vise.
“I was worried. I’m your mother; I’m allowed to be worried.”
He sighed. Why argue? “Well, as you can see, I’m fine now.”
“But, Papa, you’re still bleeding.” Annabelle pointed out.
Though the wound was bleeding, it was a slow, sticky trickle. He wiped it away with his hand.
“It’s just a cut, it’ll heal. Remember how your knees healed after you fell in the yard that time you were racing Jacob?”
“But I had to beat him!”
Wade chuckled. Annabelle and Jacob were always racing. At the rate they were going, neither one would have any skin on their knees by the time they turned ten.
“And you would have, if you hadn’t fallen. But even though you scraped them up good, they healed didn’t they?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And I will, too. Now how about if you help Grandma with some oatmeal cookies? I’m sure they’ll help me get better much faster.”
Her blue eyes sparkled like sunshine off the Yellowstone River. “Come, Grandma, let’s make Papa some cookies!”
His mother poked her index finger into his chest. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
He grinned. “I love you too, Ma.”
“Oh, go on!” She swatted him lightly on the shoulder, sniffled, and left the room.
Jillian came in as his mother and daughter were walking out. He heard her ask for sewing supplies, since she hadn’t brought her bag along. She also promised Annabelle, after some rather determined begging on his daughter’s part, that she’d stay afterward for a cookie. Hearing his daughter squeal with excitement after having seen the fear and sadness in her eyes eased his mind. Poor thing must have been so scared, thinking she’d lose her father.
<
br /> When he’d first felt the warm cloth and gentle strokes, he’d been content to relax under the gentle ministrations, to savor the soothing caress. It wasn’t until the touch brushed the wound that he’d felt pain and realized he wasn’t dreaming.
Still, he’d expected to see his mother upon opening his eyes and it had taken him a moment to comprehend that Jillian was there. When had she gotten there? How long had he been out cold? But then fully understanding that it had been her hands on him—if only his face—he’d wished he could have gone back and enjoyed her touch all over again. Which, considering he’d already vowed not only to his mother but also to himself that he wasn’t interested in Jillian, made him wonder just how hard he’d smacked his head.
Jillian placed the bowl at her feet and soon afterward his mother returned with a bottle of whiskey, needle, thread, and scissors. He watched silently as Jillian cut a length of thread, then soaked both it and needle in whiskey. Just as he’d noticed the night of the surgery, he saw that she had delicate hands, hands more suitable to another profession than the one she’d chosen.
“Did you ever consider being a nurse?”
“No.”
“Because you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps?”
“Because animals don’t talk,” she answered with a twinkle in her eye.
Then, with a soft laugh that hit him square in the gut, she proceeded to thread her needle. Wade eyed the needle. This wasn’t the first time he’d needed to be sewn up, but he hated needles almost as much as he hated heights.
“Where did you put the whiskey?”
Jillian handed him the bottle and he raised it to his lips, took a long swallow.
“I’m ready when you are,” he said, passing her the bottle.
Being poked with a needle wasn’t what Wade would call pleasant. It sure as heck wasn’t as nice as having her bathe him with a warm cloth. Yet he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be. Lying on his side, with Jillian leaning over him to stitch, left him in the very enviable position of having her breast inches from his face. His eyes fixated on it like a moth to a lantern. The generous, soft curve of it tempted him until he figured he’d surely go to hell for the thoughts he was having.
What if he leaned forward, brushed his mouth against her breast? What if he opened his lips and drew the hard tip into his mouth despite the layers of fabric? Want coiled through him, harder and faster than he’d felt in years. He could almost feel the hard nub of her nipple rolling over his tongue.
“Ow!” he yelled when he jerked and the thread pulled his wound.
“Don’t move!” Jillian scolded.
Then she leaned a little closer and Wade had to close his eyes. He couldn’t keep looking at her without having such thoughts, without smelling her warm skin and wondering what it would taste like.
Sweat beaded his forehead. Why was it so blasted hot in here?
“Are you almost finished?” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained.
“I was about to cut the thread when you moved,” she said, the admonishment in her voice was unmistakable.
A few more tortured seconds passed as she snipped the thread. Then—finally—the sweet, tempting smell of her eased and he was able to breathe again.
“Sorry, this will hurt.”
She took the whiskey and poured a little over the sutures. He flinched at the burn but was grateful it gave him something else to think about besides her body and what thinking about it was doing to his own.
She dabbed at the liquid that ran from the sutures. “I’m done.”
He opened his eyes, took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, I know that hurt.”
While he was still battling to control himself, he felt the much cooler cloth once again sweep over his face. It felt too good to do anything but lie there and let her wash him. Of course it also prevented his body from forgetting what it had been two years without.
He caught her wrist. Her gaze reflected everything he was feeling: surprise, uncertainty. Desire.
Hellfire.
“I’m fine now, Jillian.”
Wade felt less vulnerable sitting up. But as the blood rushed down, his ankle started throbbing. He tried to move it, grimaced as a stab of pain ricocheted up his calf.
“Do you want me to have a look?”
Not a hope in hell. He was barely keeping himself tethered as it was. If she put those hands on him once more he wasn’t going to be able to fight it any longer.
“Nah. I’ve wasted enough of your time. Besides, I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Be sure to keep it wrapped, then. And keep it up as much as you can.”
Wade met those deep green eyes. Keeping it up certainly wasn’t proving to be a problem so far. Even the pans clanging from the kitchen reminding him there were others nearby didn’t ease his need.
“I know that’s difficult with the work you do, but it really will heal faster if you can.”
His lips curved. “All I’ll have to do is tell Ma your orders and I’ll be lucky to walk to the outhouse without help.”
She folded her hands into her lap. Wade was intrigued by the blush that rode underneath her creamy skin.
“You look like you have something on your mind.”
“I didn’t happen by, though it turns out that was a stroke of luck. I actually came to thank you.”
“For?”
“For coming to the meeting and speaking on my behalf. I don’t know if it will help, but I appreciate the gesture.”
He shrugged and struggled to stand, keeping his injured foot off the ground. Jillian pushed her chair back, rushed to help him but he held up his hand.
“I don’t think you should be up yet. Are you dizzy?”
He held onto the couch until he wasn’t. He managed to hop a few steps, but the pain was like a red-hot poker and it was jabbing him in both the head and the foot. Feeling like he’d just run up the steepest hill, he leaned heavily against the wall.
“It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.”
“I heard that!” His mother’s voice came from the kitchen, but Wade didn’t bother apologizing. He was too busy gritting his teeth.
“I really think you need to lie back down,” Jillian said.
“I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.”
She crossed her arms, which only served to push her breasts higher. Wade groaned, shut his eyes. The next thing he knew she was at his side, her arm sliding between him and the wall.
“If you’re so determined to move, then at least accept some help. Clearly, you’re not up to doing this on your own yet.”
It was the same authoritative voice she’d used the night of the surgery and he grinned.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You can be very bossy.”
“I’m not bossy.”
His grin spread. “You most certainly can be. You’ve already bossed me around a time or two.” The flush he so enjoyed seeing on her cheeks deepened.
“Well, you deserved it,” she answered with as much starch as one of Shane’s shirts.
She had her arm wrapped around his waist. Her head barely reached his shoulder. But her chin jutted defiantly and her eyes dared him to argue the point. He didn’t bother. First, she was right, he had deserved it. And second, with her tucked in tight next to his body, there were much better things he could think to do than argue.
Before her eyes had more than a moment to widen at the realization of what was about to happen, Wade bent his head and touched his lips to hers. He’d felt the scorching heat of a grass fire. Hell, there’d been one, back when he wasn’t more than Annabelle’s age that had burned through the back edge of their pasture. Folks had seen the smoke and come running and it had been a long day of fighting the blaze, eating smoke and feeling the fine hairs on his arms burn off before they had it out.
But even that was nothing compared to the flames rising around him as he took Jillian’s mouth with his own. She didn’t r
esist, but rather leaned into him, sighed, and opened her mouth under his.
It was a burning the likes of which he’d never known. It came from his chest and pushed its way out, engulfing him until he heard the roar of it in his ears. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her tightly against him. The movement nearly toppled them over. Before he lost his balance and took them both down, he swiveled on his good foot until he once again had the support of the wall at his back.
She felt delicate and small in his arms. She felt good. He held her pressed against him, all soft curves to his angles. He rubbed his tongue against hers, shuddered at the same time she did. Body burning, Wade slanted his mouth and took the kiss deeper. The roar intensified. Her scent enveloped him as much as her arms. He ran his hand up her back, clutched her braid in his fist, wished he could untie it and feel the satin of her hair pour through his fingers. He wished—
“Oh, my!”
“Papa!”
Jillian tensed and jerked free. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back and hit the wall. The small thud was the only sound save his and Jillian’s labored breathing.
“Papa, you were kissing!”
Hellfire. He rubbed a hand down his face before he dared open his eyes. What he saw when he opened them was exactly what he figured he’d see. His mother looked like she’d just struck gold. Hell, she could’ve eaten it the way her face glowed. Annabelle’s eyes were wider than a harvest moon. Jillian, on the other hand, was red as a beet.
“Cookies are baking, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. We thought we’d come see how the stitches were coming but”—his ma grinned—“I can see everything is coming along just fine.”
“I’ll just clean up,” Jillian said as she moved to gather everything.
“Are you going to kiss my papa some more?”
Jillian wobbled the bowl and water poured over the rim and down her skirt.
“Annabelle! You’ve embarrassed Miss Matthews. Here, Jillian, let me take that,” his ma said, taking the bowl. “There’s a towel in the kitchen. Come and we’ll dry you off.”
Following his mother, Jillian didn’t look back, but then that was just as well since Annabelle was heading his way. She stopped before him, crossed her arms. Then, with one foot tapping, looked up into his eyes and asked, “Well, Papa, are you going to kiss her again?”
A Rancher’s Surrender Page 12