“Stay here.”
His words were strained. He swayed toward her slightly, his fingers wrapped around her upper arm to steady her and sending a trail of warmth through her. His other palm lay flat against her back, pressing her belly against him. When he released her, a cold breeze seeped through her clothes.
Frannie blinked as Chris Hawley turned away and pushed open the gate leading to the field. He swatted Brownie on the rump and clucked at her, sending her trotting forward. The colt bolted after her, spurred on by Chris waving his arm in the air. Once both horses galloped off, he shut and secured the gate, then leaned forward and pressed his head against the top rail.
“Mr. Hawley?” Frannie stepped up to his side. Her heart sped up. This man had quite possibly saved her from getting trampled by the colt a few moments ago. She placed her hand on his arm, which was clammy and cold, yet damp from perspiration.
He raised his head, his eyes glazed over as if he were going to be sick at any moment.
“Come to the house. You aren’t well enough to walk to town.”
His forehead scrunched as if he hadn’t understood. Had she spoken too quietly?
“You need to lie down,” she coaxed, reaching for his hand. “And you’ll be more comfortable at the house rather than in the barn.”
His larger hand wrapped around hers, and his grip was strong, yet gentle at the same time. Wordlessly, he followed as she led him to the house and into the spare bedroom.
“I have to get back to 2017,” he mumbled. “I have to –”
“Right now, you have to rest,” Frannie cut him off. “There’s water in the pitcher, and you can clean up. I think I’ve got some clothes that might fit you, too, and I can wash what you’re wearing.”
The mattress squeaked when Chris sat on the edge. He stared up at her, his eyes traveling over her face, then dropping lower to her belly. Self-consciously, Frannie ran a hand over her stomach.
“Thank you, Mr. Hawley,” she said. “You saved my baby. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. The colt might have kicked me or trampled me.”
He continued to stare at her. His arm lifted, trembling, and his hand reached out to touch her belly. Frannie inhaled a quick breath and nearly gasped. The tips of his fingers ran over her swollen abdomen in the lightest caress, but every part of her came alive at the tender touch, awareness seeping through the fabric of her dress.
The baby must have felt it, too. He moved and kicked a limb out as if to return Chris Hawley’s gesture. When she looked at him, his eyes glistened with moisture. Frannie blinked away the sudden tears that flooded her own eyes. She stepped away and turned, gulping in some air. What on earth was happening? She coughed to clear her throat, and straightened her back.
“There is a bar of soap in the first drawer and some clean towels. I’ll be right back with that change of clothes,” she mumbled with her back turned to him. She couldn’t bear to look into those haunted eyes again.
Stepping out of the room, she walked to her bedroom on unsteady legs. She swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. The wounded look in Chris Hawley’s eyes hadn’t been from his sickness. It had been raw pain, and it had been real. And, it had been so tender.
Frannie expelled a breath and swiped away some tendrils of hair from her flushed face. She’d intended to move out of the main bedroom and into the spare room today. Good thing she’d filled the water pitcher earlier. She glanced around the bedroom she’d occupied for the last year. There were too many bad memories of Lester in this bedroom, but while Chris Hawley was here, she’d have to postpone her move.
She rummaged through Lester’s trunk for a pair of britches and a shirt. The clothes might need to be altered slightly, but for now, it would give her unexpected guest something clean to wear. Her eyes filled with tears again.
Lester had never spared her a soft glance or a loving touch. When she’d told him she was with child, he’d barely acknowledged the news. A complete stranger, someone who wasn’t right in the mind, had shown her more tenderness with one look and one touch than she’d ever received from her husband.
Frannie shook her head. She pushed aside the confusing thoughts and emotions racing through her. That’s all they were – confusing thoughts. So much had happened in the last couple of days that she hadn’t been able to think straight. Moving to the window, she gazed out at the barn and field in the distance. The horses all grazed happily, Brownie among them.
“We can both relax now,” Frannie whispered, watching the gentle mare with her colt.
It would take more than a day to get used to the idea that Lester was gone. Cradling her stomach when her baby moved, Frannie leaned her head against the wall, still looking out the window. Her life had taken an unexpected turn, in more ways than one, and for the first time, hope filled her. A smile passed over her lips as she stood there, daydreaming. Was it mere coincidence that Chris Hawley had arrived on the same day her husband had died?
She shook her head. He wasn’t staying. She’d offered him a place to recover from his illness, and then he’d be on his way. Her head turned to her bed where she’d left the clothes she’d set out.
She sighed. When was the last time she’d been allowed a few minutes to be idle? There was plenty of work to be done. Lester would be angry if she stood around, doing nothing.
You can’t control my life anymore.
Frannie turned away from the window and grabbed for the clothes meant for her guest and headed back to the other bedroom. Hopefully, Mr. Hawley hadn’t fallen asleep. Without knocking, she opened the door, and stopped in her tracks. Her heart slammed against her ribs and heat raced into her cheeks. She gasped out loud.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered, and spun around as quickly as was possible in her current condition.
The image of Chris Hawley standing fully in the nude would be etched in her mind forever. He’d had his back turned to her, but in that brief moment after she’d opened the door, she’d seen enough to send her heart racing and her limbs left weak and shaky.
“If you’ve got spare clothes I can borrow, I’ll get dressed,” he said, much too close behind her.
Frannie fisted the shirt in her hand and didn’t dare move. She flinched and let out a gasp when he tapped her on the shoulder.
“You can turn around,” he said. His voice had never sounded lighter, no longer gruff or raspy like before.
Slowly, Frannie turned. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. He stood before her, his chest damp. Water dripped from his wet hair, running down his shoulders, arms, and chest. Her eyes followed the path of a water droplet as it made its way lower.
She expelled a relieved breath. He’d wrapped a towel around his hips, but there was nothing left to the imagination. Her head snapped back up to meet his eyes. She was making a complete fool of herself. Lester had been the first and only man she’d seen in the nude, and he’d made sure she’d received a thorough, yet unwanted, education about his anatomy. Never before had she reacted to him the way her mind and body reacted to this man.
Chris Hawley stood before her, still looking ill, but at least the grime was washed away and he smelled much better. Frannie continued to stare, her eyes fixed on the slight bump along his right collarbone. She shook her head and thrust the clothes at him.
“These should fit,” she managed to say, forcing her eyes away. She scurried down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her without losing her balance. Behind her, an amused chuckle followed her all the way to the kitchen.
Chapter 7
The faint sounds of a woman’s soft voice filtered through the haze and fog. She was humming a non-descript tune that brought instant peace and chased away the unpleasant scene that had played out in his head. Amber had hung up the phone with him, unwilling to talk or listen. Why was she now humming?
Chris stirred. He opened his eyes, but had to squint when bright sunshine streamed in through an unfamiliar window. Or was it unfamiliar
? He groaned and sat upright, running his fingers through his hair. His hand stopped halfway up his scalp. Where was the pounding in his head that had plagued him for . . . how long? The headache was gone.
A slight feeling of dizziness swept through him, and he had to blink again to get rid of the light-headedness, but his body no longer ached, and he wasn’t drenched in sweat, or shivering. The blanket that covered him fell away, and cool air brushed his skin. He glanced down. He always slept in the nude, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right this time, as if this wasn’t the right place to be without clothes.
He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, then held his head between his hands, waiting for the dizziness to subside. How long had he lain in this bed? This was almost as bad as the first day he’d sat up in the hospital after the car crash, feeling weak from lying in a bed too long. Except that time, he hadn’t been able to walk at all.
Chris raised his head. He glanced around the small room. It was furnished with the bed, a non-descript, plain, wooden dresser against the opposite wall, and a small table on this side of the bed. An antique-looking oil lamp sat on the table, and a white porcelain bowl and pitcher was on the dresser. The simple curtains in the window were made of an off-white fabric with a faded-looking floral pattern.
The light humming sound of the woman came from somewhere outside the room.
Francine.
It had to be her. Chris scrunched his forehead. An image of a girl with a soft smile and haunting blue eyes came to mind, along with a feeling of peace and contentment. She wore her hair either in a long braid down her back or pinned to the top of her head. Her voice was always soft, like her features, and her touch soothing to his aching body. None of the nurses at the hospital had treated him with as much tender care as Francine.
Chris stood on unsteady legs. He reached out to hold onto the bedpost when his eyes fell to some clothes that lay folded at the foot of the bed. He reached for the tan-colored pants, held them up for a closer inspection, then shrugged and slipped them on. The length was all right, but the waist was a bit loose. He pulled the attached suspenders up to his shoulders since there was no belt.
He’d worn these pants yesterday, and the day before that, maybe even longer. It was hard to remember. The last few days had all merged into one – days of feeling sicker than when he’d lain broken in a hospital bed, or afterward at rehab, feeling lower than ever because he’d survived, but simply wanted to die.
Chris clenched his jaw. He’d been mean and insulting over the past few days, then broken down in self-pity and cried, begging Francine to give him his pills. She’d stood firm, telling him she had no pills to give him, and that he’d feel better soon.
He slipped into the cotton shirt that lay with the pants, but didn’t bother buttoning it. It was warm and stuffy in this room. At one point, during an angry outburst, he might have told Francine he was going to break the window and get the hell out of here.
There had been times he’d nearly walked out the door. It hadn’t mattered how sick he was feeling. He’d needed his meds. Even now, he had to get back to town and find that woman, Cissie. She knew how to get him back home. There was no longer any doubt that, for some unexplainable reason, he’d time traveled, as ludicrous as it sounded. That, or else he’d ended up in some Amish community, but were there any in Texas?
At some point, there had been voices outside, the clopping of horses’ hooves, and the squeaking of a wagon. Francine had entered his room, and told him she had to go somewhere and would be back within a few hours.
“It’s best you’re not seen,” she’d said when he’d wanted to come with her. “I can’t stop you from leaving while I’m gone, Mr. Hawley, but I have to let you know that my husband’s friends believe you killed him, and if they find you, there’s no telling what they might do.”
Her eyes had been filled with concern. Of course, at the time, it hadn’t really mattered. In his altered state of mind, he’d seen his opportunity to leave. Then why hadn’t he?
He’d paced the room in restless agitation, but each time he’d considered leaving, he’d stopped, and it had been because of Francine.
Something about her had compelled him to do as she’d asked, and he’d stayed put. Every time he thought of her, anger and sorrow for his loss took hold in him. Images of Francine as she caressed her swollen belly haunted him. There had been times when he’d thought Francine was Amber, even though the two were nothing alike.
Chris frowned. Now that his head wasn’t in a fog and pounding like someone was hammering away at his skull, it was time to apologize to the girl who’d taken care of him while he was going through withdrawals. He stepped to the door. He tentatively bore full weight on his injured leg, ready to limp out of the room. The expected pain in his shattered knee never came.
He put full weight on his leg, and even raised his other one off the ground. No pain. There was some stiffness and a mild ache from having been laid up all these days, but the sharp, throbbing pain he’d been accustomed to for so long was gone.
Chris rotated his shoulder and touched a finger to the bulge on his collarbone. No pain there, either, but that break had healed faster than his busted knee. The knee was the reason he needed pain meds. Or did he? The doctors had said the medication was simply an excuse, and he’d become dependent on it. Had it all been in his head, like they’d told him all along?
Stepping back in time, as ludicrous as the notion was, had forced him to quit cold-turkey. The withdrawals over the last few days had been excruciating. He probably would have died, if not for the determination of the girl who hummed so softly somewhere in this house.
Chris reached for the doorknob and turned it. The door squeaked slightly on its hinges, but he opened it fully and stepped into the narrow hall. A delicious aroma assaulted his nose. His stomach growled in response. No more feeling nauseated, either.
In bare feet, Chris moved toward the smell. The main room was furnished as simply as the bedroom he’d occupied for several days. There was a small sofa and an upholstered chair, both facing a stone fireplace. A lamp table, like the one in the bedroom, stood against the wall between the two windows. The simple white curtains looked old and worn, adding to the rundown feel of this place.
The living room opened into a smaller kitchen area. Chris stopped under the doorframe. Francine stood with her back to him, still humming her soft tune, and working over something on the stove. She wore her hair in a loose bun pinned at the nape of her neck.
Chris swallowed. She only had to turn slightly for her advanced pregnancy to become quite obvious. While she worked, one hand cradled her belly in an almost loving way, as if she was holding her baby in her arms. He blinked and shook his head. A renewed feeling of loss poured through him, and he quickly pushed thoughts of Amber and Eric aside. He took another step forward, and one of the floorboards creaked.
Francine instantly stopped humming, and her back stiffened. She turned, probably faster than she should have, and an almost fearful look passed through her eyes as they connected with his across the room.
“Good morning.” Chris plastered on a smile and stepped fully into the kitchen.
His heart picked up its pace as he looked through clear eyes for the first time at the girl who’d come to his aid. He’d wondered if she’d been a figment of his imagination, but she was everything he’d pictured earlier. He shook his head. His mind was drifting to a place it couldn’t go. It was ridiculous.
“Good morning.” She set down the spoon she held. She averted her eyes after they lingered on his unbuttoned shirt for a moment. Clearly, she was unsure how to proceed. “You look better today.”
You were a real jackass to her over the last few days, Hawley.
Her back was turned as she poured coffee from a metal pot on the stove into a tin mug. Without looking at him, she set the cup on the table in the room, then raised her eyes to him again.
“Come and sit. If you’re up to it, I have some breakfast for
you. You’ve hardly eaten in the last few days.”
Images of her sitting on the edge of the bed, coaxing him to at least slurp some broth, blurred and faded away as he looked at her.
Chris moved to the table and sat. “I think I could eat some real food today.”
The aroma of hot coffee was another reminder of how little he’d eaten in recent days. It smelled good, and it didn’t elicit the expected stomach-turning feeling.
Francine returned with a plate of grits and a couple of biscuits. Without looking at him, she set it in front of him and moved to turn. Chris reached for her to stop her from leaving. He needed to apologize for how he’d behaved. The instant his fingers wrapped around her wrist, she tensed and pulled back. Her eyes went wide with fear. Chris frowned. If he let go, she’d lose her balance and fall, so he held on tighter and stood.
“You don’t have to wait on me, Francine. You should sit down and rest.” He took a step closer to ease the tension in her arm, then slowly let her go. She immediately backed away.
Chris raked his fingers through his hair, meeting her fearful gaze. Why was she afraid of him all of a sudden?
“Look, I’m sorry for acting like an as . . . like such a jerk. I was pretty messed up the last few days. You were right about everything. I was going through withdrawals.” He shifted weight, and dropped his stare to the ground. “I haven’t been myself in many months.”
Francine backed into the counter behind her, her eyes never leaving him. “You’re feeling better, then?” Her soft voice sounded both strained and cautious.
Chris nodded. He glanced up, and forced a smile. His body was healed, but the feelings of guilt and loss would haunt him forever.
“I feel much better. Thanks to you.”
He returned to his seat, putting some distance between them to give her space. Had she always been this suspicious of him and he simply hadn’t seen it, or was this something new?
“I’d feel better if you didn’t let me sit here and eat alone, while you’re working,” he coaxed.
Timeless Healing (Timeless Hearts Book 4) Page 6