“Right.” He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I left the bag your mom put together for you in the Jeep. Mom’ll come up with something. I’ll send her up, then be back to check on you.”
“You don’t have to check on me. I’m fine.”
Obviously she didn’t want to bother his mom, but she wanted him hovering near even less. “Maybe I want to.” He shot her a wink, watched her cheeks pink and closed the door.
“Does she need anything?” Mom waited in the hall.
“Something to sleep in. Her bag’s in the Jeep and there’s a tree across the driveway where the cattle guard used to be. That’s why we were so wet.”
“I’m on it.” She turned toward her and his father’s room. “You go on downstairs.”
Exhaustion dragged at his legs as he descended the stairs. He wanted to go to his room, stay close to Caitlyn, but he had to clue his mother in first.
He sat in front of the fireplace with no flame in sight—his mother’s favorite spot even in the heat of summer. With the chill of his damp clothes, a fire would be nice about now, even though it was only mid-September. Two cups of coffee, with steam swirling, waited on the end table between the two wooden rockers. He chose the darker brew, cradling the smooth porcelain in his hands.
Coffee this time of night was nothing. His family often joked about caffeine running through their veins instead of blood.
A few minutes later, Mom descended the stairs and settled in the chair beside him.
“She okay?”
“I ran her a bath so she can get warm.”
“Can she handle that? She’s not supposed to get her stitches wet.”
“I hope so. She ran me out.”
“I’ll check on her in a bit.” Mitch sipped his coffee. Strong and dark, just the way he liked it. “I can’t believe all our commotion didn’t wake Grandpa up.”
“He helped drive the longhorns to the north pasture today, so he turned in early. You know how hard he sleeps, especially when he’s tired.” Mom’s oak chair creaked with each rock. “What’s going on, Mitch? Caitlyn’s in danger, isn’t she?”
“How did you know that?”
Mom held up one finger. “She doesn’t seem to be here willingly.” A second finger went up. “You don’t want anyone knowing she’s here, and she said you were helping her.” A third finger completed the list.
“We’re all safe.”
“That’s not what worries me. I can tell she’s shaken, and you know I always loved that girl.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Oh, Mitch.” Mom reached for his hand. “Can’t y’all work it out?”
“Right now, I have to keep her safe, and that’s all I can think about.” He clasped her hand. “Some nut thinks she’s his estranged wife. He’s been stalking her and he attacked her the other night.”
Mom’s free hand flew to her heart.
“Outside of this family, no one can know she’s here.”
“Of course. You’re sure he didn’t follow you here?”
“I’m sure. But we can’t do anything to lead him here. I’ll fill Grandpa in tomorrow and as the others arrive, I’ll brief them.” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “I need to call her dad.”
“At this hour?”
“He said to call when we got here, no matter what time. You go on to bed.”
She stood and patted his knee. “Well, I’m glad you brought her here.”
“Me, too.”
For this short period in his life, Caitlyn needed him. He’d wring everything he could out of it before time ran out.
Maybe if his transfer came through, their time wouldn’t run out.
* * *
Caitlyn winced and tried to pull herself up with her good arm. Nothing. She’d had to take a bath so she could prop her leg on the side of the deep claw-foot tub and keep it dry. But now she couldn’t get out. She would not call Mitch’s mom. She’d always loved Mitch’s mom, but she wouldn’t even want her own mother fishing her out of the tub.
White-lace curtains and pale yellow walls created a soothing place for a bubble bath. Maybe another day she’d run one when it wasn’t so late and she wasn’t so exhausted.
Summoning all her strength, she tried again. Her hand slid on the white-tiled surround, but she managed to perch on the side of the tub with her bad leg out and her good leg in. Exhausted, she sat there gasping deep breaths until her heart slowed, then pulled her good leg out of the tub.
Red swelling ran along one edge of the wound. Probably infected from all the mud she’d sloshed through tonight. Leaning her weight on her good leg, she stood and dried off.
Shoulder throbbing, she slid the cotton gown Audra had supplied over her head and stuck her arms through the sleeves. She hobbled to the linen closet and opened the door, searching for peroxide. The familiar brown bottle with a spray nozzle hid behind extra toilet paper and shampoo.
White foam bubbled up as she sprayed, and it stung. She shut the toilet lid, sat down and blew on it like her mom used to do when she was little. After a few minutes, she dabbed the wound dry, hobbled out of the bathroom and crawled into bed.
How could the simple act of bathing and dressing be so taxing? There were people in the world who lived with disabilities that made every effort exhausting. Her injuries were temporary. Her situation was temporary. Mitch in her life was temporary.
Count every blessing. Especially that Mitch was temporary.
A knock sounded on her door. “Caitlyn, can I come in?”
Speak of the temporary blessing.
“I’m fine.”
“Can I come in?”
He sure made it hard to count blessings. She propped a mound of pillows behind her and pulled the covers higher. “If you must.”
The door opened and she closed her eyes.
“How’s your leg?”
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“I kept it dry. I cleaned it and sprayed it with peroxide.”
“Are you okay?” The tender caring in his tone tugged at her.
“I’m fine. Just really tired.”
“I don’t see why. It’s only two-fifteen in the morning.” His grin echoed in his voice. “The second night this week I’ve kept you out till all hours.”
“I need to call my family. They’ll be worried.”
“I already did. Your dad said to call no matter what time we arrived. Lay down.”
Too tired to argue, she pushed the pillows aside and scooted down in the bed.
“Get some rest.” Mitch tucked the covers under her chin—his fingers grazed her cheek. “But if you need anything, I’m right next door.”
Her eyes flew open—wide-awake. The door closed and she could hear soft footfalls in the next room, the shower running and finally the creak of bedsprings. His mere proximity would keep her awake for hours. Even with a wall between them and the downpour they’d tramped through, she could still smell his cologne. And feel his touch.
* * *
No response. Mitch knocked on her door again, then opened it. “Caitlyn.”
Nothing. He peered into the darkened room, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. Still sleeping. She’d barely even changed position. Obviously she needed the rest.
He closed the door and headed downstairs.
Poor Grandpa had tramped down to the ranch entrance to cut up the tree this morning. At least the rain had stopped and the sun had popped out of the overcast clouds. The distant whir of the chain saw made him feel guilty, but he couldn’t leave Caitlyn.
The smell of bacon wafted from the kitchen with the clang of Mom’s pots and pans. The large house still had a cozy feel, with Grandma Lyla’s quilts displayed in every room, the rich, cedar-paneled walls and down-ho
me furnishings.
Tara should arrive any minute. His little sister—getting married. At least they all approved of her fiancé.
Gravel crunched in the drive. Mitch pushed the sheer curtain aside to get a better look. Tara. He charged out the door to meet her.
By the time he’d jogged to her car, she’d unloaded a suitcase. But four more were jammed in the trunk.
“Let me help you with those. Did you bring your whole closet?”
“Mitch.” She set down her case and hugged him. “I’m so glad we’re all such movers and shakers that we can take two weeks off to spend together before my wedding. What more could a girl ask for?”
He gently bonked her nose. “I’m glad you’re so happy. No cold feet?”
“Not even a pinky toe.”
“How’s the hair-salon business?” He picked up three cases.
“Thriving.”
“Seriously, sis, do you really need all this stuff?”
“Two weeks of clothing, plus my wedding trousseau. I thought I’d packed light.”
“Trousseau?”
Tara shook her head and linked her arm through his baggage-laden elbow. “So tell me—any women in your life?”
His breath stalled.
“I knew it.” She pointed a finger at him. “It’s that Raquel, isn’t it? She seemed really sweet and her son is a little charmer.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Mitch shook his head. “There’s nothing between Raquel and me. I’m merely trying to help her out and give Hunter a male presence in his life.”
“You still feel guilty, don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Her husband—her five-year-old son’s father—is dead. Because of me.”
“Mitch.” She sighed. “Dylan died because he fell asleep at the wheel.”
“Yes, but I knew he was tired. I was his partner and I didn’t have his back that night.”
“You offered to wait and drive him home, but he said he was fine.” She patted his arm as they climbed the porch steps. “Have you ever thought that maybe Dylan died that night because it was God’s timing for him to go home?”
“Pondered on it.” Told Him I didn’t like His timing. We haven’t spoken much since.
The front door swung open. Mom did a little bounce. “Tara, you’re here.”
Nice rescue. He really didn’t want to get into what he thought about God’s rotten timing. Or what God thought of him questioning it.
She ushered them inside and Mitch headed for the stairs. “I’ll take these on up and check on Caitlyn before I get the rest of your suitcases.”
“Caitlyn?” Tara’s eyebrows rose. “As in Caitlyn Wentworth?”
“It’s not what you think.” Mitch set the suitcases down. “It’s work. She’s in danger. I’ll fill you in after I get your car unloaded. But as far as anyone outside this family is concerned, she’s not here.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“She’s safe. We all are. The nut after her has no idea where she is, but we can’t be too careful.”
“Of course. Not a word.”
He picked up the cases again and ascended the stairs. The fifth and eighth steps creaked, as they had since he could remember.
An odd sound, like a puppy bark, came from Caitlyn’s room.
“What was that?” Tara pressed a hand to her heart.
“Caitlyn!” Mitch left the suitcases and took the rest of the stairs two at a time. He shouldn’t have left her alone. Had Stevens found her?
He topped the stairs and flung her door open without knocking. She lay in a heap beside her bed. Unconscious. He scanned the room.
No one else here.
Her breathing was soft, but her face was flushed. Mitch pressed a gentle palm to her cheek. Too warm. His heart lurched.
“Caitlyn!” She didn’t move. “Caitlyn!”
Gently, he touched her uninjured shoulder, shaking her. Her skin heated his fingers.
A moan escaped her dry lips.
“Tara! Call Stan!”
Chapter 5
Chilled to the bone, Caitlyn shivered as her teeth chattered. Dreaming of Mitch again. But even in her dreams, he’d walked out on her. Again. She tried to call out to him, but her tongue lodged in her dry mouth and no sound came. If she could just open her eyes...but weights seemed to sit on each eyelid.
Hot, so hot. Her leg was on fire. What had she done to it? And her temples throbbed. She pushed at the covers.
A hand touched her cheek. “Her fever’s breaking.” Mitch’s voice from far away.
“Good. I’ve cleaned the wound. Once she wakes, I’ll give her a shot to combat the infection and make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.” Another male voice. But she didn’t know this one.
She opened her eyes.
Mitch’s face. Close to hers.
“Hey.” He smiled down at her.
Was she dreaming again? No—she could feel his hand on her cheek. “Hey.”
“Feeling better?”
“I’m burning up.” Her eyes wouldn’t stay open. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Sweat soaked and clammy.
“You were, but your fever broke.”
She tried to roll to her side. White-hot heat shot through her calf. Her eyes flew open.
Muted sea-foam walls...matched Mitch’s eyes. White curtains and handmade quilt. Farmhouse furnishings.
Mitch’s grandpa’s ranch.
Stalker.
The knife.
An older man stood next to Mitch. Gray hair. Not his dad. Or his grandfather.
“This is Dr. Stan Adams, Mom’s cousin. I had Tara call him.”
“You gave Mitch quite a scare, Miss Wentworth.” The man smiled, putting her at ease. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak. I tried to get up, but I was dizzy.”
“You hit your head on the nightstand when you fell, and your leg wound is infected.” The doctor shone a flashlight in each eye. “No signs of concussion. I’ll give you a shot and leave antibiotics with Mitch. Are you allergic to anything?”
“Penicillin.”
“That rules out a lot of drugs. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
“I’ve never...” Her face heated even more. She clamped her lips shut and glanced at Mitch.
He grinned at her.
“No. Absolutely no chance.” Her face scalded.
“All right, then. Are you taking any medication other than pain pills?”
“No.”
“Arm or...” He prepared a shot.
She rolled up her sleeve.
The needle pricked, then stung.
The doctor disposed of the needle in a plastic container, tucked it and the syringe in a black satchel then pulled out a bottle of pills.
“These should do the trick—one tablet three times a day with food.”
“Thanks, Stan.” Mitch shook the man’s hand. “Anything else?”
“Lots of rest and keep an eye on that leg. If any red streaking or discharge develops, call me.”
“Will do.” Mitch ushered him out, then turned back to her. “You hungry?”
She shook her head. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll help you, and then I’ll have Mom warm up some soup for you.” Mitch supported her weight as she stood.
Each step was heavy, unbalanced. “But I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since we left the hospital.” He walked her into the bathroom. “We need to get your strength back up, and you have to take your medicine with food. Maybe a little broth.”
“Can I have some privacy now?”
“I don’t want you to pass out again. Or fall.”
&
nbsp; “Well, you can’t stay in here.”
“Mom?”
“No. I’m feeling better now.”
“No light-headedness?” He scrutinized her eyes.
“None.”
Mitch left her alone.
Breathing right again, she sank to the side of the tub and covered her face with both hands. How could she possibly be all right with Mitch hovering? Reminding her of how much she loved him.
* * *
Her chest rose and fell with even breaths. The red swelling around her wound had eased. Every once in a while, Mitch gently touched her cheek to make sure the fever hadn’t returned.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Mitch hurried to open it.
“How is she?” Tara leaned against the door frame.
“Resting. No fever.”
“You’ve been here for two days and nights, Mitch.”
“I know this isn’t the family time you imagined.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You must be exhausted. Want me to sit with her awhile?”
“I’m fine.” He sank into the recliner. “This chair actually sleeps pretty good.”
“Won’t you at least come down and have supper with us tonight? Cody arrives this evening and Dad’ll be here in the morning.”
“We’ll see.”
“You need to marry her, you know.”
Yes, he did. But he’d tried that once and Caitlyn had refused.
“The forensics position could fix everything. Have you even told her about it?”
“No. I’m not sure I’ll get it. And you won’t tell her, either.”
Tara rolled her eyes and turned away.
Perched on the side of her bed, he touched her cheek. Cool.
Her eyes opened. The first time she’d awakened—without his prompting—in two days.
“Hey. How do you feel?”
“Better.” She frowned. “I think. How long did I sleep?”
“Two days.”
“Two days?” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “What time is it? What day is it?”
“It’s almost lunchtime. Wednesday. Stan said to let you rest while your body fought off the infection.”
Rodeo Queen Page 5