by Sandy James
Forty-five was too damned old for this kind of nonsense. Mystery women shouldn’t come pounding on his door in the middle of the night.
Daisy patted him on the shoulder, so he made the effort to open his eyes. She held out a cup, and he accepted the offering, hoping it held some of her typically strong coffee. Murmuring his thanks, he took a few sips before putting the drink down and closing his eyes again.
His mysterious visitor wanted to find Jake. Probably a good thing the boy lived in town now so Adam could find out her motives and intentions before they got together. When she woke, he would be able to ask his questions and puzzle through what she wanted. Then he’d find out whether Jake needed any sort of protection. As far as he knew, the boy had no family. He’d been an orphan when Adam had dragged him back to the Twin Springs many years ago.
Since he wasn’t going to get any answers sitting in his kitchen, he polished off the rest of his coffee and headed back up to the guest room.
The door stood ajar. Nudging it with his foot, he peeked inside. “Am I intruding?”
“You can come in, Daddy. She’s sleeping.” Victoria pulled the patchwork quilt a little higher and smoothed the surface with her slender hand. “She’s got a high fever.”
Fever.
Damn but he hated that word. Once a fever set in, things were in God’s hands. The best they could do now was keep her warm and comfortable and pray she recovered.
Victoria gathered together the wet linens and the woman’s ragged clothing. “Who is she?”
“Not sure. She’s looking for Jake.”
“Jake? Why?”
“Didn’t get much time to ask.” He nodded at the clothes in Victoria’s arms. “That’s all she came with. Didn’t even have a bag with a change of clothes.”
“Poor thing.”
Poor thing, indeed. Alone. Destitute. Sick. What man would let any woman in his family find herself in such dire circumstances? All he could do was shake his head in frustration and disgust.
With a nod that set her waist-length braid to bouncing, Victoria glanced back at the sleeping guest. “Will you stay with her? If she wakes up, she might be frightened. I should help Daisy. We’ll need to make some broth and hot tea, too.”
Lightning dimly lit the bedroom and the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance as he glanced at the sleeping woman. She was so fragile. Thin. Delicate. She clearly hadn’t eaten well in a long time. If her clothes were any indication, she didn’t have much to call her own. “Did she tell you her name?”
“Her name’s Grace, but that’s all I got out of her before she fell asleep.”
“Go on, princess. I’ll sit with her for a spell.”
“Thank you. I’ll bring up something for her to eat soon.” She stopped as she passed him, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and then stepped out of the room.
Another clap of thunder sounded, loud enough to make the pictures on the wall shake. The woman whimpered and mumbled a few words Adam couldn’t understand. When she shivered again, he grabbed the blanket folded over the arm of the rocking chair and spread it over her sleeping form.
His mystery woman was very pretty. Slender neck. Long, brown eyelashes. He wished he could stare into those brown eyes of hers again, especially if he could see something reflected back at him other than fear, pain, and sickness.
Reaching out, he smoothed her bangs away from her forehead. Victoria had combed out the woman’s hair. The chestnut locks didn’t quite reach her shoulders. The women of White Pines would be outraged that she wore it so short, but the trait called to him. There was obviously nothing vain or pretentious about Grace.
Settling himself in the rocking chair, he took up the vigil. Her breathing sounded raspy, much as Victoria’s had when she’d developed a fever and attacks of coughing her seventh summer. Every now and then, Grace would mumble in her sleep. He could only pick up a few words, and connecting them would be a hard puzzle to solve. A scary one at that.
Jake.
Matthew.
Stephen.
Murder.
***
“No! Don’t touch me!”
Adam jumped out of the rocking chair, thinking someone had broken into his home and attacked his guest. It took a moment for his sleep-hazed thoughts to clear before he realized she was in the throes of a nightmare. It took a few more moments before his heart settled back into a normal rhythm.
Thrashing around on the bed, she dislodged the quilts that covered her.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Wake up.”
Her dream tormenter wouldn’t free her, and she struck out at him, catching Adam’s chin with a strong right hook.
Grabbing her wrists, he held them firm. “Wake up now. It’s just a bad dream.”
Her eyes flew open, but their dark beauty was dulled by the fever. “Don’t let him hurt me.”
“No one’s going to hurt you here, Gracie.” The endearment seemed to fit better than Grace as it rolled off his tongue.
She sat up so quickly she almost slammed her forehead into his. “I’m safe here?”
Nodding, he let her wrists loose so she wouldn’t feel as though she was his captive. “You’re safe here.”
When she leaned in to put her cheek against his shoulder, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her. So thin, so delicate. So very warm. After only a few moments, her breathing slowed, although he could hear how full of congestion her lungs were with each inhale and exhale.
He didn’t want to let her go. This woman needed someone to watch over her.
He appointed himself to the job.
Chapter Three
Grace opened her eyes slowly, trying to make sense of her foggy thoughts.
Sunlight streamed through the window, painting a white rocking chair in brilliant light. A soft mattress cushioned her body, something she hadn’t felt in so long she honestly couldn’t remember the last time. Heavy woolen blankets under a chuck wagon had served as her bed for most of her adult life.
She tried to sit up and winced. Every muscle ached. Her unfamiliar nightgown was damp, sticking to her skin. As she pushed the mound of covers aside, a sudden coughing spell racked her weak body.
When she could finally draw a breath, she grew determined to get out of bed. She tried to stand on shaky legs. Perhaps if she could get a look out the window, she could remember where she was.
Think, Grace.
Things came back in disjointed fragments. Sitting in the crowded car for the interminable train ride from San Francisco. Catching the stage and bouncing around mile after endless mile. The taste of a stale cheese sandwich—the only thing she could afford with the last of her money.
The illness had come on so rapidly with a fever so high most of her memories seemed nothing more than a cross between her wishes and her nightmares.
She’d doggedly pursued the only solid lead she’d discovered in years. A shudder ripped through her as she remembered the cost of that lead.
Dear for her.
Even dearer for Steven Shay.
The information said that Jake Curtis would be at the end of this miserable trip. She’d prayed the whole way that she would find him at long last.
Had she made it to the Twin Springs ranch? She vaguely recalled a smelly man with a tarnished star pinned on his stained vest explaining how to get there. The rain had started not long after she’d begun her trek.
After that, her memory became a blank slate.
The view that greeted her through the window didn’t bring any recollections.
Beautiful, yes.
Familiar, no.
The mountains looming in the distance called to her heart. So peaceful. So serene. She could gaze upon that sight for the rest of her life and be content.
Fate had always had other things in store for her than a place to call home.
The door opened with a loud creak. She whirled around too quickly, making her head spin before another coughing spell hit. Strong hands guided her back to the bed
, and then the back of a cool hand pressed against her forehead.
“You shouldn’t be up, Gracie. You’ll spike another fever.”
Gracie?
No one had ever called her Gracie before. Hearing the nickname in that rich baritone voice felt like a caress. She stared at the source.
The man was handsome. Dark hair fanned his temples with enough gray to show his maturity. His eyes were a deep blue, and they didn’t seem to miss anything. The hands that pulled the blankets over her were tanned and calloused. She’d never taken the time to notice a man’s hands before.
She’d seen him, a vague figure from her feverish memory, nursing her by offering her water and broth and bathing her face with a damp cloth. “Thank you,” was all she could manage.
“You’re welcome. Do you remember my name?”
“I’m sorry…it’s just things are kinda hazy.”
“I’m Adam Morgan. You’re my houseguest ’til we get you well.”
His smile reached something inside her, causing a flicker of warmth she couldn’t attribute to her fever. She brushed the uncomfortable feeling aside. Thirty-five wasn’t the time to suddenly become interested in the opposite sex.
With the exception of her brother, Matthew, she’d had no use for men. She cooked for them and tried to be friendly, but not a single man had ever been more than another cowboy on another cattle drive. They liked her cooking more than her company, which suited her fine. Matthew kept her from being too awfully lonely.
“How are you feeling?” His comforting voice broke through her thoughts.
“Better. How long have I been sick?”
“Five days.”
When Adam tried to smooth his hand across her forehead again, Grace turned her head. While she was grateful for his help, she simply didn’t like to be touched.
He frowned. “You’re still a mite peaked. I’ve been worried about you. A fever like that can steal away a body’s strength.”
“Fever?” No wonder she’d been in this sickbed five days. Who had seen to her personal needs? Surely Adam hadn’t helped her with…everything.
Grace wanted to crawl into the nearest hole, pull moss over her head, and hide.
“Your face is getting awfully red, Gracie. Is your fever spiking again?”
His concerned frown confused her. She was nothing more than a stranger, why would he be worried about her? She didn’t want him to care. She didn’t want any man to care. “Where am I?”
His hand dropped away. “The Twin Springs.”
The Twin Springs!
She’d made it after all.
“Where’s Jake?” She tossed the covers aside and jumped to her feet.
The world spun and her body protested the quick movement. As her legs gave way, she groped for the bed.
He caught her, sweeping her up in his arms and setting stern eyes on her. “Need to stay in bed, ma’am.”
She would’ve argued if she’d been able to fit in any words between coughs.
He sat down on the rocking chair, settling her in his lap.
“Th–this isn’t proper,” she scolded.
“I’m not about to let you make yourself sick again, not after all I did to get you better. We almost lost you.”
If she had the strength, she might’ve fought against his tight hold if for no reason other than it was inappropriate. She hated being touched—hated being held even more.
It took her a moment to realize that the typical fear never came. This man could touch her, hold her close, and not terrify her. In his arms, Grace didn’t feel trapped.
She felt protected. Cherished even.
Nonsense.
She’d never met him. Why, for all she knew, he could be dangerous. A debaucher. A cattle rustler. A ne’er-do-well.
More nonsense.
This home belonged to a wealthy family. Judging from his age, Adam was the patriarch of that family.
He smelled nice. An odd thought, but his clean, masculine scent wrapped around her, calming her. With a resigned sigh, she relaxed against him, simply too weak to struggle. At least that was the fib she told herself.
“Why are you looking for Jake?” He settled her more comfortably.
It took all her strength to tell this kind man her lie. “He’s my brother.”
He grunted softly.
Could he know she was lying? She hoped her responding shrug told him she didn’t care what he thought.
“Now, it’s not polite to ask a lady her age, but you’re a bit older than Jake.” He cleared his throat in that way men liked to do when they said something stupid. “Not that you’re ready to be put out to pasture or anything.”
She smiled at his embarrassment, knowing he couldn’t see her. The smile quickly faded. She hated lying to him, especially after all he’d done for her. “Yes. I’m a bit older.”
“But you’re his sister?”
She couldn’t speak the falsehood again, so she quit the topic. “Who took care of me when I was ill?”
“You’re still ill.”
“I’m fine.” A cough bubbled to the surface at that horribly inopportune moment.
His chuckle made it hard for her to frown at him. “I can see you’re fit as a fiddle.”
“Did you take care of me?” Her cheeks had to be a startling red judging from the heat rising from them.
“I did mostly. Victoria helped.”
He was a debaucher!
“You’re married!” Grace struggled to get off his lap. Weak or not, she couldn’t stay in that comforting embrace.
“My wife passed a few years back, Gracie.”
That statement took the wind right out of her sails. How stupid was she for having judged him so harshly?
Once burned, twice shy.
Yes, he looked safe. And strong. And stalwart. But looks could be deceiving, and she was always one to learn her lessons well.
“How much older are you than Jake?” Adam asked.
She carefully framed her response. “Jake was born on my fifteenth birthday.”
Grace waited for him to say something. Anything. The silence became unbearable.
About the time she was going to say something to end the awkwardness of sitting in his lap, he said, “I’ll take you into town to see him.”
She bumped her head on his chin when she sat up. For the first time, she was close enough to allow hope to swell in her broken heart. Then she remembered the recent months of fear and false leads, quickly tempering that hope. “You will?”
He nodded before standing up, resettling her in his arms and carrying her to the bed. “Time for you to rest.”
“When will you take me to see Jake?”
“When you’re well. Sleep now, Gracie.”
***
Grace flicked her hand across the surface of the water, watching the ripples fan out. She breathed in the rose scent, hardly believing where she was.
A bathtub. In a real bathroom. The Morgans had to be wealthy to afford water piped right inside their home.
She’d actually squealed when she saw the tub, a new fixture in the home according to Victoria. When she’d told Grace she could have a bath if her fever stayed at bay, she’d never mentioned a real bathtub.
Assuming she’d have a quick scrub in a wooden barrel, she’d squealed when Victoria led her to the bathroom. The beautiful tub—glazed white with legs shaped like animal claws—made her believe she’d died and gone to heaven.
Still much too weak to do everything for herself, she let Victoria help her undress and get into her bath. The water smelled of roses as did the petite pink soap her hostess handed to her.
Although the cowboys she worked around often teased her unmercifully, Grace enjoyed being clean, choosing to wash up every evening if given the chance while they continued to reek of cattle manure, dirt, and sweat. After suffering from illness for so long, she wanted nothing more than to scrub every inch of skin and every tress of her hair clean.
Those tasks completed, sh
e sank deeper into the water, content to remain submerged until her skin pruned. The opening of the door made her sink deeper in the tub.
“It’s me,” Victoria called in her typically cheery voice. “I brought a fresh nightgown and robe for you. Are you ready to get out yet?”
“I’d stay all day if I could.”
“I know exactly how you feel. That’s my favorite place to be when I need some time alone to think. Since we put it in a few months ago, I’ve been known to hide out up here just to get away from the menfolk. I’d let you stay longer, but you shouldn’t catch a chill now that you’re getting your strength back.” She dropped a towel on the floor next to the tub and held another out. “Time to get out.”
Grace accepted Victoria’s much-needed help drying and dressing. She felt as weak as a newborn filly, and only her stubborn pride kept her on her feet.
“I’ll clean up in here.” Victoria grabbed the wet towels and nodded at the door. “Get back in bed, and I’ll come help you comb and braid your hair in a few minutes.”
Grace nodded and walked out of the bathroom with her pride firmly in place. Once she reached the hallway, she sagged against the wall, unsure she could make the rest of the journey back to the bedroom—her home for the last week. Putting one foot in front of the other and leaning heavily against the wall, she worked her way toward her bed.
A clucking tongue made her look up. Adam stood in the hall, hands on his hips, frowning at her.
Her face flushed hot.
He moved to her side, wrapped a strong arm around her waist, and hauled her up against his side. “You’ve got no business moving around on your own.”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t have to glance up to know he’d be rolling his eyes.
“I can see that.” That warm voice held enough humor to force a smile from her.
He walked her to the bed, pulled back the clean covers, and settled her on the mattress. “Swing your feet up there, and we’ll get you warm again.”
Victoria came in to fuss over Grace’s hair, but Adam stayed. His eyes drilled holes through Grace.