Chapter 19

19

Philip stumbled to a halt at the front of the stall and stared at the mattress taking up nearly the entire stall floor. His wits vanished, leaving an empty void where strategy and problem-solving usually resided. A flood of improper imaginings rushed to fill the void, but he slammed the door shut, barring them entrance.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll sleep in the tack room.” There’d been a chair in there, right? He couldn’t rightly recall at the moment, but he’d make do.

He pivoted, ready to flee, but Letty took hold of his arm. “Wait.”

Heat radiated out from the origin points of where her fingers pressed softly into his sleeve. He did his best to ignore it. Wasn’t very successful.

“We can make this work.”

Her voice quavered, and something shifted inside him. The urge to shelter and protect expanded, suffocating all other thoughts.

“Mr. Bullock will surely rise early to make his trip to Longview to fetch the doctor. It will blow our cover if he finds you sleeping in the tack room.”

At least one of them possessed enough faculties to think logically.

“You’re right.”

Even if it felt incredibly wrong. What kind of upside-down world had he ridden into, where sharing a bed with an unmarried lady was the best way to preserve her reputation?

Sharing a mattress , Philip corrected . Not a bed. He wasn’t sure what the difference was, precisely, but it felt like a nuance that needed to be clarified. At least in his brain. Sharing a bed hinted at intimacy. Sharing a mattress sounded more practical in nature. Not that it really mattered at this point, but he’d employ whatever mental calisthenics he could to normalize this situation.

He blew out a breath, then set his jaw. He was a God-fearing man. One who’d sooner take a hot branding iron to the chest than harm a woman, especially one under his protection. Letty would be safe with him. Sleeping beside her would be no different from sleeping beside his sister.

All right. So he might have to increase the mental calisthenics to something more along the lines of full-out acrobatics to convince himself of that one, but if he closed his eyes and didn’t inhale too deeply, it might work.

Letty touched his arm. “I have an idea.” Her face brightened a second before she turned and ran to the barn door.

His head swiveled to keep her in view. “Where are you...?” The question fizzled when it became clear she had no intention of pausing to explain.

He’d taken two steps when a loud whistle shattered the evening quiet. Philip stopped. He knew that whistle. And the beast who’d been trained to answer it.

A moment later, Letty returned with Rusty padding along at her side. Tongue lolling, tail wagging—the critter knew he was in for a treat, and when his gaze swung toward Philip, there was a definite smugness to be found in his amber eyes.

Letty smiled at Philip, no hint of smugness in her gaze, only the sparkle of innocent delight for having found a solution to their problem. “Rusty can sleep between us. He’s really quite snuggly. On warm summer days, the two of us have been known to doze off together in the shade. Haven’t we, Rusty?” She hunkered down and rubbed the wolf’s neck, then glanced up at Philip, her eyes pleading.

There was nothing the least bit enticing about snuggling with a wolf, no matter how nicely she painted the picture. Yet he’d not be offering any argument to her scheme. Letty had known him less than a week. Trusting him to stay in his own bedroll on the other side of the fire was one thing. Trusting a man she barely knew to keep his hands to himself while sharing a mattress with her was quite another. If having her wolf sleep between them allowed her to feel safe, he’d not deny her that comfort. He’d likely not be sleeping much anyway.

“He doesn’t have fleas, does he?” Philip groused as he moved into the stall, pulled off his coat and gun belt, and hung them on a protruding nail.

“Of course not!” Letty looked personally affronted by the question.

Philip had to work to keep his expression appropriately disgruntled. Who knew ruffled feathers could be so adorable? He usually found them tiresome in women, but somehow Letty made them charming.

And that right there was why he should be thanking the Lord for sending a hairy chaperone to intervene.

“He might be a little dusty from our travels, but he’s free of vermin.” She gave Rusty’s fur a vigorous rub and frowned slightly at the dust cloud it created. Then she shrugged, and her smile bloomed again as if she cared nothing about ruining the effect of her bath and clean clothes by lying down with a wild animal. “Before we left Grandmother’s cottage, it was my practice to bathe him once a week. You don’t have to worry about him sharing any unwanted pests.”

Maybe not, but judging by the way Rusty glared at him and bared his teeth, there might be a few other things to worry about. Like keeping all his fingers attached.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He raised a brow and aimed a warning stare at Rusty. “Won’t it?”

The ornery beast just smiled, showing off more of his teeth. Philip had to fight the urge not to bare his own in retaliation. Had Letty not been there, he probably would’ve succumbed to the impulse. Rusty’s eyes danced as if he sensed the truth, giving rise to an almost insatiable compulsion within Philip to snap and growl.

Determined to behave like the higher-functioning species, Philip turned his back, lowered himself to the mattress, and focused on removing his boots.

The straw tick crunched a second time, indicating Letty had sat down on the opposite side. Probably unlacing her boots. Not that he should be theorizing about such things. It only stirred the temptation to peek. Which he wouldn’t do. From this point on, his attention would fix itself on the stall wall, the rafters, or the back of his eyelids. Nowhere else.

“Let me know when you’re ready for me to douse the lantern,” he said, trying not to listen to the quiet ping of her hairpins dropping into the small decorative box she carried with her.

The brushing came next. He’d grown accustomed to her routines the last several nights on the trail. She undid her plait every night and brushed her hair thoroughly before braiding it back into a long rope. She repeated the process in the morning. Seemed a waste of time to do the same thing twice, in his estimation, but then, he had no experience with hair that nearly reached a person’s waist. Maybe it needed such repetition to avoid snarls. He kept his locks cropped short enough that owning a comb was optional. A rub of the towel and a smoothing swipe of his hand usually sufficed.

“All right. I’m ready for you to turn down the lantern.” Her soft voice interrupted his mental treatise on hair care.

Rustling ensued as she stretched out on the mattress and quietly directed Rusty to lie beside her.

Philip told himself not to look back. Even lectured himself on the salty plight of Lot’s wife. Yet when he stood and reached for the lantern hanging on a high nail, he couldn’t resist a peek.

Hazel eyes stared up at him and froze him where he stood. For a moment, he thought he’d earned his place alongside Mrs. Lot in the collection of crystallized characters preserved to educate Sunday school children on the dangers of surrendering to temptation. The furious pounding of his heart soon made it clear, however, that life continued to pump through his veins.

“Good night, Philip.” Her benediction settled over him like a soft caress.

She lay on her side, one of Susanne’s quilts wrapped around her. A stretched-out Rusty shielded most of her from Philip’s view. The only visible parts of her were the arm she’d draped over the wolf’s back and the face propped up on a pillow. It was enough to bring a lump to Philip’s throat. The woman had no business looking so lovely in lantern light.

Finding her eyes had been easy, but finding his voice proved quite challenging. Finally, he rumbled out a good-night that must’ve been somewhat intelligible, for her eyes crinkled in a smile a heartbeat before her lashes lowered and hid them from his view.

He extinguished the lantern, then took a moment to stand in the dark and regulate his pulse.

Good grief. He’d never had such a strong reaction to a woman. Attraction—yes. A desire to protect—sure. But the compulsion to crack open his heart and let her crawl inside? Never.

He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress, one shoulder hanging off the edge of the lumpy tick thanks to the wolf taking up the middle. Rusty’s front paws hung off the top edge while his back legs curled beneath him. His head lay across his forelegs as his eyes followed Philip’s movements. Determined to ignore the animal’s glare, Philip stared into the shadowy rafters and started a list of all the reasons Letty Hood was the worst possible woman for him to form an attachment to.

1. She was a client. Developing feelings for her would be completely unprofessional.

2. She was fixing to be one of the wealthiest women in Texas, and he had no desire to try to fit into that elitist world.

3. Money changed people, almost always for the worse. Even if Letty managed to remain untainted, there were no guarantees that he’d come through unscathed if he tied his future to hers.

4. She’d lived a completely sheltered life and had no experience with men. Any affection she thought she felt for him was bound to fade when she compared his rough edges to the polished gentlemen who’d soon be vying for her attention.

That last one left a sour taste in his mouth.

It didn’t take long for Letty’s breathing to deepen. After all the excitement of the day, it made sense for her to drift off quickly. Besides, she was too innocent to let thoughts of a doomed courtship steal her sleep. She’d grown up believing tales where happily-ever-afters dropped into people’s laps. She didn’t work a job that forced her to peer into the seedier side of life. Where drunk husbands pummeled their wives. Where young women were lured into prostitution. Where fatherless boys ran loose on the streets, picking pockets and rummaging through garbage to survive.

Sometimes he wished he didn’t have an intimate knowledge of corruption, injustice, and abuse. The weight of such things pressed heavily on a man’s soul. Yet God had opened his eyes for a reason. One couldn’t help those he chose not to see. A man needed discernment to protect the innocent from those who hid wickedness behind gentlemanly manners and false morality.

An image of sweet, sheltered Letty falling victim to the charming smile of a handsome rogue or the pretty lies and insincere promises of a silver-tongued fortune hunter had Philip clenching his jaw so tight that pain radiated from behind his ear up into his head.

He twisted his face to the right, not surprised to find Rusty awake and eyeing him.

“Promise me you’ll take a bite out of any man who doesn’t treat her right,” he whispered.

The wolf held his gaze for a long minute, then leaned his face against his mistress’s head in a protective gesture. The tightness in Philip’s jaw eased.