Chapter 20

20

Wakefulness slid over Letty with unaccustomed gentleness. She savored the cozy warmth of her cocoon, reluctant to open her eyes or move even the slightest bit. Not when a pleasant haze still lingered in her mind from a dream she couldn’t quite recall. One that featured a handsome Pinkerton agent. That she remembered. He’d probably done something heroic or admirable. Maybe even romantic, if the warmth radiating through her chest was any clue. A smile stretched her lips, and she nestled deeper into her pillow. The day could wait a few minutes to begin.

Her pillow shifted under her cheek, and something brushed along her shoulder blade. Letty’s eyes popped open, but her dim surroundings offered no clarity. Other hints seeped into her awareness, though. A woodsy scent that smelled nothing like either dog or straw. The rhythmic rise and fall of something beneath her right palm. Something warm and alive. The brushing along her back turned into a cupping of her shoulder, then a squeezing. A soft squeezing, one she might not have noticed if every nerve ending in her body hadn’t been standing at attention.

Good heavens. Her pillow was Philip Carmichael!

Doing her best imitation of a tortoise, she tipped her chin upward in infinitesimal increments as she held her breath. Please be asleep. She didn’t think she could survive the embarrassment of finding his gray eyes open and alert. Would he be laughing at her? Or worse, would he think she’d been trying to take advantage of him? She wasn’t exactly sure what taking advantage of a man entailed, but Grandmother had warned her against the improper advances of dishonorable men. Would Philip believe her to be a dishonorable woman? Her heart ached at the thought of him forming a poor opinion of her when she held him in such high esteem.

Where had Rusty gotten to? His presence was supposed to prevent this exact scenario from happening. The next time she got her wolf alone, he’d be getting an earful about neglecting his chaperone duties.

Her chin finally finished its uphill climb, and her gaze took in a marvelous sight. Closed eyes. Philip was still asleep. Thank the Lord for small miracles. Her breath leaked out in a slow stream of relief still tempered by caution. She wasn’t out of this predicament yet.

Her mind scrambled to come up with an extraction strategy, a rather difficult prospect with his chest rising and falling beneath her splayed hand in such a distracting manner. Her cheeks warmed. Goodness. Now was not the time to be noticing things like how nice his chest felt beneath her palm or how his arm curling around her back made her want to close her eyes and snuggle closer.

She lifted her head out of the crook of his arm with excruciating slowness. Surely he’d wake if she moved too quickly. Next came her hand. Finger by finger, she peeled away from the cotton of his shirt until her palm hovered safely in the air an inch above his sternum. She darted a glance at his face. Eyes were still closed.

Biting her lower lip, she braced for the trickiest maneuver yet—slipping free of the arm he had curled around her in his sleep. Tightening her stomach muscles, she lifted as much of her weight as possible off his shoulder before attempting to sit up. As she rose, his arm fell away from her back and slid down to the mattress with a flop. Her eyes flew to Philip’s face, but the man slept on. Thank heaven.

He’d always awakened before her when they made camp on the trail. The smell of his coffee boiling usually roused her from sleep. Climbing a ravine with a large boy strapped to one’s back was sure to deplete a man’s stores, though. Not to mention the fact that Philip had not been too keen on sharing a bed with Rusty. It had probably taken him longer than usual to fall asleep.

Whatever the contributing factors, Letty thanked the Lord that she’d escaped without having to face the humiliation of trying to explain not only how she’d come to be on his side of the bed but why she’d been using him as a pillow. He was probably gentlemanly enough not to ask and intelligent enough to understand that she’d been asleep and not fully aware of her actions. Yet if he’d been awake, she doubted she could have stopped herself from bumbling around with explanations and apologies, embarrassing them both even more.

After scrambling off the end of the mattress and untangling her feet from the crumpled quilt, she scurried over to her side of the stall and stuffed her feet into her shoes. Letty snatched up her bag of personal items and hurried out of the barn without taking the time to tie her bootlaces or brush the loose straw from her skirt. First order of business was to find the outhouse. After that, she’d reclaim her riding clothes from the drying rack in Susanne’s kitchen and prepare for the day. Surely if she was dressed and put together by the time she faced Philip again, he’d have no reason to suspect her of being a culprit of covert cuddling.

Her cheeks warmed. Again. Perhaps she should make a point to stand by the hot stove when she encountered him for the first time. That way she’d have a ready excuse for sporting red cheeks. For as much as she hoped he never discovered the truth, she was pretty sure she’d never forget the sweetness of waking in his arms.

****

Philip waited until he could no longer hear Letty’s retreating footsteps before he opened his eyes. He’d been dozing off and on for the last hour, ever since Rusty had crawled from the mattress. The wolf had knocked a leg against his head and stepped squarely in the middle of Philip’s stomach as he’d climbed out of bed. The varmint offered no glance of apology, just shook out his fur and stretched before padding out of the stall. Ornery creature. But at least he’d not bothered Letty. The wolf’s consideration of his mistress was laudable, but Philip was pretty sure the animal had stomped his belly on purpose. Better than the face, he supposed.

He had not slept well, what with his thoughts running rampant about Letty and the ill-advised feelings he needed to stifle regarding her and the discomfort of sleeping half-on, half-off the straw-tick mattress. He’d probably passed out for three or four hours after exhaustion took hold, but Rusty’s less-than-graceful departure had ensured any further sleep he wrangled before dawn would be shallow. He’d scooted more fully onto the mattress, hoping a more comfortable position would help him in the shut-eye department, but then Letty had rolled over, and his drowsiness instantly evaporated.

Logic told him she was simply seeking warmth after Rusty’s departure left her back exposed to the early morning air. Yet it was far too tempting to pretend she was seeking him . Then her softness had pressed against him as she curled up along his side, and the contact startled him so badly that for a moment he could barely find the wherewithal to breathe. He’d stiffened and thrust his arms over his head as if a villain had drawn a gun on him, hoping she’d somehow recognize her mistake and roll back over the way she’d come. Instead, a small contented mewl rumbled from her throat, and she’d snuggled even closer, fitting her head into the divot beneath his shoulder and pressing her palm to his chest, directly over his heart. The organ pounded with such ferocity, it was a miracle the vibrations hadn’t awakened her.

He sucked in tiny breaths and plastered his gaze to the ceiling, having no idea what to do. He’d tried to recall the reasons it was imperative to keep things strictly professional between the two of them, but he couldn’t manage to think of a single one. Not when her clean hair lay right beneath his chin, smelling faintly of flowers, and her cheek lay so sweetly against his chest.

After a few minutes, the stiffness seeped from his muscles as his heart softened, and he convinced himself that waking her up would be the bigger crime. They had a long day in the saddle ahead of them. She needed her rest. And if he was in a position to help her rest, well, it would be ungentlemanly to deny her comfort.

He’d lowered his arms then, determined to keep his mind on a noble plane, but as his right arm gently circled her back and his hand came to rest on her shoulder, it wasn’t thoughts of her comfort that ran rampant through his brain. It was his own. For the first time, he truly understood why God had looked at Adam and decided it wasn’t good for man to be alone. Because nothing he’d ever experienced felt as perfect as holding Letty Hood in his arms while she slept.

He’d spent the next hour in a haze of contentment, dozing in and out of awareness until she began to stir. He’d played possum, not wanting to embarrass her or explain himself, though it had been extremely difficult to keep his breathing steady while she’d untangled herself from him. She’d moved so slowly, elongating the torture. He’d peeked at her once from between his lashes and seen her biting on her lower lip as she eased upward. He’d nearly groaned as his mind flooded with ideas centered around those lips and imagining how it might feel to press them against his own in a good-morning kiss.

Letting that groan out now that he was alone, Philip sat up and ran a hand over his head. This job was complicated enough without adding attraction to the mix. He shook his head. Nope. Lying to himself would only make matters worse. What he felt for Letty went deeper than mere attraction. Deeper than simple adoration, too. An absurd notion, considering how short a time they’d been acquainted. He didn’t have time to analyze the anomaly, though. His job required his full attention. Distraction led to mistakes, and mistakes carried deadly consequences. Guarding Letty’s life must take priority over everything else. Feelings were a luxury he couldn’t afford to indulge. He was the shield that stood between her and her uncle, and he’d not let anything distract him from that duty.

Philip tugged on his boots, tucked in his sleep-mussed shirttails, and stretched his suspenders onto his shoulders. Each move felt a bit like adding armor to his attire. Fastening the gun belt around his waist solidified his resolve. He was a Pinkerton with a duty to discharge. Going soft over a woman would only serve to put her at risk. No one made a shield of butter or wax. Shields were composed of iron or leather-covered wood. Strong. Unyielding. Battle-ready. That’s what he needed to be, at least until he reunited Letty with her mother and ensured her uncle posed no threat. After that, he could reevaluate, but she’d likely grow weary of his company by then and turn her focus onto her family, where it belonged.

Ignoring the twinge in the middle of his chest, he set his jaw and collected his coat and hat, then pushed thoughts of Letty aside. He had horses to prepare.

By the time he had the packhorse loaded and Shadow and Steele saddled, the sun had risen to light the sky.

“Eager to get on the road?” Lincoln’s teasing grin lit up the barn as he strode in and pulled a bridle from the wall. “Your wife thought you might still be asleep.” He winked. “Asked me to be quiet while I fetched my mount so as not to disturb you.”

Philip chuckled, doing his best to ignore the word wife , though it proved a remarkably difficult word to ignore. “Letty’s a thoughtful woman, even when there’s no need.”

Lincoln nodded. “I noticed that about her. She had breakfast half-ready when Susanne and I got up. Woman makes a right fine biscuit, too.”

Philip recalled the biscuits and jam he’d enjoyed in her grandmother’s cottage, and his stomach immediately growled. “That she does.”

Lincoln laughed and thumped him on the shoulder. “Better get yourself in there before my boys eat ’em all.”

“I will.” Philip started to lead his horses into the yard, but Lincoln’s voice stopped him.

“Thanks again for all you did for Dennis.” All teasing had faded from his face, leaving nothing but sincere gratitude and a look that hinted at the tragedy that could have been had it not been for God’s grace. “I’m in your debt.”

Philip shook his head. “Your kindness to us is thanks enough.”

“Still, if there’s ever anything I can do...”

Philip prepared to wave away the offer, but a thought halted him. “There is one thing.”

Lincoln turned and gave him his full attention. “Name it.”

“When people ask about what happened to Dennis, I’d appreciate it if you’d not mention mine or Letty’s names. I realize that word will get out eventually—the boys will likely be eager to recount the story to their friends—but the fewer adults who hear our names, the better.”

Philip doubted anyone would know to match a woman named Letty Carmichael with Scarlett Radcliffe, but a particularly keen tracker might recognize his name and connect him with the Pinkertons. If Drake Radcliffe had men keeping tabs on Leah Radcliffe and suspected she’d hired Philip, word of him traveling with a young woman could raise suspicions.

He held Lincoln’s gaze, hoping the man wouldn’t ask too many questions. After a long moment, the man seemed to make a decision and gave a sharp nod. “Done.” He quirked a grin. “I’ve always been bad with names anyhow.” He extended his hand.

Philip clasped it and shook on the promise. “Thanks.”

“Now get on up to the kitchen before them biscuits get cold.”

“Yes, sir.” Though it was his blood that ran cold at the thought that they might have just dropped a sizable breadcrumb, one that all the precautions in the world might not be able to hide.