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Chapter 25

25

Philip jerked his head up with a start. How long had he been dozing?

Letty!

His teeth chattered as he glanced around the tiny shelter, trying desperately to rid himself of the lethargy holding him captive. She wasn’t here. He had to find her. Had to—

Why couldn’t he move his legs? Philip glanced down, his foggy brain slow to identify the furry robe stretched across his lap. Not a robe. A dog. No. A wolf. Rusty. The animal’s presence should have comforted him, but it only drove the panic deeper.

He pushed at Rusty’s side as he tried to extract his legs, uncontrollable shivers stealing his dexterity. “Why aren’t y-you ... with Letty? She shouldn’t ... b-be alone. Too d-dangerous.”

Rusty whimpered, scrambled off Philip, and skittered out of reach. He limped as he moved, and the sight brought memories flooding back. The vicious kick that sent Rusty into the river, the struggle to escape the water’s clutches, the exhaustion and cold that had brought them both low.

Philip reached out an apologetic hand. “Sorry, p-partner. Didn’t mean ... to h-hurt you.” Rusty allowed him to pet his head and leaned into his palm. “I gotta ... g-get up. Find Letty.”

Rusty pulled away as Philip tried to stand. The wolf growled, and Philip swore the critter scowled at him. A hazy memory of Letty’s voice instructing her pet to stay and keep him warm filtered through his mind.

The stubborn woman had gone for help. She’d defied him. Exposed herself to needless danger. All on his account. If anything happened to her...

Don’t go there, Carmichael. But he couldn’t help himself. How many Pinkerton case files had he read where women were attacked, abused, or abducted by men who found them alone? Vulnerable. Unprotected. Unable to overcome the physical strength of their attackers. If Letty had knocked on the door of such a scoundrel...

Get up, man. You got a job to do. A woman to protect.

If he could just get his limbs to quit shaking.

Clamping his jaw shut to minimize the chattering of his teeth, Philip pressed a palm into the pine tree at his back and tried to lever himself upward. His balance wavered. His feet tangled. He lunged upward, grabbing at the tree to steady himself, and knocked the low-hanging tarp with his hat. A cascade of collected water sluiced straight down his back.

With a howl to rival Rusty, he lurched away from the tree and ducked down, bracing his hands on his knees. What was wrong with him? His brain was engulfed in so much molasses he couldn’t even figure out how to stand without causing a catastrophe.

It was the river, not the rain. That’s why he and Rusty were in such sorry states. But Rusty wasn’t stumbling over his own feet or shaking like an old man with palsy. Philip’s gaze narrowed in on the wolf. His half-dry fur. Rusty had left the river behind. Philip still carried it with him. All at once the answer became clear. He needed to get rid of the river.

Philip tried to straighten, but the tarp hindered him. Intent on his goal, he stepped out from under the protective awning and into the rain. With trembling hands, he began unfastening his slicker, but the metal buttons evaded him like rogue dogies. It took far too long to corral the ornery critters, but he eventually got the last one through the chute. He tore the slicker off his back, then reached for the buckle of his gun belt. Finding more success with this one, he whooped in triumph as the unwanted weight slid from his hips to the ground. Suspenders next. As soon as he could finagle them off his shoulders, he’d rid himself of the river-laden trousers at the heart of his misery. With them gone, he’d finally be able to shake the ice from his veins.

He concentrated so diligently on his task that he failed to recognize the sound of approaching hoofbeats until the rider was upon him. He reached for his gun and found nothing but wet wool clinging to his hip. Dad-blamed trousers. First stealing his strength and now his guns. He scratched at the waistband, but the fabric refused to cooperate. His knife! He bent at the waist, his fingers stretching toward the hidden sheath in his right boot. No trousers were going to take him down. He’d cut the fiendish things off if he had to.

Someone called his name, but he paid it no mind. He had his mission, and nothing would distract him.

“Philip! Stop!”

Someone grabbed his arm. Pulled him away from his knife. He struggled for freedom, but his nemesis threw herself against him, throwing him off-balance. Staggering backward, his heel banged against something metal, and he tripped. He grabbed for his attacker, determined to take her down with him. His hindquarters slammed against the ground, but he immediately twisted to force his opponent beneath him, pinning her to the ground as he rose above her.

“Philip! It’s me, Letty.”

Hazel eyes blinked up at him. Eyes he recognized. Eyes that made his heart ache and his head swim. Something was wrong. His grip loosened. He shook his head, trying to put the jumble of his mind back into order, but before he could make sense of things, an enraged fur ball rammed him from the side.

Philip tumbled away from the woman with the magic eyes and raised an arm to ward off the fanged creature snarling at him. Teeth clamped onto his forearm.

“Rusty, no! Leave him.” The angel wrapped her arms around the wolf’s neck and tugged him away.

Arm free, Philip sat up and scrambled backward, then cradled his arm in front of him. The woman extended her hand toward him as if she wanted to help. Her voice crooned, soothing his panic. He knew her. Knew both of them. Friends, not foes.

“It’s all right, Philip. No one’s going to hurt you.” She stepped closer, a cautious smile stretching across her face.

His heart rate calmed as some of the confusion began to clear. “Letty?”

Her smile doubled in size as her head bobbed up and down. “Yes. That’s right.” She hunkered down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I found a place for us to shelter. A place with a stove and four sturdy walls to keep out the storm. A place where we can get you dry and warm.”

Warm. Warm was good.

“It’s not far.” She spoke close to his ear, her voice shimmering through him. Such a pretty voice. Pretty face too.

She pulled a handkerchief from somewhere inside her jacket and wrapped it around his arm.

“Let’s get you up,” she urged, placing a hand under his left elbow.

She pushed on his arm, but he was too busy staring at the small red dots on the white bandage to pay her much heed.

“Come on, Philip. I need your help. Stand up.”

He blinked. She needed him? Philip set his jaw. Letty needed him. The red dots could wait. He pushed to his feet.

“That’s it,” she praised. “Good job.”

His chest expanded. He liked making her happy. Which was why he didn’t put up a fuss when she shoved his arms back into his slicker and fastened the buttons he’d worked so hard to undo. He frowned when she looped his gun belt over the horn on her saddle, but then she smiled at him again, and he decided he’d let her keep it if she liked it all that much.

She returned to his side and led him toward his horse. “Do you think you can mount?”

He jutted out his chin. “’Course I c-can.” His head might be a muddled mess at the moment, and his entire body might be quaking worse than a spiderweb in a windstorm, but he’d not let such paltry problems keep him from acquitting himself well in front of a lady. Especially this lady.

It took three tries to get his boot in the stirrup, but once he did, heaving himself into the saddle proved a simple-enough task. After finding his seat, he turned to gain her approval, but she no longer stood beside his horse. Apparently, she’d decided that reclaiming the tarp from the trees was more important than admiring his manly accomplishment. He exhaled a sigh and let his back slump as he tucked his arms close to his chest in a quest for warmth.

She packed up the tarp, took charge of the packhorse that he’d forgotten about, then mounted her own horse and positioned herself at his side.

“Stay close to me, all right?” Her gaze radiated such concern that his heart squeezed as he nodded.

Staying close to this woman felt like a plan he could build his life around.

“Good. Let’s go.” She urged her mare into a trot, and his mount followed without any prodding on his part.

The farther they traveled, the harder it became to keep the mental fog at bay. He counted trees until his eyelids drooped and he forgot what number he was on. After prying his eyes open and straightening in the saddle, he turned his attention from trees to the woman in front of him.

Letty. He couldn’t see much of her from this angle. Just the yellow slicker and the soggy red hood plastered to her head. Philip frowned. Why didn’t she have a hat? He should get her a hat. But if he did, he’d not be able to watch the sun turn her hair from brown to fiery auburn. What he wouldn’t give for a little sunshine right about now.

Letty twisted in the saddle and smiled at him.

And there was the sunshine.

That smile made him feel special. Like she actually cared about him. Couldn’t remember a woman outside of family who’d ever looked at him that way.

“You doing okay back there?”

He was far from okay. His ice-encrusted bones still ached, and his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, but he lifted a hand in agreement anyway. “Fine.”

It was oddly important to him to keep that smile on her face. When it expanded at his reply, his chest seemed to expand in proportionate measure.

“Good. We’re almost there.”

Almost where? He’d forgotten.

“We’ll have you warm in no time,” she said before turning to face forward again.

Warm. That’s right. They were going someplace warm. Warm would be nice.

The haze crept over him again until a dog barked and cleared a bit of it away. Philip blinked. Tried to focus on his surroundings.

The rain had let up, softening to more of a clinging mist than a steady shower. A small cabin stood in front of them, light glowing from a front window, but Letty steered them elsewhere. To another building. One with no light. No chimney smoke.

“Heel, Rusty.” She patted her leg, urging her wolf to stay close.

A growl rumbled in his throat in answer to the canine warning emanating from the vicinity of the cabin, but he obeyed his mistress and didn’t charge off to investigate.

When they reached the outbuilding, Letty reined in her mare and dismounted. She came alongside Philip’s horse and patted Steele’s neck before looking up at him. “This is where we are going to stay. I need you to dismount and get inside. I’ll take care of the horses and supplies after I get the stove lit. All right?”

He nodded, hoping he didn’t disgrace himself by falling off his horse and splatting face first in the mud. The moment he nodded, she spun and darted into what looked to be a bunkhouse, judging by the narrow beds stacked two high, visible against the far wall through the door she’d left gaping. At least he wouldn’t have an audience.

With legs and arms feeling as strong as wet newspaper, Philip dismounted with extra care, not fully releasing his grip on the saddle until he’d tested that his knees wouldn’t buckle beneath his weight.

His tortoise movements contrasted starkly with Letty’s jackrabbit speed. She hopped from one thing to the next so fast, she’d started to blur. He’d barely started unfastening his saddlebags when she dashed back outside.

“The kindling’s caught,” she told him as she hurried past, “but I need to fetch some logs from the woodshed. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be h-here.” Probably still working on unfastening the straps on his bags at the rate he was going. Numb, shaky fingers left him with the dexterity of a toddler.

When the last strap finally slipped free, a ridiculous surge of accomplishment jabbed through his chest. He draped the saddlebags over his left arm and shuffled toward the door. Rusty stood in the doorway, eyeing him. Philip couldn’t decide if it was concern or disdain glowing in the animal’s golden eyes. Feeling the throb in his right forearm and remembering bits and pieces of what he’d done to deserve it, he figured it might be best to offer an apology before pushing his way into the building.

Philip hobbled to the entrance and bowed his head as he made eye contact with Rusty. “S-Sorry I lost my head b-back there. You were r-right to s-step in.” The ache in his skull intensified as he tried to recount the details of what had happened. All he recalled was being crouched over Letty, her shoulders pinned to the ground beneath his hands. A shiver passed through him that had nothing to do with the chill attacking him. “It w-won’t happen again. Y-You have m-my word.”

He was her protector. That he remembered. Yet in his current worthless state, she was the one protecting him. He didn’t care for that much, but until he cleared the fog from his brain and regained feeling in his limbs, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Rusty must’ve accepted Philip’s apology, for he gave a little whine, then stepped out of the way to allow Philip to enter.

The room wasn’t warm yet, but standing in dry air felt like a gift from heaven. Philip dropped his saddlebags on the floor inside the door, then pulled off his hat. Water dripped from the brim to puddle at his feet as he pivoted to seek out a hook. After hanging his hat on a nail inside the door, he shuffled a few more steps into the room. The stove in the center of the space drew him forward with the promise of heat. A plank table with benches stood to his right, with two bunked beds along the wall to his left. Four chairs sat in a circle of sorts on the far side of the stove. Philip had started contemplating the merits of sitting in one when Letty swooped back inside.

She’d removed her slicker to make a waterproof sling for the wood she’d collected. Releasing one edge of the slicker, she let the logs tumble onto the floor. She fed the stove a few of the smaller pieces, then shook the residual bark and dirt from the coat’s interior and put it back on.

Without asking permission, she marched up to him and started undoing the buttons on his overcoat. “You’ve been wet long enough. Time to get rid of these things.”

She peeled the slicker off, then tossed it over the back of one of the chairs. Next, she moved to the nearest bunk and stripped its blanket away. Followed by the sheet. She tossed the sheet into one chair, then, taking the blanket with her, grabbed a different chair, dragged it to the center of the room, and climbed atop it. Standing on her tiptoes, she draped the blanket over the crossbeam, creating a somewhat precarious screen.

“I’m going to tend the animals and bring in the supplies. While I’m doing that, you need to remove every stitch of clothing you’re wearing.” Her face flamed as red as her hood, but she kept spouting orders. “Dry off as best you can with the sheet, then wrap up in the blanket. I’ll see if I can find any dry clothes that might have been left behind when I get back. Your job is to sit close to the stove and get warm. Got it?”

Before he could figure how in the world he was supposed to respond, she turned, stepped around the blanket divider, and left him alone. The sound of her heels clomping against the wooden floor rang loudly in the room until the door closed and cut off all contact between them. A click of canine nails tickled his senses a moment before Rusty stuck his nose around the blanket wall. If wolves had eyebrows, Philip was certain Rusty was raising his.

Philip reached for his suspenders as he locked gazes with his furry chaperone. “N-Not a w-word.”

The acceleration of his pulse over the last minute must have cleared away a bit of the fog from his brain, for one staggering truth shone through. If anyone ever learned that he’d been locked away with the Radcliffe heiress without a stitch of clothing on, his job with the Pinkertons would be finished, and Letty’s reputation would be destroyed.

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