Chapter 26

26

Letty leaned against the door she’d just closed and expelled a quiet groan. First she’d subjected him to unnecessary nestling, then she’d inflicted an unrequested kiss upon his person, and now she’d demanded he remove his clothing and wrap himself in bedding. It wouldn’t surprise her if he ran for the hills the moment he turned her over to her mother. Of course, he had to survive long enough to get them both to Houston, and judging by his odd behavior and his inability to generate body heat, his survival was anything but assured.

Stiffening her spine, she pushed away from the door and strode out into the cold drizzle to collect the horses and lead them to the barn. She might not have much experience in being a friend, but she was pretty sure it didn’t entail sitting primly in a corner guarding her genteel sensibilities while someone she cared about suffered.

Philip had plunged into that frigid river for her benefit. She wasn’t about to let him shiver himself to death.

She hurried as much as possible, but tending three horses took time. Removing saddles, tack, and gear. Brushing them down. Ensuring they had enough food and water to see them through the afternoon and evening. Then she had to rummage through the supplies and gather up what needed to be taken to the bunkhouse, whether it be food and cooking utensils or blankets and clothes in need of a place to dry. She removed her slicker, bundled all the supplies inside, then set out for the bunkhouse, determined to act as if keeping company with a man dressed in nothing more than a blanket was not the slightest bit awkward.

When she entered the bunkhouse, though, her gaze refused to search out the stove and the man she knew would be huddled in front of it. Letty focused instead on organizing the supplies on the small shelf set against the wall inside the door. A chill still clung to her damp clothes, hair, and skin, but a blessed hint of heat wafted in her direction from the center of the room. The stove was doing its job, thank the Lord.

Letty unfastened her red cloak and hung the hood from the frame of the top bunk closest to her. She stretched the cape wide so it would dry faster, then steeled herself to face Philip. He sat in a chair in front of the stove with Rusty sprawled atop his bare feet. Instead of his blanket cocooning him as she’d expected, it merely draped loosely over his shoulders. Afraid she might embarrass them both, she dropped her gaze to Rusty until she noticed something dark blue brushing against the wolf’s fur. The blanket was pale gray. She traced the dark-blue trail upward a few inches before the truth sank into her brain.

“You found some trousers.”

Somehow the Lord had provided even that. Thank you.

Philip nodded his head toward the second bunk without taking his arms from inside the blanket. “Found a s-storage box under the b-bed. Laid out some things f-for you.”

Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were still rather glassy, but a glimmer of the old Philip shone through in the familiar set of his jaw.

“You’re w-wet too,” he said. “Don’t want you s-sick.”

The poor man was still shivering. An urge to hug him tight until the shivers abated shot through her with such force, she took two steps toward him before logic caught up. In her soggy state, hugging him would make things worse, not better. He was right. She needed to dry off before she could tend to him.

“Thank you for thinking of me. I’ll change after I finish hanging up our other wet things.”

But first she intended to stoke the fire in the stove and put the soup on to heat. Grandmother had always plied Letty with hot tea laced with honey whenever she stayed out too long in the cold, insisting a person thawed twice as fast when they were warmed from the inside as well as the outside. The sooner Letty could get some hot broth into Philip, the better.

As she crossed in front of Philip to open the firebox, he shifted in his chair. One side of the blanket started to slip off his shoulder. He snatched the edge with his right hand and pulled it back into place, but not before she noted two key pieces of information. His arm was bare, and the marks from Rusty’s bite weren’t his only injuries. An angry-looking red line slashed across the inside of his bicep. The man would have to be checked for other wounds. They couldn’t afford to let anything fester. The chill had taken a big enough toll on his body and mind already.

Letty added a pair of medium-sized logs to the firebox, then shoved the door closed, both on the stove and on the fluttery anticipation twirling through her belly at the thought of giving Philip a thorough examination.

For medicinal purposes only , she reminded herself sternly, though her belly didn’t seem to get the message, for the flutters kept ... fluttering.

Thankfully, work offered a much-needed distraction. Unpacking their cookware and utensils, getting the soup on and a pot of coffee going, finding places to hang every stitch of clothing they owned—she stayed so busy for the next twenty minutes, her mind concerned itself with little else beyond reminding her to stir the soup every two minutes so it wouldn’t scald on the overheated stove.

By the time the coffee was ready, the rafters looked like a maze of clotheslines. Dangling trouser legs, shirt sleeves, skirt hems, stockings, and various undergarments littered the ceiling, forcing Letty to duck, twist, and contort whenever she needed something from the opposite side of the room. She’d secretly hoped to find something dry in her own clothing stores to avoid the trousers Philip had found, but the damp had permeated everything she owned.

Checking on the coffee before she allowed herself to contemplate the idea of changing out of her wet clothes with a man in the room, she found it warm enough to serve without having to worry about Philip scalding himself if his trembling sloshed some over the brim. She poured the dark brew into a cup, the aroma filling the air and causing her stomach to growl softly as her appetite surfaced, pushing past all the tasks and concerns that had dominated her thoughts over the past hour or more.

She turned to Philip, bent toward him, and placed the cup in his quivering hands. She cupped her fingers around his, making sure he had a solid grip.

“S-smells good.” His eyes met hers. “Thank you.”

Heat radiated through her that had nothing to do with the coffee steam tickling the underside of her chin and everything to do with his eyes. He’d never looked at her in such a way. With vulnerability and trust. As if he recognized that he not only needed her but wanted her as well. That wanting called to all the lonely places inside her, urging her to connect, to tie herself to this man and never let him go. Yet once they arrived in Houston, go was exactly what he’d do. He was a temporary travel companion. Perhaps even a friend. But she shouldn’t expect more. Imagining him as a permanent fixture in her life, especially one of a romantic nature, would guarantee heartbreak, and she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. All the people she’d ever loved had either left her or sent her away. She couldn’t afford to get reckless with her heart now, just because the man looked at her as if she wore a halo. He’d been in a questionable mental state ever since she found him disrobing in the rain, after all. She had to be sensible for both of them right now.

Letty blinked and ducked her head, breaking eye contact with Philip as she pulled her hands away from his.

“Sip it slowly,” she instructed as she turned her back on him to give the soup a stir it probably didn’t need. “I once poured hot tea into a cold glass, and it shattered. Don’t want that to happen to your insides.”

“Doubt I’m the shattering t-type.” Humor laced his words, and Letty smiled. Surely that was a sign that he was becoming more himself. “I’ll t-take it slow, though. Kinda enjoying just h-holding the cup.”

Understandable. His fingers had felt like ice when she’d touched him.

“Good. The soup will be ready by the time I change.”

She hadn’t meant to look at him when she pivoted away from the stove. She’d thought to brush past without glancing at his face, thereby bypassing most of the awkwardness inherent in their situation, but when Philip started to tug the blanket from his shoulders, ignoring him became impossible.

“You’re gonna need this,” he said as he shifted his coffee to one hand and opened the folds of the blanket, exposing a rather large section of his bare chest in the process.

“No.” Letty lurched forward and pulled the blanket edges back together. “I’ll make do without it. This one’s keeping you warm. I can hang up one of our wet ones to dress behind. They need to dry anyway.”

He seemed to accept her explanation and settled back into the chair. “Rusty and I will keep our eyes on the stove until you get back. Won’t we, boy?”

Rusty lifted his head halfheartedly and gave a little whine before relaxing back into his doze. Philip looked up to Letty, his crooked grin sending her pulse skittering into an erratic dance. Slowly, his smile melted away into something much more intense. “You have my word, Letty. I’ll respect your privacy.”

How was a girl supposed to guard her heart against such a man? Handsome, protective, honorable to the core.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you will, Philip. I trust you.”

Yet she still felt incredibly self-conscious as she peeled away her wet clothes. She’d positioned herself in a corner as far from the stove as possible for modesty’s sake, but she sincerely missed the heat. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as she rubbed herself dry with a scrap of towel she’d found on the supply shelf. The trousers Philip had laid out for her looked like they’d been taken from the rag bin. The fabric was threadbare, and both knees sported holes. But they were dry, so she pulled them on, feeling rather scandalous donning men’s attire. The too-loose waist would have been cause for concern had the fabric not pulled tightly over her hips. She’d not have to worry about them falling down. They might trip her, though. Bending down, she rolled up the cuffs a few inches on each leg until they brushed the top of her feet.

Next came the shirt. A dark-blue chambray that some cowhand had worn until it had fallen apart on him. The right elbow consisted of nothing but threads and holes, the left armpit seam had been torn open, and the top button on the front placket was missing. But it was dry, and when she pulled it over her lightweight corset and chemise, it successfully covered her from collarbone to midthigh, so Letty thanked God for his provision and hurried back out to the stove to check on her soup.

Philip made no comment on her attire, but she felt his gaze on her, and it brought a flush to her cheeks. How ridiculous she must look. Improper, ill-fitting clothing riddled with holes. It helped that he was equally ridiculous, his pant legs several inches too short with not even a rag-bin shirt to cover his torso.

Because he’d saved the shirt for her. She nibbled on her lower lip as she carried the soup pot over to the plank table. Even half out of his head from cold, he’d still put her needs ahead of his own.

Determined to follow his lead in that, Letty returned to his chair and took the empty coffee cup from his hand. “I’ll rinse this out and refill it with soup so you can stay by the stove.”

“Join me.” He tipped his head toward the vacant chair she’d used as a step stool when hanging up their wet clothes.

Still feeling self-conscious, she’d thought to sit at the table to eat. Give them both some privacy. But if he wanted company, she’d oblige him. It was the least she could do after all he’d done for her.

Once she’d dished up the soup, Letty pulled a chair over to Philip’s side and snuck her toes under Rusty’s belly, careful not to wake her sleeping pet.

Philip’s mind must have defrosted, for he started peppering her with questions about the woman who’d given them the soup. Did she live here alone? Did she have family close by? Did she know to keep their presence a secret? Had Letty told her their names?

Considering she and the old woman had spoken for less than ten minutes in total, Letty had little information to offer, but she did her best to reassure Philip.

“We didn’t exchange names,” she said as she lowered her cup to her lap and allowed the half-full vessel to warm her hands. “She mentioned that her husband died and that this bunkhouse hadn’t been used for several years, so I don’t think we need to worry about anyone showing up until tomorrow at the earliest. If you are recovered enough, we can leave first thing in the morning and likely miss any visitors.”

“I’ll be recovered.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, making it clear that he’d not welcome a dissenting opinion.

Letty lifted her soup back to her mouth to hide her smile. “Glad to hear it. Though we should probably tend those cuts and scrapes of yours just to be safe. Willpower can accomplish many things, but disinfecting a wound isn’t one of them.”

His crooked smile made another appearance, and her pulse hiccupped right on cue. “You might have a point.”

She raised a mocking brow. “Might?”

They both chuckled softly, and for the first time in hours, the vise squeezing her heart began to ease. He was going to be all right. He wasn’t there yet. His hands still shook, his complexion was far too pale, and he kept leaning closer to the stove as if its heat hadn’t yet penetrated his skin, but his eyes had lost their glossy vacancy, and his humor had returned. Death’s grip had been loosened, and she aimed to break its hold altogether.

Only trouble was, to do that, she was going to have to face a challenge nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for—viewing a man’s bare chest with detached indifference.