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“The hell you don’t,” he growled. “You’re white as a sheet and movin’ like you’re a hundred years old. An’ you gotta knot the size of a goose egg in your hair.”
That last remark was accompanied by the feel of his big fingers lightly grazing her hair, and the shower of tingles that produced was alarming.
“I’m fine, just a little stiff,” she said, trying to sound steadier than she felt. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a hot shower and an ice pack.”
Chase’s answer to that was to bend down and pick her up again. Her pained intake of breath made him go still for a moment before he turned to walk to the hall stairs.
“I reckon a fast shower and some dry clothes wouldn’t hurt,” he allowed, “but the hospital’s a must once the storm passes.”
Frustration sent little nettles through her, the perfect accompaniment to the aching protest her body was making. At least the trip up the stairs was more tolerable than she’d anticipated—and a whole lot easier than going up them under her own power—but she hated being treated like an invalid.
Since the house was almost dark from the late afternoon storm, Chase paused at the top of the stairs to switch on the hall lights before he strode on to the master bedroom. It was her bedroom, and of course he knew where it was, thanks to Margie’s desperation all those months ago. He walked straight to the bathroom and flipped on the light in there.
Fay could hardly wait for him to put her down and leave. Once he did, she’d lock the door and have a good long soak in the tub. Short of breaking down the door, Chase would have to go away. Eventually. He sat her down, then bent to take off her boots.
She bit her lip at the added pain that caused, though it was obvious Chase had tried to be gentle.
“Okay, thanks,” she said when he’d set her boots aside.
Chase straightened and glared down at her. For the first time, Fay allowed herself to look directly into his face and meet his blue gaze.
Chase Rafferty was a man’s man, big, wide-shouldered, his lean, thick-muscled build made powerful by hard work. It was a long way for her to look up and it hurt to do it now. She tried not to notice for the millionth time that he wasn’t classically handsome, that his kind of handsomeness was the rugged, enduring kind. The man would still be making heads turn and hearts skip at ninety, and she was glad she’d lost interest.
“I can take care of things from here,” she told him. “The worst of the storm should pass soon, maybe before I’m even done in here, so you can go on home.”
It wasn’t a subtle hint to clear out ASAP, and Chase’s response wasn’t subtle, either.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere till I take you to town. There’s too much lightning for anything but a quick shower, so let’s do something about those clothes. You’re soaked through.”
He started to lean down again, but she held up a shaky hand to ward him off.
“I can undress myself,” she insisted, in no mood to allow that. She was neither feeble nor helpless. “Wait outside the door if you must, but leave.”
Chase was still leaning down, so she added, “And check the weather. For all we know, that funnel cloud touched down and is on its way here.”
“You’ve still got lights,” he pointed out, but he straightened, finally getting the message that she could take care of herself. “I’ll be close if you get into trouble.”
Guilt over her bad manners was the only thing that kept her from being more rude than she’d already been. That and the fact that he was finally going away.
“Fine.”
“Fine,” he mocked, though his blue eyes were burning sternly into hers, as if he was trying to discern how capable she really was of taking care of herself once she was alone.
He must have decided she could handle things herself, because he moved to the door. He turned to pull it shut on his way out before he paused.
“Don’t lock this.” The emphasis was on don’t, and she felt her last nerve snap.
“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house,” she said hotly, and what passed for a faint smile sneaked over his stern mouth before he closed the door.
CHAPTER TWO
ABOUT five seconds after she’d wrestled off her jeans and dropped them next to the tub, Fay remembered the sorrel.
She never neglected her animals, never, just as she never exposed them to foolish risks. The fact that she’d done both to the sorrel today made her queasy with remorse. Her foolishness with the storm had surely broken the horse’s trust, and it shamed her to realize she had no idea if he’d made it back to the stable or if he was still loose, or worse, injured.
Appalled at herself, Fay moved gingerly to the bathroom door and opened it a crack to look out into her bedroom. Chase was standing at the window, his back to her as he stared out at the storm. It had arrived at the headquarters full force, and the bedroom windows were gray with rain. The blur of movement beyond the glass was because the branches of the big shade trees out back were rocking in the wind.
Chase had the bedroom extension phone in his hand, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When he hung up, Fay called out.
“Would you mind handing me the phone? I need to call the stable office.”
Chase turned toward her. “I just did. Riley said to tell you the sorrel’s back. He came in just before they saw my truck go by.”
“Then he’s okay?”
“Far as Riley could tell.”
The somber way he said it shamed her for putting the horse at risk in the first place, and her guilt multiplied. She retreated a little more behind the door and hastily changed the subject.
“If the storm doesn’t let up soon, help yourself to coffee downstairs. It’s fresh made, but in the thermos.”
She didn’t tell him about the hot food Margie would have left in the oven because she hoped he wouldn’t be here long enough to eat. That’s when she remembered he’d gotten wet, too. “Help yourself to a towel in the downstairs bathroom,” she added. “There might be a dry T-shirt in the laundry room that’ll fit. Or toss your shirt in the drier for a few minutes.”
Fay closed the door, relieved to shut him out and shut out the subject of the sorrel. At least she’d bossed him enough to demonstrate she was anything but a candidate for the emergency room, but as she finished undressing, she realized how weak she was.
Reddish-purple bruises already marked her shoulder, hip, and outer thigh. They’d be worse tomorrow, but she’d had bruises before so she wasn’t impressed. It was the headache and the growing muscle aches beneath the bruises that would cause the most inconvenience.
Fay stepped carefully into the shower and drew the curtain. Her hands trembled a little as she twisted on the faucets and adjusted the temperature. Hampered by her aching shoulder and arm, she clumsily soaped and rinsed, then washed her hair before she stood under the jet of hot water and let the heat soothe her neck, shoulder and hip for a few moments.
Dizziness made her give up on daring a long soak in the tub, so she turned off the water and reached for a towel to dry off. She did what she could about drying her hair with another towel, careful of the painful lump on the side of her head. Finally she wrapped up in a robe and opened the door to peek into the bedroom.
Chase was gone. As she hobbled out, she could hear the increasing intensity of the storm, not surprised to see that the trees outside her window were swaying harder in the unnatural darkness. Hail pounded the roof and some of it pelted the glass.
It aggravated her to get dressed again, but there was no way she could go downstairs in a robe while Chase was here. She collected a few clothes and stepped back into the bathroom to dress in privacy. After a pulling on fresh underwear, jeans and a baggy cotton shirt to conceal the fact that her arm and shoulder were too sore to manage a bra, she felt worn-out.
It was probably hunger and fatigue more than the fall that made her weak, and maybe the strong emotion at the boundary fence played a part in her weariness now. Since she’d feel better with dry hair, she reached for the blow drier. It was a good thing she was wearing her hair short these days because the small chore was as painful as it was awkward.
By the time she was finished, the sounds of the storm had eased. With any luck, she’d be able to get rid of Chase soon, but the idea failed to revive her. In fact, she felt strangely let down.
A sudden neediness went through her, bringing back the memory of hearing her brothers’ voices. She still didn’t understand those moments by the boundary fence, but the sudden craving to catch at least a wisp of that familiar, otherworldly touch was a potent lure, and tempted her to slip down the hall to their room.
Though she felt drained, the moment she walked out of the bathroom and saw Chase sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed, she scrambled to conceal it. His shirt looked dry, he’d taken off his Stetson, and there was something about the sight of him relaxing next to her bed made her insides go warm.
He looked far too natural—and appealing—in her private space, and the strong sense that a line between them was about to be crossed sent a flutter of panic through her. A year ago, she would have been wild with joy…
Chase stood. “Everything all right?”
The question set off a spark of resentment. Nothing was right, and hadn’t been for a long time. Things might never be right again, and the fact that he’d asked—and that he was still here—doubled her sense that nothing would ever be right again.
Fay realized she was overreacting. Guilt over the sorrel and her automatic hostility toward Chase swam into the mix of exhaustion and agitated emotions to make her feel edgy and raw. If she could just get rid of him, she could have a hot meal and an early bedtime.
“I’m fine,” she said, unable to sound even marginally polite.
Chase’s gaze drilled skeptically into hers, then shifted to the side of her head as if he were searching for evidence of the painful swelling. The fact that his gaze checked the angle of her injured left shoulder then softened to move lingeringly down her chest to her waist before he took in the way she was favoring her left leg, sent a rash of feminine self-consciousness through her that gave her nerves another hard stir.
“Now’s a good time to get to town.”
“I’m not going to town,” she said tersely, shoving down the guilt she’d felt mere seconds ago.
He gave a solemn nod. “So you’re gonna tough it out, huh?”
“Yup.” She started across the room and into the hall to the back stairs, moving as normally as she could, but her left hip and knee were stiff enough to keep her stride short and uneven. At least she could walk, and she was never more grateful than now for her natural vigor and resilience.
“Maybe a hefty share of toughness comes in handy for a plan like yours,” he commented, and she rose to the bait before she could catch herself.
“What plan?”
“The plan to do yourself in.”
The blunt words made her falter and lose her balance just enough to step wrong. Her hip and knee gave out and she grabbed wildly for the wall. The sudden move sent agony through her strained muscles, but Chase caught her waist and kept her from falling.
“Damn, Fay,” he swore as she panted hard to keep a cry back, “that had to hurt.”
Oh, it did! Her lashes were wet, and she bit her lip as she waited for the pain to settle down. And then the gentle mockery in his gruff tone registered.
He must have been able to tell when it did, because he chuckled grimly. “Successful or not, I’d guess pain’s the biggest drawback of doing yourself in. You gotta be tough to face that.”
The outrageous comment startled a laugh out of her before temper roared up to stifle it. “I did not plan to do myself…in,” she panted, seizing the flimsy defense. She hadn’t planned.
“Glad to hear it, you bein’ so young and all. Your brothers woulda had a fit.”
The mention of her brothers made her see red and a fresh flood of ire rushed up, dulling the pain that gripped her.
“Don’t you dare—” she strained to turn enough to look him in the eye “—tell me what my brothers would have said.” That was the moment the memory of hearing their voices at the fence surged back.
No, Fay, run! Don’t do it!
Of all the things Chase might have said…
Chase looked down into fiery blue eyes a couple shades darker than his own, and felt a spark of satisfaction. Getting her anger into the open was better than letting it bubble inside and drive her to do crazy things. And clichéd as it was, she was beautiful when she was angry. That flare of temper had burned away the dullness in her eyes and sent a wild flush to her face. But he didn’t want her to hate him.
“I apologize, Miss Fay,” he said, meaning it. “I meant no disrespect to your brothers, or to your memory of them.” He searched her fiery gaze, hoping he could get past the anger he’d deliberately provoked and get her to listen. “But I did mean to shake you up and make you think. What you did out there wasn’t like you.”
He saw the tears that had sprung into all that fire after his mention of Ty and Troy, and he felt pity for the heavy grief she still carried. How she’d endured it this long alone was a testament to her strength, but it was time for her to get past the worst of it. She was too young and vital to stay cut off from life and locked into this kind of hurt. And then she surprised him. Her voice was husky and a little choked.
“You’re welcome to share supper. Margie always leaves more than enough for one.”
The tension he’d felt began to ease. “Thanks.”
She looked away from him. The invitation to share supper must mean she’d forgiven him for using her brothers to get through to her about today. Or maybe she was just repaying him for his help. But the way she straightened, casually managing to move his hands away from her waist, let him know the subject of doing herself in was closed.
He’d be glad to let it be closed, if today was really the end of it. He’d pushed—maybe too much—but she hadn’t told him to leave. Ironically, now that he’d said something that probably ought to get him thrown out, she’d invited him to stay.
The extra irony was that he wasn’t sure why he’d been so hell-bent to keep poking into her life when she treated him with about the same enthusiasm she would have given someone who’d tracked in something smelly from the barn. And yet what had started out as neighborly concern had turned into a challenge he hadn’t been able to leave alone. Maybe Fay wasn’t the only one who needed to look at what she’d done and think.
When they reached the kitchen, Fay had little choice but to allow it when Chase took over getting the food from the warming oven. As she’d said, Margie had made more than enough for one, and tonight it was a large meat and pasta casserole in a heavy glass dish. Two vegetable salads in the refrigerator, one sweet and one tangy, completed the meal. Fay took down an extra place setting to add to the one Margie had left on a tray for her, but Chase carried it to the table.
As she got out a bottle of analgesic and took two tablets, Fay watched Chase set the table and open the thermos to pour coffee. He’d never seemed very domesticated to her, so it was interesting to see him managing the small kitchen tasks with only a little awkwardness.
Fay sat down across the table from him, bracing her good hand on the edge of the tabletop to ease herself down. It was all she could do to keep from showing how much it hurt to bend her body, but she was desperate to sit. She was light-headed and her knees were shaking. The confrontation upstairs had drained her even more but she felt an odd peace inside, as if a dam had broken relieving her of some nameless pressure.
“I could’ve helped you sit down,” Chase said as he finished with the coffee and pulled out his chair.
“I’ve been sitting down without help most of my life,” she said as she pulled the napkin from beneath her silverware and dropped it onto her lap.
He didn’t respond to that as he used the metal spatula to cut a generous square of casserole from the pan and put it on her plate. She mumbled a soft thanks and started eating. She’d been ravenous, and the more she ate, the better she began to feel.
Neither of them spoke while they ate, which in both their cases was habit. Their work was physically demanding and the days were long, so at mealtimes food was the priority. Talk came later, and she was both relieved and wary. Relieved because the talk she’d dreaded had already come in the upstairs hall, wary because she didn’t know what else they could possibly talk about.
The resentment she’d felt toward Chase these past months, particularly today, was gone, and having him at her table was starting to affect her. She’d hated eating alone here, and rarely had the past year. She hadn’t been able to bear seeing the boys’ empty places, so she either ate at the kitchen counter or fixed a tray of food and took it with her to the den to do paperwork. Tonight it felt almost pleasant to sit here, in spite of the circumstances and the company.
Her heart cautiously tested that as she glanced toward Ty and Troy’s empty chairs. The ache she expected was soft instead of sharp, and she glanced briefly across the table at Chase before she looked down at her plate to finish her meal. Was it because someone shared the table with her, or was it because that someone was Chase?
“You’ve got color in your cheeks,” Chase commented as he sat back with his coffee. Fay set her fork down, and reached for her own coffee.
“I was starved.”
“You’ve got a healthy appetite. That’s a good sign.”
“Stop looking for signs,” she told him. “I’ve got nothing more than a bump on the head, strained muscles and some colorful bruises. Been there, done that, and so have you.”
“Have you got someone who can stay the night?”
“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” she scoffed as she set her napkin next to her plate.
“Head injuries are nothing to mess with.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She’d made that sound neutral, but she suddenly didn’t know how to handle his persistence. It made her realize she’d kept him at bay with irritation and resentment and sarcasm so long that she wasn’t sure how to deal with him any other way, which was why she had a hard time being polite to him, even now.
The silence went on for several moments, long enough to renew her hope that he’d go home.
“Think you can make it up to bed under your own power?” The question meant he’d leave soon, but the relief she’d expected didn’t come.
“I want to watch TV a while. I might even sleep down here. Sometimes the recliner’s more comfortable than lying flat.” There. She could speak to him in a more friendly tone, but she started to regret giving him the small encouragement when he went on.
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone, and there’ll be more storms. You might have to go to your storm room, and there’s always the chance you’ll start to feel worse.”
“I’ll know what to do,” she said, trying not to make that sound too grouchy. In other circumstances and with someone else, it might have been amusing to see Chase Rafferty play mother hen.
“Knowin’ and doin’ are two different things,” he pointed out as he stood. “I’ll tidy up for you,” he added before she could object, and she watched as he stacked their things on the tray and carried them to the dishwasher.
He opened the door, pulled out the rack and efficiently loaded it. He apparently knew his way around a dishwasher, but it was a machine. Ty and Troy hadn’t minded getting stuck with dishwasher duty, declaring that loading the dishwasher was the only halfway manly job in the kitchen.
The sudden memory didn’t hurt as much as she’d expected, and that got her attention, but the absence of painful grief suddenly felt disloyal, and guilt followed swiftly to send her heart low…
Chase’s soft question so close to her ear startled her. “Are you fallin’ asleep?”
She’d been so lost in private misery these past moments that she hadn’t noticed him finish clearing the table and walk back to her.
The words, “I’m fine,” babbled out like the automatic response they’d become.
“I asked if you were falling asleep,” he said with a chuckle. “Yes? No?”
“No.”
In truth, she’d lapsed into one of those long, long moments that could so easily become hours when she was by herself. Thankfully Chase didn’t seem to realize it.
“Let’s see how well you can get up and move around on your own.”
Fay reached for the table edge and tried to unbend enough to stand, but she was so stiff now that she couldn’t get much more than a couple inches off the chair before she had to sit back down. Frustration made her try again. Though she got only a little higher than before, Chase gently helped her unbend enough to stand reasonably straight.
“I saw liniment in your downstairs bathroom. While you rub some on, I’ll move my truck and make an ice pack for that knot on your head.”
Fay didn’t reply to that because she was trying to adjust to the stiff pain that seemed to have locked up every muscle. Movement would loosen them, so she turned carefully from the table and walked across the kitchen into the back hall that led to the bathroom. By the time she got there, she was a lot more limber, but it took some doing to get her jeans down and make use of the liniment. Once she was finished, she walked out and made her way to the living room.
The TV was still on and she made a partial circuit around the room to walk off a little more stiffness before she gingerly lowered herself onto one of the two recliners and struggled to ease it back. Chase brought in the ice pack, coffee Thermos and their cups and she noticed a few dapples of rain on his shoulders and in his hair.
“You’ve got some small branches down from the first blow-through,” he told her. “Nothing major.”
He set her coffee on the table next to her chair, handed her the waterproof cloth pouch he’d filled with ice, then sat down in the second recliner with his coffee cup. He looked for all the world as if he was settling in, and Fay felt her resistance to that idea waver as she placed the ice pouch against the side of her head.
How many women in their part of Texas would have loved to have Chase Rafferty around, waiting on them? Maybe it would be less aggravating to look at it that way. It would certainly take less energy than trying to get rid of him.
And from the sounds of it, a new storm was blowing in, so it might not be the smartest thing for him to leave and have it break before he could get home. Yes, he’d lived in these parts all of his life and had weathered dozens of bad storms, just as she had. They both were accustomed to the dangers and knew how to handle them, but it would be churlish to send him home at the wrong time.
Besides, she couldn’t help noticing that it felt comfortable to sit in her living room with company. Though she’d been too grouchy to convey much more than a speck of hospitality, Chase seemed immune to her bad mood. Now that he’d stopped bossing her and asking nosy questions, she decided she almost liked that he was here. It was a bonus that he didn’t seem inclined to make small talk. In fact, the silence between them was almost companionable, and that was as soothing to her as it was surprising.
Chase used the TV remote to switch to a local channel that had interrupted regular programming to show the progress of the storms before he offered her the remote. She waved it away, and he set it within her easy reach.
Fay felt her body sink further into the cushy recliner, and exhaustion began to roll over her in waves. Between the hot, filling meal, the analgesic and the liniment, the sharp edges of her various aches and pains had been dulled. The chair put her in a physical position that was more comfortable than she could have hoped for, and suddenly her eyelids felt as if they weighed a pound apiece. An alien sense of well-being came in on the next wave of exhaustion and she was asleep before she could make sense of it.