“She’s not going anyplace.Not while her baby’s here.”
He lifted up on his good arm.“How is it?”
“In the same shape as you.”
“That bad?”There was the slightest bit of humor in his voice, but his face was as harsh as ever.She wondered whether he’d ever laughed or joked or, for that matter, even smiled.
Shea looked down at her wrist, still red from his grasp, and his gaze followed hers.His hand touched it, fingers moving softly along the bright red ring, and then they moved to her hand, turning it over.Her palm looked so raw, a mass of broken blisters.She had almost forgotten the burn in her concern for his much greater hurt.
“You need some doctoring yourself,” he said roughly.
She shrugged as he had done so many times.“It didn’t help when I—” She stopped suddenly.
“Bashed me?”he asked wryly.Therewashumor in him.She hadn’t imagined it.It was in his eyes, those gloriously bright sea-green eyes with all their mysteries and secrets and anger.
“I don’t think I regret that.You deserved it.Idoregret sending you out after that cub.”
“Lady, you didn’t send me.I went willingly.Damn fool thing to do, almost as damn fool as your hanging around and sewing me up.”
Lady.It was an improvement over “Miss Randall,” said with such disdain.But despite his light tone—light for him—his mouth was grim, lines of strain deepening the crevices of a face already deeply sculpted by hardship.She knew he was struggling for control, control of himself, of her, of a situation he’d almost surrendered to earlier.Struggling with the sheer force of his will rather than physical strength.Whatever weakness, whatever despair, he’d expressed earlier was gone now, overpowered by a relentless determination that awed, even frightened, her.His hand still held hers, not by might, but by another force that was just as strong.Their gazes met, held, mesmerized one another, will battling will even as recognition of something more stretched between them, binding them as no rope or chain could.
Shea had never believed in love at first sight.She had believed that love had to grow, had to be nurtured carefully as any young thing.Her mother had told her that, and Shea had believed her.Her mother had loved, enough to mourn all her life.At least that was what Shea had once believed.
Nevertheless, she’d never been able to bring herself to accept one of the few men who offered for her.There had never been the slightest spark, the slightest ember, of a smoldering great love ready to be fanned.
Now there were sparks.Dear God, there were sparks.Sparks and fireworks.Explosions.Tornado and cyclone, both spawned of powerful, conflicting winds.More than that, there was an intimacy that kept creeping between them, a knowledge of each other that revealed itself in unexpected ways.He had known she would love the waterfall, would enjoy the playful bears.She had known he would go after the cub.He had suffered himself—it had been in his eyes—when he’d seen her burned hand.She had felt the pain of his ripped skin where the bear had clawed him.No matter how little either wanted these feelings, they were there.Destiny?She had always thought people wrote their own destiny.Now she felt buffeted by furious winds over which she had no control.
There was a wild, terrified neighing outside, and Shea suddenly came back to the moment, to Ben waiting outside.How long had it been?Not more than a few moments, but in some ways it seemed a lifetime.She shook off the forceful emotions caused by Rafe’s touch.A touch she didn’t want to relinquish but must.A tremor racked her body as she pulled away, the key still clutched in her hand.
Rafe sank back on the cot, as if he, too, had been battered by a storm too strong to resist.But that piercing gaze of his didn’t leave her, and it took every bit of will she had to rip away from it.
She nearly ran from the cabin.Ben was having even more difficulty controlling the horse as the bear growled, moving restlessly under the trees.His gun was out, and Shea screamed, “No,” and ran toward him.
His hand wavered, then dropped as he waited for her to open the stable door, but the key fell from her injured hand.Ben stared at her hand for a moment, then leaned down, picked up the key and quickly unlocked the door.Shea held it open with her good hand as he took the horse inside, calming it with his voice.When the horse finally stood silently, he turned to her.“It took you long enough.I was about ready to shoot that damn bear and come after you.Will you tell me what in the hell is going on?”
“Rafe … rescued the bear’s cub.… It’s inside the cabin.”She tried not to see the surprise in his eyes at her use of Rafe.The name now came easy to her.Too easy.
He began unsaddling the horse.“You said he was ill.”
“The bear clawed him when he was taking its cub from a trap.”
Ben didn’t seem surprised.“And you.Why are you still here?”
She knew the mother-bear excuse wouldn’t work on him.He had seen she wasn’t afraid.She shrugged.“I didn’t know … what direction …”
He nearly smiled.“I heard that didn’t stop you before.”
“I learn quickly.”
He finished rubbing the horse down and picked up his saddlebags.“Clint told me you’d burned your hand.I brought some salve and a few other medical supplies.Appears it’s a damn good thing.”
“He’s in a lot of pain.”
“That bother you?”
The quizzical expression on his face rattled her.“A hurt polecat bothers me.”
This time he grinned.“Then you two have something in common.I’ve never seen a man so concerned with critters.Even that little mouse.You know he carried him a thousand miles.…”
