Chapter Thirty-two
WHEN NATE AWOKE, ITwas dark. That was odd, because it had been early evening just a moment ago, with the sun not due to set for at least a couple of hours.
He blinked as the room came into focus. This wasn’t . . . where was he? He went to sit up in bed, only for a raging pain from his side to take his breath away and cause him to fall back onto the pillow.
“Nate? Are you awake?” Ruthann’s sweet, sleepy voice came from somewhere in the room.
Nate forced his eyes open against the pain to find her. And there she was, leaning over him, her face the most welcome sight he could think of seeing upon waking.
“You were shot,” she said, answering one of the many questions that spun in his mind. “Are you in pain?”
He nodded.
“Here, just lie back and try not to move. The doctor said it would hurt for a while.” She shifted the pillow beneath his head, and Nate smiled up at her gratefully.
“You’re at my parents’ house. Stuart kindly offered his room.” She arranged herself in a chair that someone must have placed by the bedside.
Nate let his eyes travel the shadowy room that now looked familiar. How many hours had he whiled away in this house with Stuart when they were young? He decided it was good to be in a place of happy memories when one was in such pain.
He’d been shot . . .
“Do you remember what happened?” Ruthann asked.
It was beginning to come together, fuzzy at first, but the more he followed the paths his mind laid out, the more he remembered.
“Miss Flagler came to see me. To warn me. And her fiancé . . . Griffiths is his name. He arrived with the pistol. And then you were there and—” He stopped speaking. Had he really done what his mind was telling him he did?
“You saved my life,” Ruthann said in a whisper.
Nate swallowed, his throat as dry as the scrubby hills outside of town in the fall.
“Here.” Ruthann held a glass of water out, and Nate raised his head just far enough to take a sip.
As the cool liquid eased his parched throat, it seemed to clear his head too.
Hehadjumped in front of Ruthann. He’d acted. He’d protected her when the time came.
“Do you want more?” She held the glass out again, and he shook his head, still marveling at how quickly things had changed.
“I didn’t think I could do that,” he finally said.
Ruthann looked up from the glass she’d set on the night table. “But you did.” She paused, placing her hands in her lap and chewing her lip. “Will you tell me? What it is that haunts you so? I know it must be terrible, but I can hear it, Nate. I’m strong enough. I can listen, and I promise nothing you can say will shock me or make me change my mind about you.”
He traced the fine features of her face with his eyes. She was so beautiful, so perfect, so fragile—no. She wasn’t fragile at all, and she’d proven that, time and again. He almost winced as he thought of the things he’d said to her to make her leave. And yet here she was, at his side, despite all of that.
It was almost as if she knew why he’d said those words.
