Heart Of The Storm. Mary Burton
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Her heart slammed into her ribs. “No.”
He studied her so intently, her cheeks, flushed with fever, paled a fraction. Lord, but her head was swimming.
“So if I telegrammed the sheriff in Elizabeth City, he’d not have heard of you?”
She sat up so fast, her stomach lurched and her sheet fell. Quickly she groped at its edges. The cool morning air had made her nipples harden into soft peaks. “Don’t do that!”
Ben dropped his gaze while she righted her sheet. “Davis is your last name.”
Was that the name she’d given last night? “Yes.”
A humorless smiled curved the edges of his lips. “Davis. A solid American name.”
Ordinary is what he meant to say. But that was why she must have chosen it. She wanted to blend in—to be one of a million faceless people that no one gave a second glance.
“Rachel Davis.” The name sounded seductive, far from ordinary, when he spoke it.
Her head pounded and all she wanted to do was to lose herself in the blankets. “Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
Hadn’t he asked her that question last night? Details would be her downfall if she wasn’t careful. With her senses so befuddled now, she’d never remember the lies she spun. “A small town. I doubt you’ve heard of it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
A gentleman would have taken her subtle hint and dropped the subject. “Do we really have to talk now? I’m so tired.” Exhausted, her shoulders sagged.
He crossed to her in two steps and steadied her shoulders with his strong hands. Gently he guided her back to the pillows. “Aye, you do need your rest. But we will talk later.”
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