Rocky Mountain Redemption. Pamela Nissen
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shook her head in outward agreement. But inside, doubt filled her mind. Why was he being so kind? So unlike Max’s description? It just didn’t make sense.
Callie’s heart twisted with bitter irony, remembering the last words that had passed through Max’s lips before he died.
Find my brothers. Find Ben. He’ll see to your needs.
Max had died then, leaving Callie confused, angry and laden with sorrow.
Certain that his words must’ve been delirium-driven, she’d ignored his dying sentiment. She’d grieved for her husband, for the life he could’ve had and for the unfulfilled dreams she’d never know with him. She’d grieved his untimely death.
And that of their newborn baby girl he’d buried almost nine months to the day they’d married.
But instead of wallowing in the insurmountable grief that permeated every thought and every breath, she’d had to begin working immediately, to make right on his debt.
She wouldn’t be here now, except that she’d had nowhere else to turn. At the moment she felt too weak to even drag herself out of bed. And she was in debt to a man Max had said was controlling, a cheat and a liar.
Just as soon as she could, she was going to make right on what she owed Ben by cooking mouthwatering meals and cleaning till his office and house gleamed. Once she’d paid back Whiteside, she’d leave, thereby ridding herself of the confusion of it all.
“I’ll bring over something for you to eat while we wait for Katie to arrive.”
At the mere thought of food, Callie’s mouth began watering like a leaky pail. “Who’s Katie?”
“She’s my brother’s wife. I thought maybe I’d have her help you with a bath. As long as you don’t spike a fever before then, you can soak in hot, soapy water to your heart’s content.”
She gave a contented sigh. “It’s been so long—” She cut her words off. Ben certainly wasn’t interested in the details of her bleak, almost nonexistent, bathing schedule.
“It’ll probably go a long way to making you feel better,” he added with a brisk nod.
She barely hid her profound delight, finding it impossible to recall the last time she’d taken a full-fledged bath with hot water. Most of the time she’d made do with the invigorating yet harsh cold of a mountain stream or sponging herself from a pail of used dishwater. Twice, at the saloon, she’d managed an early morning soak after the customers had all gone home to their poor, unsuspecting wives and children. Even though she’d hated utilizing Lyle Whiteside’s girls’ amenities, it had been a memorable bit of pure luxury.
“That is, if you want to?”
“Oh, yes.” She touched her matted hair. “That would be wonderful.”
“Katie will help you. You’ll like her.”
Instant humiliation ricocheted through her veins as she lowered her hand to her side. Her stomach clenched. She fingered the rough seam of a haphazard, angry-looking scar that blazed like a streak of lightning around to her back, a result of one of Max’s liquor-induced tirades and a lasting symbol of betrayal that had embedded deep into their marriage.
Oh, he’d been somewhat remorseful for the way he’d treated her, but not enough to get her proper medical attention. Drunk, he’d awkwardly stitched the gaping wound then stormed out the door, leaving for days while she struggled to fight off a wicked infection, alone. That had been a year ago, and though the gash had finally healed, the pain inflicted by his total disregard for her well-being stung, still.
“Callie?” Ben’s voice cut through the dismal memory.
She jerked her attention back to the present. “I—I’m sure I can bathe myself.”
His eyes shrouded with doctorly concern. “Tell you what, when you’re stronger and well out of the woods, I won’t argue.”
“There’s no need to bother her,” she shot back. “I can manage just fine on my own.”
“I’ll rest easier if you have a little help.” Moving toward the doorway, he turned to her as he cleared his throat. “And by the way, room and board is part of the job. That is, if this bedroom here suits you well enough.” He gestured to her surroundings almost apologetically. “You can take your meals with me next door. Or bring them here and eat alone, if you’d rather,” he added as he stepped out of the room.
Callie gulped against the thick emotion clogging her throat. She hadn’t slept in a bed so comfortable, had a room so cheery, or had the delicious promise of consistent meals for seven years. The accommodations were modest by her father’s standards. But to a woman who’d spent the past years moving from shack to shack, sharing a bed with rodents and contenting herself with whatever food she managed to purchase, this was a castle. And for a short while, anyway, she was the queen.
Ben peered down at where he’d absentmindedly heaped a plate full of shepherd’s pie for Callie. The way her stomach had audibly growled at the mention of food, he felt confident that she finally had an appetite—just probably not enough to eat half a roasting pan of the tasty dish.
He dropped the wooden spoon in the pan and braced his hands against the counter, attempting yet again to convince himself that he was merely concerned for her as a patient.
Hauling in a deep, stabilizing breath, he glanced down as Molly and Smudge meowed sweetly at his feet, curling their thick tails in feline affection around his legs.
Who was he trying to kid?
He felt an unrelenting draw to her that plagued his every thought, making him wonder if he might well be getting himself in too deep.
The empty sadness he’d seen waft like some dark wraith across her face when she’d spoken of her upbringing tugged at his heart. What secrets did her past hold?
She’d grown up with privilege. And she was clearly uncomfortable with any action that could be viewed as charity. He couldn’t miss the way she’d flinched at his touch. Nor had he missed the way her eyes had lit with awe then instant shame when he’d mentioned both the meal and bath. It was as if she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable enough to receive help…so much like the strays he’d taken in. Often times he’d have to coax them to eat, even when their ribs protruded in glaring proof of starvation.
Ben recalled the way he’d found Callie that first night. In spite of her tangled hair, tattered appearance and puzzling background, he’d felt pulled by some unseen force to help her.
To save her.
Just like the scrawny kittens that had shown up.
He gave a short laugh and loosened his fists, reflecting on how this little lady had loosened his ordered world a few notches, turning his life upside down in less than two days.
Maybe he was the one who needed saving.
When he peered down at his feline companions, Smudge gave him one of those I’m-as-cute-as-a-button squinty-eyed looks while Molly stared wide-eyed up at him, as though he owned a pond full of tasty fish for the eating. He hunkered down and stroked their fur, tracing the ragged scar on Molly’s neck that had been a festering wound when she’d come to him. He looked at the irregular kink crooking Smudge’s front leg, saddened to think of what these two had suffered.
He couldn’t help but open his heart to them when they’d shown up. And they seemed to know it, too, because like most all the animals that came his way, these kittens had somehow known they could trust him.
He peered through the kitchen window toward his office, and his chest tightened. Was Callie one of those strays? Had she scraped her way through life and, by providential design, landed on his doorstep?
Callie’s pride prickled from head to toe. “I could never take these garments from you, Katie.”
Katie sat on the