Rocky Mountain Redemption. Pamela Nissen
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didn’t sneak up on you.” He kept his voice low and even. If she’d suffered abuse, then it would certainly account for her skittishness around him. He’d have to tread lightly when it came to touching her. “I came in to check on you. Just like I would any other patient. You’ve been sick, remember?”
The way she studied him out of the corner of her eyes as he raised his hand to her forehead to feel for a fever, one would think he had a gleaming scalpel poised, ready to make a deep incision. But the way she jutted her chin out in obstinate refusal to show weakness pierced his heart straight through.
“Well, next time knock, if you would, please.” She summoned her rose-colored lips into a headstrong pucker that brought to mind dainty rosebuds.
“I did knock.” He wrangled up his patience and his good sense, even as unsolicited images of those perfect lips touching against his drifted through his mind. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to convey that, but darn if his thoughts didn’t find their way there. “You must’ve been having a bad dream.”
“I was not,” she retorted.
He tried to hide his dismay at her stubbornness. “You feel cool to the touch. I’m glad for that.”
When he withdrew his hand, silky strands of hair whispered against his fingertips, kicking his pulse up a notch. He busied himself, pouring her a fresh glass of water as he forced himself to focus on her needs as a patient.
“I hope you didn’t overdo it with the bath.” He offered her the glass, his errant gaze locking on her lips as she took several generous sips. “I probably should’ve waited to make that suggestion.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” She fell back to the pillow. “In fact, I can’t believe how much better I feel. I’ll be up and working probably by tomor—” Her proclamation was interrupted by an unceremonious, lingering yawn.
“No, ma’am. Not tomorrow, you won’t.” Ben shook his head, trying hard not to grin at her strength of will, and the small glimpse of innocence he saw right then in her cute frown. “Not the next day either. I’ll let you know when you’re well enough to begin work.”
When she knit her brows together even tighter, he had the distinct feeling that he’d probably just stepped on her pride. He’d do it again, since he was a stickler for enforcing ample recovery time. And in her case, much needed rest.
“Thank you all the same, but I am fully capable of judging that for myself.” She crossed her arms at her chest. “And I feel more than ready to tackle the tasks that need to be done.”
“You are stubborn enough that you would, too.” He gently grasped her wrist to feel her pulse. “But I’m a doctor. And, honestly, I question whether you’re in the habit of making sound decisions regarding your health.”
With a protesting huff, she jerked her hand back.
“And before you go thinking that I just insulted you, let me assure you that it wasn’t meant as such,” he cut in, distracted by the way her soft skin remained imprinted on his. “Given the way you showed up here, I’d say mine is a fair assessment, don’t you think? No one in their right mind would have braved that kind of weather in the condition you were in at the time.”
Crossing to the dresser, he eyed the locket lying atop her worn garment. “Nothing is worth that.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them and since he’d given her his back, he could only guess what her reaction was. But the one thing he’d learned about Callie, thus far, was that even though she’d make gallant efforts to hide her emotions, the uncertainty that churned inside her pretty little head was evident on her face.
“Your brother told me to find you.” The words fell from her lips, stiff and measured and loaded with things unsaid.
He faced her. “What do you mean? Max sent you here?”
Suspicion, thick as mud, overpowered the compassion that had just moments ago pervaded his mind. Joseph’s and Aaron’s strong words of caution echoed through his mind. Maybe they were right—that he was too trusting at times. That he was too much of a soft heart. That he opened himself up to get taken.
But when he peered into Callie’s distressed gaze, he couldn’t bring himself to make that kind of outright conclusion. Not without direct proof, unshaded by doubt.
“That was his last sentiment.” The words sounded as if forced from her lips.
“His last words were about me?” Rubbing his temples, he dragged in a deep breath.
The nod she gave was slow and painfully measured. And seemed meant to sever any further inquiry he might have, promptly pricking his irritation.
“Tell me what this is all about, Callie. Why are you here, anyway?” His voice had raised a good notch. “Because, had I not come along when I did, you likely would’ve frozen to death on my doorstep. Why would you put your life at risk like that?”
Hauling her chin up a notch, she glared at him as he advanced on her. Flinched as if he might haul out to strike her. Then gave him a hollow kind of look.
And that had him inwardly kicking himself.
When she slowly rolled away from him, he knew he’d pushed too far, too fast.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to sound so—” He braced a hand at the back of his neck, feeling every bit worthy to play the evil part of the nightmare he’d found her in when he’d entered the room just minutes ago. He gently adjusted the quilt at her back, tucking it in so that she wouldn’t catch a draft. “I’m sorry. I’m just glad that you turned to me.”
When he pivoted to leave the room, he could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “You were my last resort.”
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