Rocky Mountain Redemption. Pamela Nissen
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“No apologies are necessary.” He settled a warm hand against her brow. “How are you feeling? You look much improved from the night before last when you showed up here.”
“I feel fine.” Folding back the covers, she hauled her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.
“Hold on, there. Not so fast.” He braced a hand at her back and hunkered down, eye level. “You may feel better, but you’re probably weaker than a newborn colt.”
“I’m just fine. And I don’t need your help.” The sound of her own pulse surged like breaking waves through her head. Dizzy, she clutched the quilt to her chest and feebly pushed herself up to standing. She teetered, struggling for balance. “Better than ever.”
Her knees buckled and she started to fall, but his strong arms caught behind her with disarming comfort.
“Well, I’ll give you this much, your stubbornness hasn’t weakened one bit.” He lifted her into bed, his muscle-roped arms searing straight through her thin undergarments like a warm, mesmerizing flame.
She drew in a slow, pulse-calming breath.
“You must’ve grown up with a passel of brothers to stand your ground with, right?”
“Wrong.”
“Then what?” His eyes sparkled. “Let me guess, the middle child in a houseful of girls?”
“Wrong again,” she shot back, noticing, for the first time, a picture hanging on the wall next to the bed. Her gaze moved slowly over the photograph.
The image captured five boys, all neatly tucked in and trimmed for a moment in time. She stared at the hopeful faces. She recognized Ben, standing like some sturdy pillar, his dark hair dangling over his brow even as it did now.
“That’s a picture of me and my brothers. I was thirteen, there.” He pointed to the middle boy in the frame, his long arms draped around his brothers.
She shifted her gaze from the image to Ben then back again, remembering how Max used to say that Ben had been so controlling. That he’d been harsh and demanding, squashing fun and taking his role as the oldest way too seriously.
“And this is Joseph, Aaron, Zach…” He pointed to each face then stopped at the boy to the far right. “And here’s Max. He was nine at the time.”
She swallowed hard, seeing a much younger and far more innocent Max. “That spark of adventure was in his eyes even at that age.”
“That’s for sure. He was always off doing something or other. It was hard to keep tabs on him,” he said, his voice low and tight.
She found it hard to disagree. Max would often be gone for days at a time, never disclosing his whereabouts when he left or returned.
Studying his image again, she noted the way he stood straight and tall, almost out of Ben’s reach. He leaned away from his brothers, his arms folded stubbornly at his chest, while the other boys seemed to take comfort in Ben’s arms.
Tucking the covers under her chin, Ben sat down on the chair next to the bed and sighed. “So, did you have siblings?”
She picked at an errant thread on the quilt. “I was the only child born to my parents.”
“Spoiled, then, huh?”
She met his lighthearted gaze. “My upbringing was one of privilege, but little freedom to enjoy it. My mother died when I was five, and after that my father changed. Dramatically so,” she admitted, even still missing the happy, carefree way of life before Mama had died and her father exacted a strict existence for her.
Ben gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry to hear that, Callie. That must’ve been difficult.”
Swallowing back the familiar grief, she remembered just how difficult it’d been. To once delight in her father’s love and care, only to have it replaced with a gruff demeanor and emotional distance. Her father’s heart had been broken, of that she was certain. She’d often wondered if he’d been so fearful of losing her, too, that he’d hemmed her in so tight with his principles and rules that nothing ill could befall her.
Only she’d been desperate to escape the confines of her father’s grief and frustration, and found ways around his stringent demands.
That’s when she’d met Max and had fallen in love.
The man had fairly swept her off her feet from the moment their gazes connected. He was handsome, witty and—glancing at the picture again—had a spirit of adventure that had been like honey to a bee for her. With the elegant brushstroke of words, Max had painted pictures of places that had her yearning to break free from the colorless canvas defining her life.
The moment her father had discovered she’d been stealing away to be with Max, he forbade her to see Max, drawing a hard, dark line of demarcation.
She’d dared to cross it.
It didn’t take long after they’d married for her to learn that Max’s charm and wit went as far as the door to their house. Inside their private life there had lived a man who seemed as different as night was to day.
The guilt she carried from the way she’d left home had been nearly unbearable at times. It was as if her choices had set into motion a lifetime of sorrow.
Ben cupped her chin and urged her focus toward him with a tenderness that loosed a shiver of comfort straight through her. “Do you think you feel up to a hot meal?”
Her stomach growled as if on cue.
“Say no more.” On a pulse-skittering wink, he crossed to a small table where he poured a glass of water. “You need to get your strength back so you’ll be ready for what’s ahead.”
She frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“The job…” He stood over her.
She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her heart thudding against her ribs. He was giving her the job? As thrilled as she felt, she masked the excitement. “So you finally came to your senses?”
His low chuckle warmed the room. “Let’s see…that wasn’t exactly how I was looking at it, but yes. I finally came to my senses.”
Callie eyed him as he leaned down next to her. He supported her shoulders with one arm as he helped her to drink. When he gently laid her against the pillow again, she savored the residue of cool moisture by licking her lips.
His gaze fell to her mouth and lingered for a long, tenuous moment before he turned away as though embarrassed.
She barely noticed, though, since she was already calculating how long she’d have to work to pay him back for her care. “I’ll work off my bill first. For the doctor services you’ve rendered.”
“Consider it a benefit that comes with the job.”
“Absolutely not. I told you before that I wouldn’t take charity. And I mean it.”
“Hmm…I don’t remember saying anything about charity. I need a cook and a housekeeper, if you haven’t already noticed.” He swiped his index finger over the glass window panes, leaving a telltale mark. “Maybe even help with some medical calls. So, when you’re well, I’ll be expecting you to work for me. That is, if you think you can handle that kind of labor.” He pivoted to face her, his challenging yet enticing gaze advancing on her.
She tried not to fidget at the sight of him, but it was nearly impossible. The honest expression he wore and the hopefulness in his gaze seeped into the very pores of her skin.
She fingered the edge of the quilt. “I— Of course I can handle this. It should pose no problem at all.”
“You can cook, can’t you?” He arched one dark eyebrow.
Callie stuck him with a prickly look.
“Apparently