Grant stared at the woman kneeling by his makeshift bed on the floor, taking in the rifle she clutched and her wide, frightened blue eyes. Dark hair, almost black, streamed in curls over her shoulders, as though she hadn’t had time to put it up on her head. But that face—it was the one he’d seen in his dreams—or had it been a vision—the angel who’d bent over him and touched his brow. It had to be her.
Something wasn’t right with this picture. She cradled the Winchester as though she knew how to use it. He remembered hearing a hammer draw back when he’d entered the cabin. Surely this woman wasn’t who he’d been worried about during his lucid moments? She must have at least one cohort who’d traveled here with her. He could be outside saddling Diego right at this moment, ready to take his horse and this woman and leave him stranded.
But if that was the case, why had she stayed and nursed him? She could have left him in his soaked coat and pants and not spread the bed by the fire. For that matter, how had she gotten him to it, and built the fire? He frowned. Another indication there had to be someone helping her. This woman was tall, but slender and fine boned—certainly not sturdy enough to have carried him to this makeshift bed.
“Where’s your partner? Is he your husband? Are you planning to steal my horse?” He rasped out the words over a dry throat, hating the weakness that assailed his body. A cough hit him, and he sank back onto the blanket.
She took a step forward then hesitated and looked over her shoulder toward the door as another muffled thud sounded outside. “Did you hear something?”
He frowned, certain she was trying to throw suspicion away from herself. “No. I doubt you did either. Now tell me your name and what you’re doing here.”
“My name is Addie Patrick. I was traveling to Mt. Dora in a wagon when it overturned and the driver was killed.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I walked here alone yesterday afternoon before the storm got bad. I don’t know why you think someone’s with me, but it’s not true.”
Grant scooted up against the wall and leaned back in relief. He felt a little stronger, but the thought of standing didn’t appeal quite yet. “You said your driver was killed? Did you come from Clayton?”
She nodded. “His name was Clem, but I don’t know anything else. He was driving fast, fearful of being caught in the storm. We came down a hill, and he tried to slow the horse, but the brake didn’t work. The wagon was pushing the horse down the hill, and she bolted. Clem couldn’t stop her.”
“So the wagon overturned?” He threw the blanket from his legs, thankful she’d only removed his coat and nothing else.
“Yes. It hit a rut in the road, bounced once or twice, then flipped on its side, throwing me into some brush. I was knocked out, and when I woke I discovered I’d bruised my knee and shoulder, but thankfully I wasn’t seriously injured.”
“And the driver?”
“He was thrown clear as well, but he hit his head on a rock. I’m guessing he died instantly. There was nothing I could do.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away. “The horse’s leg was broken, and I had to put her down.” She gestured at the rifle and bit her lip. “This belonged to the driver. I gathered it, the shells, and a few of my things and made my way here.”
Grant’s brows rose. This woman showed genuine emotion, but she wasn’t wailing or carrying on. In fact, she was handling the tragedy the same way Connie would have done—with strength and common sense. She’d seen what needed to be done, did it, then cared for herself. Suddenly another thought hit him and he frowned. “How did you know about this cabin?”
“Clem told me. He said the owner uses it when he has to stay away from the ranch at night, when he’s too far from home. He pointed this direction and said it wasn’t far, not long before the accident.” She glanced at the hot stove. “I’m glad the man who owns it thought to leave supplies and firewood. I couldn’t believe it when I got here and discovered food, matches, wood, and a bed. I hope someday I’ll be able to thank him.”
The ice around Grant’s heart, along with the last vestiges of distrust, melted at her comment. “You’re welcome, but I think we’re even. If it hadn’t been for the fire you’d already built and your care, I’m not sure what kind of shape I’d be in now.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re the owner? Were you too far from your ranch when the storm hit?”
Grant slowly shook his head. “Something kept nudging me forward—all I could think was God had a reason for me to be out here.” He shot her a look. “I thought you were an angel when I first saw you—it must have been the fever—and I figured I was already in heaven.” He smiled. “Now, tell me what was so important you had to attempt the trip to Mt. Dora with a storm coming on. Surely you could have stayed at your home in Clayton until it passed?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I came on the train yesterday while the weather was mild. I’m afraid I didn’t believe the men at the station when they said a storm was coming. I wish now I had—my driver would still be alive.” The young woman’s face blanched. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“That’s foolishness. He was a grown man, not a child, and he made his own decision to drive you. He could have just as easily turned you down.” He gestured toward the corner where she’d propped the rifle. “Can you hand that to me? I’d like to get on my feet.” He grimaced. “This isn’t the most comfortable place to sit and talk.”
She stepped forward and held out her hand. “There’s no need for the rifle. I can help you up. I’m quite strong.”
Grant looked at the extended hand and hesitated, not sure why. What was it about this woman that stirred him? Even when he’d felt a surge of concern or mistrust, he’d known in his heart she was good. No one with that sweet expression and kind smile could be evil or in cahoots with outlaws. He was ashamed he’d considered it. He braced one hand beneath him, ready to push himself up, then reached out and clasped her hand. An immediate shock ran through him, and it was all he could do not to drop her hand as he staggered to his feet.
Her eyes widened. “Oh my.”
He didn’t reply but loosened his hold and fell onto the bed feeling as weak as a newborn calf. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he needed to put some space between them. Fast.
Addie tucked her hand behind her back and walked to the one upright chair pulled next to the small table and sat, not sure she could stand much longer. She was no fool. Grant Hollister might not have felt a thing—in fact, her touch might have repelled him based on how quickly he’d dropped her hand. But she certainly had. And it shamed her. She was as good as betrothed to another man. She couldn’t possibly entertain feelings for this one, no matter how handsome or strong.
Besides, what about Connie and Thomas? This man had a family, and she had no right being attracted to him. She turned her head so he couldn’t see the battle that must be shining from her eyes.
He lay back on the bed with a groan. “I don’t know why I’m so weak. Maybe because I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon. I’ve been away from the ranch for a couple of days, but I only brought provisions for one, since I didn’t plan to get caught in a storm. Foolish on my part.” He grinned. “Is there any food in this place still fit to eat?”
Her heart jumped at the warmth of that smile, and she pushed from the chair and stepped to the small bank of cupboards beyond the table. “There are a few tins of meat and jars of canned fruit. No bread, I’m afraid, but you won’t starve. I made a pot of soup with the meat stock.” She stirred the soup in the pot as he lay on the bed and watched her silently.
After a few minutes, she started to hum to fill the silence. She plucked a tin plate off a shelf and ladled hot beans and a generous scoop of applesauce onto it, then dished up a bowl of soup. She glanced at him and saw that he’d relaxed against the pillow and closed his eyes. Should she wait to serve him and let him sleep? She picked up the plate, intending to cover it for later.
“You didn’t tell me what was so important that you had to get from Clayton to Mt. Dora.”
His unexpected question made her jump, and she placed her hand over her heart. “You startled me. I thought you’d gone to sleep.”
“Sorry. Just resting my eyes. I’m afraid I’m still a bit tired, but the food will put me to rights in no time.”
Addie held the plate, waiting for him to sit up in the bed.
He dipped his head. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”
He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll sit here and eat. You take the chair. You’ve stood long enough.”
She hesitated, handed him the plate and utensils, then walked back to the potbellied stove. “I’ve got coffee warming as well.” She lifted two chipped mugs from pegs near the stove, poured the coffee, and set his mug on the edge of the table, less than an arm’s length from where he sat. Shyly, she scooted the chair to the other side of the table and sank into it then took a sip of the black brew. “You asked why I was anxious to get to Mt. Dora. I traveled all the way here from Iowa to meet my intended, Sam Tolliver. I imagine he’s probably frantic with worry since I haven’t arrived.”