Now that the train had stopped, the boxcar was eerily quiet. Maggie had no idea exactly what time it was, but judging by the brightness of the sunlight, she guessed it was at least eight-thirty or nine. The songs of birds drifted on the frigid morning air, the sounds faint and incongruously cheerful in such a drab, filthy place. Trying to block out the faint smell of cow, she concentrated instead on scents she caught on the breeze, a wintry blend of icy dampness laced with evergreen that was underscored by the acrid odor of engine fumes.
Huddled in the cowboy’s warm coat with her back to the wall, she watched the open doorway, terrified that some bum might spy the empty car and climb inside with her. After her experience last night, she had no illusions. Most men were rats.
Oh, God, she was tired. She had a headache, an allover sick feeling, and her back was killing her. All she wanted was to close her eyes and sleep for a while. But Jaimie would awaken soon, and when he did, he’d be hungry. She could only pray the cowboy kept his part of their bargain and returned with a baby bottle and formula.
She closed her eyes, picturing his tall, lean body. Hard strength emanated from him like the electrical charge in a high-voltage area. No matter. She simply wouldn’t think about it, that was all. She’d just let him do his thing, blocking it out as best she could, and afterward, she’d pretend none of this ever happened.
Nausea rose in her throat. She gulped it back. She kept remembering how he had touched her cheek just before he left, his fingertips lightly caressing her skin. I’ve thought of a way to get my hands on some cash. Stay right here. You’ll be safe for the short time I’ll be gone. Maggie had yearned to add, Until you come back, you mean? Only she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve.
That was just as well. She had made him the offer. Right? No one had forced her. And she should be glad he’d decided to take her up on it. What happened to her wasn’t important. Nothing mattered but her baby. Nothing.
Rafe stood on the sidewalk outside the pawnshop, head bent, his shoulders shrugged against the cold as he gazed at the ring that lay on his palm. He wanted so badly to put it back on his neck chain and just keep walking. Who had elected him savior of the world?
But though he tried, he couldn’t make himself move on down the sidewalk. He kept hearing Jaimie’s cries of hunger. He lifted his head and hauled in a deep breath of air so icy it nearly choked him. Kitchen exhaust from a diner emitted the scent of grilled meat on the brisk breeze, the odor almost acrid. His eyes burned as he stared through the streaked front windows of the pawnshop at the jewelry and electric guitars and doodads on display. Broken dreams. Life had a way of dealing rotten hands, and the sad stories were as varied as the people who experienced them. Now one more broken dream would lie in there on that cheap red velvet.
Maggie’s posterior nearly parted company with the floor when she heard footsteps outside the boxcar. The next instant, Kendrick appeared in the doorway, winter sunshine glancing off his black Stetson and tangled hair. He cast wary glances up and down the track, checking to be sure no one had seen him, a reminder that they both could be arrested if they were caught on this train.
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Until now, she’d tried to be a model citizen, working hard, paying her bills, and never breaking the law, not even to cheat on her taxes. Now, here she was, miles from home, keeping company with a tramp and well on the way to looking like one herself.
As he braced a palm on the floor to vault inside, she couldn’t fail to notice the play of muscle under the loose fit of his chambray shirt. He landed on both feet and straightened to his full height with a fluid strength. Maggie could easily picture him scaling a pasture fence with the same ease, grabbing hold of a post and leaping over as if no barrier existed. He was a tall man, and if the hardened bulges that padded his long frame were an indication, his body had been toned by years of physical labor. Though he’d evidently lost a lot of weight, the thick overlays of lean muscle still gave him impressive bulk.
For the second time since meeting him, she wondered what on earth had happened to make him choose this way of life. Was he wanted by the authorities? For reasons beyond her, he didn’t strike her as the criminal type. But then, the same had been said by many people about the notorious Ted Bundy. Her throat tightened as he strode toward her. His every footfall rocked the boxcar and created a plodding tattoo that echoed all around her. His gunmetal gaze held hers, the visual contact making her feel stripped bare despite the sheepskin that enfolded her. With that heavy growth of black beard, he looked ruthless and determined; his strong jaw was set as if he found this situation almost as distasteful as she did. That made no sense at all. If he found their bargain disgusting, he wouldn’t be here with the items she requested.
Tucked under one arm, he carried a paper sack, the top folded over so the contents wouldn’t spill. Judging by the large dimensions of the package, he’d purchased more than a baby bottle and formula.
A tremor of sheer dread coursed through her, for she knew she’d pay dearly for every dime he had spent. She wanted to huddle around Jaimie, let her head fall to her knees, and sob. But no. She’d struck this bargain with him, and she wouldn’t let herself blubber and complain now that it was time to pay up.
“Do you feel like you can walk a couple of blocks?”
“Why?”
He arched one black eyebrow. She’d always envied people who could do that. “I’m taking you to a motel where you and Jaimie will be warm and can rest. Maybe get you something to eat. How long since you had a decent meal?”
Maggie had grabbed a piece of toast yesterday morning before she left the house with Jaimie. From that point on, everything had turned nightmarish. She was sort of hungry now—in an empty, nauseated way. But, oh, God, she didn’t want this man to buy her anything to eat.
“Buying me a meal and renting a room wasn’t part of our deal,” she reminded him. “All I care about is feeding Jaimie.”
He looked momentarily nonplussed. Then his eyes cleared and took on an amused glint, his firm mouth slanting into a grin that looked raffish. “Maybe I think you’re worth more than a baby bottle and a can of formula.” As he spoke, he bent to grasp her elbow. “Up you come. When a man wants to pay more than the asking price, a smart woman doesn’t argue the point.”
Oh, yes, she did. She was already in too deep. You got nothing for free, especially from a man. “I don’t want to get into some big, drawn-out thing,” she protested, even as he led her to the doorway. “I just want the bottle and formula for my baby, nothing more. If you’re hoping for an all-nighter, forget it.”
He released his hold on her arm and jumped from the boxcar with the same powerful grace he’d exhibited earlier, which did little to ease her mind. A motel? What did he have planned? A sexual marathon? Oh, God. Her legs felt as if they might buckle, and now that she was standing up, she had an awful, burning need to use the bathroom. It was also impossible for her to stand erect. The pain across her lower back became excruciating when she tried.
“Did you hear me?” she pressed. “I don’t want to go to a motel.”
He turned, set the package on the floor near her feet, and reached up for Jaimie. “I heard you, angel face,” he said, still grinning slightly. “And I promise you, an ‘all-nighter’ would be far too taxing for an old guy like me.”
She burned to tell him where he could stuff it. But she’d been on the receiving end of a man’s anger enough times to know better than to ask for it. Besides, she still didn’t have the baby bottle or formula in her possession. He might throw that sack in the next trash can he saw if she refused to cooperate.
For a moment, she stood there, clinging to Jaimie and glaring at him, but in the end, her physical condition forced her to relinquish her hold on the child. If he was absolutely bent on going to a motel, she had little choice but to go along with the idea. He who had the money called the shots.
After taking Jaimie, Rafe tucked him in the crook of one arm and reached up to take her hand. Pressing her other palm on her ribs, Maggie tensed to jump. The next instant, he gave a sharp tug, pulling her off balance. As she fell forward, he released her hand and caught her with his empty arm, clasping her firmly to his broad chest and sweeping her smoothly to the ground. The impact of her body against his made her throb from head to toe, and for an awful minute, she was afraid she might pass out.
“I’m sorry. I know that hurt, but you’re so weak I was afraid you might fall, and it’s quite a drop to the ground.”
He held her against his hard length until she gained her feet, making her horribly aware of his greater strength. Then he collected the sack from the boxcar, his gaze lingering on her as he jostled the child and package to get a comfortable hold on both.
Glancing around the train yard, he asked, “Can you make it two blocks without help?”
Maggie shivered inside the coat, her attention darting to the bundled baby in his arms. “Yes,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Let me carry Jaimie, though. Either that, or you wear the coat so he won’t get cold.”
He glanced down at the sleeping baby. “He’s fine with the jacket and sweatshirt around him. In five minutes, we’ll be in the room.”
He struck off, leaving Maggie to follow. Given the fact that he had her baby, he might as well have had her on a leash. She clamped a hand over her ribs and walked as swiftly as she could to keep up.
He set a brisk pace until they were out of the train yard. Once on the sidewalk, he paused to wait for her, his expression unreadable. “Sorry about the footrace. Coming and going in a railroad yard, it pays not to let any grass grow.”
Maggie understood the need for caution. Huffing for breath and covering the remaining distance between them on legs that threatened to fold, she said, “No problem. I don’t want to get tossed in jail any more than you do.”
“I doubt we’d get arrested. Most times, the law looks the other way unless somebody causes trouble. Railroad employees are a slightly different ball game, though, and it’s a lot less hassle if you can avoid them.” His gaze searched hers. Maggie tried to slow her breathing, but her lungs didn’t seem to be inflating to full capacity. “You okay?” he asked.
By way of response, all she could manage was a nod.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’d carry you if I could.”
Coming to a stop, she yearned to lean against him and rest for a moment. Then she remembered where they were going and thought better of it. A motel? “I—I really haven’t the time for this,” she tried again, hoping he might have a change of heart. “I’ve got to get where I’m headed and find a job.”
He thrust the sack into her hands. It was surprisingly heavy, and not expecting the weight, Maggie nearly dropped it. While she grappled to get a better hold, he looped his arm around her back and drew her against his side. “Lean into me. Maybe that’ll help. It’s only two blocks. If we take it slow, maybe you can make it that far.” He bent his head and craned his neck to see her face. “Is my arm hurting you?”
With the thick coat to provide cushion, the pressure on her bruises was painful but not unbearably so. His support also helped to ease the ache across her lower back. Shaking her head, she said, “Did you hear me? I have to find a job so I can send for my little sister. Will another train leave here this morning?”
Without offering a reply, he set off, keeping a slower pace this time and supporting her weight against him. Finally he said, “You can leave tomorrow morning.” As he spoke, he drew her inexorably along the sidewalk. Maggie felt like a condemned prisoner being dragged to the execution chamber. “At the motel, you can eat a little something and get some sleep. Right now, you couldn’t work to save your soul, and you know it. What do you do, anyway?”
She blinked, wishing the air weren’t so cold. It hurt to breathe. She cast another worried glance at her baby. “Is Jaimie’s face covered?”
“He’s bundled up like an Express Mail package.”
He drew to a stop on a curb, puffs of vapor forming with his breath as he glanced up and down the empty street. The building fronts were a blur to Maggie, but even so, she noted the absence of automobiles at the parking meters that lined the sidewalks. “Where is everyone?”
“When I walked into town earlier, I saw a sign that says the population inside the city limits is only a little over four thousand, and if that clock inside the bank is right, it’s only nine-forty, which is still pretty early. This is largely a ranching community, and ranchers don’t usually come to town until they’ve finished morning chores.”
What bank? Maggie blinked again, feeling oddly separated from reality. “Do you do secretarial or assembly-line work?” he asked as he guided her across the icy asphalt to the opposite curb. “Prior’s not that big a town. I can’t imagine its being a hub of opportunity.”
“Waitress,” she managed to reply.
“Ah.” He sounded none too impressed.
Maggie tried to straighten away from him, but the circle of his arm around her was as unyielding as forged steel. “I know it’s a dead-end job, but I make—really good tips. A better monthly take-home than any secretary, that’s for sure. Prestige takes a second seat when you have a family to feed and bills to pay.”
He glanced down at her, the shadow cast by his hat brim concealing the expression in his eyes. “A family to feed, huh? Does that mean you’re married and have other kids besides Jaimie?”
“No, I—” Maggie caught herself before she said too much. She angled him a look. “Fishing for information, Mr. Kendrick?”
He smiled. “And getting nowhere fast. Unfortunately for you, mysterious women have always fascinated me. So…you make good tips?” He nodded. “I can believe it.”
She wondered what he meant by that, but she was too weary to pursue it. The sidewalk ahead of her seemed to stretch for a thousand miles. Her legs felt heavy and rubbery. “How much farther is it, anyhow?”
“Not very far.” He drew to a stop, cradling her against him. “We’ll just rest here a minute. There’s no fire, right?”
His broad chest was there, offering a perfect spot to lay her cheek. Maggie tried to resist, but she couldn’t. With numb arms, she hugged the package and nestled in beside Jaimie to lean against him. As if he understood how weak and woozy she felt, he supported nearly all her weight. “I’m sorry,” she grated out. “I’m afraid you struck a poor bargain. I feel sort of sick.”
“Sick?” he repeated sharply. “Where?”
“All over. Like I’ve been run over by a truck, and I’m kind of nauseated.”
She felt the steamy warmth of his breath on the crown of her head. “If the pain in those ribs doesn’t ease up, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No.” Maggie tried to push away from him, only to be foiled by his hold on her. “I told you, I can’t go around a bunch of people. Besides, I can’t afford a hospital. Do you know how expensive emergency-room treatment can be?”
“Calm down. It was just a thought.”
“As bruised up as I am, I’m bound to be sore. I don’t need a doctor.”
“All right, all right,” he said in a soothing tone. “Forget I suggested it. Maybe you’ll feel better once you eat and get some rest.”
With him footing the bill for both the food and the room? She wouldn’t feel better until she saw the last of him. Oh, how she wanted to refuse his generosity, but her baby needed to be fed, and she couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to think of an alternative. She just wanted to lean against him and keep her eyes closed forever.
He nudged her erect. “It’s not much farther. You game? Or do you want me to get Jaimie settled in the room and come back for you? With nothing to carry, I can pack you the rest of the way if it’s too hard to walk on your own.”
Maggie wasn’t about to let her baby out of her sight. “I can walk,” she insisted, and somehow she managed to do just that, planting one foot in front of the other until he finally said, “Here we are. You wait here for me, all right? I’ll only be a minute.”
Maggie was grateful for the overhang post he propped her against. Clutching the bag to her chest, she rested her cheek against the wood and gazed after him. He stepped into a small, glass-fronted motel office. From where she stood, Maggie could see that a plump lady with gray hair manned the registration desk, which was little more than a scarred counter boasting a ratty potted fern and a display of brochures. Holding Jaimie in one arm, Rafe reached into his pants pocket for some money while the woman asked him questions and filled out some sort of form. Minutes later, he emerged holding a black plastic key ring with the number fourteen printed in faded white on its oval surface.
“I tried to get two beds,” he explained as he helped her across the empty parking lot toward one of the cottages. “But all she has is singles. It’s a queen-size, though. That’s a plus. Right?”
Maggie focused on the front of the cabin as he unlocked the door. White siding with red trim glared in the morning light, the lower horizontal panels spattered with flecks of mud by runoff from the eaves. Empty red window boxes, in sad need of paint, underscored the windows. The door creaked when he pushed it open. As he drew her into the room, she tripped on the threshold and might have fallen if not for the grip of his hand on her elbow.
The faint, closed-up smell of mildew blasted her in the face. Maggie stood just inside the door, numbly taking in her surroundings, which consisted of a dated dresser with a filmy mirror, a bed draped in white chenille, and an awful brown shag carpet that was so worn the nap lay flat. A rusty wall heater sat cold beneath a window covered by droopy short drapes that had once been white but were now yellow with age, one of the panels stained by a window leak.
“Well, it’ll do in a pinch. At least it looks halfway clean.”
Relieving Maggie of the paper sack, he turned on the heater and stepped around to the opposite side of the wide bed to lay Jaimie on the white chenille. As he drew away the coat and sweatshirt, the baby thrashed his legs and let out a plaintive whimper. “Right on cue for breakfast, hey, partner?” He glanced up at Maggie. “Shed the coat, honey, and lie down. I’ll crack out the formula and bring His Nibs here a bottle in a minute.”
Maggie tried to peel off the coat, but it was heavy and her arms hung at her sides like lengths of stiff garden hose. The wall heater made a monotonous humming noise that seemed to harmonize with the ringing in her ears. She watched Rafe disappear at the opposite end of the room into what she presumed was a bathroom.
His deep voice rang out from the enclosure. “Are we stylin’ or what? We even have a coffeemaker.”
She heard water run and then a squeak as he turned off the tap. Paper rustled as he opened the bag and sorted through his purchases—purchases she had yet to pay him for. During the silence that followed, she considered grabbing Jaimie and hightailing it out of there. Two things stopped her. The cowboy had the bottle and formula in the bathroom with him, and she could barely walk, let alone run.
She careened toward the bed, somehow managing to lift her feet enough to avoid falling flat. When the mattress nudged her knees, she sank gratefully onto the soft surface and buried her face in the pillow.
He’d come back in a minute and be all hot to do his thing. Think, Maggie. Unless she came up with a quick solution, he would expect her to pay him back as per the terms of their bargain. She trailed her fingertips over her bare left wrist, wishing she could offer him her watch in trade, but she’d broken the crystal at work last week, and water had gotten inside the casing.
Tears prickled behind her eyelids. That left her exactly nothing to barter with now—except her body.
Oh, how she hoped he really would let her sleep afterward. Then, perhaps, she’d feel better and would be able to leave. She just wouldn’t think about what was in store for her. That was the trick. In fact, she was so tired, maybe she would be able to sleep through the ordeal. He could wake her up when he was done—or, even better, just let her go on sleeping.
From a long way off, Maggie heard Jaimie crying. She blinked to awareness, relieved that her need to use the bathroom seemed a little less urgent now that she was in a horizontal position. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she saw Rafe standing beside the bed. With the air of a man who’d done so many times, he dribbled formula from the bottle onto the inside of his wrist.
He glanced up and smiled. “I washed everything as best I could, and I got the chill off the formula by putting the bottle in scalding hot water from the coffeepot. This is premixed so we don’t have to mess around measuring everything.”
The frayed cuffs of his shirt looked wet, an indication that he had at least scrubbed his hands. But, even so, he still looked none too clean. She could only pray Jaimie wouldn’t come in contact with some awful germ and get sick.
Rafe scooped the baby into his arm and offered him the bottle. Jaimie gummed the nipple, then pulled an awful face. Rafe chuckled and began walking, nudging the baby’s mouth with the latex tip and jiggling him gently.
“I know it’s not quite like what your mama has,” she heard him say huskily, “but I don’t come with the same equipment. Ah, there. See? It doesn’t taste so bad.” He gave another low laugh. “Whoa, son. Not that fast, or you’ll get a bellyache.” The nipple drew air when Rafe tugged it from Jaimie’s mouth, the formula inside the bottle bubbling. He glanced at Maggie. “He’s draining it like a little siphon hose.”
Maggie yearned to get up and feed the baby herself, but the leaden heaviness of her body dictated otherwise. She watched longingly as Rafe held Jaimie over his shoulder and gently thumped his back to burp him.
“You’re good at this,” she observed hoarsely. “Have you been around lots of babies?”
A blank expression crossed his dark face as he resettled Jaimie in the bend of his arm and began feeding him again. “Yeah, I’ve been around a couple,” he replied, his voice sounding oddly hollow. “Caring for them is kind of like riding a horse. You never forget how.”
Maggie lowered her gaze, feeling as if she’d trespassed on forbidden ground. Glancing back up, she said, “I didn’t mean to pry. I just—”
“No problem.” His larynx bobbed as though he were swallowing a golf ball. When he spoke again, the sadness in his tone lay heavily on the air. “I had two kids, a boy and a girl.”
Maggie couldn’t help but note that he had referred to both children in the past tense. “Are you divorced?”
He kept his gaze fixed on the baby, his silence stretching out for so long she thought he meant to let the question go unanswered. But he finally said, “No,” his voice gruff with emotion. “I, um—lost them in a car wreck.”
Maggie’s stomach clenched, and she wished with all her heart she had never asked. She started to say she was sorry, but the words seemed so trite that she chose to say nothing at all. Her gaze flew to Jaimie. She didn’t think she could bear it if something happened to him.
“It’s been over two years,” he told her. “For a long time, I knew exactly how long ago, right down to the hour and minute. But then I hocked my watch.” He laughed, softly and bitterly. “A good thing, I guess. Counting the minutes I’d been without them was kind of morbid. And it didn’t do any good.”
Maggie’s mouth felt as dry as powder. She still didn’t know what to say.
“But hey, life goes on,” he said more brightly, his gaze still fixed on the baby. His mouth curved in a slight smile. “Right, little fella?”
He plucked the nipple from the baby’s mouth and held up the nearly empty bottle. “You finished that off in nothing flat. Next time, I better fix you more.”
He set the bottle on the nightstand and shifted the baby back to his shoulder. When Jaimie emitted a loud burp, Rafe grimaced. “Christ! Right down my collar!” He smiled and winked at Maggie. “I guess I don’t remember everything about babies. Rule number one when you burp a kid: always wear protective gear.”
He laid the baby on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom again. A moment later, he came back with a disposable diaper and wet washcloth.
“I’ll change him,” Maggie said, struggling to rise.
He glanced up. “I can handle this just fine. You see to yourself. You can get that coat off, for starters, before you melt. It’s getting warm in here.”
She pushed weakly to her feet and wrestled with the sheepskin, which felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Once she managed to shrug one shoulder free, the garment plopped heavily around her feet. Perspiration filming her body, she stared down at it, too exhausted to pick it up.
“I’ll get the coat later,” he assured her. “Jaimie’s already nodding off to sleep, so it’s not as if he needs you for anything. You just concentrate on shucking your clothes, all right?”
Her clothes? Maggie glanced from the coat to the dingy T-shirt she wore. Of course he expected her to undress. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She imagined stripping off and standing before him naked. The very thought was so humiliating that she wanted to die. Oh, God. What was she doing here?
Don’t think, she told herself firmly. Just shut it all out. Concentrate on Jaimie. He’s got food in his tummy, and he’s warm and dry. No matter what it costs you, his needs are being met, and that’s all that matters.
She fixed her gaze on the opposite end of the room where the bathroom was located. One foot in front of the other one. You can do it. The walls seemed to lean inward as she circled the end of the bed. She glimpsed her reflection in the filmy mirror and thought she saw two of herself.
“Easy, honey. I’ve got you,” a deep voice murmured next to her ear.
Not two of herself. Rafe was beside her. She felt his big hands clasping her elbows, and though she longed to pull away, she let him support her weight instead. Oh, God. This was so embarrassing.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. Pathetic was how it sounded.
“No worries.”
Once in the bathroom, he guided her to the toilet, then reached around her and quickly unsnapped her jeans. The sound of her zipper made alarm bells go off in her mind. “No. I can—by myself. Please.”
“I know,” he assured her. “I’m just getting you lined out here. Then I’ll leave. Can you hold onto the vanity so you don’t fall?”
Maggie grabbed the Formica edge of the countertop with both hands. “Yes,” she said weakly. “Got it. Fine, now. I’m fine.”
She heard him swear under his breath, and for a terrible moment, she feared he might insist on staying in there to help her. “Please, Mr. Kendrick. Go now, please.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Maggie couldn’t answer, so she just nodded. To her immeasurable relief, he left and closed the bathroom door. The small enclosure seemed to spin around her, but somehow she managed to maneuver. When she was finished, she got her jeans button fastened, but the zipper defied her rubbery fingertips.
“Maggie? Honey, are you done?”
She gave up on the zipper and let her arms dangle at her sides. What was wrong with her? Never had she felt so awful. She’d used the rest room, but she still had that burning ache. Did she have a bladder infection? She’d never had one, so she wasn’t sure how they felt. Her boss Terry got them sometimes, and she said drinking lots of cranberry juice always helped.
The bathroom door cracked open. The next instant, her boxcar cowboy had a strong arm around her waist. “Jesus, honey. There’s a time and place for modesty, and this ain’t it.” He helped her to the sink and washed her hands as if she were a child. It struck Maggie as odd that a tramp would bother. He grabbed a small towel from the rack and blotted her fingers dry. “There you go.”
The next instant, the room turned upside down. Maggie gave a thin cry and clutched his neck, dimly realizing he had picked her up. “What’re you—oh, God, don’t drop me!”
She thought she detected laughter in his voice when he replied, “I doubt you’d tip the scales at a hundred and ten, fully clothed and soaking wet. I think I can manage. You need feeding up. How long since you ate?”
“Yesterday.”
“What did you have?”
“Toast.”
“Well, hell. No wonder you’re thin.”
He carried her back to the bed, depositing her gently on her feet beside it. Maggie tried to sink down onto the mattress next to Jaimie, but Rafe caught her by the elbows and drew her back up. His slate-blue eyes locked with hers for a long moment, and then he grasped the hem of the T-shirt. “Let me help you shuck your clothes. All right?”
She could tell by his tone of voice that he wasn’t really requesting permission. It was more a warning of what was to come. When he started to tug the shirt up, she curled her fingers over his broad wrists, wanting to push his hands away. But she didn’t have the strength. Instead, she simply rested her palms on his tattered cuffs, unable to tighten her grip. Tears filled her eyes again. Angry with herself, she tried to blink them away, but they kept coming.
He made fast work of peeling the shirt off over her head. Then, tossing it aside, he caught her under the chin with the crook of his finger. Lifting her tear-streaked face, he said, “What’s this?”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I’m not very good at casual encounters.”
“Casual encounters, huh? Is that what this is?”
She recalled all the public-awareness commercials she’d seen on television, and a new, extremely worrisome concern zigzagged through her head. “Mr. Kendrick? I do hope you thought to get a—” She gulped and blinked at a wave of dizziness. “A you-know-what.”
He chuckled. “We don’t need one.”
“Yes.” Her head cleared a bit, and she got his face into focus. Tangled hair, scruffy whiskers, and a shirt that looked as if it had been used to scour a pot…He was a walking, talking risk factor. “Please. Would you go get one? I’m not in the habit, and I’m afraid I’m not prepared.”
“Yeah, well…I figured as much. “Sandpapery fingertips brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You’re also a rotten judge of character. Do you really think I brought you here for a tumble in the hay?”
Maggie gazed up at him through a swimming blur. “That was our bargain. I owe you for the stuff you bought.”
He rubbed at her cheeks again. “Hell’s bells, girl.” He gave a throaty laugh. “Would you stop looking at me like that? I’m not expecting paybacks. All right? If you insist on keeping it even, you’ll have to give me a rain check. Red and purple not being my favorite colors, I can’t get excited about collecting on the debt until those bruises are gone.”
“I can’t stay here until then. I told you, I have to get where I’m going and find a job. My little sister is waiting for me to send for her, and I—”
He cut her off by pushing her down to sit on the edge of the bed. “And you’re not interested in a big, drawn-out thing,” he finished for her. “I read you, loud and clear. So I guess you’ll just have to owe me.”
“But I won’t be able to pay you back. I told you, remember?”
Hunkering before her, he lifted one of her feet onto his knee and began untying her sneaker. “I remember.” He drew off the shoe and sock, the grip of his warm fingers sending jolts up her calf. After lowering her bare foot to the rug, he lifted her other leg. “I kind of like the idea of a pretty lady being forever in my debt. On Judgment Day, maybe it’ll count as a point in my favor. You reckon?”
Maggie stared down at the top of his dark head, just now registering that he had shed his hat. “You mean you really don’t want to—well, you know—like we talked about?”
“Like you talked about,” he corrected. He tossed aside the second shoe and sock, then rose, grasping her carefully by the shoulders to draw her erect. “You know what your problem is? You assume every man you meet is a low-down skunk who’ll take advantage of you if he gets half a chance.”
Too late, Maggie realized that he had unfastened the button of her jeans as he spoke. She gave a startled gasp when he bent to tug the denim over her hips. Her panties were full-cut, but the white nylon was semitransparent.
He swore under his breath when he saw the bruises on her thighs. “That son of a bitch. If I ever run into him, he’s a dead man.”
Maggie’s attempt to cover the apex of her legs with the splay of her hands was abruptly aborted when he pressed her back down to sit on the mattress. He gently drew her jeans down to her ankles, taking care not to graze her shins.
“Damn,” he whispered. “You’re just one big bruise, sweetheart.” He tugged the denim over her feet and dropped the pants on the floor. “I’m amazed you can even walk.”
He reached behind her to turn back the covers, then stood to gaze down at her. A flush of embarrassment warmed Maggie’s skin.
“Mr. Kendrick, if you have no intention of—why are you taking all my clothes off?” she asked, her distrust lending a shrill sharpness to the question.
“So I can disinfect those cuts. Someone has to do it. Even if you were strong enough to take care of it yourself, you can’t reach two-thirds of them. You don’t want infection to set in, do you?”
Maggie had dreaded living up to her side of their bargain, but this latest development seemed even worse. She had cuts everywhere, some in places she would die of humiliation if he touched. She imagined lying naked while he examined every bare inch of her, and the prospect was so alarming, she found it difficult to breathe.
“But I’m nearly naked,” she observed, her voice quaking.
“I’ll do my best to make this easy for you. Haul out my manners. Be a complete gentleman. I promise not to uncover all of you at once. How’s that sound?”
Maggie could only think of the parts he would uncover.
“You’d be more exposed in a bikini,” he pointed out, as though that should make her feel better. “I can’t really see much.”
She was clinging to that thought and trying to convince herself she wasn’t really indecently clad when he slipped his hands around to her back and tried to unfasten her bra. After tugging at it several times, he said, “Shit,” and leaned around so he could see. “A woman invented these damned things. I’d bet money on it. I’ve never pulled off a sneaky bra maneuver in my life.” He finally conquered the clasp with a clumsy tug and jerk. “When I was seventeen, I even swiped one of my mom’s bras to practice my technique.”
She gave him a startled look that he met with a wink and lazy grin. She had a feeling he was making this story up, trying to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn’t feel self-conscious.
“It’s a guy thing. If you don’t pass Bra Clasps 101, you’re flat out of luck with the girls. I practiced every night, no lie, and I still never got the hang of it. One day Mom found the bra under my mattress and told my dad. He confessed to me later he was worried sick for over a year that I was a cross-dresser.”
“A cross what?”
He chuckled. “Never mind.”
To her immense relief, he didn’t draw the bra cups from her breasts, which at least gave her some covering. Instead, he gave her a gentle push, and she found herself flat on her back. Before she had time to protest or feel alarmed, he drew the bedcovers over her and tucked them around her shoulders.
“There. Completely hidden again. Now that wasn’t so bad. Was it?”
His tone reminded her of the one he’d used to cajole Jaimie into nursing from the bottle—his voice pitched low, the vibrant timber seeming to surround her with warmth. Only she wasn’t quite as trusting as her son. Her bra was undone, which had to mean he planned to relieve her of it soon.
He left her to chew on that worry while he returned to the bathroom. She heard him rustling the paper bag and clanking around, and she closed her eyes in dread. A moment later, the muted tread of his boots on the carpet reached her, the sounds moving closer. She didn’t need to lift her lashes to know when he came to stand over her. She felt his nearness in every pore of her skin. A glass bottle made a chink on the nightstand. Then the mattress sank sharply at the outer edge as he sat down.
She could only guess what might come next, the one certainty being that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Panic welled. She knotted her hands into fists at her sides and forced herself to be calm. Pride. Maybe to some people it was only a word, but aside from her son, it was all she had left. After everything she had endured to come this far, she’d be damned if she would let a small dose of humiliation get the best of her. So far, at least, Rafe Kendrick didn’t strike her as being a cruel man. Not that you could tell much about a man’s nature on such short acquaintance.
Oh, yes, she’d learned the hard way just how treacherous men could be, being kind one moment and acting like barbarians the next. Recalling those experiences now, her instincts warned her not to trust him.
Only if he meant her harm, what was he waiting for? They were alone in a seedy motel room behind a locked door. There was no one to intervene. In short, there was nothing to stop him from being a jerk.
“I can stack the pillows behind you so you don’t have to actually sit up by yourself,” he offered. “You think that might help?”
Maggie merely nodded. Speaking was beyond her. Afraid that her bra straps might slip off her shoulders, she clutched the covers to her chest when he slipped an arm behind her. She needn’t have bothered. Once she gained a sitting posture and he released her to plump the pillows, she saw that he had been holding the bedspread over her front.
He caught her look of surprise and gave a dry laugh. “This isn’t exactly what you were expecting, I take it.” He shrugged. “Think about it. Is there a spot on you that I could touch without hurting you?”
Some men wouldn’t care. Maggie knew that. Oh, God, she was going to bawl and make a total fool of herself. He was bound to think she was crazy, and she wouldn’t blame him.
It was just—so unexpected. A dirty drunkard in tattered cowboy garb, turning out to be the kindest man she had encountered since her father died? It made no sense. Everyone knew that practically all railroad bums were lowlifes who’d steal from a blind man if the opportunity arose. How had she been so lucky as to meet one of the few nice ones? Maybe God actually had heard her prayers, after all, and He’d answered by sending her this man.
He handed her the bottle of medication and a cotton ball. A strong antiseptic smell seared her nostrils.. “I’ll hold the spread up close, so don’t worry about me looking over the top. You just get the bra off and concentrate on doctoring your chest.”
With shaking hands, Maggie drew the straps down her arms, laid the bra aside, and tipped the bottle to moisten the cotton. As she began dabbing at the cuts, the alcohol in the antiseptic smarted so badly she gasped and blew to ease the sting.
“Christ. I should have read the labels, I guess. I might have bought something that wouldn’t burn.”
“It’s f-fine. I appreciate that you even bothered. It wasn’t part of our deal, you buying stuff for me.”
“Our deal. You sound like one of my dad’s scratched records. I wish you’d get that bargain you made with me out of your head.”
Feeling strangely vague and detached from reality, she glanced up. “You really have a dad?”
He narrowed an eye. “No, a stork dropped me on my mother’s doorstep.”
“Well, of course you have a dad. What I meant was—” She broke off, not entirely sure what she meant. Her mind didn’t seem to be tracking right, which left her mouth to operate solo. “It’s just that you—well, looking at you, one doesn’t picture you with a family. Parents, brothers and sisters, and all of that.”
“I assure you that I’m normal in that respect, with a mom, a dad, and a brother.” He loosened his hold on the spread with one hand to rub his bewhiskered jaw. “God, do I look that bad?”
Maggie’s thinking was so hazy it took her a moment to realize he’d turned loose of one side of the bedspread. She grabbed for the drooping section.
“Oops! Sorry.” He jerked the chenille back up. “I didn’t see a thing. Honest.”
Above the scraggly growth of beard, the skin over his high cheekbones turned a ruddy red. She knew he was lying through his teeth. At least he had the good grace to blush.
“All done?” At her nod, he relinquished the spread into her keeping while he helped her lie back down. “It hurts like hell, doesn’t it? I got sandwiched between a corral rail and a bull once. Cracked two ribs, so I can sympathize.”
“So the cowboy apparel isn’t just for looks?” she asked, her breath snagging with a catch in her side.
He tucked the covers over her. “For looks? You’re joking, right? Even back when I was a rancher, I never dressed to make a fashion statement, and I’ve gone downhill on greased runners since.”
Maggie studied his chiseled features, trying to imagine what he’d look like cleaned up. His blue eyes were the kind to make a woman’s heartbeat skitter, and his large, sharply bridged nose was attractive on him, but she could see little of his lower face with the whiskers covering so much. He had a strong, square jaw and chin. She could discern that. And a full, sensual mouth when he wasn’t grim-lipped and scowling.
He distracted her from her perusal of him by thrusting one of the towels at her. “Cover the goods. Now it’s my turn.”
Tugging the towel under the bedding, she fumbled to spread it over her chest. When she went still, he drew the covers down to her waist. Maggie crossed her arms over the terry cloth so it wouldn’t shift.
He soaked a sterile cotton ball with medication, then started dabbing at her closest shoulder and arm. She felt so uncomfortable she closed her eyes. An instant later when she felt him blowing on her bare skin, her lids popped back open. He flicked her one of those whiskey-and-smoke looks that unsettled her so, but he didn’t stop puffing.
“Sorry, but I know how it must sting.” He returned his gaze to her shoulder. “The asshole wears a ring, doesn’t he?”
A picture of Lonnie’s diamond flashed in Maggie’s mind. Oh, how she detested that ring, knowing he’d bought it with some of her dad’s life insurance.
“You know, I’ve changed my mind about asking nothing of you as payback for the money I spent,” Rafe suddenly told her.
Her heart leaped and then sank with crushing disappointment.
“As payback, answer me this. You’re covered with bruises from the neck down. How come there isn’t so much as a mark on your face?”
Maggie swallowed, the walls of her throat feeling as if they were coated with fast-drying glue. “That’s it? All you want is the answer to one question?”
“Maybe two or three.” His eyes glinted with laughter. “Let’s agree on three. That way, I’m leaving myself some room to be nosy again if the urge hits.”
Maggie nearly smiled. “You’re selling out cheap.”
“Yeah, well, I’m letting you off easy. Usually I’m more shrewd at dickering.” He dabbed at a scrape above her elbow and blew softly on the moistened patch of raw skin, making her stomach flutter.
“Well? You gonna pay up? Or do I have to take my money’s worth out in trade?” When he met her gaze, the glint of laughter in his eyes had turned unmistakably mischievous. “Don’t press your luck too far, Maggie girl. You come nicely packaged, even if you are a little too colorfully spotted with red and purple blue to suit my tastes.”
“Bruises on my face would have been a dead giveaway that he’d beaten me up,” she hastened to reveal.
“Ah.” He nodded. “Makes sense. Can I take that to mean there’s someone else in your life who might take exception to his working you over?”
“Is that your second question?”
“Always on your toes, aren’t you?” He nodded. “We can count it as my second question if you’re forthcoming with the right answers. Not only who that person is, but why in the hell he hasn’t stomped the snot out of the bastard.”
“‘He’ is a she. My mom. And she’s a dear heart who would never dream he might hurt me unless she saw evidence of it. I’ve kept it from her. She’s in fragile health and shouldn’t get upset.”
“She can’t be much of a mother if she never noticed you gimping around.”
“She’s as good a mother as she can be, and that’s all the information you’re getting unless you want to use up all three questions.”
Rafe leaned closer to work on her arm, taking care not to let his chest graze hers. She lay rigid, her small chin lifted a notch, as if it took all of her self-control not to shove his hands away. His heart broke for her. It was horrible enough that she’d been so badly abused. But to be placed in this position, on top of it all, having to endure the indignity of a stranger touching her…Sometimes there was simply no justice in the world.
He yearned to gather her close and promise her no one would ever lay a hand on her again. But even as the thought took shape, he shoved it away. He’d been around this girl one night and part of a morning. He had no business caring about her like this. The rush of feelings he was experiencing didn’t even make sense.
When he was finished cleaning her cuts, he drew the sheet over her back, positioning the top hem well above her shoulder blades as he pushed to his feet. Regarding the back of her dark head, he said, “I have to go out for a while. Jaimie is sleeping right next to you. If he cries, do you think you’ll wake up?”
Clutching the sheet close, she eased painfully onto her side, her face so pale it was nearly as white as the pillowcase. Her long, dark eyelashes fluttered, and she fixed him with a befuddled gaze that told him she was mere inches away from flickering out like a candle flame.
“He can’t roll off the mattress?”
“I rolled up a towel as a bolster pad. He’ll be fine.” Rafe raked a hand through his hair, wincing at the tug when he hit a tangle. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” she asked faintly.
“To get some food, for one thing.”
She searched his face, her expression conveying resigned hopelessness. “You’re not coming back, are you?”
The thought had occurred to him a couple of times. He couldn’t deny it. Only he couldn’t bring himself to be quite that rotten. The edge of fear he heard in her voice made him wonder what in God’s name had happened in her young life to make her trust so little. Did she really think he would just walk out and leave her like this? She was too weak to take care of herself, let alone that baby.
“I’ll be back.”
“I know it’s not your problem, but if you don’t, I’m afraid I won’t hear Jaimie if he cries.” She gestured limply with her hand. “If I can just rest for a little bit, I’ll be better and…” Her voice trailed away, and she blinked.
A part of Rafe felt glad that she had at least come to trust him enough to want him to come back, but another part of him sensed the trap and yearned to run. He bent to collect his coat from the floor where she had dropped it. “I’ll be back, Maggie. I promise,” he said hoarsely.
As though that was all she’d needed to hear, she let her eyes fall closed. He drew on the coat and stood there for a moment, his gaze tracing the lines of her face. He couldn’t recall ever having seen a sweeter countenance. Even in that, he found cause for alarm, for until now, he had never entertained such thoughts about any woman but Susan.
After checking to make sure he had the room key, Rafe retrieved his hat and quietly let himself out. Once on the porch, he double-checked the lock to make sure no one could get inside. Then he stood and grabbed deeply for breath, his lungs aching at the influx of icy air.
As he struck off across the empty parking lot, he kept hearing the echo of her voice. His guts knotted, and he clenched his back teeth. Never in his life had he broken his word. It shamed him to realize that he yearned to now.