Authors: Dallas Schulze
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Sam wiggled the thin strip of wire in the lock, hardly breathing as he listened. The faint click as the lock gave way sounded wonderful. He tucked the wire back into his wallet and turned the knob, breathing easier when the door swung open to reveal the dark interior of the house.
He bent and lifted Babs into his arms. She was limp against him, her skin waxen. His only consolation was that her breathing seemed regular, if a little shallow. He carried her into the house, feeling his way past the furniture. The rain had increased and the heavy cloud cover was bringing darkness on early. Laying her on the bed in the one bedroom, he shrugged out of his pack and dug through it to find his flashlight.
Ten minutes later he'd discovered that there was no electricity but there were oil lamps. There was running water and the water heater must have been gas because there was hot water, though the plumbing was a bit grumpy about providing it. He'd also found blankets in one of the cabinets and there was a supply of canned goods in the kitchen.
He carried one of the lamps into the bedroom, setting it down beside the bed. Babs was still unconscious. He lifted her, stripped off his coat and then the clothes beneath it. She stirred restlessly as he slid the jeans from her but she didn't wake. Sam put his hand on her forehead, his brows drawing together as he felt the heat there. She was feverish but she didn't seem ill other than that. Outside the rain had gone from a steady drizzle to a serious downpour.
If she was seriously ill, she needed a doctor, but there was no phone. That meant he'd have to leave her alone while he walked out to the road and tried to hitch a ride. He felt her forehead again. Was it his imagination or was it warmer than it had been a moment ago?
"Damn." He bundled her into some blankets, hoping that keeping her warm was the right thing to do. She was probably just exhausted. When he thought about it, her life had been a little too full of excitement lately.
Guilt swept over him when he remembered how short tempered he'd been with her earlier. He should have seen how tired she was. Not that there would have been much he could have done about it, but he should have seen it. Maybe they could have slowed down, taken more time to rest. Of course they'd just beat the real downpour as it was.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair back from her forehead, feeling it slide through his fingers like damp silk. She looked so small, so fragile. The big bed swallowed her. She was so strong, so gutsy that it was easy to forget just how tiny she was. She packed a lot of strength into that small frame.
She stirred, her lashes lifting and then falling, as if the weight of them was just too much for her.
"Babs? Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear you." The words were little more than a mumble but they sounded grumpy enough to reassure him. He stroked her hair back, leaning down until his breath brushed across her face.
"How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere? Do you feel sick?"
Babs stirred, her head tossing on the pillow. Her lashes fluttered again and lifted, her eyes meeting his. Her eyes were almost black in the dim light of the lantern but she looked rational so the fever wasn't high enough to cause delirium.
"I'm tired."
"Is that all? Are you sure you don't hurt anywhere?"
"I'm all right. Where are we?" Her eyes wandered around the room.
"We're at the farmhouse. You fainted and I carried you here." He was easing his arm behind her as he spoke, lifting her into a half-sitting position. "Here, drink this."
"What is it?" She eyed the cup he was holding to her mouth suspiciously.
"Soup. What did you think it was? Hemlock?"
Babs sipped the warm liquid. It was clear that she resented his assistance and equally clear that she couldn't have managed on her own. She drank almost half the cup before lifting one hand to push weakly at his wrist.
"No more."
"All right." He set the cup down and eased her back down onto the pillows, tucking the covers up around her shoulders. "Are you sure you don't feel sick?"
"I'm fine," she muttered crossly. "Just tired." Her eyes fell shut.
"Okay. You get some sleep." He eased off the bed and Babs's lashes came up, her eyes unfocused but reflecting a vulnerability she'd never have let him see if she'd been fully conscious. She pulled one hand free and reached out, catching hold of his sleeve.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm just going to get us settled in for the night. I won't be far."
"Promise."
She looked like a little girl asking for reassurance. Sam felt his heart melt. "I promise. I'll stay close by." He brushed his hand over her forehead and then cupped her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his palm.
"Okay." His promise seemed to be all the reassurance she needed. Her eyes shut, her lashes forming dark crescents on her pale cheeks. She was asleep within seconds, her breathing deep and even.
Sam stayed with Babs until he was sure she was deeply asleep, his face wearing an expression of tenderness that would have surprised him if he could have seen it. When he was sure that she was going to sleep for a while, he set about reacquainting himself with the old house.
They had enough food to last for several weeks—not that they were going to be there that long. If he was right and all Babs needed was some rest, they wouldn't stay there for more than a day or two. If there was something more seriously wrong with her... He didn't complete the thought. There couldn't be anything else wrong with her. They were too isolated. It would take him hours to get to a doctor.
There was plenty of wood on the front porch and he built a fire in the fireplace, trying to take some of the damp chill off the small house. He heated the rest of the soup on the gas stove and drank it out of a mug. Babs continued to sleep and Sam continued to worry.
According to his watch, it was well past midnight when his own tiredness finally caught up with him. He banked the fire. Babs was still sleeping and her forehead felt cool. He let his hand linger against her face, studying her in the warm light of the lamp. Funny how just a few days ago he'd been thinking that she wasn't his type. Now he couldn't imagine any other type. Short, slender and shaggy blond hair seemed like the only type. Add eyes the color of milk chocolate and a mouth that begged to be kissed and you had an irresistible package.
She stirred, a slight frown drawing her brows together. Sam's thumb stroked gently over her forehead, smoothing the frown away and she seemed to relax beneath his touch. Last night she'd been wrapped in his arms and her sweet response had been like nothing else he'd ever known.
Today she'd been more like an antagonist than the sweet lover he'd held the night before. He pulled his hand away from her face, his brow furrowing. He couldn't even begin to guess what was going on behind those dark eyes. For now it wasn't important. What was important was that they both needed some rest. Who knew what the next few days might hold.
He arched his back in a bone-popping stretch and then studied the bed. There was more than enough room for two and it was the only bed in the place. It would be foolish for him to throw a sleeping bag on the floor and wake up with a backache when there was a perfectly good mattress to sleep on. Besides, it wasn't as if they didn't know each other well enough to share a bed. Over the past few days they'd shared a heck of a lot more than that.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Babs might not view things quite so simply but he was too tired to care. He stripped off his shirt but left on his jeans. The way his life had been going lately, he might have to leap out of bed and do something heroic and masterful. He only hoped that if that were the case, Babs would wake up in time to see it. He didn't particularly want to waste heroics on a sleeping audience. The thought was so foolish that Sam knew he must be more tired than he'd thought.
He blew out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness before lifting the covers. Babs stirred, mumbling fretfully as the mattress sagged beneath his weight. Within seconds she turned toward him. Sam didn't know if it was the tilt of the mattress or his warmth that drew her but she snuggled up to his side as if she belonged there.
He hesitated a moment, knowing that she wouldn't be happy if she woke up to find herself plastered to him. But there wasn't much he could do about it, he argued in his own defense. It seemed logical to make the best of the situation, which he did by putting his arm around her, pillowing her head on his shoulder.
Her small body felt remarkably good, remarkably right. A warning bell chimed somewhere in his head.
She felt too good, too right. But Sam ignored it, too tired to care. He felt as if he'd spent months on the run. The old mattress felt like heaven to his battered body and Babs's warmth along his side made it all the more complete. His arm tightened around her as his eyes drifted shut.
In the living room the banked fire flickered. Red and copper embers burned in the grate, casting out more heat than would be expected from their size. The old farmhouse slept, holding Sam and Babs safe and warm.
T
he first thing that Babs was aware of was being warm—wonderfully, deliriously warm. The second thing that registered on her sleepy mind was a steady beat under her ear. Something about its rhythm added to her feeling of contentment. Contentment. That was it. Contentment wasn't something she'd known well. The feeling was as unfamiliar as it was pleasant.
There'd been a time when she'd felt this safe and protected—a long time ago. Still half asleep, her mind wandered. She was lying in her own bed, Mickey Mouse covers pulled over her head. Somewhere in the room she could hear her father prowling about. "Where's Babs?" he kept saying, his voice full of puzzlement. She bit her lip to hold back a giggle, knowing how the game would end. He came closer and closer and she thought she'd burst because of her need to laugh.
She shrieked when he pounced, tugging the covers away from her tousled head, snatching her off the bed and tossing her in the air. "There's Babs, there's my girl. Thought you had me fooled, didn't you?"
She giggled, snuggling her face into his neck, aware of her mother's soft laughter. Aware that nothing would ever hurt her as long as they were there to love her and protect her.
But they weren't always there.
"Stop that noise at once, Babette! You're a Malone. Malones don't cry and they certainly do not scream."
Her aunt's hand closed around her upper arm, the pressure bruising as she dragged her up the stairs. Behind them in the drawing room, the rest of the family sat silent, saying nothing, doing nothing. Babs dragged her feet, pulling back against the hard pressure. Her chest hurt, aching with a pain she was too young to understand, too young to deal with. How could she explain that she was all alone. How could she make her aunt understand that every time she shut her eyes she was back in the car, alone, cold, screaming for her parents—knowing they were never going to answer her again.
"Really, you make me ashamed of you." Dodie thrust open the bedroom door and pulled Babs inside. "Just think about what you've done. Think about the scene you created. You've got to learn that we expect better of you."
"No. Don't shut the door. Please don't shut the door." She threw herself forward as the door closed behind her aunt's implacable figure, but the lock clicked with absolute finality. The sound sent her into a frenzy that she didn't understand, couldn't control. She beat on the door, the wood hurting her small hands. The screams she heard didn't seem to be her own, though they tore at her throat. No one came. She was alone. All alone.
Babs stirred, a frown pulling her brows together. The old pain was still there, surprisingly vivid, still carrying an edge. But she wasn't that child anymore, she was not helpless or alone. She was an adult, able to take care of herself. That was all a long time ago. Right now she was cozy and warm. Wonderfully, deliriously warm.
She snuggled closer to the source of the warmth, her eyes still closed. There was something she should remember, things she should be worried about. She shoved the thought away. She didn't want to wake up, didn't want to give up this marvelous feeling of peace.
A hand came up to stroke her hair back from her face. She was aware of the strength in that hand, a strength she could lean on, depend on. A lightly cal-lused palm slid across her forehead, resting there. She had dim memories of her mother doing the same.
The pillow shifted and she frowned, trying to hold on to it, not wanting to wake up completely. A low chuckle rumbled beneath her ear and then the pillow was gone and her head was resting on something much softer but without the reassuring strength she'd awakened with.
"Are you awake?" The voice was low but it was enough to bring her lashes up.
Blue. Deep, endless blue. She could fall into it and never come out. For a moment all she could see was that wonderful, intense color. She blinked and the blue sorted itself into a pair of eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.
"Sam." Her voice was a raspy whisper, barely audible.
"How are you feeling?" He was leaning on one elbow next to her, his hair falling in tousled waves onto his forehead, his eyes full of concern. His jaw looked dark and dangerous, dark with stubble.
Still half asleep, Babs reached up, touching her fingertips to his jaw, feeling the rasp of his beard. From there it was a short trip to brushing the hair back from his forehead. It slid through her fingers like black silk, warm and alive. Sam reached up, catching her hand in his. Babs watched as he brought her palm to his mouth and pressed a kiss into it. The touch of his mouth on her skin sent tingles through her body, tingles that chased away the last of the sleepy contentment and brought her back to full awareness.
She tugged her hand away, tucking it under the covers as if afraid of what it might do if left free. Sam saw the change in her expression and she thought she saw a flicker of regret in his eyes but she was too busy drawing her defenses around herself to analyze what Sam might be feeling.
"Where are we?"
"We're at my dad's old place. We were headed there, remember?"
"I remember. How did I get here?"
"You passed out like a light and I carried you here."
"Did you put me to bed?"
"Well, I didn't see anyone else to ask." Babs eyed him warily. She had already discovered that she didn't have a stitch of clothing on but somehow it didn't seem like a good idea to protest. Something in his eyes told her that she'd be the loser in that discussion.
She pulled the sheet closer around her body, trying to edge away from him. Did he have to lie there, looking so... so... male? His bare chest seemed to fill most of her field of vision and she didn't like what the sight of all those muscles was doing to her pulse.
"How are you feeling?" Sam reached to feel her forehead and she winced, moved away and then felt foolish when he arched an eyebrow in question.
"I feel fine." She held her breath while he felt her forehead. It was silly. God knows, the man had certainly done more than touch her forehead.
"I think your fever is gone."
"What fever?" It was news to her. The last thing she remembered was trudging along behind him in the rain, putting one foot in front of the other on sheer willpower.
"You were feverish last night. I was afraid you might be coming down with something but I think it was just exhaustion."
Whether he sensed her uneasiness with his nearness or just decided it was time to get up, Babs didn't know, but she drew a deep breath of relief when he rolled off the bed. The breath caught in her throat. Did he have to stand there in those damned jeans and no shirt and stretch like that? She could see every muscle and her memory presented her with unwanted images of how those muscles had felt under her hands. She shut her eyes but that only shut the image in with her.
"Are you hungry?" She opened her eyes, relieved to see him shrugging into a shirt. "The kitchen has a pretty good stock of canned goods. I can't offer you eggs Benedict but I think I can come up with something better than stale donuts."
"Where are my clothes?"
"Don't worry about it. I think you should stay in bed today. You must have been pretty exhausted to collapse like that. You won't need your clothes."
"I think I'm capable of deciding whether or not I'm capable of getting up."
"Maybe, but you don't have to worry about it because I'm deciding for you." The smile he gave her contained enough determination to outmatch her, at least in her current state. There were times when it was less humiliating to concede defeat. She looked away, her face flushing.
"I'd like to go to the bathroom, if you wouldn't mind."
"Oh. Sorry." He rummaged through his pack and then handed her one of his shirts. "The bathroom is through there. I'll just go get started on breakfast. Holler if you need me."
"I think I can manage on my own." She waited until Sam had left, pulling the door shut behind him to give her some privacy. Alone, she dropped the sheet and tugged on the shirt, rolling the sleeves back until she could see her hands before sliding to the edge of the bed and putting her feet on the wooden floor.
She hadn't realized how weak she was until she was actually on her feet. Her knees quivered with the effort of holding her upright. For a moment it was all she could do to stand, let alone walk. After a bit she felt a little more steady, but the short walk to the bathroom almost defeated her.
If the walk didn't kill her, one look at her reflection in the cracked mirror almost did. Her skin looked like an old sheet. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was dull and tangled, showing the effects of getting wet in the rain and then drying without the benefit of a comb.
A splash of cold water on her face and some careful wielding of Sam's comb restored her to the point where she felt almost human. There was nothing she could do about her pallor or the circles under her eyes. Not that it really mattered how she looked. After all there was no one to see her but Sam and it didn't matter what he thought.
Babs stared at her reflection, knowing the thought was a lie. She did care what he thought of her. But she would get over that. She couldn't afford to forget that once Sam was assured of her safety, he was going to collect his fifty thousand dollars and walk out of her life. That was an essential fact and one that would cost her dearly to forget. Sam was in this for the money, pure and simple.
She didn't blame him for it. After all he didn't owe her anything more. They'd made love but that didn't mean anything. They'd made no promises, no vows. Just because waking up in his arms had felt like coming home didn't mean that anything more was going to come of it.
She splashed more water on her face, pretending that it had nothing to do with the tears that burned in her eyes.
When she stepped out of the bathroom a short time later, the bed looked like heaven. It also looked like it was a mile away. She edged her way along the wall toward the rickety dresser and then cautiously braced her weight on it. There was still at least six feet of space to cross over and nothing to hold on to between here and there.
"Need help?" She glanced up, startled, to see Sam watching her. He'd dressed while she was in the bathroom, throwing a carelessly buttoned shirt on over his jeans and putting on his running shoes without socks. A faded kitchen towel was draped over his shoulder, an incongruously domestic touch on his very large, very undomestic frame.
She hadn't heard the door open and she wondered how long he'd been standing there. Her spine stiffened automatically and she shook her head.
"No. I'm fine, thanks." She waited a minute, hoping he would leave so that she could crawl to the bed in peace. He showed no signs of moving. In fact, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb as if prepared to wait till doomsday.
Babs threw him a glare that should have withered him where he stood but he didn't seem to notice. She couldn't stay where she was. Just staying upright was taking more strength than she'd ever have believed. The bed wasn't that far away. She could make it that far without falling on her nose.
She stepped away from the dresser, trying to look as though it was no big deal. Her legs shook but held her and she took another step. She might have made it if it hadn't been for the ancient braided rug that lay right in the middle of her path. She took a third step and her foot encountered the slight difference in height. It wasn't much but it was enough to throw off her precarious balance. She gasped and threw out her arms but Sam was there before she hit the floor.
"Stubborn little idiot." The words held an odd note. If she hadn't known it was impossible, Babs might almost have thought it was affection. He swung her up into his arms as if she weighed next to nothing.
Babs lay still against his chest, not looking at his face, trying not to notice how hard his muscles felt. He carried her the few feet to the bed and set her down gently, tugging the covers up over her and tucking the worn feather pillows behind her back.
"Thank you." Babs had to force the words out. She didn't want to depend on him. Not him, not anybody. It wasn't a good idea to depend on people. In her experience, they usually let you down.
"Are you hungry? You didn't answer me before."
"A little." Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, belying her casual tone. To his credit, Sam didn't laugh out loud. He didn't even smile but the deep tucks that appeared in his cheeks revealed his amusement. Babs glanced up at him, meeting the dancing blue of his eyes. A reluctant smile tilted her mouth.
"All right. Maybe more than a little."
"How about some canned corned beef hash and some canned corn? I hope you don't mind canned food. It's all we've got."
"Right now anything sounds wonderful, canned or otherwise."
"I don't think we have any otherwise. Stay there." He tucked the covers more firmly around her, stopping her move to get up. "I'll bring it in to you. I want you to rest as much as possible."
Remembering how her last venture out of bed had ended, Babs didn't argue with him. The last thing she wanted was to find herself in Sam Delanian's arms again. The very last thing.
The food tasted wonderful. Babs ate every scrap, balancing a metal tray on her knees. Outside the rain continued to fall, giving no sign of letting up. Sam kept the fire going in the living room and it emitted enough heat to take the edge off the chill air. Tucked into the old bed, Sam's flannel shirt wrapped around her and covers piled over her, Babs felt surprisingly good.
After Sam took the tray away, she lay back against the pillows and stared out at the falling rain, trying to define just what it was that she felt. She felt warm and... cherished. That was it. Cherished.