Several wasted matches later, half of which sputtered out because she was shaking so violently, she deduced that the handle at the lantern’s base was the pump mentioned in the nearly obliterated instructions just below the charred glass globe. She pumped, twisted the stem to lock the valve, and thrust a lighted match through an opening to light the little net sacks suspended inside.
Ka—whoosh! Excess fuel vapor ignited, the heat blasting her in the face. She fell back, throwing up her arm, fairly sure her hair would be afire if not for its being so wet. God. The idea wasn’t to burn the place down. With a palsied hand, she adjusted the fuel valve. The explosive brightness dimmed, becoming a mellow spill of light.
She ran back to Rafe. As she fell to her knees beside him, she could see his chest rising and falling. Old habits died hard. She touched her fingertips to his throat, just to be sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. His pulse thrummed against her fingers, strong and steady. Foolishness. But after living with a person who had serious heart problems, she couldn’t help but feel a sick fear for him. Just exhausted. That was all. He’d be all right soon. He would.
Struggling to stand, she took stock of their temporary shelter. Along one wall was a wood-framed cot, the bare striped ticking of the mattress and single pillow a blur. She blinked to bring the stripes into focus. The mattress was scarcely wide enough to sleep one person comfortably. Above it on two board shelves was an assortment of old but clean clothing—faded jeans, what looked like a stack of red, insulated long johns, some rolled boot socks, and a couple of old work shirts, the usual ranch-issue blue chambray. There was also a stack of wool blankets that would come in handy.
Rafe had said this place was kept stocked for emergencies. Maggie could see that it was. Definitely not fancy, but it seemed like a palace. She turned toward an old iron cookstove, so relieved to see the huge pile of wood stacked neatly beside it she nearly wept. She’d never used a wood cookstove, but she’d never used a lantern before, either, and now she had light.
In a frantic hurry, she went to work, her one thought to get Rafe warm.
Once she had a fire roaring in the stove, she went back to him. Just stripping the wet leather coat off him was exhausting work. He was heavy and limp, and so was the jacket. But she managed because she had to.
“I’ll make it, Maggie,” he muttered. “I’ll make it.”
Tears scalded her eyes as she tossed the jacket aside. She leaned over to cup his cold face between her hands, remembering all the many times he’d touched her in much the same way, gazing down at her as if to memorize every line of her features. Well…his face was carved on her heart. The stubborn thrust of his square chin. The muscular ridge along his jaw. The jutting bridge of his slightly crooked nose. The arch of his thick, black eyebrows. The light of laughter in his smoky blue eyes.
“You already made it. You got us here, Rafe. You got us here.”
His dark lashes fluttered. “Love you, Maggie. I do.”
The tears in her eyes became a swimming blur. “I know. I know, Rafe. Just rest now. You don’t need to talk. There’s nothing that needs saying.”
“Don’t care.” He tried to touch her cheek. His arm fell before he spanned the distance. He blinked, his eyes unfocused. “About Lonnie. It doesn’t matter.”
“I know.”
His eyelids drooped. “Love you, no matter what.”
Maggie no longer doubted it. If what he’d done tonight wasn’t proof enough, nothing ever would be. “I love you, too. No matter what.”
As she said those words, Maggie knew she was taking that final step toward a commitment that would last a lifetime, and such a step didn’t come quite as easily for her as she had insinuated to Rafe while they were arguing in the Ford. She loved him, yes. And she was no longer terrified to have sex with him. But that didn’t mean she was exactly eager to do so, either. Old terrors weren’t quite that easily overcome.
No matter. She would simply follow Rafe’s example, setting aside her own wants and needs in favor of his. When he wanted to make love, she would do it, and if the experience was a trial, she would somehow get through it and pretend she liked it. For him.
His mouth twisted in a ghost of a smile and then his face went lax as Maggie applied herself to the task of tearing the wet clothes off of him. She had to stand up and pull to remove his boots. When he and the second boot parted company, it happened so suddenly that she fell against the door.
A few minutes later when she began fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, he jerked, clamped a hand over his crotch, and opened his eyes to focus blearily on her. “Maggie?” he slurred, shuddering with the cold.
“It’s me.”
His eyes fell closed again. She smiled tremulously. Evidently he trusted her, for he drew away his hand and plopped it on the floor. As she peeled off his wet jeans and boxers, she was peripherally aware that he was as ruggedly gorgeous naked as he was fully clothed. His skin was the color of aged oak. Thick overlays of muscle padded his long frame. At the juncture of his thighs, his sex rested in limp glory against a shiny thatch of coarse ebony. As she unbuttoned his shirt, she discovered that a narrowing swath of equally dark hair led from there up to his flat, striated belly.
She couldn’t waste precious seconds to admire him properly, but, oh, how she wanted to. He was beautiful, like a wood sculpture, rubbed to a high sheen.
She jerked her gaze away and went to fetch a set of the long johns. Once she had tugged a pair of the bottoms on him, she sat back on her heels, so drained it was all she could do not to collapse beside him. He could survive without a shirt. She’d pile all the blankets on him once she got him in bed.
“Rafe?”
He moaned.
“Rafe, I can’t get you to bed. You have to wake up.” She patted his cheeks, coaxing a groan from him. “I know you’re exhausted, but you have to help me.” She slipped an arm under his shoulders and strained to lift him. “Come on. It’s only a few feet.”
“Oh, God.” He struggled to sit up, then waved her off. “I can do it.”
He twisted onto his knees and crawled. She hovered anxiously over him. Once beside the cot, he grabbed the frame and flung a leg onto the mattress like a drunk trying to mount a horse. She got behind him and pushed. After a few false starts, he finally made it, sprawling facedown on the pillow.
“Sorry,” he mumbled into the bare ticking. “So sorry, honey.”
Maggie dragged the entire stack of blankets off the shelf and covered him with multiple layers of wool. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Rafe. Running off like that. It was such a stupid thing to do. I’m so sorry.”
He just lay there for a moment. Maggie thought he’d passed back out. Then he mumbled, “Maggie?”
“What?” she asked, yearning to hear him say he forgave her.
“Shut up.”
That said, he went back to sleep. Maggie stood over him, grinning like a fool. It wasn’t exactly an absolution, but it would pass. Shut up. He didn’t want to hear her apologies. And he was right. She had more important things to do than stand here, pleading for forgiveness when she knew very well that he’d never held her foolishness against her in the first place.
She figured out how to prime the old water pump at the rusty sink. After that, she mastered the cookstove burner plates and made coffee in a tin pot that looked as if it had been trampled by a horse. On overhead shelves above the sink, there were odds-and-ends dishes, some old flatware and cookware, plus an assortment of canned food. Maggie grabbed a pot, a can opener, a spoon, and two cans of chili beans, the labels of which read, Hot.
She was so cold that any kind of hot sounded divine.
When she took a mug of steaming coffee to Rafe, he was shuddering so violently she didn’t trust him to manage alone without scalding himself. Not that her own hands were much steadier. Remembering how he’d once fed her when she was sick, she returned the favor now. “It’s straight off the stove.”
He slurped eagerly at the coffee and swo
re when it burned his tongue. Then he curled a shaking hand over hers to guide the cup back to his mouth. This time he sipped more cautiously. When he fell back, too exhausted to take more, she managed to spoon a little chili into his mouth before he fell asleep.
Now that she could tend to her own needs, all she wanted was to lie down and sleep. The lantern could burn itself out. She was too tired to walk back to the table and turn it off. Standing beside the cot, she kicked off her sneakers and peeled off her wet clothes, dropping them in a puddle at her feet. Then, grabbing a set of oversize long johns, she dressed and slipped under the blankets with her husband. The cot was just barely wide enough to accommodate both of them, which suited her fine. She was freezing.
He jumped when her icy body touched his side. She pulled his arm around her and snuggled up as close as she could get, throwing a leg across his and half-lying on his chest. Under the blankets, he groped clumsily with his free hand, feeling of her shoulder, her arm, and then her butt.
The warmth that rolled off him was wonderful, and she rested her chilled cheek in the hollow of his shoulder. An instant later, she was asleep.
Chapter Eighteen
A beeping noise woke Maggie. As she rolled onto her side, she saw Rafe standing across the room, looking incredibly handsome in a red, long-sleeved undershirt and faded Wrangler jeans that fit him like a second skin, the legs riding high on the still wet tops of his boots.
He stood near the sink, facing the counter, his broad back rippling under the snug undershirt. He appeared to be speaking softly on a phone. Maggie frowned. They were still at the line shack. The glow of the lantern told her it must still be nighttime. Where had he found a phone?
“Like I said, Rye, we’ll be fine.” A pause. “First thing in the morning would be great. Hell, around noon will be better. That way we can sleep in. We’ve got plenty of wood and food. It’s nice and cozy, actually. We’ll make the most of it and rest. It was one hell of a night. If it weren’t for Maggie, I’d be history. I collapsed just outside. I don’t know how, but she got me indoors.”
He braced the heel of his hand on the sink edge, the jut of his hip and the backward thrust of one leg forming a ruggedly masculine stance. Maggie half-expected him to inform his brother that the reason he’d collapsed was because he’d carried her so far through deep snow. But, typically, he said nothing, letting Ryan draw his own conclusion. No one could accuse Rafe of being a braggart.
He chuckled suddenly. “Don’t you dare. If you aren’t here by noon, I’ll have your head. If I want to take her on a honeymoon, it’ll be someplace nicer than this. How’s Jaimie, by the way? That’ll be the first thing she asks.” Silence. “He did? Is Becca sure it wasn’t gas?” He laughed. “I’ll tell her. Hey, Rye, be sure to tell Heidi not to worry, all right? Yeah. Same here.”
As he broke the connection and returned the phone to the black leather case on the counter, Maggie drew the blankets to her chin, horribly conscious as she did that the wool felt wet where it had lain against her undershirt. It had been a long time since she’d last used her breast pump. If they wouldn’t be going home until after noon tomorrow, what on earth was she going to do?
“You’re awake,” Rafe said softly when he turned. The tap of his boots resounded on the floor as he moved toward her. “That was Ryan. I got in touch with him just in time to stop him from launching a search. Luckily he figured we’d stayed in town for dinner and a movie and had forgotten to tell Becca. He didn’t get worried until about an hour ago.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Twelve-thirty. I only snoozed for a while.” He winked at her. “Becca says we missed a first this afternoon. Jaimie smiled, and she swears up and down it wasn’t just gas, but an honest-to-goodness grin. She told Ryan he’s got the Kendrick dimple.”
Hearing that, Maggie smiled herself. “It’s sweet of them, pretending he’s really yours.”
“He is mine. If he ends up looking like me, don’t be surprised. That happens, you know. Mannerisms, I guess—and personality traits. I used to know a couple of boys who were adopted. They weren’t biological brothers, but they acted so much alike, they resembled each other.”
“I hope he grows up to be just like you.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Thank you, Maggie. That’s about the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”
“Well, it’s sincerely meant.” She hugged the blanket closer. “I already miss the little stinker.”
“It won’t be long before we’re home.” He ran a hand over his hair, his gaze searching hers for a long moment. Then he bent his head and scuffed the heel of his boot over a floorboard, his brow pleating in a thoughtful frown. When he looked back up, his expression was solemn. “We need to have a long talk. The sooner, the better.”
Maggie agreed, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to it.
He hauled in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “I realize right now isn’t an ideal time, so we can put it off for a few minutes while you use the rest room and”—he gestured vaguely with his hand—“do other things. I’m sure you’d like to eat and have some coffee. But I do want to get a couple of things said straightaway to put your mind at ease. The first is that I love you.” His voice went raspy and deep. “If you tell me you hogtied Lonnie and had your way with his body three times a day, I’ll still love you.”
She threw him a horrified look.
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Aside from how it has hurt you, I don’t care what happened in your past. It’ll have no effect on how I feel about you. Is that understood? No matter what you tell me—or how bad you think it is, sweetheart—it’s not going to change my feelings for you.”
Maggie felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes.
“The second thing I want to say is that I’m instituting a new rule in this relationship, starting now.”
“What’s that?”
“I learned an important lesson today. No problem ever gets solved by pretending it doesn’t exist. All it does is complicate matters, making huge problems out of what should have been small ones.”
She couldn’t very well argue the point, so she nodded.
“Almost from the first, I figured that Lonnie was Jaimie’s father. I didn’t push you to talk about it, believing at the time that I was sparing you humiliation. That was the worst mistake of my life, and today it damned near cost you yours.”
Maggie drew up her knees and stared at the gray blanket covering them.
“All this time,” he went on, “I was under the assumption that you found it hard to tell me the truth about Jaimie because Lonnie is your stepfather. That maybe you were afraid I’d press you for details you’re reluctant to talk about. Now I realize that’s only part of it, that it isn’t just what the creep did to you, but that he’s got you so messed up in your thinking you blame yourself for it.”
Maggie squeezed her eyes closed.
“Well, no more,” he said, his tone ringing with finality. “No more secrets. No more tiptoeing around. No more assuming on my part. Little issues, big issues. From here on out, we’re going to be open with each other about everything. There may be times when I’ll embarrass you. Scratch that. I undoubtedly will, and I apologize to you for that in advance. I tend to be straightforward and blunt, and there’s not a whole hell of a lot I feel shy about discussing. You’re a hundred and eighty degrees out from that. But I’d rather embarrass you than hurt you, honey, and hurt you is exactly what I’ve done. Starting right now, nothing is sacred. Understand that.”
She lifted her lashes. Trying to inject a note of levity into her voice, she said, “That sounds almost like a threat.”
“A warning,” he corrected. “When we have that talk in a few minutes, I’ll make it as easy for you as I can. But there’ll be no more secrets between us, period. So prepare yourself for that.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes, but not with you. I’m mad at myself for letting this go for so long and for
allowing it to get so out of hand.” He paused and then said, “This is a talk we should have had weeks ago, and it’s entirely my fault that we didn’t.”
“It’s as much my fault as yours.”
He gave a low laugh. “Let’s save that debate for our discussion, shall we? Right now, I’m sure you’ve got more pressing concerns.” He gestured toward a three-pound coffee can beside the bed. “I hunted up a chamber pot. It’s not very convenient, but it beats wading through the snow to the outhouse.”
Maggie seconded that. She’d had quite enough of snow for one night.
“I, um…” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate yet another can sitting on the table, his gaze flicking to her chest. “I found that one for your other needs.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do out in the shed. You’ll have some privacy while I’m out there, messing around. I’ll knock before I come back in.”
Maggie nodded. As he turned to fetch his coat from where he’d draped it and the other wet clothing over crossbuck stools in front of the stove, she threw an appalled glance at the can he’d left on the table. There was no question in her mind as to what he’d meant by her “other needs.” Major problem. She had only a vague notion of how to address those needs without her pump, and it was back at the house.
A blast of frigid air washed into the room as he opened the door to step outside. The moment the planked portal swung shut, Maggie slipped from the cot and grabbed a blanket to drape around her shoulders.
Rafe cursed under his breath, calling himself a hundred kinds of fool. She didn’t have a clue! He’d seen befuddlement written all over her face. And what had he done? He’d run like hell.