The Loner And The Lady

He didn’t help her. Just sat there and watched her with his dark, dark eyes.

She licked her lips nervously. “How long have I been here?”

“Yesterday and last night. Part of the night before. I found you stumbling around Old Baldy in the middle of a storm.”

“What’s Old Baldy?”

“A mountain. Not especially high. Fifty years ago the top of it sheared off in an avalanche, so that today it looks bald. What do you remember?”

“You.” And the bedpan. She bit her lip and glanced around. “I remember waking up in this room. Where are we?”

“The Davis Mountains, not far from McDonald Observatory.”

“Near Fort Davis?”

He nodded.

She knew where that was. Texas. She felt a strong, diffused sense of relief. The knowledge carried a sense of familiarity. Fort Davis was in the far southwestern portion of the state, a desolate area half desert, half mountains. The Davis Mountains were the highest range in the area, high enough to wrest some rainfall from the thin, dry air.

They weren’t gentle, though, these mountains. They were rugged and rocky, home to porcupines, skunks, rattlers and the occasional mountain lion. Storms here could be deadly, gorging the little creeks with floodwater…

…blinding her with a darkness that bled rain. Rocks sliding under her feet—falling, getting up, pushing on through a curtain of night and rain, and hurting, hurting from the fear as much as from the blow to her head—her head hurt so bad, so bad—

No, she thought. No! And as the nightmare faded away, so did the crippling pain in her head.

“…all right? Sophie?”

She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing. Seth knelt by her bed, his hand on her shoulder.

“What?” she asked breathlessly. “What did you call me?”

“You had on a locket. That name is engraved on it.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “It says, To Sophie on one side. With Love, on the other.”

She wanted to react to the name, tried to find a feeling that went with it. But her momentary breathlessness was gone, leaving only exhaustion behind.

“Do you think that’s your name?”

“I don’t know. When I reach inside, I feel…like I’m stuffed with clouds instead of memories. You can’t really touch clouds, can you? There’s nothing there.” Her eyes were so tired. “But you can call me Sophie. It was on the locket. Maybe—probably—it’s my name.”

“All right, Sophie. Go on back to sleep now. Everything will seem better when you’re rested.” His voice was a quiet, cool ribbon in the darkness behind her closed eyes, a ribbon she held on to gladly as she sank into the soothing blankness of sleep.

By the time Seth’s patient woke up that afternoon it was drizzling again, and he was worrying.

Normally it didn’t bother him when bad weather made the road to his cabin impassable. Even when the timing was unfortunate, like now, and he was low on propane or other supplies, he didn’t mind being cut off from civilization.

But normally he didn’t have an injured woman with beautiful breasts stretched out in his bed, wearing his shirt. Only his shirt.

Dammit, he did not need this. He liked silence. Solitude. He sure as hell did not want to be responsible for another human soul.

He glanced out the front door. Rocky lay on the porch, protected from the fresh drizzle. Being responsible for a dog was enough, more than enough. He didn’t want the woman here.

But here she was, and neither of them had much choice about it. Seth sighed and looked at the book on the desk in front of him: A History of Texas Wildlife. Normally he enjoyed reading about his hobby, but today he couldn’t concentrate.

He had a good view of his bed and its occupant from this desk. At least, he did if he turned his head to the right and looked through the crowded miscellany on the open shelves that divided the office from the sleeping area. So he noticed right away when she stirred, because he’d been looking that way a lot more than he’d been looking at the book he was supposedly reading.

Dammit. He wasn’t going, to go running in there just because she was moving around beneath those covers. If she needed anything, she’d call him. He wasn’t going to…wasn’t going to listen to himself, apparently, because he pushed his chair back and was already halfway there when she called him.

She lay in the bed and looked up at him. The scrapes on the left side of her face were scabbed over and ugly. She smiled. “Every time I wake up it smells good in here. Is that chicken soup?”

Why was she always smiling at him? He frowned, wanting her to stop. “I had to clean out the freezer. I’m too low on fuel to run the generator, so everything’s defrosting and I need to use up what I can. I’ll get you some.”

“First things first.” She tried to push up.

“Hey!” He got his arm behind her, bracing her. “You aren’t ready for push-ups yet…Sophie.”

She tipped her head, acknowledging his use of what might be her name. “Well,” she said, her breath coming a little unsteadily, “I’ll agree to wait on the push-ups, but I refuse to consider that bedpan again. There is a bathroom behind that door, isn’t there?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She smiled again. “But I might need a little help standing.”

Good grief. Seth wasn’t about to let the fool woman walk there. He disregarded her protests and carried her into the one area of the cabin separated from the rest by four walls and a door. He didn’t like leaving her there, but agreed reluctantly when she agreed, with equal reluctance, to leave the door slightly ajar so he could hear her if she needed him.

Then he waited, scowling at the rocker and absently rubbing his thigh.

This is ridiculous, he told himself. She wasn’t that special to look at. Different, yes. Pretty. Well, all right, more than pretty. She had incredible eyes. And her breasts—but he wasn’t going to think about her breasts.

He knew about beautiful women, though, didn’t he? He didn’t miss that part of his other life. Sure, it had been awhile since a woman paid any attention to him, other than to look away fast. Two years and one month, or one year and nine months, depending on whether he counted from the accident or from his discharge from the hospital. But it was stupid for him to get flustered, to want to hang around her just to look at her. He hadn’t acted like that around a female since he dated Cindy Grover in high school.

He knew better. Especially with a beautiful woman. Especially considering the white powder he’d found on her.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t notice his scars, either. She’d seen them first, just like everyone did. But she saw the rest of him, too, saw both sides of his face, not just the half the surgeon hadn’t patched together all that well.

The thump from the bathroom nearly stopped his heart. “What the hell are you trying to do?” he demanded as he jerked the door open and saw her sitting on the platform that skirted the big sunken bathtub.

“I slipped when I sat down, that’s all.” The expression she faced him with was mule stubborn. “There’s dried blood in my hair. I’m smelly. I have to take a bath.”

Forget it, he started to say. But her expression told him he’d do better to outsmart her instead of arguing. “You can’t do it yourself,” he said. “I’ll take your clothes off, lower you into the tub, and stay in here with you.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked at the deep, oversize tub he’d specially ordered when he was building the cabin. Then she proved him a fool. “Okay.”

He should have known better. Seth pointed that out to himself as he filled the big tub while she waited, at his insistence, back in bed. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. He’d turned on the wall heater to get it warmed up in here for her. The amount of fuel it burned was negligible, after all. As for the fuel used to heat the water—well, he’d turn the hot water heater off again once her tub was ready.

He should have realized how contrary she’d be. She reminded him of the mare he’d owned years ago, back in high school. That mare had been a sweet-natured beast, affectionate and biddable. Every once in a while, though, she zigged when she was supposed to zag. That was how his collarbone got cracked the weekend before graduation.

He scowled at the faucet as he turned it off, then took his time rolling up his sleeves before testing the temperature of the water. Was it too hot? She was so soft. Delicate. How hot was too hot? Maybe he should let some of the water out, add more cold—

“Seth?” she called from the bed. “Is the water ready?”