Scanlin's Law. Susan Amarillas
touched the woman’s face, then checked for a pulse. “No, honey, she isn’t dead.”
Muscles relaxing, Rebecca swayed into him. “Thank God.” He held her, and she leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, feeling the hard muscles, feeling secure. “She can’t die,” she murmured, and felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder.
“She’ll be all right, honey,” he said, with such confidence that she believed him.
She angled him a look, seeing the sincerity of his expression, and she was tempted to stay here in his partial embrace. It felt so good, too good. It would be too easy to give in to it.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t trust him, or herself, evidently. Dragging in a couple of lungfuls of air, she straightened slightly, and he released his hold, leaving her feeling strangely alone.
“Okay?” he asked softly.
She forced her chin up a notch, shoved the wet hair back from her face and said, “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said, and headed for the warming stove near the window. He made quick work of starting a fire.
Rebecca tucked the comforter more securely around Ruth and dragged a Windsor chair over to the bed.
“You oughta get out of those wet clothes yourself,” Luke said as he closed the stove door with a bang.
“As soon as the doctor comes.”
“You’ll catch your— You’ll catch a cold.”
“Soon,” she murmured, holding Ruth’s hand. “Where the devil is that doctor?”
Luke crossed back to stand at the foot of the bed. “I take it this isn’t a new problem.”
“It’s her heart. She’s had trouble the last couple of years, but nothing like this.” She craned toward the doorway. “Why doesn’t she open her eyes?”
“Well, I’m no doctor, but I do believe that the Almighty has a way of taking care of things. As long as she’s asleep, she’s not moving around and she’s not in pain.”
Rebecca nodded her understanding. “This is awful. I feel so responsible. She hasn’t slept since Andrew disappeared, and—”
“Neither have you I’ll wager, and you aren’t responsible for her, or for whatever has happened to Andrew,” he said firmly.
She was only half listening, her gaze focused on Ruth. “I should never have let her go out there. I should have insisted.”
“You take on a lot of responsibility. Seems to me the lady had something to say about things. You didn’t push her out the door, you know.”
She sighed. “I know you’re right, but...”
The crackle and pop of the fire seemed to warm the room as much as the actual burning log. The sweet scent of pine saturated the damp air.
“Where’s the extra blankets?” Luke broke the silence.
“Cedar chest.”
Luke retrieved a heavy blue quilt and covered Ruth with it.
Rebecca kept staring at her mother-in-law, rubbing first one hand, then the other. “Ruth. You’ll be fine.” She said it like an order, or perhaps a prayer.
Luke watched from the foot of the four-poster bed, one hand wrapped around the smooth, cool mahogany. “This is your mother-in-law, right?”
Rebecca nodded. “It was too much for her.” She turned to him with soulful eyes. “It’s Andrew. She loves him so. He’s her only grandson. They’re very close—best friends, I guess.”
Luke closed on her, rubbing her shoulder in a familiar way. “Don’t give up on her.”
“Never,” she said firmly, glancing up at his downturned face. “She’s my best friend, too.” Her voice cracked, and she swiped at the tear that suddenly slipped down her cheek. “I feel so helpless.”
“I know, honey. Why don’t you come over here and get warm, at least?” He gently led her the few steps to the stove.
The pale green drapes were pulled back, and she could see the storm continuing in all its fury outside. Lightning flashed across the morning sky, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it made her jump.
Her gaze swung back to Ruth, who didn’t move. “Does it look like her color is coming back?” she asked cautiously.
“A little,” he agreed.
She dragged in another deep breath, as though she hadn’t breathed at all since they’d walked into the house.
The warmth of the stove reached her skin through the water-stained fabric of her dress. She instinctively turned and rubbed her hands together, letting the warmth inch up her arms. When she glanced up, he was staring at her.
Their gazes locked. His was dark and knowing, as though he could see inside her mind, as though he could touch her soul. Feeling awkward, she asked, “Why are you here, Luke?”
“I told you. I came to see you.”
Absently she rubbed her hands together, this time refusing to look at him. “Why now?”
He seemed to consider her question, then said, “Truth?”
She stilled. “Truth.”
“Because I had to know if the reality was as good as the dream.”
“What dream?” She slanted him a look, not trusting herself to do more.
He crooked one finger under her chin and turned her face fully toward his. She looked into his eyes, eyes that were bottomless, soft, inviting. He brushed a wisp of hair back from her face, and her skin tingled from his touch. He was so close. Her control seemed to be slipping away.
His gaze rested on her lips. His voice was a husky whisper. “You, Princess. You haunt my dreams.”
His words were explicit. Tiny sparks of electricity skittered across her skin, warm, exciting, stirring a familiar longing much too quickly.
Stop this—now! The words ricocheted in her brain, but her body refused to move, somehow refusing to give up the nearness of him. The air was ripe with sudden anticipation.
His mouth pulled up in a slow, lazy smile. “I’ve missed you.”
Rebecca didn’t move, held as she was by his hypnotic gaze. Her breathing got a little ragged. At least she thought she was breathing. She wasn’t actually sure. He was too handsome, too charming, too dangerous. Oh, yes, he was very, very dangerous.
It was the danger that sparked her to say, “I haven’t missed you.”
If he took offense, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed amused.
“Never play poker, honey. You can’t bluff worth a darn.”
The man was too arrogant for words. But she was about to try anyway, when there was a knock at the door. Almost in the same instant, a voice, a male voice, called, “Mrs. Tinsdale?”
Her chin came up a notch and, with a little smile of her own, she turned and called, “Yes, Doctor, in here.” She went to meet him.
Luke introduced himself to the doctor and quickly left. She didn’t even bother to glance up. If he thought she was at all bothered by him, well, he was wrong.
Never mind that she was distracted enough that she had to ask the doctor to repeat a couple of questions. What was wrong with her? Guilt twisted knife-sharp in her stomach. Ruth was lying in a sickbed, and here she was thinking about Luke.
No, she wasn’t thinking about Luke. She was wishing he’d go to—well, to wherever it was marshals went to.
In the meantime, she had to get her