Elle James - Cowboy Resurrected

She planted her feet wide, her eyes narrowing to slits. “No? But you grab them and hold them hostage.”

“Damn it, woman. For your own good.”

“And how is being a captive good?” She snorted. “You’re like most men, thinking a woman must be controlled, that she doesn’t have a brain to think for herself.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” His hands fell to his sides. “Given that you could have died with your friend Hector and might have been caught in a flash flood or struck by lightning, I think I can prove my case for keeping you here.”

She shrugged and ducked around him. “I don’t care what you prove.” Sophia grabbed the can opener and set it against the lid on the can of beans. After several attempts, she gave up, her stomach twisting, the hollow feeling making her nauseous.

“Good grief, woman.” Thorn took the can and opener out of her hands. “It’s not rocket science.”

“No? Then you do it.” She backed away from him, the nausea increasing until heat radiated through her body and she knew she couldn’t hold back any longer. Sophia ran for the door, her footsteps drowned out by the pounding of rain on the tin roof. Her hand closed around the knob as the first wave hit.

Before she could yank the door open, a hand closed over hers. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Thorn asked, staring down at her, his brows drawn together in a fierce frown. “I thought we’d settled all this running away stuff, at least until after the storm.”

She clawed at his hand. “Please.” Sophia swallowed again and again, trying to force the bile back. “I have to get out.”

He moved to stand in front of her, his arms locked over his chest like a barroom bouncer. “No.”

“So be it.” She heaved. What remained of the food she’d eaten the night before rose like a projectile up her throat. She bent in time to miss Thorn’s face, but anointed his bare feet.

The heaving continued until Sophia’s body shook so badly she fell to her knees on the hard wooden floor.

She cowered, waiting for Thorn to curse her and call her stupid for barfing on his feet. Sophia braced her body for the beating that was sure to follow.

The harsh words and beatings never came.

When the wave of sickness abated, she lay down on the floor, pressing her heated cheek to the cool wood.

Thorn crouched beside her, brushing her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. Had I known you were sick—”

Thorn’s voice washed over Sophia like a warm blanket. She lay with her eyes closed, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other to her belly, afraid to move and set off the nausea all over again. “I’ll be okay. I just need to eat.”

“You can’t lie there on the floor.” He touched her arm. “Let me help you to the bed.”

“No.” She brushed away his hand. “Leave me alone. It’ll pass.” After several minutes, her head quit spinning and she dared to open her eyes. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

“I’ll live.” His frown had softened to an expression of concern. “Think you can move now?”

She nodded, lying there for a moment longer before attempting the simple task.

“I’m going to clean up this mess.” Thorn moved about the cabin, the soft rustles giving away his location and negating the need for Sophia to look.

Before she could brace her hands on the floor and push herself to a sitting position, Thorn’s strong fingers scooped beneath her legs and back, and he lifted her up in his arms in one smooth, easy motion.

Sophia closed her eyes, praying her stomach wouldn’t churn and release again. “Please, put me down.”

“I will.” He crossed to the mattress he’d unfolded for himself and laid her out on a blanket. “I found another blanket in a box.”

With the back of her hand resting over her eyes, she breathed in and out several times, her mouth tasting so bad she feared she’d lose it again.

The snap of metal on metal made her glance across at Thorn.

With deft fingers, he had the can of beans open in a few quick twists of the can-opener key.

Sophia’s lips tipped upward. “How is it you say...show-off.”

“I never learned how to cook, so I had to get good at eating canned food or starve.”

She smiled.

* * *

THORN’S HEART TUMBLED and came to a crashing stop.

Despite her pale face and slightly green complexion, her smile managed to light up the room, chasing away Thorn’s natural distrust of the woman who’d done nothing but lie to him the entire time they’d been together. Something about her sad eyes and her inherent vulnerability called to his protective instincts. He still held the can, and his heart pounded against his ribs.

Sophia’s smile faded. “You’re staring at me.”

He spun away, wondering what the hell had come over him. He rummaged in the wooden box where he’d found the blanket and emerged with a pot. He emptied the can of beans into the pot and set it on the potbellied stove. Then, using a stick from the box of wood, he stirred the embers inside the stove, making them glow brighter. Heat warmed his cheeks.

The bedsprings creaked behind him.

Sophia had pushed to a sitting position and was reaching for the foil-wrapped package on the other bed.

Thorn got to it before she did and unwrapped several soft tortillas. “Is this what you were going for?”

She nodded and peeled one off the top. Sitting with her legs pulled up beneath her, she nibbled on the corn tortilla, color slowly returning to her cheeks.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” he asked.

She refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t remember.”

“And you were out for a hike on motorbikes.” Thorn stared at her for a long time. “Still not talking?”

She finished the tortilla and nodded toward the stove. “You’re burning the beans.”

Thorn spun back to the stove and rescued the boiling beans. He scrounged up two tin plates and spoons from the storage box, held them under the eaves by the door to rinse them off and scooped beans onto each damp plate.

Sophia accepted the plate without complaint and dug her spoon into the fragrant beans, eating every bite.

Thorn sat back, his own plate forgotten. “How can you eat like that after being sick?”

She accepted another tortilla and sopped up the remaining juices from her plate. She finished the tortilla before answering. “I get sick if I don’t eat.”

“Are you anemic or something?”

“Something.” Sophia set the plate on the floor, stretched out on the mattress and pulled the blanket over herself, closing her eyes.

“That’s it?” Thorn asked.

“I’m working on, what did you call it? Shut-eye.” Her eyes remained closed.

The fire burned down into glowing coals, heat from the stove filling the small space, making it cozy and comfortable despite the storm outside.

Thorn ate the beans on his plate, and then rinsed the pot and both plates and spoons in rainwater. Once he’d returned the eating utensils to the box, he cleared her backpack off the remaining bed, gathered the handgun and rifle beside him and settled on his side, facing Sophia. In the fading light from the fire, he studied the stranger. Her Spanish accent led him to believe she’d spent the majority of her life south of the United States border, but her grasp of English made him want to believe her story that her mother was American.

Her dark blond hair and pale skin could mean either her mother was American, as she’d insisted, or she could be Mexican of Spanish decent.

Sophia’s chest rose and fell in a deep, steady rhythm, her eyelids twitching as if her dreams were not all that pleasant.

What was she afraid of? Why wasn’t she telling him the truth about her presence on the Raging Bull? Who had hit her to make her so skittish?