Pamela Nissen - Rocky Mountain Redemption

Bits and pieces came to her… Trudging through the snowstorm, huddled and waiting on a porch. Strong, capable arms holding her…

A strangely familiar man, tall and dark-haired, came into focus next to her.

She shot up in bed. Regretted it instantly when her head spun and her stomach roiled.

“Whoa there, miss.” Ben eased her shoulders back to the feather mattress. “Not so fast.”

“I need to get up.” She weakly wriggled from his unsettling touch.

Sighing, he crossed his arms at his chest. “I would strongly advise against doing anything of the sort. You’re in no condition.”

When she looked up at him, the world spun out of control. She closed her eyes and hoped he wasn’t observant enough to notice her condition, because the absolute last thing she wanted was to look feeble and needy in front of this man.

“Seeing as how I’m not your patient, I believe that I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.” She pulled her chin up a notch, wincing at the thin, raspy sound of her voice.

“Like it or not, you’re my patient now.”

Averting her focus from his steel-blue gaze, she recalled fainting. And just before that, she’d been arguing with this man over—

“My locket! Where is it?” Dragging herself up to her elbows, she scanned the room. “And my box! Where did you put my things?”

When she spotted her box snuggled in the old flour sack atop the bureau, she tried to quell the frantic beat of her heart. But the idea that this man could’ve taken the few possessions she had left in this world seized her heart with utter, unexplainable panic.

At the cool touch of silver against her chest, she discovered the locket was where it had always been and dropped back to the pillow.

“You see.” Ben drew his mouth into a grim line. “The locket’s still there. Around your neck.”

Peering down at her chest just to make sure, she screeched. “My dress!” She jerked the quilt clear up to her chin, being clad in nothing more than her paper-thin chemise and threadbare drawers. “Did you—”

A violent cough had her bracing herself, but she still managed to glower at him. “You undressed me without my consent? How dare you!”

His steady gaze didn’t flicker an ounce. “Your dress was soaking wet, ma’am, and the weather prohibited me from summoning my sister-in-law’s help as I usually would have.”

“But still, I—”

“You’re not the first woman I’ve tended to and you won’t be the last. It was in your best interest that I get you as warm and dry as possible. And I can assure you that I honored your modesty in every possible way.” He emphasized the last three words, his low, rich voice reverberating right through the layered quilts and chemise, to her bare skin.

Huddling tight beneath the covers, Callie turned and stared at the fresh cream-colored wall. A wash of shame spread through her like some dread disease. She hated reducing herself to this kind of ungrateful behavior, but she didn’t even know this man.

Max, though no saint himself, had never spoken one kind thing about his family—especially Ben. Callie didn’t have a single reason to like him. After all, Max’s bitter edge surely didn’t exist simply because of some innocent family sparring. He’d had a long list of reasons that fed his loathing.

She grasped the locket, recalling Ben’s adamant claim that it belonged to him. Apparently this was one of those situations that Max had referred to…when his brothers would edge him out of something for their own gain. She’d like to give Ben a dressing-down about that, but since she had nowhere else to turn, and desperately needed the job, she decided to go for a more mild-mannered approach.

Plastering on an awkward smile, Callie attempted a pleasant look. But it felt so odd and she was pretty sure her expression didn’t come off pleasant at all.

The sting of his words—that Max had married some harlot—came racing back, barging into her mind and producing instant outrage.

A harlot?

The very reason she’d come crawling to Boulder had been to avoid becoming just that—a harlot. She’d had nothing else to wear, but the cast-off dress Lyle Whiteside had thrown in her direction six months ago when she’d started working as a housekeeper at the brothel. He’d burned her other dress, saying that he didn’t want some lowly-looking scullery maid walking his halls, scaring off the paying customers.

Callie could almost feel her eyes darken with indignation. “It seems there’s some confusion about this locket,” she tried to say sweetly, but failed miserably.

He quirked one dark eyebrow. “There’s no confusion as far as I’m concerned.”

She stifled a ragged cough, her ire kicked up a notch at the sight of his steady, grating calm. Regardless of the fact that she needed this job, she nailed him with the most threatening glare she could muster. Held his penetrating gaze for a lengthy moment.

The man was wily, of that she had no doubt. Probably as clever and intimidating as the oldest, meanest wolf living in the Flatirons.

“Look, let me make this easy for you.” He crossed his arms at his broad chest. “I can prove the locket belongs to me.”

“How?”

“There’s an engraving on the inside.”

Prickly heat crept up her neck. Her pulse slammed in her ears as she grasped frantically for some argument. “How do I know you didn’t inspect the locket while you were—while I was unconscious and you undressed me?”

“You don’t, I guess,” he managed with an insignificant shrug.

“Exactly.” She swiped at a wayward, fever-induced tear rolling from the corner of her eye. “How do I know what went on then, Doctor Drake? I mean, having been dead to the world as I was, I would’ve been none the wiser had you sniffed and pawed through my things.”

She grappled for control, but, horrifically, felt it slipping through her hands.

“The engraving says All for Love.” The oddly tight and low sound of his voice arrested her attention. “It was something my father used to say to my mother.”

Swerving her focus to the ceiling, a memory staggered into her mind. Shortly after she’d met Max, he’d given her the locket as a pledge of his love. She remembered the gloriously heady feeling she’d had as she’d stared at the romantic engraving.

She’d loved Max.

Even in the darkest hours of their seven-year marriage, she’d loved him. She’d held out hope that he’d change, and return to the wonderfully adventurous Maxwell Drake she’d fallen in love with. Before bitterness ruled his moods. Before he’d taken to gambling, drinking and the other things that followed.

Hot tears pooled in her eyes. She could only hope that they would pass off for a fevered symptom instead of betrayal’s bitter sting.

She’d been deceived. Again.

She could stubbornly stand her ground regarding the locket, but even as a lame argument began forming in her mind, she felt her feeble case sinking beneath unsteady footing. She’d love to believe that this was all just some innocent mistake, but she knew she’d stumbled onto another one of Max’s lies, and for some reason the discovery wasn’t any easier than the last time.

Or the time before that.

Or before that.

Disgust knotted her stomach tight. Just moments ago the locket had hung as a precious symbol of first love. Now it burned with dishonesty’s harsh reality against her skin. It took every bit of poise she possessed to resist the unrefined urge to rip it off.

The sound of Ben dragging a chair across the room jerked her from her thoughts.

He sat beside her bed, looking almost as tired as she felt. On a yawn, he dragged a hand over his face. “We can talk about this another time, Callie. You need to rest.”