"While you're outside, I'll gather up some quilts and a pillow. It's liable to get mighty chilly out there in that barn before morning."
He moved toward the door. "My hide's tough. And I can sleep anywheres."
Sleep. The word made her aware of how exhausted she was. After seeing Mr. Stone to the door and sending Miranda off to bed, she gathered some bedding and returned to the sickroom to sit beside her patient. As uncomfortable as the straight-backed chair was, she opted against bringing in her rocker. If she got too cozy, she might fall asleep. Unless she missed her guess, it would be a long night. Not that she would begrudge this man a second of it.
Studying McGovern's face, she searched for any sign of life. Aside from his shallow, rapid breathing, he still looked like a corpse. Kate's chest tightened with regret. If she had it to do over again, she knew she would ride to his farm and beg his help. Miranda's life had been at risk. But she couldn't help feeling to blame for his condition.
His face was burnished and weathered from too much sun, with lines etched at the corners of his eyes and deep smile grooves bracketing his mouth. It was a face that looked lived-in, one that spoke of joys and heartaches, hopes and disappointments.
Her attention shifted to the scars along his jaw and neck. She hadn't noticed them before and suspected she did so now only because of his pallor and because his head rested against the stark white pillowcase. The glazed, drawn flesh reminded her of the scars on Miranda's right hand, caused by severe burns.
As if her steady regard disturbed him, McGovern groaned and flailed with one arm. The sheet slid downward to reveal his naked chest and shoulders. Kate blinked. While she was out of the room, Doc Willowby must have pulled off her patient's underwear. Recalling how she had slid the sheet up Mr. McGovern's thighs earlier to repack his bites with mud, she blushed in spite of herself. The man was stripped stark. A tad higher with the sheet and—
She worried her lip, suddenly very much aware of her patient as a member of the opposite sex.
She scarcely knew this man, yet here he lay in her downstairs bedroom, unconscious and as naked as the day he was born. She imagined those dark eyelashes lifting, those hazel eyes turning to her. Now she was glad that Marcus Stone had insisted on staying to tend his boss's personal needs.
And if that wasn't idiotic, Kate didn't know what was. She was a grown woman with a child. A naked man shouldn't be a curiosity to her, much less an embarrassment. Memories slid unbeckoned into her mind, dark and shifting, like shadows from a dream. Joseph coming up behind her in the dark and pressing her forward over the dresser. His hands groping for the hem of her nightgown. His hardness thrusting into her. The panting sounds he made as he did his husbandly duty to beget a son.
As always, the memories filled Kate with a need to escape, and she shoved up from the chair. She set about tidying the sickroom and turned her thoughts to those first horrifying minutes after Mr. McGovern had brought Miranda up from the well. Kate had no idea how she had managed to get a man his size onto his horse and then into the house. Thank goodness there was a bedroom on the first floor.
His chapped lips working as though to speak, McGovern moaned again and tossed his dark head upon the pillow.
Concerned, she touched his forehead and discovered he felt feverish. Extremely feverish. Wasting no time, she poured water from the pitcher into the basin and began bathing his face. He muttered something and made a feeble grab for her wrist.
"It's all right, Mr. McGovern. Everything's all right."
Kate prayed those words wouldn't prove to be a lie.
* * *
Before the next few minutes were out, Kate had cause once again to thank heaven that Marcus Stone had insisted on staying over. Before the man returned to the house with the bucket of dirt, Zachariah McGovern had begun to thrash, and
He moved toward the door. "My hide's tough. And I can sleep anywheres."
Sleep. The word made her aware of how exhausted she was. After seeing Mr. Stone to the door and sending Miranda off to bed, she gathered some bedding and returned to the sickroom to sit beside her patient. As uncomfortable as the straight-backed chair was, she opted against bringing in her rocker. If she got too cozy, she might fall asleep. Unless she missed her guess, it would be a long night. Not that she would begrudge this man a second of it.
Studying McGovern's face, she searched for any sign of life. Aside from his shallow, rapid breathing, he still looked like a corpse. Kate's chest tightened with regret. If she had it to do over again, she knew she would ride to his farm and beg his help. Miranda's life had been at risk. But she couldn't help feeling to blame for his condition.
His face was burnished and weathered from too much sun, with lines etched at the corners of his eyes and deep smile grooves bracketing his mouth. It was a face that looked lived-in, one that spoke of joys and heartaches, hopes and disappointments.
Her attention shifted to the scars along his jaw and neck. She hadn't noticed them before and suspected she did so now only because of his pallor and because his head rested against the stark white pillowcase. The glazed, drawn flesh reminded her of the scars on Miranda's right hand, caused by severe burns.
As if her steady regard disturbed him, McGovern groaned and flailed with one arm. The sheet slid downward to reveal his naked chest and shoulders. Kate blinked. While she was out of the room, Doc Willowby must have pulled off her patient's underwear. Recalling how she had slid the sheet up Mr. McGovern's thighs earlier to repack his bites with mud, she blushed in spite of herself. The man was stripped stark. A tad higher with the sheet and—
She worried her lip, suddenly very much aware of her patient as a member of the opposite sex.
She scarcely knew this man, yet here he lay in her downstairs bedroom, unconscious and as naked as the day he was born. She imagined those dark eyelashes lifting, those hazel eyes turning to her. Now she was glad that Marcus Stone had insisted on staying to tend his boss's personal needs.
And if that wasn't idiotic, Kate didn't know what was. She was a grown woman with a child. A naked man shouldn't be a curiosity to her, much less an embarrassment. Memories slid unbeckoned into her mind, dark and shifting, like shadows from a dream. Joseph coming up behind her in the dark and pressing her forward over the dresser. His hands groping for the hem of her nightgown. His hardness thrusting into her. The panting sounds he made as he did his husbandly duty to beget a son.
As always, the memories filled Kate with a need to escape, and she shoved up from the chair. She set about tidying the sickroom and turned her thoughts to those first horrifying minutes after Mr. McGovern had brought Miranda up from the well. Kate had no idea how she had managed to get a man his size onto his horse and then into the house. Thank goodness there was a bedroom on the first floor.
His chapped lips working as though to speak, McGovern moaned again and tossed his dark head upon the pillow.
Concerned, she touched his forehead and discovered he felt feverish. Extremely feverish. Wasting no time, she poured water from the pitcher into the basin and began bathing his face. He muttered something and made a feeble grab for her wrist.
"It's all right, Mr. McGovern. Everything's all right."
Kate prayed those words wouldn't prove to be a lie.
* * *
Before the next few minutes were out, Kate had cause once again to thank heaven that Marcus Stone had insisted on staying over. Before the man returned to the house with the bucket of dirt, Zachariah McGovern had begun to thrash, and
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