Dare to Dream (5 page)

Her skin had seen some sun, not nut brown like his, but a light golden—except for two triangles over her breasts. Larger than they first appeared, her breasts formed neat mounds as she lay on her back, the nipples a dusky rose. He licked his lips and swallowed hard, shifting himself as his cock bobbed against the rough weave of the blanket, like a divining rod pointing the way. His hands easily spanned her narrow waist, and her ribs lay outlined under her skin. She wasn’t skinny, but slim. Her arms showed slender muscle.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he turned the cover back more. A moan escaped his lips before he could stop it, to meet a sigh from hers. His gaze riveted on her face. Half of him prayed he’d been caught just so she’d open her eyes, the other feared what she’d think if she did. She’d be able to think. She wouldn’t be like the fawn. She’d get better. He reached for his cup and gulped the contents, drowning the notion but not the want.

Hardly any hair covered her mound, but what little he saw there was the same pale shade. A thin scar angled the right side of her groin below a flat stomach. He let his finger trace the blemish. The scar was old, no ridge, just a white line highlighted against the tan of her skin. The skin of her groin was pale like her breasts. She’d have to have been near naked in the sun to brown like that.

The thought, accompanied by a vivid vision of her lying in the sunshine wearing nothing but those red bits, sent blood rushing to his dick. He bent double. When he managed to breathe, he laughed. That’s what he got for peeking. He reached to draw the covers back up, but the expression on her face changed. The scent told him why.

His body and mind warred with each other. In truth, he should probably call Charlie to tend to her, but the old man was probably fast asleep by now. He couldn’t just let her lie there. Admittedly her predicament gave him an excuse to touch her intimately. His body seemed to respond to torture.

The blanket remained dry, so he folded it back to the foot of the bunk before he draped her shapely legs across his arm and raised her rear. With his free hand, he drew the wet bedding from under her then lay her back on the bare ticking. He went to the trunk at the foot of the bunk to get what he needed. Folding the sheeting into a pallet, he returned to the bed and repeated his earlier maneuver, positioning the pad under her firm rear end and down to the bend of her knees. He drew the blanket back over her to keep her from catching a chill. His fingertips scraped across her left breast, and the nipple shrank to a hard bud.
Sensitive filly
. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before turning to fetch the basin of warm water from the boiler.

She needed his help. He could do this.

Will wrung the water from the cloth, no need to rewet the bedding, and steadied his hand. His first touch started at the top of her slit and gently followed the path downward. He paused and spread her legs to gain access. His pulse pounded so hard he heard the thud. He rinsed the cloth and repeated the stroke, carefully wiping across the portal his fingers were itching to explore. Ignoring the urge, he cleaned each fold tenderly, memorizing the texture of her skin, the softness of her curls. He covered her finally, and stepped from her side to the door and through onto the porch.

The cold night air slapped an icy hand across his face, but did nothing for the raging erection his kindness had earned him. He couldn’t think for the blood pounding in both his heads. Flinging the blanket away, he grasped his cock and pumped hard. His head filled with the sight of her body, his nostrils with the scent of her. He stroked more firmly, once, twice, the night echoed with the ragged groan of his release, and as if in answer, wolf howls in the distance and a snort from his stud in the corral.

He picked the discarded blanket off the planks and wrapped it around him and his finally flaccid dick. Returning to the warmth of the cabin, he washed himself and put on his drawers before returning to her bedside. With her propped on his arm, he held the cup of broth to her lips and tipped some in. She swallowed. He managed to get half a cup down her before she choked. He rolled her onto her side and climbed in behind her to pat her back until the coughing subsided. She spooned into him as if she were made to fit, a key to his lock.

Had he lost his mind? He didn’t know anything about her. Who was she? Where she came from, why or how she was here? What was she running from? Was someone after her? His thoughts, like a whirlwind, circled faster and faster, creating destruction wherever they went. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her. The revelation stunned his mind to stillness.

What was wrong with him? For all he knew she had a man, a husband sick with worry because his wife had gone missing, or maybe a father looking for his stray daughter. They would be the ones with rights to her, not him. She might be on the run from the law. Had she robbed a bank, killed a man, stolen a horse? Those were all hanging offenses. The thought of her slender neck stretched on the end of a new rope turned his blood cold, and the whirlwind began to spin again. Whether she proved to be saint or sinner, he vowed to keep her from harm. He drew her tightly to his chest.

He stifled his moan as she snuggled her bare butt into his rising erection. Perhaps the devil had sent her to torment him. As she lay in his arms, he realized he didn’t care how she came to be with him, only that she was. He drifted away, her warm body in his arms and the warmth of the whiskey in his gut.

* * * *

The bed shook. He was wet. Where the hell—?

Stormy eyes glared at him through damp and tangled hair, like a wild thing caught in a trap. Thank God, her fever broke.

Oh shit, her fever broke!

Why was she naked? Where was she? Why was she naked? Who was the hunk in bed with her with the stormy gray eyes? And, why was she naked? God, she needed to pee! Why did he look at her like he’d seen her naked? Up close and personal naked. Why was he smiling? Oh. Dear. Lord. His smile. Her nipples turned to hard nubs that had nothing to do with being cold and everything to do with the heat radiating through her body—because of him. She yanked the blanket up to her chin as if he hadn’t already seen all she had.

Meghan stared at the man now kneeling on the bed not ten inches from where she did the same. Of course, she must be dreaming. Her perfect man, the one only found in her dreams. Raven hair that would brush his collar—if he wore a shirt. Lush lips, square jaw, dark brows over eyes like storm clouds rolling in. His had flecks of silver around the pupil. With such a vivid imagination, she should have been a writer. She swallowed hard, which hurt her throat. She coughed, and her head hurt. She raised one hand to grasp her skull so her head wouldn’t bounce across the floor and felt a gash. What happened to her head?

Wake up, Meghan, before you wet the bed. Tell the beautiful dream man b-bye.
She opened her mouth to send him on his way and nothing came out. She tried again. Nothing.

Her imaginary friend reached for an enamelware cup and held it out to her. She didn’t have a free hand. If she let go, her head would fall off and if she let go of the blanket…? He held the cup to her lips, and she took a sip and choked as fire flamed from her throat to her belly. What had he given her, kerosene? He started to pat her back which put him way too close for comfort. She risked taking the hand from her head to center on his chest before he got any nearer. A jolt seared up her arm like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. Her eyes shot upward to his face. His lips moved. She stared in fascination but heard nothing. A silent dream? That was new.

Sorry? His lips formed the word,
sorry
. He offered another cup, holding the metal to her lips. She drew her brows together and squinched up her nose as she sniffed the liquid. She smelled honey. Honey would be good for a sore throat. His lips remained in motion. She couldn’t concentrate with him so close, too many things happening at once. Her wet body ached, her head was splitting, literally, and she really needed to pee. She mustn’t forget the naked part, and not being able to talk or hear with the man of her dreams inches away, wearing… What was he wearing?

The thing looked like a union suit, a mangled union suit. She remembered Dan modeling the red one she had gotten him for Christmas last year. She and Donna had laughed themselves silly. Dan had a great body, but no one looked good in a union suit. Except this guy. His had no top and the bottoms ended right above his knees. Maybe they came that way. She thought she might remember seeing a pair of drawers
in her reproduction Sears and Roebuck catalog, circa 1882, if she could think without her brain exploding. Funny they would find their way into her subconscious. Mr. Dream Man certainly filled them out—and out. Goodness!

She dragged her gaze slowly up from his burgeoning erection, across his broad chest with absolutely zero hair, to his corded neck and those full lips. They didn’t move now but froze in a grin, which fell somewhere between
shit-eating
and
I’m about to gobble you up, little girl
. She swallowed, had no spit, and choked again. He didn’t move toward her this time, thank God. The silver sparkles in his eyes danced with mischief when her gaze finally reached them and then turned dark. She’d seen that look before, but only in her dreams.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. She didn’t resist. Why should she? This was her dream. Her pulse pounded in her throat. She knelt mesmerized as he leaned down. Her eyes never left his face as he turned blurry, but stayed firmly focused on those gorgeous lips right up until the moment they touched hers. The world went black.

* * * *

Will caught her before she fell, still wanting desperately to finish the kiss he started. She hadn’t fought him. Hell, she’d asked for his advances with the way she eyed him. She hadn’t said a word though, only stared at his mouth—and his crotch—with eyes like a startled doe. If a doe had eyes the color of misty gray autumn skies after a rain. Had he scared her? He must have since she wet herself. His lips curled into a smile. Well, he’d performed worse duties. Untangling his fist from her hair, he lay her down gently and went to fetch warm water for the basin.

Maybe he’d missed his calling. Or perhaps he couldn’t keep his hands to himself when he was close to her. He remembered the warmth of her body tucked in against his as if she was made to fit. His thoughts only made his need worse as did stroking her tender flesh a second time.

He took the liberty of bathing her completely to remove the tacky sweat from her skin, even rinsing her hair. Combing through the silky strands calmed him some. It was comforting holding her in his arms next to the stove as her hair dried. He took care to keep her wrapped in a blanket, lest Charlie stroll in. He hadn’t come but would soon enough. He was a bear in the morning until he got his coffee. With that thought in mind, he laid her back on the fresh linens of the bed and hustled up one of Charlie’s flannel shirts for her until he got the chance to fetch some of his own from the barn.

He’d just fastened the last button at her throat when Charlie walked through the door. Without looking up, Will said, “Her fever broke during the night.”

Charlie busied himself with the coffee. After he set the pot to boil, he turned to Will with his poker face on. “She say anything, like fer instance, how she came to be in our barn?”

Will pulled the fresh blanket over her, and scrubbed a hand over his chin. “No, I think she started to say something, but she got choked and didn’t try again. She might have overdone it a bit, fainted dead away not long after.”

“Did you get any broth down her?”

“She drank about half a cup and some more of the birch tea after she got choked.” He saw no need to tell Charlie what caused the spell in the first place. He pondered her actions for a moment. “Would a head banging cause her to lose her hearing?”

“Might,” Charlie said over his shoulder as he got the biscuit makings together. “Why?”

“It just now occurred to me she was watching my lips an awful lot. I might have thought of it sooner if someone hadn’t been basting me with toddies last evening.”

Charlie chuckled. “I only filled the cup, boy, you drank them.” He paused, mixing lard into the flour to ask, “She need tendin’?”

“I took care of her.” Although unlike Charlie to pussyfoot around, Will sure appreciated his effort. He didn’t understand his emotions well enough to explain them to anyone else, even the man who’d been a father to him from his earliest recollection.

Charlie began rolling out the dough on the table until it reached the thickness he wanted. Using a tin cutter, he cut the biscuits out then rerolled the dough and cut again. “I slept like a babe out in the barn. I’d about forgot what it was like.”

Charlie slid the baking pan into the oven and poured two cups of coffee. Will took the one he held out to him. What was the old man thinking? Will didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Since you seem to take to nursing, I wondered if you’d like to swap quarters with me for a spell? We’d have to bring the other bunk in o’course,” he added hastily.

While embarrassed at his insinuation, Will appreciated Charlie’s suggestion. He couldn’t let him. Winter came fast and sudden in the mountains. Charlie’s rheumatism would give him fits if he had to be out in the cold and damp for long. No, best to keep his current accommodations. He eyed the girl. Safer, too.