And Garnet Jones had to burst into his life with her beautiful dark hair and fine-featured face and lily-soft thighs, and remind him exactly how lonely he was.
Wyatt cupped some of the creek water in the palm of his hand. He doused his forehead, hoping to wash away some of the unrelenting pain that drummed through his head and ached in his heart.
But it didn't. He feared nothing could.
* * *
A muffled bang jarred Garnet from the depth of a murky sleep. She felt as if she were drowning, submerged in a deep lake of water. It was as if she could see the light at the surface of the lake, but she had to struggle for it. She fought, incapable of pulling herself awake. She felt unable to breathe . . . and then suddenly she burst into the morning, already drained.
She blinked. A door stood wide open, letting in the gentle peach light of early morning.
Wyatt's dark gaze met hers. He stood as imposing as the wilderness outside, his long legs spread and his feet braced solidly on the floor. She stared at him, blinking. Her head hurt terribly, her whole body ached. She was so thirsty, the inside of her mouth was dry as sand and her tongue felt swollen.
Then he spoke. "I've been shot before. Nothing feels worse. At least nothing you live through. Here, I brought you some water."
Garnet opened her mouth, but she could find no words. No one had ever waited on her before. In her entire life, she'd been the one taking care of others. No one worried over her. No one was concerned if she was tired or hungry or thirsty or hurt. But this handsome miner did.
"Your hand isn't steady. Let me hold it for you." He knelt at her side and lifted the tin cup to her mouth.
"No, I'm perfectly capable–" Water rushed over her bottom lip. Cool, refreshing. She squeezed her eyes shut, cutting off the sight of the concern in his gaze. He still had a strange hold on her, as if her body had decided to thrum with life no matter what she wanted. She struggled to quiet the rapid beat of her heart and the thud of blood in her ears.
"Is that enough?"
She nodded. His nearness made her dizzy. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, and the full force of her condition hit her with the weight of a falling anvil. Her leg burned with pain, and she almost cried out loud.
"Careful." He caught her hand with both his larger ones. "You haven't gone and developed a fever on me, have you?"
"No." Of that, she was certain. And fortunate. Weakness washed through her like an illness, and it shamed her. To be dependent on a man now, on this man who made her body tingle in ways she knew spelled troubled. Why, she had to get up, had to help Pa, had to leave this cabin and Wyatt Tanner behind.
Well, there was only one solution, and it involved putting her feet on the floor and standing, then walking, then running, no matter how awful she felt. She pushed back the covers. "Excuse me."
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Home. Just like you wanted." And she wanted it, too. She missed Willow Hollow with its clean, tree-lined streets and neat shops. And her own bed in the western corner of the house, too hot in the summer, but hers all the same.
"You aren't moving until I say you are." He used his greater strength to push her back in bed. The humor in his voice was warm and as intimate as a shared secret. It lured her as mightily as his touch. "You just rest, Garnet. Let me fix you breakfast. Then we'll see."
"But–"
"No arguments. Remember, I'm considered a dangerous man in these parts. You'd better do as I say." He might be teasing her, but there was no denying his power. He towered over her, strong and vital, by far the most dangerous male she had ever encountered in her life.
Helpless against him, Garnet sank onto the mattress and melted into the pillows.
He smiled. "Besides, I doubt your father will wake up before full daylight." Then he strode away, leaving her without the ability to speak, his boots thudding dully on the packed earth floor.
"Has he gained consciousness yet?"
"On and off." He knelt before the potbellied stove along the back wall of the tiny cabin and pulled open the squeaky door. "He should be well enough to manage a trip, as long as you're there to take care of him."
"What about my sister?"
Wyatt struck a match, hesitating for just a moment before he lit the kindling. Fire crackled to life, and he added a small stick of dried wood. "I tried tracking her early this morning."
"Oh." Worry trembled in her voice, soft as morning as inviting as a lark's song. "Do you think–"
"Anything could have happened. Could be bad news but your sister may have found her way to town and could be enjoying breakfast as we speak." He added more wood to the fire. "There are a lot of lonely men in these parts who would be more than happy to make sure a lost woman got everything he could give her. Not me, of course. But some men."
"I see."
Wyatt winced. He'd sounded almost as desperate as the men he scorned, pining after their wives and mothers and hometowns, for the comfort a woman's touch brought to their lives. And the beauty.
Well, he'd never known that side of things. Always figured it had never existed. So, before he said anything even more foolish, Wyatt clamped his jaw shut and went about his usual chores. But there was nothing usual about this morning.
He could feel the weight of her gaze on his back a he stirred up the pancake batter. He could hear her unspoken questions heavy in the thick air between them Yet silence reigned as the open door allowed fresh air into the cabin and the sun threw light over the dim corners, chasing out the shadows and the memory of last night.
He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, she was watching him. Her wide eyes catalogued his every movement, examining him as if she could see the quality of his character in the way he stirred the pancake batter or greased the frying pan.
She was different than he had imagined last night in the dark. She was tall, but willowy. She appeared too thin, as if she often ate much less than she should or worked far too hard. It was in the prim set of her mouth and the unadorned gray dress she wore. Only her hair appeared the same as he remembered, cascading as it did down her back, tousled and wild and free.
He sighed heavily, unsure what to do. He didn't want to live ten miles from a woman, much less share a cabin with one, even for a morning. And any fool could see she was in obvious pain. What if she were unable to travel? Would she have to stay here with him until her wound healed?
The coffee was done boiling, so he tugged a tin cup from the shelf, wiped it out with the tail of his shirt, and poured coffee into it. The bitter black liquid steamed, and he gripped the handle carefully.
She shrank as he stepped nearer, her blue-green eyes widening. Wyatt set the cup on the shelf by the bed, leaning close enough to her that he could smell the scent of her body and feel the heat of her skin.
"I'll give you the cup first," he said quietly, stepping backward away from the brush of her hair that had nearly touched his hand. "I only have one."
She didn't blink as she gazed up at him. "Thank you, Wyatt."
She looked different in the light of day. Softer. Smaller. More womanly. Last night she had only been a form in the night. Now she was a supple woman, thin but shapely. He noticed her gentle curves, from her bosom all the way down to her ankles.
"Breakfast will be along shortly." He turned his back on her, remembering his duties at the stove. "It's time to wake your father and see if he'll take breakfast."
"I'll help you." She offered too quickly, as if she were uncomfortable with him, too. "It should be my job to take care of Pa from now on. He is my father and my responsibility."
"Yes." And he was glad of it. Eugene was a difficult patient, and Wyatt couldn't shake the feeling that the old man couldn't be trusted. "Is there anything else I can get you before I put the pancakes on to fry?"
Her lush mouth pursed into a rigid line. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "I need to use the, ah, privy."
She said the last word as if it were something to be ashamed of. He grabbed a bucket out from beneath the table. He dropped it at her feet. "Here, use this. I'll empty it for you."
"No." Her spine stiffened, and her chin flew up. "I mean, I can't let you–I mean, I'd rather visit the privy myself."
"Then stand up." He offered her his outstretched hands. He watched as she gazed up at his face, measuring, and hesitated, then wrapped her slim long fingers around his. He felt the bunch of her arm muscles as she pulled herself upward, and he pulled, too, helping her to her feet.
But just as her feet found the floor, her injured leg buckled and she lost her balance. Unable to stop, she tumbled forward into his chest. He heard her "oof!" when she hit him full-length, and her small body pressed intimately against his.
His arms caught her and held her close, and he didn't know why, but he couldn't let go. He could feel the pillows of her breasts against his chest and the softness of her belly against his groin. A gentle warmth spread through him, a pleasing sensation that reminded him of a cheerful fire on a cold night, the way home felt after a long journey.
"My leg will be just fine," she said, all blushing determination as she pushed off his chest to stand on her own. Pure steel she was, a true spitfire beneath that prim and proper schoolmarm appearance.
"Here." He offered her his arm. "Lean on me. I'll help you outside."
Garnet stiffened, already experienced in what it was like to touch that rock-hard man. Her blood tingled just thinking of it. "No. I can walk. I
will
walk."
It was the tone of her voice that irritated him. Independent. Stubborn. Wyatt's pride stung at the sound of it. "Fine."
He would do better to remember she didn't need him. Or want him. Women were picky in their choice of men–and it all boiled down to how much money he made. And if that truth hurt, well, he'd survived bigger wounds. She clearly didn't want his help, even though she looked ready to faint at any moment.
With amazing fortitude, she hobbled toward the threshold and the serene stillness of the morning. Lark and sparrow trilled merrily. A breeze rustled the alders in the yard and the soft folds of her skirt, so that the fabric hugged her body, hinting at the curve of her hip and fanny. Despite the beautiful autumn morning, the air crisp with the threat of frost, Wyatt couldn't seem to look at anything but her.
"Garnet, is that you?" A rusty-sounding voice shattered the peace.
"Pa!" Garnet whirled around, her affection for the old man shining in her eyes. Her own pain didn't stop her as she made fast progress across the cabin.
She doesn't look at me like that
, Wyatt observed. Warm, happy, animated. He turned to his stove and saw the damn contraption needed more fuel. He was more than happy to bolt from the room, leaving father and daughter to their reunion.
Chapter Four
Garnet sank to her knees beside the pallet in the corner. Pain shot through her thigh, but she felt only relief at the sight of the man before her, looking so weak, so frail. "Pa."
"I knew I could count on you, girl." His voice was rough like gravel and as familiar as her dreams. His eyes smiled hello, but there were darker shadows within, secrets and perhaps worse.
Oh, would she always be such a silly goose? Always it was like this, the first look at her father had her heart strumming with love like a guitar strung too tight. She knew full well Pa would never be the father she needed, not to the little girl who always ran to greet him when he came home from his wandering, earnestly sitting at his feet after the supper dishes were done to listen to his fabricated tales from this gold rush or that.
Always she pined for a love he said he had for her, but she'd learned the hard way Pa's words and deeds were two different things.
Pa always left her and the family behind, always saying the words they wanted to hear; worse, the words she needed to hear. That he loved her. His family was everything. He would never leave, not this time. Everything was different now. But they were lies–no, worse than lies. Pa's promises had been intentional manipulations to get what he wanted, vows he always planned to break.
Oh, she hadn't wanted to believe such things about her father, but time proved her right every time. He always left in the dark of night, stealing from her savings jar, stealing from poor Ma's reticule, and running away to another adventure that wasn't. To another mining camp where he could drink as he wanted and escape all responsibilities.
She'd accepted a long time ago that her father would never change his ways, no matter what he said.
But now, seeing the gladness as big as the Montana sky right there, shining in his eyes, Garnet still wanted to believe this time would be different. That it was still possible to dream of what might be if Pa would stay home like other fathers and tend the land. The hardship would be less, the poverty more bearable with the jolly old man's laugh. Ma would have lived, would have smiled often and merrily just to see this now-weathered, unshaven face across her kitchen table.
Garnet shook herself from her thoughts. It was simply wasted time to daydream of what might be, and what might have been. It was foolish to wish for such things that could never come true.
"You're looking better than I expected." She reached out to lay her hand along his forehead.
