Lover of My Dreams (24 page)

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like drinking any more,” she told him tiredly.

He took the cup from her and was about to turn away when he saw her pull back the blanket and slowly ease her legs down onto the floor. He pulled himself up straight and stared down at her.

“Don’t you dare get out of that bed,” he told her sternly.

Rachel froze in surprise. She looked up at him and saw the serious expression on his face. She was immediately consumed with anger by his display of power.

“And just who the do you think you’re talking to?” she asked him angrily. “No one is going to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I decide that I’ll go back to my own tent and rest then that’s what I’ll do.” Her breathing was coming in quick gasps. She could feel herself getting lightheaded from the exertion, but she would be damned if she let him know it.

“As your doctor, I most certainly will tell you what to do,” he countered angrily. “I was up with you half the night. Your fever was so high you were delirious. You’re still sick and very weak, and I will not allow you to ruin your health further just because you’re uncomfortable staying in my camper.”

Rachel stared across at him and found that her anger was losing some of its intensity. He had been up with her all night. She had been delirious. He had taken care of her and had nursed her through the worst of her sickness. She was being unreasonable in her stubbornness. Although she hated to admit it, she knew that he was right. She shouldn’t try to go back to her own tent.

The silence hung heavily between them. Rachel’s anger was evident but so was Sam’s determination to take care of her. This battle of wills was not going to be won lightly. Sam searched Rachel’s face and found himself softening at her frailty. He understood that she was trying to take care of herself and be strong, but sometimes you just have to allow someone else to help. He wanted to be that someone for her. He saw the dark circles under her eyes and the paleness of her complexion despite the feverish flush of her cheeks. She needed him to take care of her, even if it was only temporarily until she could take care of herself.

“Please, Rachel,” he pleaded with her quietly, his anger all but gone. “You really have to take it easy. I’m very concerned that you’ll have a relapse and I won’t be there to help.” He took a step toward her and looked down at her. “I don’t want you to end up in the hospital. Please stay until you’re sure you’re up to camping alone.”

Rachel closed her eyes and rubbed them tiredly. She could feel the heat behind her eyes and knew he was right. She still felt sick and was in no shape to camp alone.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll stay until I feel better.”

She lay back down on the bed and didn’t protest when he moved to cover her once again. When he reached forward to touch her cheek, she found herself holding her breath at the sudden and unexpected contact.

He removed his hand and turned to get the cool cloth that sat in the bowl of water that he had used to bathe her body throughout the night. He lifted the cloth and squeezed out the excess water. He placed it gently across her eyes and forehead, and she couldn’t stop herself from sighing at the refreshing feel of it. It seemed to pull the heat from her face.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, pressing the cool cloth to her eyes.

“You’re very welcome,” he answered her, smiling. He was glad her eyes were covered so that she couldn’t see his smile. “I’ll be back in a little while.” He heard her make a sound and took it to mean that she had heard him.

He left the camper to complete some necessary daily chores around the campground. He also knew he should give her some time alone to adjust to her situation.

When he returned she was sound asleep, and he took the time to clean up and change out of his sweat clothes and put on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. As he removed the cloth from her head, she turned her face toward the center of the camper.

He looked down at her silently for a moment. Her right hand was tucked under the pillow and her left hand was resting on top of her stomach. He had to hold himself back from reaching out to caress her. She looked so vulnerable. He found that he wanted to climb back into bed beside her, hold her within his arms again, and maybe finish what she had started last night. He wanted to kiss her and touch her and make love to her.

He thought about his dream again as he looked down at her. He felt deep in his heart that this woman that he had known most of his life actually might be—no, was indeed meant for him.

He turned, picked up her novel and sat down at the table to continue reading. He positioned himself on the bench seat with his back resting against the framing of the other mattress in the camper so that he could watch her by just raising his eyes from the book. It was funny to him how he kept looking up to make sure that she was really there.

In a matter of moments he was concentrating so intently on the words before him that he became totally oblivious to his surroundings. When he finally turned the last page of the book, he placed it reverently on the table and looked up at the sleeping woman before him.

He was in awe that she had written such an extraordinary novel. What truly amazed him was how much of her he saw in the story. Her own personality was so much a part of the female character that he felt that he had gotten to know her secret, innermost desires just by reading her book. If that was indeed true, then he knew what she hoped and dreamed for.

A light knock on the camper door pulled his thoughts up short. He rose and went to the door to open it quietly. An older couple, somewhere in their sixties he would guess, was standing there before him.

“Can I help you, folks?” he asked them kindly.

“Sure hope so,” the man replied, clutching a beat-up map in his age-lined hands. “My wife and I are planning on camping around here after we check out the area and load up on supplies and wondered if you might help us out by pointing us in the right direction.”

Sam smiled widely. The two before him reminded him of Roy’s mother and father. The friendliness and warmth they displayed were typical of the people of the mountains.

“Sure, come on in,” Sam invited them, stepping back to allow them to climb up into the camper. “Have a seat.” He removed the book that he had just finished from the table to place it carefully in the small cabinet next to the camper door so they could spread their map out.

“Thank you,” the man said as he sat down on the bench seat, moving over so his wife could slide in beside him.

“Oh, dear,” the woman said, quietly. “We wouldn’t want to disturb your wife.”

Sam looked at her in confusion then realized that she was looking at Rachel and smiled at her mistake. “Don’t worry. She’ll sleep soundly for a while. She hasn’t been feeling well,” he told them, not bothering to correct the error.

“Poor dear,” the woman sympathized. “Such a pretty little thing too.”

Sam smiled and nodded as he looked down at Rachel’s sleeping form as she lay in his bed. He decided that her being in his bed was where she was supposed to be. He was going to make sure that she knew that he wanted her there. A soft voice telling him that they were meant to be together echoed in his mind. He thought about the sweet voice that had spoken to him as he slept and wondered if his inner feelings were the real culprit of the imaginary voice.

“Yes, she is,” he agreed, bringing himself back to pay attention to the elderly couple before him.

He was slightly embarrassed at having been caught looking at Rachel. He cleared his throat self-consciously and sat across from them to view the map. Once he had straightened out their sense of direction and recommended some sights and campgrounds, the man folded the map and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

“Much obliged,” he told Sam, offering his hand. “Name’s Stan Fletcher. This here is my wife, Gwen.”

“Sam McCoy,” he introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.” Sam smiled as he offered his hand to both and shook theirs warmly. “I was just about to make some lunch. Would you like to join me?”

He hoped that they would say yes. They made him feel like he was part of Roy’s family again. He missed sharing times with Kay and Gabe Monroe. When Gabe had died when Roy had been ten years old, he had been as devastated as Roy was. Gabe Monroe was a kind and humorous man who died too young. He had always enjoyed the feelings of acceptance that he had received whenever he had visited with them. Sam could sense the same peaceful kindness in these people.

“Oh, we couldn’t,” Gwen protested. “We’d be putting you through so much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Sam stopped her. “It’s only sandwiches, and it would be nice to have some company.”

“That’s right nice of you,” Stan accepted happily.

Sam stood and started to remove some items from the refrigerator. He placed them on the table, handed the elderly couple some utensils, and surveyed the cabinet under the sink. His eyes skirted to the sleeping form in his bed, his face softening immediately.

“I’d better make some soup for Rachel,” he said, more to himself than to the two visitors. “She’ll only be able to eat something light. You two go on and start.”

He removed a can of soup from the narrow shelf below the sink and opened it, poured its contents into the small pan that he had placed on the stove, and lit the burner beneath it. Stan and Gwen looked at each other and smiled at the obvious concern that he had for his young wife. They worked silently for just a moment before Sam joined them once again at the table.

As they ate the sandwiches, Sam noticed that Rachel was beginning to move restlessly. He removed himself from the bench seat, stood, and walked over to her. He reached forward to gently touch her forehead. She opened her eyes slowly, and he found himself immersed in the gentle softness before him.

“How do you feel?” he asked her worriedly, taking his hand from her forehead and resting the back of it against her cheek. “Your fever’s down.”

Rachel looked up at him tiredly and closed her eyes for a second before opening them once again to look at him. “I’m tired but I feel a little better,” she told him quietly. “I smell food.”

Sam laughed and reluctantly took his hand away. “It figures,” he teased, reaching forward to help her sit up, surprised when she let him aid her without protest.

He pulled her forward and was removing the blanket from her body when his hand was captured and held by hers. He looked up at her in confusion and saw that she was looking at the couple who sat at the table.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I forgot for the moment that we had company. Rachel, this is Gwen and Stan Fletcher. I asked them to stay and have lunch before they head out.”

“Nice to meet you, Rachel,” Stan greeted her warmly.

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well, dear,” Gwen told her sympathetically.

“Nice to meet you both,” Rachel answered, smiling despite the awkward feeling she had at having them see her in bed. The older couple seemed friendly enough.

She eased herself down off the bed, grateful for Sam’s assistance, and held on to his arm as he helped her to the table. She closed her eyes briefly as she took a steadying breath. The mere proximity of Sam’s strong body pressed up against hers as he guided her from the bed to the table was enough to rob her of coherent thought. Her heart sped up and she licked her lips nervously, suddenly wanting to wrap her arms around him and cuddle into his warmth.

Too soon, his hands left her and his body moved away from hers. She felt the loss so greatly, her chest actually ached. She sat down carefully, tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at the couple across from her, making a conscious effort to calm herself and let go of the fantasy that assaulted her.

Sam placed the bowl of warm soup in front of her along with a spoon and a bottle of water. She looked up at him and smiled gratefully, her mouth watering at the delicious aroma of the soup. When Sam slid onto the bench seat beside her, she made a conscious effort not to move away from him. Even though she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she liked that his strong body touched hers. She could feel the power of his leg as it touched hers and closed her eyes as she absorbed the strength of him. She kept the sigh of contentment inside of her, forcing herself to open her eyes and concentrate on the meal before her.

She ate slowly and listened as Sam talked with the Fletchers. All of them finished their sandwiches, but she was unable to eat more than half of the soup. She pushed it aside and took a small sip of the cold water.

“I’m sorry. I can’t eat any more,” she explained when she saw Sam’s concerned face. “My stomach is still a little queasy.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant, dear,” Gwen offered politely.

Rachel looked at her in shock then looked with wide eyes at Sam who sat beside her. A smile slowly spread across his face as his eyes darkened with an emotion Rachel was at a loss to identify. Rachel looked back at Gwen and saw her confusion.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it, dear?” Gwen offered hesitantly.

“Yes, it would be nice,” Rachel agreed hesitantly. “But it’s hardly likely.”

“What Rachel means is that it’s too soon for her to be experiencing any symptoms,” Sam interrupted her quickly. “We’ve only been married a few weeks. Isn’t that right, honey?” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked down at her.

He saw the flash of anger that ignited in her eyes and couldn’t help but smile wider. It was obvious that she was trying to control herself and not cause a scene. Under the table, however, she was not so controlled. Her hand was squeezing his thigh with such strength that it was hard for him to believe that she could be weak from her illness. After some difficulty, he was finally able to remove her hand from his leg to hold it firmly in his hands on top of the table, in clear view of Stan and Gwen’s watchful eyes.