Outlaw's Bride (8 page)

“I understand.” She released him. “Go on. Next time you stop by, you'll have to stay for supper.”

“I'd like that.” He smiled. “I'd like that a lot.”

Mattie watched the doctor climb back into the buggy, then lifted her hand in farewell as he rolled out of the yard.

Clint would remain here until he was well enough to travel. She tried to tamp down the happiness within her, but couldn't. It had been too long since something had made her feel this elated, and she was going to hold on to the feeling as long as possible.

Mattie carried a tray of food up to Clint's room. He lay on his back, snoring softly. His shaggy hair needed a trim and he hadn't shaved since the day he'd been shot, but he still oozed a sensuality that lured Mattie like apple blossoms attracted a honeybee.

Fine-looking specimen, Mattie. You'd be a fool to let him get away.

She could almost hear Ruth's voice in her head.

Ruth had not approved of Mattie's decision to never marry again. She had thought Mattie was being overly dramatic, denying herself the comfort of a man's arms simply because she'd made a mistake with the first one.

Mattie shoved the memories aside. Clint needed to eat and she'd have to wake him. She leaned over to touch him, but stopped before her hand reached his shoulder. He'd told her not to touch him, only to call his name to awaken him.

“Mr. Beaudry.” His face remained relaxed in peaceful slumber. “Mr. Beaudry, time to eat,” she said more loudly. He shifted and lifted his arm, laying it across his eyes. This was getting her nowhere. “Clint,” she nearly shouted.

He jerked awake and drew his arm away from his face. His green eyes were sleepy, but at least they were open.

“What is it?”

“Supper's ready.”

“First you tell me to get some rest, then you wake me up to tell me it's time to eat. Next thing I know you'll be waking me to tell me when it's time to use the privy,” he grumbled.

Mattie almost laughed. “I can wake you for that, too, if you'd like, Mr. Beaudry.”

His scowl deepened, but there was a twinkle in his green eyes she hadn't noticed before and her heart beat a little faster. “No, I don't think you need to. Waking to you that often might give me other ideas.”

Her cheeks warmed, ideas of her own flitting through her mind. “I think you're strong enough to feed yourself now.” She set the tray down on his thighs, much too conscious of what lay beneath the covers.

He picked up his fork as if it weighed a hundred pounds. “I'm not so sure of that.”

“Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

“What about three times?” he asked, his lips quirked upward.

“Then shame on both of us,” she quipped. “I'll come back in a little while to get your tray.”

“You aren't even going to keep me company?”

She'd like nothing better, but the ground rules had been laid and she knew better than to tempt a man like him. “I have to set the table. Enjoy your supper.”

She turned to leave.

“Mrs. St. Clair,” Clint called.

Stopping, she looked at him. “What?”

“You have a smudge of dirt right”—he touched a spot on the left side of his jaw—“there.”

Embarrassed, she rubbed the place on her own jaw.

“It's still there,” Clint said. “Come here.”

She hesitated, then crossed to his bedside.

He dipped a corner of his napkin into the glass of water on his tray. “Closer.”

She leaned over him and he wiped away the dirt with the damp cloth while his other hand cupped her cheek. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched and her heart fluttered.

“Were you working in the garden?” he asked, his warm breath fanning her neck.

She nodded, unable to put two words together coherently.

“There, I think I got it.” He released her and she straightened on trembling legs. “You should have Andy do some of that work.”

“He likes to fish with Herman,” she said defensively.

“And I'll bet you have things you'd like to do, too. Instead, you do more than your share of the chores around here,” Clint said with far too much perception.

She stiffened her spine. “You don't hear me complaining, do you?”

Mattie hurried downstairs, away from the confusion Beaudry made her feel. Pausing in front of the stove, she lifted her fingers to her face where Clint had cradled her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes as desire raced through her. Not even Jason had heated her blood like Clint Beaudry had done with such a simple gesture.

Clint was just as dangerous as she'd thought—and the danger lay in his ability to arouse her with a single touch.

“What are you doing?” she demanded of her patient one early morning two weeks after he'd been shot.

Clint's face was the color of chalk. “I'm getting dressed.”

Mattie forced herself to remain standing just inside the doorway. She had a feeling her aid wouldn't be well received by the proud man.

She watched him struggle with a boot, amazed that he'd donned his trousers without any assistance. Though she'd often seen his bare chest, the sight of him partially clothed made her heart pound.

He pressed a hand to his side and sank back on to the mattress.

Mattie went to him to check his bandage and found fresh blood. “You've broken the wound open.”

“I'm not going to lie in that bed another day,” he stated through thinned lips.

“You're only going to set back your healing if you don't.”

“I don't give a damn.”

“Mr. Beaudry, you will
not
swear in my house.”

He glared at her and Mattie met his hostile gaze with an obstinacy that matched his. After a few moments, he relinquished his glower and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “You're more cussed stubborn than my first horse.”

“No doubt he was more intelligent than you, too,” Mattie said in a bantering tone.

Beaudry's eyes twinkled with mischief. “That he probably was, ma'am.” He glanced down at his bandage. “Is it bleeding bad?”

“No,” Mattie admitted. “But I still think it's too early for you to be trying to get up.”

“Will you wrap it up tight?”

She knew it would be useless to argue with him. Cabin fever could be ten times worse than any other fever, if it went unrelieved for too long. “All right, but you have to promise me you'll only sit on the porch.”

“I promise.”

Mattie sighed and set to work removing the old dressing. She found that only the exit wound had broken open, and it had stopped bleeding already. She cleaned it, then rewrapped a bandage about his trim waist.

Overly aware of his close-fitting black jeans, Mattie tried to keep her attention averted, but her traitorous gaze kept returning to the bulge beneath the buttoned fly. She finally tied off the bandage and found herself suddenly faced with his chest—bare except for the captivating triangle of chest hair that tapered down to his waist.

She cleared her throat. “I'll get your undershirt.” Opening a dresser drawer, she pulled out the one she'd cleaned and mended—the one he'd been wearing when he'd been shot. She handed it to him. “Here.”

Clint put his arms in the sleeves, then tried to lift it over his head. He grimaced and his arms fell back to his thighs.

Without asking, Mattie helped him pull it on over his head and tugged it down to cover the temptation of his chest and snug jeans.

“Thanks,” Clint mumbled.

“You're up!”

Mattie looked over to see her son enter the room.

“You need help with your boots, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked.

One of them was partially on, while the other lay on its side on the floor.

“I'd be obliged, Andy,” Clint said.

Her son knelt and struggled to tug on the boots. Clint's jaw muscle twitched, revealing his discomfort, but Mattie knew he'd endure almost anything to get out of this room.

“There,” Andy announced as he scrambled to his feet. “You gonna have breakfast with us?”

“If your ma doesn't mind.”

“As long as he can make it downstairs without passing out, he's welcome to join us,” Mattie said, arching a dark eyebrow.

“You're a hard woman, Mrs. St. Clair,” Clint teased.

“And here I was going to offer to help you downstairs.”

“In that case, you're an angel of mercy.”

Mattie laughed. “We'll see if you're thinking the same thing by the time you get downstairs.”

Clint took hold of the bedpost and slowly pulled himself to his feet. His face, which had gained some color while he'd been sitting, paled again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mattie asked.

He nodded without hesitation.

Reluctantly, she stepped up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist, heedful of his wounds. He placed his right arm around her shoulders and they shuffled out of the bedroom. His harsh breathing told Mattie of the pain he was in and she gritted her own teeth in empathy. As they descended the stairs, he held tightly to the banister with his left hand while leaning heavily on Mattie on his other side.

She ached with tension and his extra weight, but the feel of his body against hers diminished her burden. Clint Beaudry was lean, but sinewy muscles gave him a strength she wouldn't have thought he possessed.

At the bottom of the stairs, Clint drew away from her, but she remained close by his side in case he stumbled. She had better things to do than spend another two weeks playing nursemaid to a stubborn fool.

Even a stubborn fool as handsome as Clint Beaudry.

D
espite the morning's coolness, sweat beaded Clint's forehead when he finally lowered himself into a chair in the kitchen.

“You look whiter'n Herman's beard,” Andy exclaimed.

“That… must be pretty white,” Clint said as his head spun.

“You gonna be all right, Mr. Beaudry?” Andy asked, his young face worried.

“He'll be fine once he rests for a few minutes. Go on and gather the eggs, and have Herman milk Jewel.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Andy skipped out of the kitchen.

“So aren't you going to say I told you so?” Clint asked.

Mattie glanced at him. “Would it do any good?”

“No.”

“Then I'd be wasting my breath, wouldn't I?”

Clint chuckled. There were a lot of things to admire about Mattie St. Clair. He watched her mix a batch of biscuits, content to sit in the silence of her comfortable kitchen.

Mattie's slender fingers moved gracefully as she worked. She brushed back a strand of hair from the side of her face, leaving a dusty white trail behind. Her unpretentiousness crept into Clint's chest, lodging too close to his heart. She was nothing like the sporting women he'd kept company with since Emily had died, and therein lay the tender peril.

“Here.”

Mattie's voice startled him out of his musings and he glanced up to see her offering him a glass of water. He smiled gratefully and his fingers wrapped around hers as he accepted it. Her smooth warm skin ignited a spark of desire that he quickly squelched. “Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair.”

Her smile could have brought a dead man back to life. “You're welcome, Mr. Beaudry.”

Clint drank the water, not even aware if it was warm or cold. All he knew was that he needed to find something else to dwell on besides the lilt of her sensual voice and the light in her violet eyes.

“Would you like more?” she asked.

He nodded and she took his glass to fill it at the pump in the sink. Her slim back curved gracefully as she worked the pump's handle, and the profile of her high breasts captured Clint's undivided attention.