Sometime later, she felt the grasp of his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, sunshine, you think you can wake up enough to swallow? You need to eat.”
The tantalizing smell of food wafted to her nose, and her stomach rumbled loudly in response. “I guess that answers my question. Here, let me help you roll over.”
Maggie surrendered herself to the gentle strength of his hands. His dark face swam before her. When she felt him tuck the blankets over her chest, she wanted to thank him, but even as she groped for the words, she forgot exactly what it was she wanted to say.
“Don’t try to talk. Just let me get some soup down you. Then you can go back to sleep.”
A spoon touched her mouth. The wonderful taste of vegetable soup flowed over her tongue. She swallowed without even attempting to chew. The heat of the liquid made her stomach clench with urgent hunger.
“I didn’t know what kind of soup you like. I settled for vegetable beef.” A paper napkin grazed her chin. “Sorry. It’s hard not to spill with you lying down.”
Maggie tensed to sit up, but he immediately pressed her back. “Don’t move. We can manage well enough this way.” Another spoonful of soup filled her mouth. “I gave His Nibs a bath. Then I fed him two ounces of formula, just to tide him over.”
She struggled to make sense of what he was saying, but try as she might, his words darted in and out of her mind. Strangely, it didn’t matter. In her present state, she couldn’t work up the energy to worry about much. She relaxed against the pillows. His voice reassured her, and she drifted back into the blackness, trusting him to take care of her.
Rafe lightly touched a hand to Maggie’s forehead. He could detect no sign of fever, but even so, he couldn’t help worrying. He’d never seen anyone sleep this deeply.
“Maggie? You have to wake up now and try to feed Jaimie.”
Her long dark eyelashes fluttered. The next instant, Rafe found himself looking into confused brown eyes. He’d never been the sappy type, but in that moment, if he’d been asked to describe the feeling that swept over him, he would have said he felt as if he were drowning.
“Jaimie?” she repeated in a sleepy whisper. “Is he all right?”
Rafe slipped an arm behind her back to plump the pillows and prop her up. He smiled slightly, for even half-awake, she clutched the covers protectively to her chest. “He’s fine. Just hungry.”
He went to fetch the baby. When he swung back toward the bed, he saw that Maggie’s head was already nodding. He gave her a light shake to wake her. “Honey, maybe we should take you to the emergency room.”
“No!” she croaked, her eyes opening wide. “I’m not sick or anything. Just tired. All I need is a little more sleep. That’s all.”
She winced as she struggled to sit straighter. Rafe couldn’t determine if her breasts or ribs were causing the most pain, or if it was something else. Judging by the vicious marks he’d seen on her shins, he felt fairly certain she’d been kicked with heavy boots. What if she had internal injuries?
At least she didn’t have a fever. That was a good sign. And she’d kept the soup down. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I’ll give it until morning. But if you’re not better by then, I’m taking you to a doctor. Do we have a deal?”
She blinked, making an obvious effort to wake up. “Yes, a deal,” she replied, slurring her words slightly. She held out her arms for the baby. “Hi, sweetkins,” she said softly as he gave her the infant. “How’s my boy?”
Rafe handed her a bathroom towel to drape over her shoulder while she nursed the child. After taking the rectangle of terry, she gazed bewilderedly at it.
“It’s to cover yourself.”
A flush flagged her cheeks. “Oh.”
Rafe turned away. He found himself staring at a bare wall. Damn. He felt trapped. Being locked up in this small room with her was sheer hell. What was he supposed to do, count the hairs on his arms? He went to the window and drew back one of the sagging drapes. Leaning his shoulder against the frame, he gazed through the steamy pane at the dark, nearly empty parking lot.
He could hear the sucking sounds that Jaimie made as he latched onto a nipple. His stomach clenched. He hoped like hell Maggie did feel better in the morning. If he was around her much longer, he couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to keep a lid on these feelings she was stirring within him.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, taking heart when he didn’t hear Jaimie start to fuss. That had to mean her milk was coming down, and that could only be a good sign.
He closed his eyes, trying to blank out his thoughts. While caring for her, he’d gotten an eyeful a few times. He felt guilty about that, but in all fairness to himself, he hadn’t been able to help it. He’d tried not to look, but not seeing what was right in front of his nose was damned near impossible.
All afternoon and evening, one question had been circling in his mind. Who? While her guard had been down, he’d been so tempted to ask her questions, specifically who had beaten her up. His sense of fair play had forced him to bite his tongue.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose. Why pry into her personal life when he had no intention of hanging around? Come morning, he was out of here. He’d take twenty-five bucks from the money he’d gotten for his ring, give Maggie the rest, and hit the road, his first stop the liquor store. He wanted no part of a woman and baby. Didn’t want to care about them, and damned well wouldn’t.
The soft suckling sounds continued. He wished he had turned on the radio. Anything to drown it out. He knew every tug of the baby’s mouth had to cause Maggie pain, that if he turned and looked, he’d see tears trailing down her pale cheeks.
He rubbed a hand over his face and blinked, trying not to think about how it must be hurting her. He took a deep breath. “Given the lack of complaint from the diaper section, I take it your milk is coming down?”
After a moment’s silence, she replied in a thin voice. “Yes.”
Rafe swallowed, his throat closing around a pocket of air like a tight fist. “I know it must hurt like the very devil to nurse him. As soon as he’s done, I’ll bring you a cup of instant soup. I’ve got water heating on the hot plate.”
“A hot plate? Did it come with the room?”
“No, I bought a few things while I was out. I needed a way to heat water and do a little cooking. Nothing fancy. Soup and stuff like that.”
“You bought a hot plate?” There was a ring of what sounded like panic in her voice. “Oh, Mr. Kendrick, you’ve spent enough on us as it is. I’ve told you and told you, there’s no way I can pay you back.”
Evidently her life experience had taught her that men couldn’t be trusted not to feel proprietary if a woman accepted help. In fact, judging by the edge of panic in her tone, he suspected some man had gotten ugly with her about it.
“I don’t expect you to pay me back, Maggie.”
“A hot plate must have been expensive.”
For some reason, that made him want to laugh. He could remember a time when a fifty-dollar bill had been small change to him. “It’s just a cheap one, and we needed it. What choice did I have?”
“How much was it, exactly?”
Rafe worked his throat to swallow again. “Forty something. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty of money left.”
“Where’d you get that much money? You didn’t steal it, did you?”
Rafe smiled in spite of himself. He could see how she might think that. “No, I didn’t steal it. I hocked a ring.”
“A ring? It must have been quite some ring.”
“Yeah,” he replied huskily, “it was quite some ring.”
“Jaimie’s done,” she said softly.
As he came about, he found himself impaled by those beautiful brown eyes. His heart caught at the shimmer of tears he saw in them.
Her mouth quivered as she searched his face. “Have you ever been so indebted to someone you couldn’t even think how to thank him?” she asked in a shaky voice. “I know it irr
itates you. But I can’t help but worry. I’m in the habit of making my own way, and I’ll never be able to repay you for all this.”
The lump was back in Rafe’s throat. Making her own way? She could barely walk.
“No paybacks. Remember? Just knowing I’ve helped a little is all the thanks I need.”
He approached the bed, intending to take the baby from her and put him back in his makeshift bed. But once there, he sat beside her, his gaze locked on her sweet face. Dark smudges underlined her eyes, and her soft mouth was almost colorless. He cupped her cheek, trailing his thumb along her cheekbone, which felt frighteningly fragile.
Noting the prideful way she held her head and the stubborn thrust of her small chin, he struggled to sort his emotions. Down for the count, flat broke, and fresh out of luck—that was Maggie. Yet she still clung to her pride. He couldn’t help but admire that about her. On the other hand, though, it made for rough going when a man was trying to help her.
“Maggie, I know you feel uncomfortable about telling me too much, but I’ve got to ask. Who beat you up? And why?”
She lowered her gaze, a sign to Rafe that she didn’t intend to answer him.
“Was it Jaimie’s father?” He lightly touched her tousled hair. The sable tendrils were as soft as silk, an incongruous contrast to her mutinous expression, which, for reasons beyond him, made him want to smile. “Surely you can tell me that much.”
She raised her chin higher. “Jaimie has no father.”
Rafe’s heart caught, for there was a wealth of pain in those four words. “Everyone has a father, honey.”
“No.”
Just that one word: no. The way she said it, her voice laced with stubborn denial, made him yearn to hug her. Though he knew she had to be in her early twenties, she seemed so very young right then and so horribly alone.
“Jaimie is my baby,” she whispered. “Nobody’s but mine. On his birth certificate, I listed his father as ‘unknown,’ and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”
Rafe sighed. “Someday he’ll ask about his dad, you know. Is that what you’re going to tell him, that his father is unknown?”
“Yes.”
“That won’t reflect very well on you,” he pointed out.
“Better that he believe his mother was promiscuous than to learn the truth about—” She gulped and closed her eyes. “He has no father, end of subject. Please don’t ask me about it again.”
Of all the women he had ever met, she was the least likely to have been promiscuous. Rafe had a host of flaws, but being a poor judge of character wasn’t one of them. The first time he’d ever looked into Maggie’s eyes, he’d sensed her innocence, and discovering that she’d given birth to an illegitimate child hadn’t altered that impression. He didn’t know how she’d wound up pregnant, or why she so vehemently denied Jaimie’s father’s existence. But he would have bet his life on the fact that she hadn’t slept around.
Realizing that there was little point in pursuing the subject further, Rafe took the sleeping baby from her arms and pushed to his feet. As he stood there gazing down at her, he once again noted how very young and defenseless she looked. Her narrow shoulders barely took up half the pillow behind her, and above the blankets she clutched to her bare chest, he could see the delicate structure of her breast and collarbone. For an instant, his gaze locked on the ugly purple bruises that marred her ivory skin.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she desperately needed someone to take care of her. En route to the dresser drawer he’d fashioned into a bed for the baby, he found himself entertaining the thought of filling that role himself. And if that wasn’t a damn-fool notion, he didn’t know what was.
As he laid Jaimie in the cocoon of downy receiving blankets he’d bought, Rafe gave himself a hard mental shake. Like he was in any position to help someone else? Get real. His life was a mess. Even now, his hands trembled in need of a drink. No question about it; she needed help. But not from a hapless drifter whose one goal in life was to buy the next bottle.
Come morning, he’d do them both a favor and get the hell out of here. She wouldn’t be alone for long, he assured himself. With those eyes and that sweet face of hers, some other man would take one look at her and be putty in her hands.
Chapter Five
Sometime around midnight, people rented the cottage next to theirs, and the commotion of slamming doors, raised voices, and thumping luggage startled Maggie awake. Gasping at the pain in her ribs, she shot upright in bed and grabbed the first thing at hand to defend herself, one of the pillows.
Rafe glanced up from tending Jaimie to see her clutching the sheet to her chest, her terrified gaze fixed on the door, the pillow raised as if she meant to clobber the first thing that moved. Given the fact that in her befuddled state she’d chosen what could only be considered a pitifully ineffectual weapon, he nearly smiled.
“You expecting company?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
The moment she spoke, she winced, as if regretting her candor.
“I see. And what’s the plan, to smother him or bludgeon him to death?”
She rubbed at her eyes. “Very funny.”
As he applied himself to the task of snapping Jaimie’s sleeper, he said, “There’s no need to be jumpy, Maggie. If anyone tries to come in, he’ll have to go through me to get to you, and I’m not going to let that happen.”
“I know,” she said softly.
The response caught him by surprise, and it meant more to him than he could say.
She cast him a shamefaced look and lay the pillow aside. “Reflex reaction. I was dreaming, and the noise startled me.”
Rafe could see by the taut set of her mouth that the dream still held her in its grip. Still crouched by the dresser drawer he had commandeered to serve as Jaimie’s bed, he tossed a soiled wipe in the wastebasket, then rested his loosely crossed arms on an upraised knee. “A nightmare, I take it?”
She nodded.
“Care to talk about it?”
Her response to that was a negative shake of her head.
Seeing how upset she was, Rafe wished he could comfort her. But how? Even though she seemed to be starting to trust him a little, he’d still never met anyone who so stubbornly resisted accepting help. When left with no choice, she acquiesced, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t, even then, if not for the sake of her baby.
“I have more than my fair share of bad dreams myself,” he admitted, “so if you’re feeling embarrassed about it, don’t.”
“You have bad dreams?” She fixed him with that lovely, brown-eyed gaze, her expression conveying relief that the conversation had shifted from her to him. “What do you dream about?”
Rafe’s throat went tight. “My family, mostly.”
She bent her head and tugged at the corner of the pillowcase. “The car wreck?”
He’d never talked with anyone about that night, but there was something about Maggie—an indefinable something—that made him consider doing so now. Kindred souls. On the surface, it might appear that her wounds were mostly physical, but one look into her beautiful eyes told him she’d been emotionally battered as well. Shadows lurked there. Dark, shifting shadows—and a wariness of him that tugged at his heart. It didn’t take a mind reader to determine that she had suffered, in her own way, nearly as much as he had.
She needed a friend, perhaps desperately, and, he supposed, so did he. But before either of them could reach that point, they had to lower their guards. How could he expect her to trust him enough to reveal her secrets if he didn’t have the guts to share some of his own?
“Yeah,” he said, his voice reminding him of a whetstone rubbing over a knife blade. “I dream about the wreck. It was my fault, and ever since, I’ve had to live with that knowledge. During the day, I can hold the thoughts at bay, but when I’m sleeping, the memories haunt me.”
In the amber glow of the bedside lamp, her eyes were luminous, and a golden nimbus shimmered around her tousle
d dark curls, making her look for all the world like an angel perched there. “Were you drinking when it happened?” she asked tremulously.
Rafe gave a humorless huff of laughter. He could see how she might think that. “I didn’t start drinking a lot until after the accident. Booze, my panacea.” He felt suddenly embarrassed and ran a hand over his face. “No, I wasn’t drinking. I almost wish I had been. Then maybe I could live with the decisions I made that night.” Blinking to bring the room back into focus, he said, “It happened the first part of October, just a little over two years ago.”
She curled her legs beneath her, leaned more heavily against the headboard, and tugged the sheet higher. The droop of her thick eyelashes was a telltale sign of fatigue, yet he could still detect a certain tension in her posture that told him she wasn’t ready to fall asleep just yet.
“Is that why you looked so sad last night when you realized it’s almost Halloween?”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Right before he died, my little boy Keefer got his first pumpkin. Susan helped him carve it. This time of year—it’s tough.”
He batted at the open lid of the disposable diaper box that sat on the rug next to Jaimie’s bed. When he realized what he was doing, he pressed the flaps closed.
“Were you the one driving?” she asked.
“No. God, how I wish I had been.” He raked his hand over the nap of the rug, watching the limp tufts of yarn stand and then fall. “In my other life, I was a rancher in eastern Oregon.” He forced a stiff smile. “Shaved and showered every day. Went to council meetings, five-star restaurants, and church on Sunday. Looking at me now, I guess it’s probably hard for you to believe I was respectable once.”