“Pull him up!” Ben yelled, but his own attention was on hauling Jillian the rest of the way onto the ledge and then pulling her to safety against the wall of the mountain.
As gently as possible he turned her over onto her back. Her face was ashen, even her lips. She wasn’t screaming, but each inhalation of breath ended in a harsh, almost soundless groan.
“Can you tell me where it hurts worst, sweetheart?” Ben began feeling each joint, starting in her right hand and working upward. There was a deeply tender note in his voice.
“Left. . . shoulder,” she panted. She had broken out in a cold sweat. “I think it’s . . . dislocated.”
It was, and no wonder, with all of Rick’s heavy weight jerking on her sockets the way it had. He was careful in his examination, but even so she cried out every time he touched her. His attention was so focused on her that he was barely aware when the groaning, heaving men finally pulled Rick back onto the ledge, though they were only a few feet away.
“I have to get the joint back in place,” he murmured. “This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but it has to be done.”
Her pupils had contracted to tiny points from the pain. “What do you think . . . it feels like . . . now? Go ahead . . . do it.”
Shit, he hated this, knowing how much it was going to hurt her, but she was right; nothing could be gained by waiting. It wasn’t as if they could have her at a hospital within the hour; they might make it in a month, if luck was on their side. Her shoulder had to be put back into position, now. He knew how to do it, had done it before, and had himself once been on the receiving end of the maneuver. It wasn’t any fun. Before he let himself think about it too much, he lifted Jillian’s arm, keeping it straight, and put his free hand on her shoulder.
She screamed as he snapped the joint into place, her slim body arching rigidly. The hoarse scream echoed around them. He hoped she would faint, but she didn’t. Instead she rolled convulsively to the side and began gagging from the nauseating agony. She’d been pale before, but now she was chalky.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rick was crawling toward them, his own face pale and still wild-looking.
“Your weight jerked her shoulder out of its socket when she caught you,” Ben replied, his tone clipped. He was surprised by the violent urge he had to kick Sherwood off the ledge after all, for being so damn stupid and injuring Jillian, not to mention nearly getting her killed in the process.
Abruptly Rick stopped as his strength deserted him. He flopped on his stomach and lay there shaking like an aspen leaf. “God,” he whispered. After a minute he managed to lift his head. “Will she be all right?”
Ben wished he had some ice to put on her shoulder to relieve the pain and swelling, but he might as well have wished for the moon. “She won’t feel so hot for a couple of days. That joint’s going to be damn sore.” He reached for a canteen of water and wet his handkerchief, which he used to wash her face and neck. “She’s a little shocky. Prop her feet up on your legs,” he directed, and Rick scooted to obey.
Gradually Jillian began to feel better; though her shoulder still throbbed, it wasn’t with the agony of before. The nausea faded, and she lay quietly, resting.
“Feeling better now?” Ben asked after several minutes.
“Top of the trees,” she murmured.
“Thatta girl. If you feel like sitting up, I’ll wrap your shoulder. Once it’s immobilized, the throbbing will ease.”
He spoke as if he had been through the experience himself. Curiosity stirred in Jillian, but quickly faded; she just didn’t have the energy to pursue the subject. Carefully Ben eased her to a sitting position against his knee. Everyone seemed to be standing around, watching her with varying degrees of concern, and for various reasons. Except for Dutra, she noticed. From what she could tell, he was still in the position he’d been in when Rick had fallen. His brutish face was set in a sneer.
The first-aid supplies included stretch bandages in various widths, in case of sprained ankles or wrenched knees. Ben chose the widest one and tightly bound her shoulder with it, then used another to secure her left arm to her side. If she had felt better she would have glared at him, because the binding did not make her shoulder feel better; it just intensified the throbbing. As if he’d read her thoughts he said, “I know it hurts. Give it a minute. It’ll start feeling better, I promise.”
Thankfully, the pounding ache did begin to ease. Ben gave her a couple of aspirin, which she gratefully swallowed. Pepe returned while she was still leaning against Ben’s knee, recovering her strength, and she heard Eulogio telling him in their own language what had happened. Above her head, Ben spoke quietly to Pepe, and she half listened to the reply. It seemed they could soon get off this damnable ledge, perhaps after another hour’s travel. So much time had been lost, however, that they might not make it before dark.
“Then we’ll make it after dark,” Ben replied. “We’re not spending the night on the ledge.” His head dipped down to hers. “Sweetheart, can you walk?”
She hesitated. “I think so, if you can get me to my feet.”
Carefully he helped her to stand, and Rick quickly moved to her other side to steady her. She swayed a moment, but took two deep breaths and then stood firm. She even managed a small smile; very small, but still a smile. “All systems go.”
Ben slid his arms into his pack, then shouldered Jillian’s too.
“We could divide her load,” Rick said.
“I don’t want to take the time; we need to be off this ledge before dark. I can manage the weight for an hour.”
“I’ll help Jillian, then.”
“No.” Jillian took another deep breath. “It’ll be safer if we go single file. I can walk for an hour. It’s no problem, since Ben is carrying my pack.”
The look Ben gave her told her that he knew exactly how much of a problem it was, but there was no alternative, so he didn’t say anything. Jillian was glad of his silence. In an odd way, it was a measure of his respect for her strength and capabilities.
Pepe led the way, and Ben insisted that Jillian go second, while he fell into position right behind her. She knew he wanted to stay close by so he could be there immediately if she started to waver, but she resolutely set one foot in front of the other. The pain wasn’t so bad, not as bad as she had feared. Her shoulder throbbed with each step, but it wasn’t unbearable. The worst of it was the weakness in her legs; she felt as if she were just recovering from a severe case of the flu. Probably a reaction to the shock of pain, as well as crashing down from an adrenaline high. Everything seemed slightly unreal, even Martim’s death. Had it only been a few hours?
Absurdly, she began to feel hungry. Not exactly a delicate reaction, but then she wasn’t a delicate person. The hunger was reassuring, a mundane touch of reality.
It was deep twilight when they finally worked their way off the ledge, and completely dark when they plunged once again under the triple canopy. Camp was set up hastily, the men hacking a smaller clearing than usual out of the underbrush, one just large enough to accommodate the tents and the cook fire. Ben set up Jillian’s tent for her, then found a comfortable place for her to sit while Pepe prepared the meal.
Jillian had no trouble feeding herself, even with her left arm immobilized from the elbow up, and wolfed down the simple meal of rice and canned fish. She usually didn’t drink coffee at night, but Ben handed her a mug of the beverage, heavily sugared, and she drank it without protest. By the time the meal was over, she was feeling much better.
Rick came over and sat down beside her. He seemed embarrassed, looking not at her but at the ground between his feet. “Uh—I wanted to say thanks for what you did,” he mumbled.
It was the only friendly gesture she could remember Rick making toward her in her entire life, and she refused to let herself read too much into it. She contented herself with a simple “You’re welcome.”
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Are you feeling okay now?” he asked
after a minute.
“My shoulder’s sore, but it feels better than it did.”
“Good.” He couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say, and after another uneasy minute he stood up. He still hadn’t looked her in the face. “Thanks again,” he said as he returned to his previous position.
As soon as he had left, Ben appeared at her side with the lantern and a familiar bottle. “C’mon,” he said. “Time for the liniment.”
She was more than willing. The pungent stuff, coupled with his strong massage, had worked wonders on her sore muscles the first time. Clumsily she crawled into her tent and Ben followed, taking up most of the space with his big body.
She looked down at her dirty clothes. “I need to clean up first.”
“I don’t know of a handy waterfall close by.” Kneeling beside her, he began unlacing her boots.
“I have some wet-wipes in my pack.”
He looked up and grinned, a quick flash of white teeth. “So that’s how you’ve been doing it. I’ve wondered how you’ve been staying as clean as you have. The rest of us look and smell like bums in comparison.”
“If the shoe fits . . .” she murmured.
“Now I know you’re feeling better,” he said approvingly as he slipped off her boots and socks. “Let’s get your pants off before I unwrap your shoulder. It’ll be less jarring that way.”
She thought about insisting on doing it herself, but sighed and faced reality. Tonight, at least, she needed help. He unfastened her pants and skimmed them off with speed and efficiency, moving her around very little. Then he began unwrapping her shoulder, since he had placed the bandage over her shirt.
Carefully she held herself very still, fearing that any movement would bring a return of that searing agony. Ben unbuttoned her shirt and eased it off, working the sleeve down her arm without disturbing her shoulder. Then he looked at her undershirt for a second before raising his eyes to hers. A disturbing sort of glee was shining in those blue eyes, but he merely said, “I’ll have to cut your undershirt off. You can’t raise your arms to pull it off over your head.”
It wasn’t the thought of cutting her shirt off that was tickling him so much, she thought crossly, but the knowledge that the shirt was coming off, period. They stared each other down like gunfighters before Jillian finally said, “It’s real stretchy. Help me to get my right arm and head out of it, and we can work it down my left arm.”
His hands were incredibly gentle as he helped her to maneuver her right arm free of the material, then pulled the garment over her head and once again worked it down her left arm without causing any undue pain. His gaze lingered on her exposed breasts, and despite herself she felt them begin to tighten in response. Her pulse began throbbing at the base of her throat.
He knew there couldn’t be any lovemaking, considering the shape she was in, but he could no more keep his hands from going to her than he could stop breathing. He slid his left arm around her, gently cuddling her against him, while his right hand cupped each breast in turn, his rough thumb rasping over and around her tight little nipples. He was entranced by the way each firm, plump mound fit into his palm, just enough to fill it. Her nipples were a pale, delicate rose-brown. How tender her skin was, compared to his big, rough, sun-browned hand.
She was holding herself very still, except for the fast, shallow rhythm of her breathing. Ben bent his head and kissed her, unable to prevent himself from doing so. Since he had hauled her back from the edge of the cliff he had been shaking inside from the close call, and the need to hold her was overpowering. Still, he had to keep himself under control. So what if she was—finally—almost naked in his arms? So what if he had a hard-on that was threatening to tear his zipper wide open? She was hurt and he had to take care of her; the sex would have to wait. But not much longer, he thought desperately. He couldn’t stand it much longer.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to force himself to release her, to move away from her. She silently watched him, the green of her eyes almost swallowed up by her dilated pupils.
Sweat sheened his face, but he wrenched his mind back to the necessary things. “Where are those wet-wipes?” he asked. His voice was strained and rough, and he cleared his throat.
She swallowed too. “In the front zipper compartment.”
He found them, but Jillian held out her right hand for the towelette, silently insisting on the right to wash herself. She cleaned up as best she could, ignoring her seminudity with as much dignity as possible. This was far more intimate than bathing in front of him; that had been almost a contest, to see how much she could thwart him. This was different; Ben was subtly different. The tenderness of his care was unnerving, though it had been right in character for him to seize the first opportunity to fondle her breasts.
When she had finished, he lifted her right hand and somberly examined the dark bruises that completely encircled her wrist. They were repeated on her left wrist, and various other bruises laced their way up her arms. “You won’t be doing anything much for several days,” he said quietly, and helped her to lie down on her stomach. “Your back and arm muscles will be almost as sore as your shoulder.”
“The liniment will help,” she said, closing her eyes.
He was silent as he rubbed in the sharp-smelling lotion, taking his time, knowing that every minute he spent massaging her abused muscles would lessen the tight soreness she would have to deal with the next day. He sat her up again and rubbed both arms; they too had been enormously strained. Her left shoulder was swollen and bruised; he bound it again, and she sighed with relief at the support.
“No undershirt tonight,” he said. “You’ll have to sleep as you are. Do you want me to stay in here with you?”
She was surprised that he asked, rather than bluntly stating that he was going to stay, forcing her to fight with him. It worried her that she actually considered the idea for a moment. “Thanks, but I’d rather stay by myself,” she replied. “I don’t expect I’ll get much sleep tonight.”
“I think you’ll be surprised. You’re exhausted. You’ll be able to put the tape across the zipper, but how are you going to lie down by yourself? You need support to get up or down.”
She managed a smile. “Lying down is easy; I’ll just fall over. But I think I’ll leave the tape off tonight, because I don’t like the idea of trying to sit up by myself in the morning to let you inside.”
He stroked her hair back from her face, his hand lingering. “Why did you do it?” he asked curiously. “You and Rick don’t exactly have the warmest relationship I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s my brother,” she said simply.
“Would he have done the same for you?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. But it doesn’t matter; I’m not him.” If she had let Rick die without even making an effort to save him, she couldn’t have lived with herself. Their strained, barely civil relations had nothing to do with it.
Ben searched her face, then gave a short nod, as if he understood. “Okay, let’s get you settled for the night. I’ll sleep light,” he promised. “Dutra won’t get anywhere near you.”
She snorted. Her injury hadn’t made her soft in the head. “It isn’t Dutra sneaking into my tent I’m worried about.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “Don’t try to fool me. I’m making progress and I know it. You’ve already invited me back in the morning.”
“To help me dress.”
“If you insist.” He leaned down and kissed her again, his mouth lingering. “Don’t bother to get dressed on my account.” He traced a finger around her nipple, delighting in the way it puckered up. “I don’t know why you’ve been hiding these sweet things from me. I should have done this days ago.”
“You wouldn’t be doing it now,” she pointed out, “if I had full use of my arms.”
“Providence works in mysterious ways,” he intoned, eyes dancing. Then he was serious again. “Call me if you need me, sweetheart.”
“I will.”
He kissed her one more time, then helped her to lie down and covered her with a sheet. The covering had become necessary once they moved into the mountains, for the nights were cooler than they had been before. He took the lantern with him and Jillian lay there in the darkness, tired in both mind and body, wary of this new intimacy between them but accepting the necessity of it. Keeping him at bay would be even more difficult after this. She remembered the intent look on his face when he had cupped her breasts, and her entire body clenched with lingering desire. His hard, warm hands had been like fire touching her, setting new fires, arousing her flesh. He knew just how to touch her, damn him, with the precise combination of firmness and tenderness that was irresistible.
As she drifted into sleep, the events of the day played through her mind like scenes flashing across a movie screen. A jumbled image of the downpour battering them, then the shock on Martim’s face just before he disappeared from view, brought her jerking back into wakefulness.
She dozed again, but her mind picked up where it had left off, reliving again those horrible, molasses-slow moments when she had seen Rick begin to fall and had thrown herself wildly at him, clawing at him to find a grip. For a split second of sheer terror she had thought they were both going to die, then those steel vises had clamped around her ankles and halted their downward progress. Ben. He had been right beside her, the only one who could have gotten there that fast.
Ben . . . something was different. She didn’t know what it was. And why had she stopped being “sweetcakes” and become “sweetheart”?
13
The sound of the zipper on the tent flap woke her, and she tried to sit up, only to immediately freeze as her shoulder protested. “Bad idea,” she muttered.
Ben’s head poked in; then the rest of him followed. A steaming cup of coffee was in his hand; he carefully set it down, rezipped the flap for privacy, then turned back to her. Blue eyes sharply examined her face, looking for the telltale signs of pain and fatigue. As deeply as she had slept, she figured she looked dazed, but certainly not fatigued. He must have thought the same, for his face relaxed. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”