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  Mindy shook her head. "No!"

  His temper surged. The muscles in his arms began to protest against Janie's weight. No surprise after the ordeal he'd gone through to fish her out of the flooded creek.

  Surely Rob was right behind him. And Janie's sister. He needed help. Janie needed help.

  He gave one more attempt. "Mindy, on a ranch, everyone must pitch in and do what's needed."

  Mindy's eyes flashed. "I don't want to be on your ranch!"

  She ran up the stairs ahead of him, leaving him to carry Janie up alone and settle her in the bedroom. She stirred as he laid her flat on the bed and he moved back, aware that propriety was already out the window but unsure whether he should wait—

  There! Hoofbeats sounded from the yard below. He flicked back the curtain to see Liza gallop to the barn and jump off her horse.

  Thank God.

  * * *

  Rob was soaked by the time he reached Nathan’s barn. The rain had started a good quarter hour ago, and with Janie Bennett wearing his coat, he'd had no protection from the stinging water.

  Judging by the state of her horse, she’d arrived at the barn not long before him. She was nowhere to be seen, but her horse stood in an open stall, still saddled. Nathan's wandered free in the barn itself, also saddled. The abundance of storm clouds made it so dark in the barn that Rob could hardly see.

  The animals were lathered with sweat. He could only hope Janie had benefited from their rush.

  He unsaddled and put away the horses, promising himself to return after he'd checked on Janie and give them the brushing they deserved. For now, this would have to do.

  Rivulets of water ran across the hard-packed dirt as he crossed the yard toward the house. His boots splashed through them.

  Safely in the kitchen, he took off his Stetson and boots before reaching for the kitchen towel. A lit lamp sat on the table, casting shadows in the near-dark.

  He desperately wanted a cup of coffee, but the stove in the corner of the room wasn't putting off any heat. Mindy. He bit back a snarl of frustration. The girl was spoiled and high strung, and Rob wished Nate luck with her. Rob wouldn't miss her at all when he returned home.

  He was mopping his face and neck with the towel when the soft swish of a skirt alerted him to the presence of another.

  Liza swept into the room, just her presence sending electric charges through the air as if lightning were about to strike. Her clothing appeared damp. She carried an armful of wood against her midsection and stopped short.

  "Good, you're here," she said.

  She knelt in front of the stove and opened its door, sending him a glance. Her focus caught on his chest, and he realized that his soaked shirt clung to his skin. Her gaze skittered away, and he felt a moment of male satisfaction. She found his form pleasing.

  Her load of wood fell to the floor with a clatter.

  He eyed the empty wood box just behind the stove. Liza shot a much shorter glance at him this time. "I raided the firebox in the parlor."

  The ranch house had been built for entertaining, with one great room and a huge rock fireplace that had surely cost a pretty penny. They hadn't lit it earlier, as the day had been warm.

  And somehow, Mindy had let the kitchen fire go out. "I'll refill the box," he said. "There's a rick of wood outside."

  She nodded and set about crumpling a page of newsprint from the bottom of the wood box and arranging some kindling with it in the belly of the stove. Her movements were economical and efficient.

  He moved across the room, his wet clothes chafing with every step. Coffee. This entire situation called for coffee. He found the pot on a high shelf above the kitchen work counter and a pitcher of water and then reached to the shelf for the coffee beans.

  When she spoke, her voice was slightly muffled as she worked on her task. "With the creek already swollen and the bridge gone and now more rains... it would take too long to fetch the doctor. If he's even in town tonight." She reached for the flint and tinder in the bottom of the box.

  He'd expected as much.

  "Nathan seems...” Her voice trailed off, worried. “I'm not sure he'll be able to assist with Janie's arm."

  "Nathan will do what's needed."

  There was a scrape and a whoosh as her paper ignited. The soft flare of light in the room limned her features with gold and threw shadows in her eyes when she looked up at him.

  "He seems very concerned for her," Liza agreed. "But her arm needs to be set, and I'm not certain he'll be able to cause her pain." A small smile played about her lips, as if she knew something he didn't.

  As if she suspected his friend was sweet on her sister.

  Nathan's preoccupation with the young woman hadn't gone unnoticed, but he hadn't seemed to want to talk about her as they'd ridden today.

  Rob firmed his lips in a line.

  Her eyes scanned his face and the hint of merriment in her gaze was quickly banked. She turned back to the task of feeding wood into the flame and within minutes, had a hardy fire crackling.

  "According to Mr. Bingley, his sister suffered a fit of vapors when he and Janie arrived."

  He'd just bet. So Mindy would be of no use to them. She'd probably barricaded herself in her room.

  Liza closed the stove door and stood, touching the back of one wrist to her forehead. She must be exhausted, too, after a wild ride in the approaching storm and rushing to her sister's aide. The droop of her shoulders made him want to reach for her. Offer comfort or... hold her.

  He flexed his hands at his sides to keep from doing so. Where had the errant impulse come from?

  "I'll help with setting Janie's arm," he said.

  Liza didn't look him in the eye again. "Thank you," she murmured to the floor.

  "Just let me put a pot of coffee on,” he said, “and I'll follow you up."

  She left the room, and he heard her tread on the stair.

  The strange urge to offer comfort remained, even after her departure, though he refused to act on it. There was something about him that made her natural smile disappear. Probably the insult he'd slung so casually. Had it only been yesterday?

  He should apologize. Probably.

  But her sister's care came first.

  Chapter 6

  Liza woke to a weak, rattling cough from her sister, who lay beside her.

  "Janie?" She rolled over to face her, the quilt tangling around her legs. The room where Nathan had settled Janie must have been meant for the master of the house. The feather-tick was large enough for the both of them. Janie was curled into a ball beneath the quilt, shivering despite the blanket.

  "I'm all right."

  But the wheeze of Janie's breath belied her whisper.

  "You aren't."

  Without a light to see whether Janie's cheeks were flushed, she reached out and touched Janie's forehead. Her skin was dry and hot.

  "You've got a fever. Are you chilled?"

  "I can't tell a difference from earlier. I've been so cold since the cr-creek."

  "How's your shoulder?"

  "Aches."

  Liza could only imagine that was an understatement. Rob had been as good as his word, appearing minutes after Liza had come upstairs. He’d changed into a dry shirt, which had hung untucked over pants still a shade dark with dampness. Janie had been stoic while Rob and Liza had manipulated her shoulder back into socket, but she hadn't been able to hold back a scream of pain when it finally popped.

  Nathan had had to leave the room. That he was unable to witness Janie in pain intrigued Liza, but there hadn't been time to dwell on it. She would revisit it when Janie was better.

  Janie had allowed herself to be plied with willow bark tea and claimed exhaustion. After her ordeal, Liza hadn't challenged her need for rest.

  But now Janie's labored breathing was worrisome. Had the water Janie ingested injured her lungs somehow?

  "I'm going to make a plaster." Liza sat up and swung her legs to the side of the bed.

  "No." Jan
ie grabbed her chemise, but Liza knew a moment of fear at the weakness of her sister's grip. "You'll wake everyone."

  Liza didn't care. "I'll be quiet."

  Janie's grip shifted to Liza's wrist. Her voice was insistent. "There mustn't be a hint of impropriety, Liza. Not a hint!" Janie's voice shook.

  Was her worry for the Bingleys? Or because of what had happened in Cottonwood Cove? Liza could guess.

  She didn't want Janie getting more upset. "All right. I promise. See, I'm getting dressed."

  She slipped her dress over her underclothes and buttoned up. She hadn't been willing to disturb the sensitive Mindy for another nightgown after the girl had disappeared into her room. She didn't bother with shoes and padded barefoot out of the room after sweeping her fingers across Janie's forehead once more. She kept one hand on the wall as she crept down the darkened hall, not comfortable with the unfamiliar surroundings.

  In the kitchen, the stove was still warm. Someone must've banked the fire. The storm had cleared, and moonlight filtered through the window, though thin clouds blocked some of it.

  Liza opened the stove door and soft, orange light burnished the room. She easily found the tin canister of flour and the water pitcher, but where was the mustard? The ranch house had been vacant for so long... had Nathan and Mindy replenished the kitchen necessities?

  She rifled through the contents of the cabinet as quietly as she could. Was it... there. She opened a small jar and sniffed its contents. Ground mustard.

  She'd set her supplies on the counter and turned back to find a pot when a dark figure appeared in the doorway. She startled and stepped back, her hands clutching the counter behind her.

  "Everything all right?"

  Rob.

  Her breath left her in one big whoosh, and she raised one hand to press against her chest, where her heart pounded.

  He stepped into the room. In the light thrown by the stove, she saw his feet were bare as well. For some reason, that sight sent a hot flush through her.

  She hated feeling weak in front of him, and her words emerged with a sharp edge, though she spoke softly. "Janie's come down with a cough."

  "The water in her lungs?"

  She nodded, returning to her task. Maybe he would simply go back to bed.

  She added water to a pot and began to heat it on the stove, mixing in flour and mustard.

  "Here."

  Surprised to find him at her elbow, she jumped again.

  "Sorry." He held out a fold of white cloth. "These are old—from the previous owner. You can use them."

  Linens. Because she'd mixed the paste she'd need for Janie's plaster, but she'd completely forgotten about linens to make the wrap. Being woken in the darkest hours of night made her thoughts slower.

  Their hands brushed when he handed her the pile of cloths. The intimacy of the moment couldn't be ignored—the neck of his shirt was open, and though it was shadowed, she could see the planes of his upper chest and a darker shadow of hair that disappeared beneath the shirt.

  She felt both breathless and lightheaded, the same way she had when she'd first glimpsed him across the crowd of dancers.

  But Janie was suffering upstairs.

  She turned away and sat the fabric on the counter. She cleared her throat. "Thank you." Her voice trembled with the force of the emotions ricocheting through her body. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the fabric and began to tear it into long strips.

  "Do you require anything else?" His voice was steady. Had the moment left him completely unaffected?

  "No. You can return to your bed. I'm sorry that we've disturbed you and the Bingleys."

  She left him standing in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to Janie, but even after she'd applied the plaster and Janie had fallen back into a restless sleep, Liza remained awake, staring into the darkness.

  Why did Rob affect her so strongly? Even before he'd insulted her, she'd felt an instant pull toward the man.

  Not that it mattered.

  Janie was her priority. The sooner they could return home, the better. She could only pray that Janie's cough wasn't serious. With the bridge out, it was a long, dangerous ride to fetch the town doctor.

  Janie's insistence on maintaining propriety was a much-needed reminder to Liza of her place. She was the reason for Janie's broken heart, the reason their family had been uprooted.

  Papa's store was in dire straits, and Liza would fix that too.

  She didn't have time for romance, for silly imaginings. Rob was standoffish and highhanded. He wasn't interested in her. And he was leaving in a matter of days.

  Better for her to concentrate on seeing Janie healed and smoothing things over with Nathan Bingley.

  * * *

  Janie rolled her head across the pillow before cracking her eyes open. Her neck was so stiff. Why—?

  Memories of her freefall into the murky creek and the terror of being unable to swim to the surface rushed over her, much like the raging waters had done. She gasped.

  Her throat and lungs burned. Her chest felt like a heavy weight was pressed on her. Heavier than Mama's old, fat tomcat.

  A candle had been lit on the beside table, and its small flame lit the corner of the room. The curtains were drawn, but no light peeked around their edges. What time was it? Was it still the middle of the night?

  "Liza?" she whispered. She'd gone in and out of restless sleep, but hadn't her sister been here moments ago?

  Someone stirred, and she turned her head on the pillow.

  It wasn't Liza sitting in the wooden chair at her bedside. It was Nathan.

  His hair was sleep-tousled, and his shirt was rumpled and buttoned askew—one button was off, at the very top. He was so dear, but she was intensely aware of the nightgown she wore beneath the quilt. It was highly improper for him to be here. And that made her think of Albert. And Edna. And the lies she'd told about Janie.

  He poured water from a pitcher on the dresser, sat beside her again, and lifted the cup to her lips.

  The heat of his hand seared her cheek as he cupped her face and helped her sip the cool water. Or maybe that was the blush that felt like a raging brush fire across her skin.

  "Mr. Bingley—"

  He smiled, and her stomach flip-flopped. "I think, after what we've been through together, you'd better call me Nathan."

  Nathan.

  She swallowed with some difficulty, her face still feeling like a glowing firebrand. Perhaps the candlelight was such that he couldn't see her blush. She could only hope.

  "Where's my sister?" she whispered.

  "She was up with you most of the night, changing out your plasters in the hopes of easing your breathing."

  She remembered that. Some of it, anyway. The sharp scent of the mustard and the warmth of the plaster against her chest. Was that the weight she felt now, or was it inside her lungs?

  "I offered to relieve her and sent her to bed with Mindy. She was wobbling on her feet. It's almost dawn now."

  That was kind of him. But what had he been doing awake at such an hour?

  "I… couldn't sleep," he admitted, as if he'd followed the direction of her thoughts. "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

  What a thing to say. She'd felt a connection with him from their first dance, but...

  He rushed on. "If I had pulled you from the creek more quickly, maybe you wouldn't be suffering now."

  She touched his wrist. It was presumptuous, and instantly she heard echoes of Albert's mother screaming about propriety. But Nathan had sounded so anguished that she hadn't been able to stop herself.

  "I would've drowned if not for you."

  He clasped her fingers tightly. "I'm happy to have been of service. I just wish..."

  There was something there, in the clasp of his hands, in the depths of his gaze. But she was so sleepy and her chest ached so very badly.

  "Sleep," he said quietly. "We've time to talk in the morning."

  She meant to ask him to leave,
to insist they keep a proper distance, but sleep claimed her again.

  Chapter 7

  I'm sorry that we've disturbed you.

  Liza Bennett's words rolled around in Rob's head like the marbles he'd played with as a boy.

  She couldn't know how deeply her presence had affected him. It made no sense. He’d only known the woman two days.

  From the moment he'd seen her, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head.

  Even now, as he washed up in the kitchen after a morning spent doing chores in the barn, he listened for her tread on the stair or in the parlor. She was probably still sleeping, given how often she'd been up in the night caring for her sister. Her devotion was something to admire, something rare. Nate had mentioned in passing that he'd practically had to pry her from Janie's bedside even though she'd been incoherent with exhaustion.

  And seeing her in the moonlight, her hair down around her shoulders and her face sleep-soft... It had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

  A sharp knock sounded, and he whirled. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed a rider?

  He opened the door and found his sister on the stoop. Behind her, storm clouds built on the horizon. The air was humid and expectant.

  "Danna!"

  She didn't wait for an invitation but moved right into his arms for a hug, and he spared a moment to send a prayer of thanks heavenward. Two years ago, he'd been out of communication with her with no hope of that changing. Then she'd nearly died when she'd been abducted by a gang of horse thieves, and he'd promised himself he'd fix their relationship, whatever it took.

  "What're you doing out this way?" he asked.

  She moved out of his arms, followed him when he motioned her inside. He went straight to the coffeepot, and she nodded.

  "For one, I came to find out why my brother would attend a town dance but not make time for a visit to his only, beloved sister."

  He had to snort at her obviously overblown statement. Danna was the least womanly woman he'd ever met. She didn't get her feelings hurt over trivial matters.