Clayton had already done more than enough to provide for her. She didn't want him to worry anymore. All they were going to do, once they were finally together, was concentrate on healing his body and planning their future.

  No, Clayton might not approve, but she was not the young naive girl she used to be. It was time she took control of at least some of the things in her life. And it was beyond time that she do her part.

  Feeling more at peace than she had in a very long time, Vanessa closed the carpetbag and walked out her door. It was time to move forward and stop looking back.

  17

  Clayton neatly folded the telegram before lying back in his bed, grimacing when the sweat-soaked sheets chilled his back.

  He was alone in a small upstairs bedroom of a run-down boardinghouse with a bullet wound in his thigh that burned like blazes. Another man was filling in for him as sheriff, and from what the doctor had told him, the majority of the townspeople were displeased that he'd been so reckless as to have gotten himself shot barely ten days after taking office.

  He wasn't too pleased with the latest chain of events.

  He was sore and lonely and feverish. He was full of regrets, not for what had happened to him—that had been an accident—but for the choices he'd recently made. He should have stayed near Vanessa. He should have been more aware of how different a job upholding the law was from soldiering. He should have known his strength lay in leading loyal men into dangerous situations, not keeping order in a cow town.

  Clayton winced as he attempted to shift positions. Outside his room, he heard a door slam, followed by a hint of male laughter. As the rough echo of footsteps traipsing up the stairs and down the hall matched the pounding of his head, he tried to think of other things.

  But all he could think about was Vanessa. Vanessa—who he'd sworn to take care of but hadn't. Who he'd tried to keep sheltered but failed. Vanessa was now traveling to his rescue.The irony of it all felt cruel.

  Merritt should have done more to keep her at his ranch.

  Corrine should've warned her against traveling at all.

  He should have been better to her. He'd failed again. He'd failed to keep her safe, and he'd failed his vow to her father— and to himself.

  This is what it had come to, and it probably was no more than he deserved. Three days ago an upstart cowhand had gotten too rowdy at a bar. While Clayton had done his best to keep the peace, a shot had been fired right into his thigh. It had burned like the devil.

  Doc Bodey had gotten the bullet out and cleaned the wound good enough, but now he was bedridden for at least a week, maybe longer. Each day seemed to take an eternity.

  His body hadn't taken kindly to having a hole shot into it. He'd run a fever, bled like a stuck pig, and had enough discomfort burning through his leg to be more than a bit worried about an infection setting in.

  No, he hadn't the need for stark reminders from Doc Bodey.Clayton figured he had enough memories of men losing limbs on the battlefield for a lifetime. The biting, sour odor of the hospital tents had taught him a worthy respect for infection.

  He'd just resigned himself to be patient and let the healing take its course when he'd received Vanessa's note.

  As he lay there wounded, staring at the faded wallpaper, Clayton wondered who had contacted Vanessa. He hadn't planned on telling her about the injury until it was a distant memory. Vanessa had enough to worry about; she didn't need something like this to fret over, too.

  But somebody had written her by way of the telegraph wire and now Vanessa was attempting to be his rescuer. From the brief message in the telegram, she sounded ready to stake her claim on him as handily as if she was a miner on her way to California.

  Obviously, he'd managed everything between them all wrong. Wearily, he glanced around the room again, finally taking refuge in his Bible.

  Once again, he'd taken to reading it, especially finding comfort in the Psalms. Flipping pages, he scanned the fine print until he came across the words he most needed to hear.

  "I bless the Lord, who gives me counsel; In the night also my heart instructs me. I keep the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved."

  Yes, Psalm 16 reminded him once again that God walked by his side. He always had. He always would. He wasn't alone, and he needed to remember that.

  His misguided patience and dogged determination to uphold a vow to a dead man had twisted everything and tied up his life in a mess of knots. There was a very real possibility that he might be sitting in bed when Vanessa arrived, and that was the last place he wanted her to see him. He could hardly stay away from her when he was healthy and whole.

  How was he going to keep his distance when there was no way for him to run?

  He'd just taken to stewing on that one when the owner of the Tall Oaks Inn came in without knocking.

  "Ah, I see you're up again," Rhianna Cambridge said matter-of-factly the moment she peeked in and caught his eye with her own bright blue ones. "Good. Now I won't need to be worrying about waking you up to change your sheets."

  "Don't worry about them. They're fine."

  "They're not, though you probably can't tell." Smiling easily, she shook her head, the movement dislodging an auburn curl from under her lace cap. "How you ever managed on your own, Clayton Proffitt, I'll never know. You're as helpless as a newborn calf."

  He fought in a war during his teens, had managed a thousand-acre cattle ranch in his twenties, and had taken responsibility for a girl who'd needed it before he was thirty. "I've managed just fine."

  "That's not what Mrs. Jenkins said."

  Clayton grimaced. Mrs. Jenkins was the elderly woman who the town paid to fix his dinner four nights a week and to clean his rooms on Saturdays. She didn't excel at either endeavor.

  Unfortunately, the only thing she did do very well was gossip about everyone and everything. Still, even her haphazard efforts were preferable to where he was stationed at the moment, in a small, rather bare room on the second floor of the Tall Oaks Inn.

  Doc Bodey had insisted Clayton transfer lodging while he healed, saying it would be a mite easier for everyone if Clayton wasn't trying to rest in the same place the drunks and vagrants were cooling their heels. Though Clayton appreciated the fact, he found he didn't appreciate the lack of privacy. Rhianna and her daughter had taken to checking up on him with astonishing regularity, and always at inopportune times.

  Rhianna set her hands on her hips. "Come now, Sheriff.You had a fever through the night. I'm betting those sheets are soaked through."

  They were, and twice as uncomfortable, but that didn't mean he was in a hurry to get out of bed with her in the room."They're fine."

  Rhianna shook her head. "You're the most private man I've ever met. Settle down and let me do my job, would you? No way am I going to tell Doc Bodey that I can't look after the sheriff."

  Because he knew she'd continue until he gave in, he finally agreed. "Fine."

  Rhianna grinned. "Good. I'll be done in a pinch."

  Clayton watched as she scurried around, setting down sheets, picking up clothes, and easily straightening chairs. She wasn't quite old enough to be his mother, but Clayton figured she sure acted like it. Now and again she fussed and fumed and told him just what she thought about him.

  It had felt strange to have a woman coddle him. He'd grown up without a mother from the age of ten, and Corrine had never dared to be so bossy. Vanessa had always been warm and friendly, but had let him take care of her, not the other way around. He'd had no problem doctoring her back or making sure she was moderately comfortable.

  But this woman—this Rhianna—didn't respect his boundaries.Nope, she did what she wanted and didn't care what other people thought about it either.

  Waving her hands, she motioned him to twist to the side of the bed. "Let me help you tend to business, then you can sit in the chair while I get you settled."

  Just yesterday, Clayton had found out that meant using the chamber pot. When he'd protested, Rhianna had practically tore him up one side and down the other. Turned out, the landlady had two sons in their early twenties, and she knew a thing or two about bossing helpless men.

  Because his leg was burning like the devil, he'd finally allowed her to help him walk to a small curtained area and walk back again.

  Today, they went through the motions again, though Clayton didn't even think of arguing with her. After she helped him to an ancient rocker, he sat down on the old frame with more care than he would have liked and watched her fix his bed.

  With quick, efficient motions, Rhianna pulled off his soiled sheets and unfolded fresh ones on the feather bed. Finally, she helped him back on, and without a moment's embarrassment, helped him bare his thigh to her so she could change the bandage.

  He examined the wound as she cleansed it with salt water.Hot needles of pain pierced the skin, making him cringe and his eyes tear up. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.

  To his shame, Rhianna noticed. "Don't hold back now, sugar," she murmured, not unkindly. "There's nothing you can say or do that I haven't seen or heard another time before."

  "That's a crying shame," he said. "No man should be acting so in front of you."

  Rhianna tilted her head and smiled for a moment. "You, Sheriff, are a man of sweet words."

  He'd never been that. As she cleaned and wiped, and the needles turned to giant pitchforks, sweat dotted Clayton's forehead.

  "We're almost done. Hold on, now."

  He gripped the arm of the rocker just a little bit harder."Now, why do I get the feeling you've seen more bullet holes than this one?"

  "Because I have. I nursed in the war. I've seen more pain and suffering than I hope you'll ever see, Sheriff." Almost tenderly, Rhianna patted the skin around the injury, causing him to wince. She paid him no mind. "Doc did a good job sewing you up. The skin's warm but healing."

  "It still hurts to kingdom come."

  Rhianna met his eyes with a small smile. "I wouldn't say it looks good, but it looks a fair sight better than I thought it might. And, well . . . you've still got your leg, right?"

  "Yes, ma'am." When all was said and done, that was really all that mattered. Better men than he had lost legs and their livelihood from stray bullets. "I know it's healing because of your efforts, Rhianna."

  "I think you're right." At the knock on the door, they both turned to see Rhianna's daughter Etta peeking in, a plate of food in her hands.

  "Lord have mercy, you're going to let me eat?" Clayton asked, only half teasing. For the last two days, Rhianna had only allowed him porridge and soup.

  "I'm going to let you eat a little," she clarified. "It's about time you got some meat back on your bones." She motioned to Etta. "Come on in, girl. Food's gonna get cold if you don't get a move on."

  Etta did as her mother bid, casting a furtive glance his way.

  Clayton hastily made sure he was covered, though his chest lay bare to her roving eyes. Her hungry glance embarrassed him. Its stark contrast to Vanessa's tentative glances and sosweet stares made him wish he wore a band on his finger— anything to say without speaking that his heart had already been claimed.

  Rhianna clucked impatiently. "Pull over that table and help the sheriff here get settled."

  After Etta scooted the table over, she placed the plate on it and with a flourish pulled off the handkerchief covering it.Eggs, bacon, and thick slices of bread, lightly toasted, greeted him. It surely was a meal for a king.

  "This looks mighty nice, Etta; thank you."

  Cornflower blue eyes batted twice. "You're welcome."

  Clayton looked away. Promise lay in Etta's eyes, and that was one thing he didn't need. He'd been in Benson long enough to know that Rhianna ran a respectable boardinghouse; but the woman's past had been hard, and her daughter Etta had never met her father. The very fact that Etta wasn't looking for love and marriage, but something far less, made him wary.

  Scooping up the soiled sheets, Rhianna handed them to Etta. "Take these down to the laundry, and be quick about it."

  "Yes, Mama." After another moment, Etta left, her step hesitant, letting Clayton know that she would willingly turn around with just a kind word. Slowly, Clayton moved back to the bed and let Rhianna help him with the sheets and quilts.He had to admit the fresh-smelling sheets were a welcome change.

  So was the heady aroma of the fresh breakfast.

  "Eat up, Sheriff," Rhianna encouraged from the chair he'd vacated.

  Clayton closed his eyes at the taste of her cooking. "You certainly have a way in the kitchen."

  Lines crisscrossed the area around her eyes. "Etta made it all, and you know it." After a pause, she added, "My daughter might be a tad forward, but she's got a good heart, Sheriff."

  "I believe that."

  "She's a girl who would do just about anything for some encouragement from you." After a pause, she added, "Haven't you noticed the way she follows your every move? She's done that since the moment you arrived in town. She'd be good for you."

  "I'm married."

  "I've heard that, but haven't seen the evidence." Fiddling with a crease in the skirt of her dress, she whispered, "I was thinking that marriage bit was a ruse on your part."

  "It's no ruse. We just happen to be living apart for a time."

  "Sounds like no marriage I've ever heard of." Narrowing her eyes, she said, "I wonder what your missus would do if she knew you were laid up in bed."

  "As a matter of fact, she'd due here soon." Picking up the telegram from the bedside table, Clayton asked, "I take it that you aren't the one who sent for my wife?"

  "No." Her eyes widened before she hid her emotions. "You say she's coming?"

  "Doc brought me the telegram," he said in between mouthfuls of eggs. "Read it if you'd like."

  Rhianna skimmed over the words unabashedly. "Well, now. You managed to surprise me, and I didn't think that was possible."

  Rhianna looked disappointed. After biting into another piece of bacon, Clayton said, "I didn't mean to keep my marriage a secret, but I guess I did. It's been hard, being apart."

  "I imagine so. I just can't believe you really do have a wife and she really is coming to Benson."

  "I can't fault your surprise. I've never mentioned Vanessa."Clayton turned his attention back to his food. Just saying her name brought back memories that were almost too hard to recall.

  But Rhianna had no such qualms. "Vanessa, huh? That name sounds pretty fancy. Where's this wife of yours been?"

  "Staying with my sister near Denver."

  "In Colorado. Well, my-oh-my. Why did she decide to stay there—if you're here? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

  Her forwardness grated on him, yet Clayton didn't shy away from answering. He owed Rhianna, and it seemed she was going to meet Vanessa soon, in any case. "It's safer there.Safer for her."

  "Safer how?" she asked, spitting out questions in a rapid fire."What's wrong with her? She some kind of hothouse flower? Too delicate? She couldn't handle life by your side?"

  He shook his head. "It wasn't that." He pointed to his saddlebag, which someone had deposited on the floor underneath the washbasin. In that satchel was every letter she'd written."She's written to me faithfully for weeks. I asked her not to come with me."

  "Why?"

  There were some things he still wasn't ready to share, and a great many things that weren't any of her business. "It's complicated."He bit into the toast, hoping the woman would take the hint and let him eat in peace. Lord knew he needed the peace at the moment. His mixed emotions were churning his insides something awful, threatening to coax him into confiding things that were better left unsaid and unshared. "Vanessa and my pasts have painted our future," he added, liking the images the metaphor created, like they were part of something permanent and special.

  "I imagine so." Eyeing the letter, she nodded to his leg. "So, if you didn't send for her, someone else did. Sheriff, were you planning to tell her about getting shot?"

  "No. She has enough to worry about."

  Rhianna's eyebrows rose. "More to think of than a husband? Do tell. Back when I was married, I did my best by my man. Gerald would've gotten a mouthful if he'd even thought about leaving me somewhere." After a snort of humor, she added, "More than that if he neglected to tell me 'bout his injuries."

  Clayton knew there was no sense in replying. Everything between he and Vanessa was complicated. "Thank you for the breakfast, ma'am."

  Her blue eyes dimmed. "Well, now. I guess I went and offended you."

  Clayton couldn't tell if she cared or not. "You didn't.There's just some things I don't care to share."

  "I understand."

  Rustling and a sharp bell clanged outside his window.Rhianna stood up and looked out. After a bit, she whistled low and pressed a little closer to the pane.

  Finally, Rhianna turned to him and smiled. "I do believe you have a visitor, Sheriff. And I'd bet my last dollar it's your wayward wife."

  It was all Clayton could do not to stand up and look out, too. After what felt like an eternity he was alone no more.

  18

  Rhianna just kept talking. "Yep, there's a woman out there in a blue dress, a straw bonnet, and a spray of freckles across her nose." Her voice grew louder and slightly garbled when her forehead pressed against the pane. "Why, now. Look at that, she's speaking to Henry, and Henry's pointing to my place."

  After a moment, she submitted another report. "Oh my goodness, now that gorgeous gal is picking up her skirts and walking this way. She has brown hair all braided up fancy and walks like she's on a mission all her own." Casting a sideways glance his way, Rhianna raised an eyebrow. "Clayton . . . do you reckon that there's your wife?"

  He'd know that walk anywhere. "Probably." Clayton fought to hide his panic and keep his voice steady. Though he'd spent almost every night since they'd parted thinking of her, at the moment, he'd have been happy for just a little more time.Time to gather his thoughts and formulate a plan.

  After all, this was not how he'd wanted to see Vanessa again. Certainly never while he was in bed, half-clothed, and still in pain.

 

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