Rocky Mountain Redemption Page 6

  He gritted his teeth. Fisted his hands as images of this delicate woman being mistreated whipped through his mind once again. Any man who’d do that to a woman wasn’t worth his weight in gold, and must’ve been raised by the devil’s minions. Had it been an employer? Her father?

  An appalling suspicion brought him up short.

  Surely not Max. Max may have come by lying and cheating and drinking and gambling easily enough, but surely he couldn’t have found it so easy to physically harm his own wife.

  Or could he?

  Ben seethed with fury that Callie had been treated with such abject disregard.

  When she stirred slightly and gave a small, distressed moan, he stepped nearer, instantly troubled by the way her brows creased in a frown. The way her mouth turned down at the corners in a distinctive look of fear.

  Hunkering down next to the bed, he gently braced a hand on her shoulder. Instead of easing her distress, she jerked hard. Gasped in fear as her eyes flew open. She scrambled to the other side of the bed. Heaved a pillow over her head as if she meant to defend herself.

  “Callie?” he spoke low, noticing how the covers quivered with the force of her heartrending trepidation. “Callie, it’s me. Ben.”

  Her fingers blanched white with force. Her breath came now in short pants as she inched the pillow down. She slid a terror-filled gaze to him and blinked hard, once, then again as if bringing him into focus. He saw the light of awareness dawn in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as she swung her gaze aside, fastening it to the wall as though holding the structure in place. “Are you all right?”

  “What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?” Heaving a big sigh, she shot up to her elbows and glared at him. “Do you always do that to your patients?”

  “I didn’t sneak up on you.” He kept his voice low and even. If she’d suffered abuse, then it would certainly account for her skittishness around him. He’d have to tread lightly when it came to touching her. “I came in to check on you. Just like I would any other patient. You’ve been sick, remember?”

  The way she studied him out of the corner of her eyes as he raised his hand to her forehead to feel for a fever, one would think he had a gleaming scalpel poised, ready to make a deep incision. But the way she jutted her chin out in obstinate refusal to show weakness pierced his heart straight through.

  “Well, next time knock, if you would, please.” She summoned her rose-colored lips into a headstrong pucker that brought to mind dainty rosebuds.

  “I did knock.” He wrangled up his patience and his good sense, even as unsolicited images of those perfect lips touching against his drifted through his mind. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant to convey that, but darn if his thoughts didn’t find their way there. “You must’ve been having a bad dream.”

  “I was not,” she retorted.

  He tried to hide his dismay at her stubbornness. “You feel cool to the touch. I’m glad for that.”

  When he withdrew his hand, silky strands of hair whispered against his fingertips, kicking his pulse up a notch. He busied himself, pouring her a fresh glass of water as he forced himself to focus on her needs as a patient.

  “I hope you didn’t overdo it with the bath.” He offered her the glass, his errant gaze locking on her lips as she took several generous sips. “I probably should’ve waited to make that suggestion.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.” She fell back to the pillow. “In fact, I can’t believe how much better I feel. I’ll be up and working probably by tomor—” Her proclamation was interrupted by an unceremonious, lingering yawn.

  “No, ma’am. Not tomorrow, you won’t.” Ben shook his head, trying hard not to grin at her strength of will, and the small glimpse of innocence he saw right then in her cute frown. “Not the next day either. I’ll let you know when you’re well enough to begin work.”

  When she knit her brows together even tighter, he had the distinct feeling that he’d probably just stepped on her pride. He’d do it again, since he was a stickler for enforcing ample recovery time. And in her case, much needed rest.

  “Thank you all the same, but I am fully capable of judging that for myself.” She crossed her arms at her chest. “And I feel more than ready to tackle the tasks that need to be done.”

  “You are stubborn enough that you would, too.” He gently grasped her wrist to feel her pulse. “But I’m a doctor. And, honestly, I question whether you’re in the habit of making sound decisions regarding your health.”

  With a protesting huff, she jerked her hand back.

  “And before you go thinking that I just insulted you, let me assure you that it wasn’t meant as such,” he cut in, distracted by the way her soft skin remained imprinted on his. “Given the way you showed up here, I’d say mine is a fair assessment, don’t you think? No one in their right mind would have braved that kind of weather in the condition you were in at the time.”

  Crossing to the dresser, he eyed the locket lying atop her worn garment. “Nothing is worth that.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the space between them and since he’d given her his back, he could only guess what her reaction was. But the one thing he’d learned about Callie, thus far, was that even though she’d make gallant efforts to hide her emotions, the uncertainty that churned inside her pretty little head was evident on her face.

  “Your brother told me to find you.” The words fell from her lips, stiff and measured and loaded with things unsaid.

  He faced her. “What do you mean? Max sent you here?”

  Suspicion, thick as mud, overpowered the compassion that had just moments ago pervaded his mind. Joseph’s and Aaron’s strong words of caution echoed through his mind. Maybe they were right—that he was too trusting at times. That he was too much of a soft heart. That he opened himself up to get taken.

  But when he peered into Callie’s distressed gaze, he couldn’t bring himself to make that kind of outright conclusion. Not without direct proof, unshaded by doubt.

  “That was his last sentiment.” The words sounded as if forced from her lips.

  “His last words were about me?” Rubbing his temples, he dragged in a deep breath.

  The nod she gave was slow and painfully measured. And seemed meant to sever any further inquiry he might have, promptly pricking his irritation.

  “Tell me what this is all about, Callie. Why are you here, anyway?” His voice had raised a good notch. “Because, had I not come along when I did, you likely would’ve frozen to death on my doorstep. Why would you put your life at risk like that?”

  Hauling her chin up a notch, she glared at him as he advanced on her. Flinched as if he might haul out to strike her. Then gave him a hollow kind of look.

  And that had him inwardly kicking himself.

  When she slowly rolled away from him, he knew he’d pushed too far, too fast.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to sound so—” He braced a hand at the back of his neck, feeling every bit worthy to play the evil part of the nightmare he’d found her in when he’d entered the room just minutes ago. He gently adjusted the quilt at her back, tucking it in so that she wouldn’t catch a draft. “I’m sorry. I’m just glad that you turned to me.”

  When he pivoted to leave the room, he could’ve sworn he heard her whisper, “You were my last resort.”

  Chapter Six

  For the past hours those words, You were my last resort, had marched through Callie’s mind like dark shadows marking out her future. She’d hoped to eliminate Ben and the disturbing effects of his concern from her thoughts, but his subtle, piney and masculine scent lingering in the room infused her every sense with his memory.

  She’d lost track of time as she’d crawled out of bed and slowly made her way around the room. She grasped the satin-smooth furniture to steady herself, studying the few other framed photographs hanging about the room. Raw emotion squeezed her heart seeing the way a much younger Max seemed bent on puffing his chest
out in some kind of stubborn refusal. As she inched her gaze over a picture of Max, looking close to the age she’d first met him, she trailed a fingertip over his charming yet devilish grin. That smile had once drawn her, like some forbidden fruit.

  But one taste of his empty promises confirmed the grave mistake she’d made in succumbing to his tempting charm.

  The image of Ben’s half-cocked grin and earnest gaze barged into her mind as she made her way back to bed. This job was her only hope to earn the money she needed, but the way Ben seemed focused on probing into her life and her heart…well, she was walking in very dangerous territory.

  Ben was nowhere near safe.

  His caring touch, the tender way he looked at her, the kindness in his gentle ministrations, all of those things worked against her, wearing down a very hard-won safeguard she’d erected. His thoughtfulness threatened to destroy her resolve. Threatened to uncover the vulnerability she’d vowed to protect. She’d never again find herself stuck in a defenseless and vulnerable relationship.

  Especially with a man like Ben Drake.

  The heavy weight of her desperation pressed in hard, making her feel horribly frail and even weak as she crawled under the covers.

  Max had always hated it when she’d cried. Rarely would she weaken, seeing as how he’d grow instantly angry. Out of mere survival she’d learned how to stop up the sorrow, though sometimes there was no helping it. Like an overgrown vine in dire need of tending, grief would smother the light of hope.

  Especially after she’d lost her newborn baby girl at birth, six agonizing years ago.

  Setting her trembling fingers to her lips, Callie tried to ward off the memory’s bitter sting. But Max hadn’t allowed her even the opportunity to see her little girl, kiss her, hold her. Callie had been left with an aching emptiness that hurt, even today. And sometimes, out of nowhere, that familiar, painful lump would swell in her throat, her stomach would grow queasy, and hot, unshed tears would threaten.

  Would the anguish ever go away? Would she ever rise above regret’s relentless storm, enough to see the possible hope of what lay ahead?

  Or maybe, for Callie, hope was dead.

  “No,” she whispered, thrusting the miserable thought away. If she didn’t, she’d fall into the hands of a fate worse than death. A fate that threatened to crush her spirit.

  Determined to remain strong, she dragged in a steadying breath. She’d need to be firm with Ben, especially after he’d decided that it was his place to tell her what was best for her.

  Ha! As if he knew.

  He had no idea.

  She clenched her teeth, riled in an instant at the memory of his pushy, self-important ways. Twisting a corner of the quilt between her fingers, she remembered how her father had played that role. He’d been like one large, prickling burr to her side at social functions, scaring off any and all suitors with his gruff, unfriendly exterior.

  Max had been much the same in his control, only he’d used force when she tried to exert her will. A hard backhand to her face, a rough shove into the wall, or his hands clasped like iron shackles around her wrists.

  But his cutting words…they’d been the worst.

  Apart from a few short seasons of seeming sanity, he’d remained the antithesis of the man she’d married.

  Trembling now, she tried to shut out the bitter memories. Having seen her father take up residence in a stronghold of bitterness and resentment after her mama had died, Callie knew she could never stomach herself if she grew to be the same.

  There had to be hope. Even if she couldn’t see it, and everything around her looked hopeless, there had to be hope.

  There were times throughout the past years when she’d felt a quiet wooing, a gentle calling, to pray. To climb above the darkness that seemed to surround her.

  But then the clear and dismal message she’d gotten about God, growing up, would haul her back down with ruthless force. Her father had jammed Scriptures down her throat and demanded she quote them to ensure her standing with God. The minister at their church had beaten his meaty fist against the thick, wooden pulpit weekly, decrying God’s fiery wrath and judgment. And then Max, he’d barely given God a second thought unless he’d lost his shirt in a poker game, then he’d railed at God to the point that Callie would cover her ears and hide, fearing retribution.

  Was God fickle? Was He liable to punish her at the hint of wrongdoing, as the minister back home often said? Had God sent all the heartache she’d gone through the past seven years as payment for her mistakes?

  The very thought made Callie’s heart pitch with deep sorrow. Just as she began to feel nearly overwhelmed by it all, she heard a rustling sound behind her back.

  Rolling over, she rose to an elbow and found a boy staring back at her. Blinking hard, she took him in.

  He was probably eleven years old or so. His dirt-smudged face and thick mop of dusty blond hair that hung almost to his eyes made her think of a sheepdog pup. The image lifted her heavy heart a bit.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked when he made no move. She swiped at the moisture rimming her eyes.

  His hazel gaze grew wide as he took a step toward the door.

  “Is there something you need?”

  “I—I was jest—” His focus cut from one thing to another in the room, finally landing on her face. “Lookin’. That’s all. Who are you?” He gave an audible swallow then anchored his lips off to the side.

  Pushing up to sitting, she leaned against the walnut headboard. “My name is Callie. And you are…”

  “Luke. Luke Ortmeier.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luke Ortmeier.” Nodding, she smiled, hoping to coax one from him, as well.

  Instead, his eyebrows crept like small golden caterpillars into a suspicious scowl as he settled his fists on his waist. “Does Ben—Doc Drake know you’re here?”

  “Yes, he does. Does he know you’re here?”

  “Doc Drake’s my friend.” He folded his arms at his chest, revealing threadbare holes in the elbows of his muslin shirt. “Fact is…we’re best friends, him and me. He lets me come to his office here and have a look at his things. All the time.”

  For some reason, that bit of knowledge settled on her like a soothing touch. That Ben had entrusted this young boy in that way cut off a few suspicions regarding the doctor’s character.

  “Oh. I see,” she finally said.

  “Yep,” he confirmed with a single nod. Threading his fingers together, he turned them outward and cracked his knuckles in slow succession, making her wince. “I’m gonna be a doctor jest like him someday. Gonna git me a black bag and some of those whatnots he carries ’round with him.”

  “Really now?” Callie pulled her legs beneath her as she turned to face him. “Will you attend school somewhere?”

  “You betcha. I figure it won’t be for long, though, seein’ as how I’m learnin’ so much already.” Snuffling, he wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. The innocent determination that cloaked Luke’s unwavering gaze prompted a smile she struggled to bridle. He jutted his chin out and moved closer. “Right now I go to the schoolhouse down the way, but only sometimes, cuz my ma don’ like it when I’m gone all day long.”

  “She doesn’t? Why not?”

  “She needs me to work,” he responded in an offhand sort of way as he eyed the chair next to the bed.

  “Here, have a seat.” She patted the edge of the bed, wondering if he lived on a large ranch that needed many hands to turn a profit. “So, you must live on a farm?”

  Luke edged over to the bed and sat down with hesitant care. And when he trailed his fingers almost reverently over the stitches on the quilt, she felt certain he wasn’t used to a well-built, hand-carved bed or lovely quilt.

  “Naw…we don’ farm. Ma’s mostly busy at nights. That’s why she needs me ’round durin’ the day to do the cookin’ and such.” Luke peered at her, his gaze drifting to her hair. “I leave now and again when Ma’s sleepin’
to visit Ben. Make sure he don’ need my help or nothin’ with his calls.”

  She smiled, her heart squeezing at his earnest loyalty. For some reason, she found herself easily imagining Ben taking this boy under his wing. Treating him like a son, even.

  “I found me some kittens the other day,” Luke offered.

  “You did? Where did you find them?”

  “In the alley behind Gold-Digger’s.”

  “Gold-Digger’s?” she queried.

  “You know, the saloon. Anyways, the kittens musta’ been ’bandoned by their ma cuz they was real hungry.”

  “Aww…the poor things.” She felt equally sad thinking about this young boy scouting around in an alley behind a saloon.

  “Don’ you worry none.” He gave his head an adamant shake. “I’m raisin’ ’em now. Ben’s helpin’ me.”

  Turning toward her, Luke’s face was alight as he looped his left knee up on the bed. “Did Ben ever tell you ’bout me goin’ with him that one time?”

  “Umm, no. He hasn’t mentioned that.”

  “Well, I did. It was flat-out nasty, too.” His hazel eyes transformed from round orbs to narrow slits.

  “What happened?”

  “A broke leg pinned under a wagon.” He pointed to his midthigh with fingers that bore the red and raw signs of a recent blister that had her wondering what had happened. “We got ’im out jest in time. And Ben, he got the wound all patched up good as new. Took a spell for the feller to walk right again, but he did, jest like Ben said he would.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m sure the man is grateful.”

  “Yep. Lucky we was both there seein’ to him.” He shoved his thick hair out of his eyes then pulled in an exaggerated breath. “Otherwise, no tellin’ what would’a happened.”

  Pride beamed like the noonday sun from Luke— Callie could feel it. “Well, I’m sure your parents had to be very proud of you that day, Luke. Very proud indeed.”

  He gave a quick shrug. “Don’ know my pa. And Ma…well, she don’ take kindly to me bein’ ’round here none. Says that I’m a big ol’ bother. I asked Ben, though, and he said my bein’ here is fine by him.”