Rocky Mountain Redemption (8 page)

“We found him each time at a saloon,” he measured out. “I wish I could say that he was glad to see us.”

Her gaze drifted to the floor as if she were looking for some kind of answer there. “Were you trying to get something from him?” she almost accused, as if trying to convince herself even as she asked the question. “Is that why you tracked him down?”

Ben's ire-tainted chuckle died on a sobering sigh. “Not exactly. We were there because we wanted him to know that we still cared. That he was part of the family. And that no matter what had happened in the past we wanted him to come home.”

The long moment of silence that followed had Ben wondering what exactly Max had shared with her about his family. She'd been married to him for seven years. The fact that she was so mistrusting didn't surprise him in the least if Max had filled her head with his bitter, blame-others-for-your-mistakes view on life.

She blinked hard as if forcing back tears. “He never said anything. And—and I wish I had known.”

“I wish you had known, too.” He threaded his hands together at the back of his neck in an effort to keep himself from reaching out to her.

“Listen, Callie…it has to be hard on you, this whole thing. Since you arrived a little over three days ago, you've made some difficult discoveries. You'd have to be dead not to have it affect you.” And Ben was sure that she had too much fight in her for that. “It would've been helpful to meet you at that time. Instead of this way.”

Ben recalled the stories Max had told about his wife. That she was demanding. Insisted on having the finest, most up-to-date clothing. Turned her nose up at anything less than the best… Having never met this high-need
wife, they could only assume there must be some truth woven in amongst the words.

Looking at Callie now, and remembering the way she'd shown up in such overt need, his heart clenched with painful regret. Max had lied. About his own wife. Of that Ben was certain. She may have been tight-lipped about her past, but he could tell she'd suffered.

For that reason, Ben didn't know whether to grieve for the loss of his brother—or be glad for the fact that he was dead.

W
ater-wrinkled, red and chapped hands were a small price to pay if having them meant avoiding Ben Drake for the day.

He was a dangerous, dangerous man.

Oh, he seemed nice, all right. Probably was everybody's best friend. The town confidant. And though Callie couldn't imagine him lifting a hand to harm another living soul, he was an enemy to her resolve, and definitely a threat to her vow to never make herself vulnerable to another man again.

She'd gladly work her hands raw every day if that meant diverting her attention from him.

Heaving a bucket of cleaning water up to the sink, she dumped the filthy contents out, determined to just as easily get rid of her unruly thoughts regarding that man.

His face suddenly jumped into her mind and she could've sworn she heard his deep, mellow voice right along with it, saying,
“Callie, it's me again and I'm not leaving.”

She hissed a breath through gritted teeth, nearly
losing her grip on the bucket handle as she forced the image from her thoughts.

Getting him out of her mind wasn't going to be as easy as she thought. Not when he had such a—a
way
about him.

He was disarming. Charming. And downright pushy, too. The way he looked at her, with that silvery-blue gaze of his that seemed to travel deep inside her heart. His smile…well, that was another risk altogether. The effect of his half-cocked grin wriggled inside her like a sneaky snake, wrapping around her determination and nearly constricting the strength right out of it.

And the way he showed such concern… She'd tried to convince herself that the compassion was all just a wonderfully crafted act. A show. But she was horribly, horribly afraid that that wasn't the case.

Every time he'd get close to her, she'd feel her will-power crumbling like a poorly constructed barricade. She'd catch herself staring at his arms, wondering what it would be like to be swallowed in his steady and comforting embrace. She'd find her focus riveted to his eyes, craving one of his deep, hopeful glances that made her want to believe in ‘good' again.

Callie picked up a towel and swiped at the perspiration beading her forehead. She felt near to collapsing, she was so worn-out, but she'd made it through the entire day. And if she put her mind to it, she could last a little longer, before she dropped, half-dead, into bed.

After the conversation she'd had with Ben this morning, she wasn't so sure she'd be any use at all. To find out that Max had never said a thing to her about their visits had stirred instant anger. He'd always—
always
made her believe that when he'd left home, they'd
gladly pushed him out into the world and slammed the proverbial door.

Callie sank into a chair, resting her elbows on her knees. Betrayal had cut deep, lancing all the way to her heart. It'd been her stubborn pride that had seen her through without letting loose the deep cry that begged for release.

She couldn't take Ben's words at face value if she wished to remain exempt from getting
taken
again. The fact that he was Max's flesh-and-blood brother should give her pause, for sure. No matter what she felt when he'd do all of those…well,
nice
things, she had to keep him at arm's length.

Just thinking about warding off his niceness made her weary, though. How long could she keep this up?

Drawing in a deep breath, she wiped her face with her apron, determined not to give in to the raw emotion waiting in the shadows. No man was worth that.

“Callie? Have you seen my stethoscope?” From down the hall came that rich warm voice she couldn't seem to exterminate from her mind.

She raised her head just in time to see Ben walk in the room, his long legs eating up the space between them. The starched, ecru shirt he wore had been rolled up to reveal muscle-roped strength.

“Your stethoscope?” She rubbed a hand over her eyes as she made to stand.

“No. Please, stay seated.” He hunkered down next to her, setting the back of his hand to her forehead. “You overdid it, didn't you?”

“Not at all.”

“I don't believe you.” Quirking his mouth to one side, he moved his hand down to her arm. “You look
completely worn-out. You're pale and your eyes are red and watery again.”

She gave a weak, sardonic chuckle. “Oh, Doctor Drake, you do have quite a way with words, don't you? Do you say that to all of the ladies?”

“Only the ones that don't listen to good, common sense.” He brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead, sending a quiver through her.

“I listened. I just didn't line up and salute.”

When he set his fingers to her neck, palpating her glands, she tried not to squirm under his warm, gentle, spine-tingling ministrations. Scrutinizing him out of the corner of her eye, she wished he'd just keep his doctoring hands to himself.

But something in the way his fingers felt against her skin awakened a hunger that rumbled deep inside her for a comforting touch—
his
comforting touch. It'd been years since she'd really felt cared for.

“Your glands aren't as swollen. That's good news.” Standing, he braced his hands on his hips. “By the way, do you mind calling me Ben? Most everyone does, apart from an occasional few, and since we'll be working together it'd make things a little more relaxed.”

She nodded, having silently referred to him as such from day one. “Yes, if that's what you want.”

“That's definitely what I want. Would you prefer Miss Callie, Mrs. Drake, or…
just
Callie,” he said on a wink.

Oh, she hated it when he winked. Who'd guess that a simple little gesture like that could inflict such massive damage to her resolve?

Averting her gaze to the dainty lilac flowers splashed across her dress, she touched her fingers to the locket
at her neck. “Callie is fine,” she finally said, pushing herself up from the chair.

“Good, that's settled. Now, about the stethoscope,” he continued, clapping his hands together as he walked toward the examination room. “I'm sure I left it in here. Have you seen it?”

She slowly followed him, trying to recall. “I don't remember seeing it and I've cleaned that room from top to bottom.”

“I noticed. You've been busy.” He scanned the room, a satisfied smile growing on his lips. The day's growth of his dark beard shadowing his face gave him a rugged look that kicked up her pulse a notch. “I'll say it again… I wish you'd take it easy for a few more days, but I do appreciate your hard work. The room looks better than it has since I built the place five years ago.” He turned to her, his ice-melting gaze making her stomach turn to mush. “Thank you.”

She swallowed hard. “You're welcome.”

While Ben began searching around the room, Callie inwardly berated herself for falling so easily for his charm. How in the world was she going to be able to continue working for him? If she had another choice,
any other choice,
she'd jump at it. But she had to have this job.

As it was, with every passing day, she risked having Whiteside find her and drag her back to his nest to settle up. Having spent months walking down the hallways, cleaning his girls' rooms and getting to know them in the process, she'd much rather be here in Ben's care.

For the most part, Whiteside's girls didn't seem to be much different than herself. Harder maybe, but then, she'd gradually seen the same hardness start to develop in herself, too. Though their backgrounds were varied,
one thing had seemed a common thread among them: they'd all been down on their luck and had grabbed at the promise of food, clothing and shelter.

But surely they'd never been loved in a place like that. They'd sold their souls for basic needs. Callie would rather go hungry and wear rags under the shelter of a pine bough than do that.

She noticed the perplexed look on Ben's face as he searched in vain. “Maybe you weren't thinking and stuck the stethoscope somewhere else.”

He angled his head in challenge.

“What?” Callie said with a defensive shrug. “You might have forgotten what you did with it.” She sank to her hands and knees to peer under the examination table again. “I moved every last piece of furniture in this room and scrubbed the floor, so I seriously doubt it's here. Are you sure you didn't put it in your bag?”

When she reached to pull herself up, a warm rush traveled straight through her as he gently grasped her arm to help her. His touch did something to her. It had an effect that was destabilizing, yet completely alluring.

When Max had touched her, it had always been to take. But when Ben touched her…well, his touch just seemed so different, as if he meant not to take, but to give.

“I suppose anything's possible.” Ben's jaw tensed. “But I usually leave it in this room since this is where I see to my patients. Wouldn't that make sense to you?”

“I'll keep looking.” Callie moved out of his grasp in an effort to calm her pulse. “It must be around here somewhere.”

He gave a resigned sigh. “I'm sure it'll show up. But if you happen to remember where it is, I'd be much obliged.”

She walked over to the medicine cabinet in the corner of the room and knelt down, ducking her head to look under the large cupboard.

A rattling knock sounded at the door. “Doc, ya in?” A thin, male voice straggled into the room.

“In here,” Ben poked his head into the hallway. “What can I do for you, Pete? Is that leg giving you trouble again?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Callie caught sight of a lanky man trailing Ben into the room. “I been tryin' to do what you told me with that salve and them bandages, but—”

“But maybe you missed a time or two?”

Pete hung his head. “Well, maybe.”

“You're becoming a regular fixture here, Pete—not that I mind your company, but I'm sure you have better things to do.”

When she glanced up to see the man's reaction, she found herself under his close scrutiny.

“I'd like to introduce my assistant, Miss Callie.” Ben stepped over to lend her a hand up. “This is her first day working with me.”

Callie gained her feet then adjusted the bodice of her dress.

“Ma'am.” The man tipped his wide, dusty Stetson to her.

“Callie, this is Pete O'Leary.”

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. O'Leary.” She held out her hand to the man, trying to hide her surprise when his slender, sweaty hand shook hers so vigorously that she had to tug her hand free. She made her best attempt to smile.

“Ben's gonna be mighty glad fer yer help, to be sure, ma'am. He's been needin' it for a while now.”

“When my patients make comments like that, I guess you know that the
Help Wanted
sign was long overdue,” Ben commented.

She had to smile at that. If he was half as glad to have the position filled as she was to have this job, then hopefully it'd benefit both of them.

“You look mighty familiar, ma'am.” Pete tugged at his collar, but even buttoned clear to the top, it gaped open, revealing his razor-sharp Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow. “Do I know you from somewhere's?”

“I don't think so.” Uncomfortable with his direct perusal, Callie dodged his gaze. “I can't imagine where you might have seen me.”

“I jest swear I seen ya before. Not too long ago, neither.” He took a step closer, narrowing his already small eyes as if to bring her into better focus. “You from around here?”

Callie swallowed hard. She didn't want to cause any embarrassment for Ben and his family, and therefore didn't plan on going into detail.

“No,” she finally responded. “No, I'm not.”

“Hmm…it's bound to come to me. I'd never forget a perty face like yours.”

“So what seems to be the problem today, Pete?” Ben cut in, stepping between her and Mr. O'Leary.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that she would have to field questions. She just didn't want to divulge any more information than necessary, and Ben had obviously been astute enough, good enough to rescue her at the moment.

She tried to counter the warmhearted feeling that little fact gave her with the reasons why he was not safe. But for the life of her, she had a hard time scrounging up even one.

“That shifty little good-for-nuthin' ferret I bought off that travelin' salesman is gonna be the death'a me. I swear to ya, Conroy went and drug that tin'a salve off somewhere and now I can't find it. That varmint steals pert near everything—specially if'n it shines.”

“You haven't seen a stethoscope lying around your place, have you?” Turning, he slid a wink to Callie then faced his patient again.

There it was. That wink again.

She buoyed herself against the effects.

“Huh?” Pete pulled his head back.

“Oh, I just can't find my stethoscope. Wish I could blame Conroy, but that wouldn't be very fair to him since he's not stepped his little paws in here.”

“I'm near ready to throw that varmint's wily be-hind out the door. He's a rascal, I tell ya.” The man sliced a breath through gritted teeth. “But sure as shootin', I'd probably miss the little feller.”

Ben chuckled, the low, comforting sound like gentle, lapping waves against her soul. He patted his hand on the exam table. “Why don't you take a seat up on the table, Pete, and we'll take a look at your leg.”

Jamming his cowboy hat down on his head, the man lifted his chin a notch. “No need fer that, Doc.”

“Now, Pete, you know me better than that. I'm just going to check you over, and if the wound looks decent then I'll send you on your way with a new tin of salve.”

The lanky man managed an inordinate display of grumbling under his breath while he scuffed over to the table.