September Rain
 by
Rickey R Mallory

        Jacob Chandler smiled at her today. It wasn't much of a smile. His mouth hardly moved, no more than a tiny upward quirk of his lips, but she saw it in his eyes.
        It was a victory Hallie Greer had been working to achieve ever since the first time she'd seen the tall, sad man two years before. She nodded in satisfaction as she lifted another bolt of cloth onto the display table. It was a sweet victory, if a fleeting one.
        Almost as soon as his blue eyes had sparked with the faint light, it was gone, and she'd been once again stabbed to her heart by the sadness in his face as he turned away to load his supplies onto his pack mule.
        Hallie understood sadness now, as she had not the first time she'd seen Jacob. Her father had died three months ago, after a long and exhausting illness. She grieved for him, and probably would for as long as she lived, but her grief didn't diminish the joy she felt each morning when she saw the sun rise, or the thrill a new book arriving on the supply wagon gave her.
        Jacob Chandler's sadness went beyond grief. She knew a little about him, this man the townspeople called Crazy Jake. She'd heard the story of the outlaws who had attacked his farm outside of town and killed his pregnant wife and left him for dead. He had not spoken a word since that day, and as soon as he'd recovered enough, he had gone after the outlaws.
         Nobody knew why he'd returned to Goshen Springs. He'd shown up one day, bought some supplies and a pack mule, and disappeared into the mountains. The only time anyone ever saw him was twice a year or so when he came to town to replenish his supplies.
        Hallie reached for another bolt of cloth, hefting it up onto the table beside the first. She smoothed the wrinkles out, enjoying the crisp softness of the new cloth, her mind only half on her chore.
        The first time Jacob came into the store, Hallie had been showing Mrs. Adams a bolt of cloth much like the one she touched now, and her father was talking to Mr. Adams.
        All conversation ceased as the door opened, and Hallie turned to see a tall, buckskin clad man with a handsome face that could have been carved from wood. He was not a big man, although his shoulders were wide and his legs in the buckskin breeches looked powerful.
        Hallie still remembered the thud of her heart when his blue gaze touched her. It was at that moment she decided Jacob Chandler needed to smile. She smiled at him and asked if she could help him, but all he did was hand her a list and begin hefting sacks of potatoes and flour.
        That day she'd learned most of what she knew about him. Mrs. Adams was all too happy to gossip and, for once, Hallie was happy to listen.
        Because he lived alone and never talked, folks assumed he'd been driven insane by the death of his wife. But when Hallie looked at him she saw a lonely, grief-stricken man, not a crazy one. So whenever he came in the store, she greeted him with a smile and talked to him as if he were an acquaintance. He never answered.
        Until today. Today, the man who had fascinated her for two years smiled. At her. And just like she'd known it would, his smile put the brightness of a summer sky in his eyes and a flutter of pleasure in her breast.
        The bell over the door tinkled and Brent Myers entered the store. Hallie frowned.
        "Miss Hallie, are you all right?"
        The beefy face of the saloon owner erased her thoughts of Jacob Chandler.
         "I'm fine," she said shortly, busying herself with stacking the bolts of cloth into perfect rows.
        "I saw you were still here, Why don't you allow me to escort you home?"
        A suffocating feeling settled on her breast, the same feeling she had every time she was around Brent Myers. He hovered too close, his smile was too familiar, his manner too possessive. She shoved a bolt with rather more force than necessary.
         "I'm not ready to leave yet, Mr. Myers. I still have quite a bit to do."
Myers stepped closer. "You know, Miss Hallie, the days are getting shorter. You shouldn't stay here too late, alone. Why don't I escort you home to change, and we can have dinner at the hotel?"
        Hallie fought the urge to step backwards. She didn't understand why the townspeople let Myers bully them. She saw right through his veneer of politeness it to the selfish, controlling man beneath. Why couldn't everyone else? Why couldn't they see that his hair was a too slick, his clothes too fancy, his manner too obviously insincere. Why couldn't they see that his words never matched the calculating, greedy glint in his eyes?
        "We need to talk about our future too, Miss Hallie. It's been three months since your father died. There's no reason to wait. Your father was in favor of us marrying, you know."
        "So you tell me," Hallie retorted. "He never mentioned anything to me." Myers had only begun speaking of it after her father's first stroke, when it was no longer possible for him to speak.
        "Now Miss Hallie. You know I'm fond of you, and I would make you a good husband. And it's not as if . . . ." Myers' voice trailed off, but Hallie understood his intimation.
        It was not as if Hallie were a marriageable young woman with young men lined up to court her. She'd probably never marry if she didn't jump at Myers' offer. She'd already resigned herself to the life of an old maid. Eight years ago, at age twenty, after her mother died and the young man she was in love with married another girl, she'd come out to Montana with her father. On the border of the wilderness, hundreds of miles from civilization, there weren't many eligible bachelors.
        So Hallie had helped her father run his general store until his stroke, then Hallie had nursed him and run the store on her own.
        "Miss Hallie?"
        Myers' oily voice grated on her nerves. She faced him and planted her fists on her hips. "Mr. Myers, whether you believe it or not, I am not at all interested in marriage. I am perfectly happy being a spinster and running my store. As I have told you before, I appreciate your kind offer, but no thank you."
        Myers' face turned red, and Hallie saw the rage he held in check. A thrill of fear rippled through her, which increased her own irritation to anger. She was not going to be intimidated by Brent Myers, or worse, fooled by him like everybody else in town seemed to be. She'd always gone her own way. Coming west with her father had been a bold move for a young, unmarried woman. Handling the store on her own for two years had been even bolder. She could handle Myers.
        As if he'd read her mind, Myers spoke. "You know, Miss Hallie, I hold the mortgage on your store."
        She looked at him in mild shock. "Of course I know that. I make the payment to you on the first day of each month at the terms agreed upon by you and my father."
        "I do hate to bear such tidings to you Miss Hallie, but your father let some payments lapse just before his unfortunate stroke."
        Hallie couldn't believe her ears. "That can't be true."
        "Ah, but it is. I have the paperwork, and there are several payments missing."
        "That's impossible."
        His face turning a deeper shade of red, Myers drew himself up and brushed an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. "I do hope you're not calling me a liar, Miss Hallie. Do you have receipts, or a ledger?"
        Hallie did keep a ledger. She couldn't keep up with purchases and sales in her head, like her father had. "Of course I have records of the payments I've made." Even as she said the brave words, she knew she was avoiding Myers' real question.
        "But what about your father's payments? Where's your record of them?"
Her father had never kept a ledger. Myers knew that. She met his gaze. "I will make good on the payments if you will provide me an accounting," she said.
        "What about my proposal, Miss Hallie? When we marry, you'll have no need to run a general store, I'll hire somebody to run it.
        Hallie lifted her chin. "I like running the store. It is satisfying to me."
        Myers put a hand on her shoulder and Hallie stiffened.
        She tried to step back but the bolts of cloth blocked her way.
        "There are more satisfying things than being alone and running a general store, Miss Hallie."
        She looked at his beefy hand with its dirty fingernails on her shoulder and the suffocating feeling deepened in her stomach, along with a vague revulsion. The faint odor of unwashed flesh covered by bay rum and sour whisky made her feel sick.
Mustering her courage and determination, she stepped past him, shrugging off his touch. "I am sure I can make reparations for any debts my father owed you, Mr. Myers. Please give me an accounting. As you can see, I am very busy this evening."
        Myers backed off, although the color in his face indicated he was still angry. "Don't stay too late alone, Miss Hallie. You never know what could happen even in the short distance between the store and your home."
        He touched the ridiculous derby he affected and left.
        Hallie stood for a moment looking at the door, her thoughts in turmoil. Was it her imagination, or were Myers' last words vaguely threatening?
        Don't stay here too late alone...You never know what could happen.
If she told anyone what he'd said, they would scoff at her apprehension. But they hadn't seen the rage in his face, or the beads of sweat on his upper lip, or the leering glint in his eye.
        She shuddered, suddenly apprehensive as the sun moved lower in the sky and shadows began creeping into the store.
        Abandoning her chores, she grabbed her reticule and blew out the lamps.  After taking a last look around, she locked the door and started home.
        As she stepped off the end of the boardwalk, the sun was beginning to set. She looked at the array of pink and blue and remembered Jacob Chandler's soft blue eyes.
        Not even Brent Myers could ruin her day. Jacob Chandler had smiled at her, and the tiny smile had shown her he was breathtakingly handsome.
        A shiver ran up her spine. What a difference it could make to a woman if someone like Jacob asked her to marry him. She chuckled at her flighty thoughts. Her father was right. The novels she spent valuable money on certainly put fanciful notions in her head. Notions of marriage and love and romance.
        Still, if she were going to have dreams of everlasting love, she'd much rather dream of the mysterious Jacob Chandler than of the too familiar and repulsive Brent Myers. After all, her dreams were probably the only romance she would ever know outside of books.
        She thought about the newest book she had received just this week and her step quickened as she passed the alley between the saloon and the livery.
        Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her. She stumbled, striking out in panicked reaction. She was shoved to the ground.
        She opened her mouth to scream and a filthy, smelly hand clamped over it. A crushing weight pinned her. She struggled, trying to scream.
        He struck her and stars danced before her eyes. He tore at her clothes. She tried to focus, and caught a glimpse of stained, gapped teeth, a scruffy black beard and dark, beady eyes. The stench of unwashed flesh gagged her.
        Hallie kicked and bucked and pushed, but the man was heavier and stronger than she. She was tiring. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe, much less scream.
        Her flailing hand came into contact with her attacker's face so she curved her fingers instinctively and clawed.
        "Argh! Bitch!" he shouted. He hit her again, sending daggers of pain through her head.
        She shoved and bit and kicked but to no avail. The filthy hands were under her skirt, tearing at her petticoats, groping her legs.
        She screamed.
        The hands stopped their disgusting pawing. They closed around her throat.
        She couldn't breathe. She fought desperately.
        Her throat burned. Her vision blackened.
        Then nothing.
        No suffocating weight. No disgusting sour breath. No choking blockage of her throat. Nothing but a searing urge to breathe.

* * * * *


CHAPTER TWO

A hand touched Hallie's shoulder.
        "No, no, no," she mouthed, trying to force air past the pain in her throat. She opened her eyes, preparing to scream again. But the face she saw wasn't sweaty and bearded, and the finger touching her cheek wasn't pudgy or filthy.
        She stared into a familiar sun bronzed face with hollowed cheeks, a strong mouth taut with concern, and sky blue eyes which searched hers for an answer.
        "I'm all right," Hallie whispered, her voice no more than a hoarse croak as she responded to the unasked question. She put a hand to her throat. "Where is -- ?" she shuddered as the other, awful face loomed in her memory.
        Then she blinked and looked at her rescuer. It was Jacob Chandler. He crouched beside her, his hand gently brushing her cheek as his gaze assessed her in silent concern.
        It occurred to her that she was sprawled in an unladylike heap on the dusty road. She tried to sit up, to take stock of her condition. But as she moved, Jacob's callused palm cradled the side of her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed all right. His thumb touched the very corner of her mouth.
        Hallie instinctively responded to the gesture, leaning gratefully into the warm strength of his hand.
        Suddenly he was gone, his fingers scraping along her bruised cheek as a beefy hand hauled him up by his buckskin collar and a huge fist drove into his lean belly.
        It was Myers. Immediately, two of Myers' men grabbed Chandler. Myers flexed his fingers. He gestured and nodded at them, then turned to Hallie.
        "Mr. Myers, no!" Hallie cried, her voice nothing more than a croak.
        "It's all right Miss Hallie," Myers said, bending down. "My men'll take care of him. You're safe now."
        "No, wait!" she whispered. "It wasn't --"
        Brent Myers picked her up. "Don't try to talk, Miss Hallie. I'm taking you over to Doc Ketchum's. I told you it was dangerous to be out alone this late in the afternoon."
        "Put me down right now, Brent Myers." She struggled ineffectually, but Myers' grip was insistent. She looked over his shoulder. One of the men held Jacob by his arms while the other pummeled him mercilessly. Blood gushed from his nose and spattered his shirt.
        "Oh no! Stop! Don't let them!" she cried, trying to squirm out of Myers' arms.
         The unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh echoed in her ears. Jacob Chandler had helped her, and he was being beaten up for his trouble, while her attacker was probably halfway to the next town by now.
        "Don't get all upset, Miss Hallie. My men'll make sure Crazy Jake doesn't ever hurt you again."
        The sickening sounds of Jacob being beaten rang in her ears. "It wasn't him," she whispered frantically. "Put me down!"
        She struggled out of Myers' arms but when she was upright, her stomach turned over and her vision went dark. She barely knew when Myers put her in his buggy and clucked at the horses.
        Later, as the doctor dabbed the cut on her cheek, Hallie pushed his hand away and sat up. "That's enough, Doctor Ketchum." Her voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk.
        "What are you in such an all-fired hurry for anyhow, Miss Greer? You had a bad experience. I don't think you're in any shape to go home alone. You'll sleep here tonight so I can keep an eye on you."
        "I'm fine," she whispered. "Not dizzy at all." She moved to stand, only to sit down again immediately when the edge of her vision went black.
        "Hardly at all." She allowed the doctor to cover her with a blanket. "Maybe I'll rest for a while," she said faintly.
        There was a knock on the door. The doctor glanced at her then went to open it. "Sheriff, Mr. Myers."
        "Doc." Sheriff Waites nodded at the doctor as he stepped into the office. "Miss Greer, you feel like telling me what happened?"
        "Miss Hallie, how are you feeling?" Myers was solicitous as he took her hand.
Hallie pulled away.
        "She really shouldn't be talking, Sheriff. Not until she's had some rest," Doc Ketchum said.
        "It's okay," Hallie whispered. "What happened to Jacob Chandler?"
        "No, no, Miss Hallie," Myers broke in. "You should listen to the doctor. Crazy Jake is in jail, right where he belongs."
        "What?" She turned to the sheriff. "You put him in jail? But . . . ."
        "Of course we did," Myers soothed. "Look what he did to you. Why the man ought to be hanged."
        "He didn't attack me," Hallie said. "He saved me." She coughed and put her hand to her throat. "You must release him, and search for the real attacker." She coughed again.
        The doctor fetched her some water. "Can't you do this tomorrow?" he asked, looking meaningfully at Myers.
        Myers tried to take Hallie's hand again but she ignored him and moved her hand to rearrange the blanket. "That's right, Sheriff. We need to allow Miss Hallie time to recover. She is obviously confused."
        "I am not confused," she retorted.
        "Of course you are, my dear," Myers said insistently. "Sheriff, I'll give you a statement. I saw Crazy Jake attacking her."
        Shock reverberated through Hallie. She stared at Myers. He was lying. Why?
        "You actually saw it, Mr. Myers?" the sheriff asked.
        "That's right. When we happened upon them Crazy Jake was choking the life out of her."
        "No he wasn't," Hallie interjected. "Why are you saying this? He saved me."
        "Miss Hallie," the Sheriff said. "What do you mean he saved you? Are you saying Crazy Jake ain't the one that attacked you?"
        Hallie nodded. "That's right. I was walking home from the store later than usual. I'd been putting away supplies. Someone came up behind me and grabbed me." Her voice broke as the memory of the man's leering face, his groping hands, and her helplessness resurfaced. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
        "Sheriff," the doctor said warningly.
        "It's okay." She lifted her chin, forcing herself to remember exactly what had happened. "I had just stepped off the boardwalk down toward the end of town. He grabbed me and pulled me behind the livery." She swallowed hard and smoothed her hands down her skirt, noticing for the first time that the hem was torn and dirty. "He was fat and he stank of filth and grease. His hands were dirty. His breath was foul. He was missing some teeth."
         She took a long, shaky breath, trying to calm her increasingly shrill voice. "He pushed me down on the ground. He tore my skirt . . ."
        The doctor started to speak but Hallie held up her hand. "But I screamed, and he began . . . choking me with those filthy hands." Tears started in her eyes as she remembered how helpless she'd felt when his fingers had stopped her breath.
        "Then suddenly he was gone and Jacob Chandler was leaning over me. Mr. Myers is mistaken. Jacob didn't attack me. He saved me."
        The sheriff shook his head. "I ain't seen anybody fits what you're describing. Fat and missing teeth? Probably a drifter."
        Myers' face turned red. "I'm telling you, Sheriff, it was Crazy Jake. I was right there. There was nobody else."
        "Can you find the man?" Hallie asked she sheriff. "I've always thought I could take care of myself, but he was so mean, so rough. If it hadn't been for Jacob . . . ."
The sheriff sighed. "I'll ask around in the morning. See if anyone saw him, but he's probably long gone."
        "What -- what if he's not?" Reaction began to set in and Hallie's whole body trembled. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, but she still felt cold. Cold and exposed and alone.
        "Don't you worry yourself, Miss Hallie," Myers soothed. "I'll protect you."
        Hallie didn't look at Myers. The idea of him protecting her was not comforting. In fact it made her want to shrink away. Suddenly the enormity of what had happened overwhelmed her and tears welled in her eyes.
        "Now look what you've done, Sheriff. You've gone and upset Miss Hallie."
Myers' oily voice slithered around Hallie like a snake.
        The sheriff picked up his hat and reached for the door knob.
        "Sheriff?" Hallie hated the way her voice quavered.
        The sheriff turned back. "Yes'm Miss Hallie?"
        "What about Mr. Chandler? Are you going to let him go?"
        "Of course he's not," Myers said impatiently. "Chandler's guilty."
        The sheriff broke in. "If Miss Hallie says it wasn't him, I got no right to hold him."
        Hallie closed her eyes against the tears that still threatened and shook her head carefully. "It wasn't Jacob Chandler."
        Myers got in the lawman's face. "And I say she's not herself right now."
        "I don't know what you're so het up about," the Sheriff retorted. "Chandler won't get far, bad as your men beat him."
        "Oh," Hallie gasped. "Doctor? You'll go to see him won't you? Treat the injuries he suffered because of me?"
        "Just have him come by here, Sheriff. I'll fix him up."
        The Sheriff nodded.
        Myers glared at the Sheriff. "We need to talk, Sheriff Waites."
        The sheriff shot a venomous look at Myers Hallie couldn't fail to see. "I'm still the law in this town. And I'll do what I think is right." He turned and stalked out of the doctor's office, slamming the door behind him.
        Myers patted Hallie's shoulder and spoke to the doctor. "You going to keep an eye on my little Miss Hallie tonight, Doc?"
        "Your little . . . ?" Hallie croaked indignantly, shrinking from his touch.
        "I think so. She probably needs a sleeping draught. She has several bad bruises."
        Myers' hand tightened on her shoulder.
        Hallie tried to slip out of his grasp by leaning back against the pillows, but his fingers, while not hurtful, were insistent. She didn't like him touching her. His touch seemed as snake-like as his voice.
        "I'll come by in the morning and take you home. How's that?"
        Hallie closed her eyes to avoid responding. Maybe if he thought she was exhausted, he would leave. The idea that he had unfairly accused Jacob Chandler of being her attacker, even stating he'd witnessed the attack when he could not possibly have, worried and confused her. Why would Myers deliberately lie about Jacob? And how could he have been there so quickly, but failed to see the other man, the man who really attacked her?
        "It would probably be best if you left now, Mr. Myers," the doctor said.
        "Miss Greer needs some rest. She's looking awfully pale."
        After Myers left, Hallie sat up. "I'm going home now, doctor."
        The doctor frowned at her. "You should wait until morning. You're still shaky and weak."
        Hallie looked at him. "I don't want Mr. Myers to take me home," she said as clearly as she could with her hoarse voice.
        "I see," the doctor said, holding her gaze.
        Hallie nodded.
        "Then I will take you home tonight."
        At first Hallie was relieved. Then a thought occurred to her. "No, doctor. You have to wait for Jacob Chandler. You have to treat his injuries."
        "I tell you what Miss Hallie. I'll see you home then come back by the jail and check up on Craz -- on Mr. Chandler. How's that?" Doctor Ketchum smiled at her.
        "I appreciate it," Hallie croaked, coughing again. "I won't be able to sleep unless I know someone is looking after him."

* * * * *

CHAPTER THREE

When the doctor delivered her home, Hallie thanked him and hurried inside, leaning against the closed door in sudden exhaustion as a wave of dizziness engulfed her. She had lied to the doctor by telling him she was no longer dizzy and weak.
        He'd glanced at her unbelievingly, but had demurred, admonishing her to take a stout dose of whiskey before she went to bed. Hot tea with whiskey and honey sounded very good to her.
        Straightening, she turned and fumbled with the key, locking the door, then testing it to be sure it was secure. She clenched her fists to stop her hands from trembling.
        "Fine spinster I am," she muttered to herself. "afraid of my own shadow. I will not allow myself to be frightened by one incident with a drifter who has probably already left town." Her father had never locked his doors. She reached out to turn the key but her fingers wouldn't work.
        She was just tired. After a good night's sleep, she was sure she'd feel much better. She made her tea and took it into the bedroom. But the fear would not leave her. There was a lot on her mind, and tea and rest weren't going to fix it.
She lay down and pulled the covers up over her head, but every time she closed her eyes she saw soft, blue ones staring at her in kind concern. Her ears rang with the sound of fists meeting flesh, and it seemed the smell of blood pervaded her nostrils. All she could think about was Jacob Chandler, beaten and bloody because of her, and jailed unjustly.
        Doctor Ketchum was probably treating his injuries now, and the sheriff had promised to release him, so there was nothing else Hallie could do. Still, she couldn't forget the rage on Brent Myers' face when the sheriff defied him.
        As she began to drift off to sleep, Hallie's thoughts wandered. Jacob Chandler had smiled at her this morning. Right now, she thought sleepily, the morning and her innocent pleasure at the light in his eyes seemed a lifetime ago.

* * * * *

Hallie woke at sunrise, anxious to make sure Jacob was all right. Rising gingerly, she found she could stand without dizziness, so she quickly bathed, dressed, and headed up the street to the jail. As she passed the livery she averted her eyes, unwilling to look upon the place where she'd been attacked.
        She stepped into the jailhouse. "Good morning, Sheriff."
        He stood. "Why good morning, Miss Greer. You sure seem a lot more chipper this morning."
        She smiled. "Doctor Ketchum's prescription for hot tea and whiskey helped me sleep. I'd like to speak to Mr. Chandler, to thank him."
        "He's not here. He left last night, soon as I told him he was free to go. I tried to get him to rest here for the night, but he wouldn't. It was a painful sight, to watch him move." The sheriff shook his head.
        Hallie stared at him. "The doctor saw him, didn't he? He promised me he'd come straight here after he took me home."
        "He did, but Crazy Jake had already gone."
        "Oh, no," Hallie moaned. "How could you let him leave without seeing the doctor?"
        "Miss Hallie, I tried to talk to the man, but he just stared right through me. Acted like he didn't even hear me."
        Hallie rushed out of the jailhouse and over to the doctor's office.
        She banged on his door. "Doctor Ketchum! Doctor!"
        He opened the door and squinted at Hallie as he settled his spectacles onto his nose. "Miss Hallie, are you all right? Come in."
        "I'm fine. It's Jacob Chandler I'm worried about. You didn't see to his injuries last night?"
        "He was gone by the time I got to the jail house."
        Hallie frowned. "You must go after him. You have to make sure he's all right."
        "Now Miss Hallie. Crazy Jake obviously don't want to be treated, or he would've come to see me. You can't force somebody to accept help. Trust me. I've learned this over the years."
        "But he could be bleeding. He was badly hurt by Myers' men."
        The doctor nodded, and gave Hallie an assessing look. "If you ask me, Jacob Chandler is hurting from more than just a beating."
        Hallie's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
        The doctor took off his spectacles and polished them on his shirttail. "I don't think he's ever gotten over his wife being killed and him unable to help her. I tried to talk to him while he was recovering from having his throat slit, but --"
        "Having his throat slit?" Hallie felt her face drain of blood.
        "Yep. Have you never heard his story?"
        Hallie shook her head. "I heard he was injured when his wife was killed, but I didn't know exactly how."
        "Outlaws raided his place, looking for horses to steal. They killed his wife, who was with child, and they slit Chandler's throat, but he lived."
        Hallie grasped the door facing as the doctor's words built an image in her mind. Her heart ached for the man whose smile had brightened her day and whose unselfish bravery may have saved her life. "And now he's hurt because of me. Oh, I have to help him."
        "Like I was saying, Miss Greer, I don't believe he wants help. And nobody can make a man accept help if he don't want it." The doctor smiled at her. "Not even you."
        Hallie lifted her chin. "I am responsible for what happened to him. I owe him, Doctor. I owe him a lot, possibly my life. I cannot just sit by while he may be in great pain, or even dying."
        "Well good luck, Miss Greer. Three years ago nobody could get through to him. People quit trying. Then when he returned only to seclude himself up in the mountains, people decided he was crazy."
        Hallie searched the doctor's face. "Is he?" Her heart pounded, as if the doctor's answer were of utmost importance to her. Maybe it was.
        He reseated his glasses on his nose and gave Hallie an assessing look. "That's hard to say. Back then I'd have said no. He was just a man with a powerful grief, and a need for vengeance. Now?" He shrugged.
        Disappointed that he wouldn't reveal any more, Hallie thanked him and turned away.
        "Miss Greer? Where are you going? You want me to look at your neck again?"
        She shook her head. "No, I'm just going to rest today," she said lightly. "Thank you."
        Hallie rushed back toward her house, her thoughts in turmoil. Jacob had left last night. No one, not even the doctor, knew how badly he'd been hurt.
        As she passed the livery, Hallie once again looked away, but something caught her eye. It was a pack mule, drooping under the weight of a huge pack and grazing tiredly near the mountain path behind the livery.
        Her hand went to her mouth as she realized the import of what she saw. Even if he made it to his cabin, he'd left his pack mule with all his supplies for the winter behind. If the mule stayed here, someone would take it.
        Hallie looked around, wondering who she could get to help her. Nobody cared about the man they all called Crazy Jake. Nobody but her. Rushing back to her house, praying she wouldn't be seen, Hallie changed into riding clothes, then saddled her horse and headed back to where the mule grazed.
        This time, she surveyed the site with an objective, assessing eye. She saw the evidence of her struggle in the dusty street. Fear clogged her throat as she remembered her ordeal. She swallowed hard. On the side of the road she found crushed grass and a rock with a dark smear on it. She dismounted and touched the dark smudge. A streak of brown stained her fingertips.
        Blood. Probably Jacob Chandler's blood. Shed for her.
        Her heart pounded as she continued her study of the area. She was no tracker, but anyone could see the crushed grass and broken branches where something had pushed through the bushes.
        She remounted and reached for the mule's bridle. "Come on, Jenny," Hallie said, calling the mule by the name her father had always given to all his mules. "I know you're tired but I have a feeling Jacob Chandler needs us. Let's go find him and see how he's doing." She clucked to her little mare and urged it forward, following the tracks which traced the little-used path up the mountain.
        For more than three hours she urged the mare forward over the difficult terrain, unwilling to think about how long the trail was. Unwilling to consider how foolish it was to head up the mountain by herself this time of year when the days were growing shorter and the shadows held a foretaste of the coming winter's chill.
         Unwilling to think of how alone she was, with nothing but her father's ancient shotgun for a weapon. Unwilling to admit to herself that she had no idea where she was going or what she might find once she got there.
        At one point beside the path, a large area of grass and twigs was crushed, as if someone had sat or lain on the trail. Hallie dismounted and bent down to look closely at the ground. She picked up a dried leaf and found a bloody fingerprint on its surface. Fear and dread weakening her limbs, she climbed back onto her horse.
        He had fallen off his horse. A mixture of fear for his life and admiration for the strength of will it must have taken him to remount the horse coursed through her.
        At last, well past noon, as the sky began to darken with rain clouds, Hallie's mare stepped out of the woods into a small clearing in front of a tiny, rough cabin.
        A big gelding stood there, saddled and restless. She tied the mule and her horse beside it. Was this Jacob's place?
        Muttering a quiet apology to the three animals and promising to take care of them as soon as she could, she knocked on the door of the cabin.
        "Mr. Chandler?" she called. Her voice was still hoarse, and it was hard to speak past the racing of her heart. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Mr. Chandler? Jacob?"
        She pushed on the door. When it opened, she stood stock still for a moment, listening, expecting something to happen, not knowing what.
        Her heart pounded like thunder in her temples. What if he'd made it home only to die? A fierce apprehension tempered with regret suffused her. She stepped into the cool darkness of the cabin and closed the door behind her.
         Slowly, the darkness around her coalesced into recognizable silhouettes. The cabin was a single room, containing nothing but the essentials. A wooden table sat in its center with one rough-hewn chair, a fireplace lined one wall, and on the other wall, below a blanket-draped window, was a bed. The loneliness of the single chair reached out to her.
        She noticed something on the bed. Someone.
        She froze. "Mr. Chandler? Jacob?"
        He was curled up on his side, still as death. Hallie blinked and stepped closer, trying to see in the semi-darkness.
        Suddenly a picture of what she was doing flashed before her vision. She was standing in a cabin, alone and defenseless, looking for a man she did not even know. She drew in courage with a deep breath.
        The ladies of Goshen Springs would be horrified, but then they were horrified at her often enough for not marrying, for running a store alone, for speaking her mind. They would be quick to say she had invited her attack by walking alone at dusk. And they would not understand her need to ride up here alone to check on the man who had saved her life.
        Hallie shrugged. She was too old to worry about what people said. And at twenty-nine, she was in very little danger of hurting her reputation.
        She watched the shadowy figure on the bed, but it didn't move.
        "Jacob?" If he was dead, she would kill Brent Myers with her bare hands.
        Creeping carefully and quietly, she finally stood no more than two feet from the simple frame bed. A blanket covered the bed and the man lay on top of the blanket, clad only in buckskin breeches.
        He was whipcord slender, and his bare feet and bare shoulders made him look like a boy. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she had to revise her first impression. This was no boy. It was Jacob Chandler. His leanness was deceptive. Long muscles defined his shoulders and arms. His legs looked powerful and sleek.
        Then she saw the gun clutched in his hand. Her sore heart ached anew. He was battered, beaten, but he still strove to protect himself. Hallie stared at him. Her first thought was his skin looked like fine tanned leather in the shadows. Her second was he certainly didn't have on many clothes.
        Standing perfectly still, hardly breathing herself, she stared at his bare chest until she saw its faint rise and fall. "Thank God!" she muttered. He was alive.
        Jacob Chandler jerked and stiffened, then lay still again.
        "Oh Mr. Chandler. I'm so glad --" Hallie stopped. "Mr. Chandler? Jacob?" She peered closely at him, then reached out and pushed long strands of brown hair out of his face. "Why, you're burning up."
        She looked around. "I can't see anything in here." She pulled down the blanket that was draped over the single window and squinted in the sudden brightness. "That's better," she said, turning back to the bed.
        The sight that greeted her almost buckled her knees. In the darkness of the shadowed cabin she hadn't seen how badly beaten he was. "Oh, look what they did to you."
        His nose and mouth were crusted with blood. One eye was swollen, and ugly purple splotches marred his shoulders and what she could see of his chest and belly. There was blood matted in his hair.
        "How could they?" She gingerly felt his forehead. "You have a fever. I've got to get some water into you. You must not have drunk any since yesterday." She put her hands on her hips and looked around. "But I'll have to wake you up enough to drink. And where is your water, anyway?"
        Then her wandering gaze fell upon a bucket sitting on a bench with a dipper in it.
        "Now, I just need some cloths and a bowl." A wooden bowl sat on the table, but the only cloth she found was stiff with dirt. She used his butcher knife to cut her underskirt for a cloth. "You will pay me back for this," she said to the unconscious man, gesturing with the knife. "It was brand new."
        She picked up a tin cup and, sitting carefully on the edge of the narrow bed, she dipped the fine cotton material into the water and touched it to his mouth.
        His head jerked. He gasped and opened his eyes. His fingers tightened convulsively around his gun, but his eyes didn't quite focus on her face. Halllie smiled at him tentatively. "Are you thirsty, Mr. Chandler?"
        Jacob Chandler's first thought was he hurt more than he ever had in his life.  His second thought was his first thought was optimistic. The effort required to clutch at his gun started muscles cramping throughout his body. He lay still, breathing shallowly through his teeth, hoping to stop the convulsive tightening of his bruised and battered muscles. It didn't work.
        "Mr. Chandler," A soft, hoarse voice penetrated the haze of pain. At the same time a gentle hand touched his. The hand trembled. The only reason Jacob noticed was because his hand was about the only place on his body that wasn't knotted in pain.
        "It's me," the voice continued. "The lady you saved yesterday? It's just me. I'm Hallie Greer."
        Jacob remembered, and remembering knotted his muscles even more. He pushed air out between his teeth, trying his best not to move until the agony lessened. He recalled making it back to his cabin sometime around dawn after a hellish night during which the best he could manage was to stay on his horse. One time he'd passed out and fallen off. Hell was probably a Sunday picnic compared to the agony he'd endured climbing back up onto the horse.
        Concentrate, he thought. Concentrate on Hallie Greer's voice, on the soft touch of her hand, on anything but the pain.
        He tried to focus on her face, on her kind brown eyes, her delicate features, the cloud of chestnut hair, but another cramp gripped him like huge hands twisting his limbs into knots. He frowned and put all his energy into bearing the pain. His eyes drifted shut.
        "I know we haven't been formally introduced . . ." she said softly.
        Jacob struggled to concentrate on her voice.
        ". . . but since you saved me from a horrible fate, and I'm seeing you in your bed, I suppose you could call me Hallie. That is, if I may call you Jacob?"
        He knew who she was. Knew her melodious voice, from the few times he'd been in her store, although her soothing tone and matter of fact words surprised him, as did her presence here in his cabin. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Hallie Greer would be here.
        He'd always thought she was attractive, plus she was one of the few people in town who ever spoke to him. She'd never failed to smile and speak, as if he were just another customer. She'd always made him feel welcome in a town that had long since dismissed him as crazy.
        That was fine with him, of course. He didn't talk to anyone, and didn't want anyone talking to him.
        He kept his eyes shut and let her voice flow around him like a slow summer river. Slowly, his muscles began to unknot. He breathed carefully, knowing one sudden movement could start it all up again.
        Hallie watched Jacob's eyes drift shut. She tried to keep her gaze away from his bare shoulders and arms, but it wasn't easy. His muscles were in knots. Tendons wound like cords through his neck and arms. There was no spare flesh on him, so each cramped muscle stood out like a knot on a smooth log.
        She longed to rub the cramps away, like she used to do for her father, but the idea of touching him was profoundly disturbing. She didn't quite know why, but the thought sent tingles through her fingers, up her arms, and down her body to make her legs weak. So she contented herself with touching his sinewed hand and trying to relax him with her words. She talked as if she were trying to calm a scared kitten, slowly, smoothly, non-stop.
        "My pa always said I could talk enough for two people. He said I had a pleasant voice, though. Now I know you're hurting, but if you would settle down enough so I could put your gun away . . ." As she talked, she slid her fingers down his until they left the hard warmth of his skin and touched the cold barrel of the gun.
        Still talking, not changing her tone a bit, she slipped the gun out of his grasp. At the same time, she wiped the wet cloth across his forehead.
        "That's good, Jacob. As soon as I clean you up a little we can see about getting some water inside you. You'll be feeling better in no time."
        Suddenly, Jacob's hand stopped hers and he looked straight at her. She jumped and her breath caught. His fingers curled around her hand like they had around his gun.
        She stared into eyes as hard and bright as glass on a clear summer day. Gone was the soft concern she remembered. She managed a shaky smile. "Jacob? Are you awake now?"

* * * * *

CHAPTER FOUR

Jacob didn't answer Hallie's question, but his fingers pried the gun out of her hand with more strength than she expected. He slid the cold weapon back onto the blanket and wrapped his hand around the butt.
        "O-okay, Jacob. If you want to keep your gun, that's fine." She swallowed nervously. "Did you hear me introduce myself just now?"
        His gaze didn't waver, but his mouth opened slightly, and he licked at a drop of water.
        "My name is Hallie Greer and I said you could call me Hallie and I would call you Jacob. You need some more water, Jacob." She carefully held the cup of water to his lips. Although his head didn't move, his eyes followed her hand.
        "I came to see if you were all right," she said, as she tipped the cup to trickle water into his mouth. "I see that you're not. I'm so sorry, Jacob. I tried to stop them. I tried to tell them you weren't the one who attacked me, but Brent Myers was there and he wouldn't listen."
        "Oh they hurt you," she whispered. "Can you hold your head up to drink?"
        He closed his eyes and tried to move, but when he did, his skin turned ashen and the lines in his face grew deeper.
        "Don't move," Hallie said belatedly. "You're too bruised and sore. Your muscles will just keep cramping. I had a horse once that mashed my leg against a fence. Bruised me up something awful. Every time I moved my leg it cramped up. After a day or so it got better, though. I think you'll get better too, if nothing's broken."
        He looked at her, his eyes slightly unfocused. Then his eyelids drifted shut, his lashes resting on his hollowed, pale cheeks.
        She turned around to sit so she could put her hand behind his head. "Can you hear me Jacob?" she asked. "You have to drink some water. I'm going to lift your head. I did this for my father, so it's perfectly all right."
        She talked to reassure herself as much as him. It was all right for her to touch him. After all, she was nursing him, taking care of him, just as she had her father. There was no difference.
        "Now, I'm just going to slide my hand behind your head," she said softly and followed words with actions. She slipped her hand between the rough ticking of the mattress and his head, her fingers sliding through his soft, tangled hair. A sweet pain caught at her insides at the feel of his hair, and the fine shape of his head.
        "Just lie back and I'll help you raise your head," she said breathlessly.
        His brow furrowed and his breathing became shallow and fast, but he followed her urging.
        "I promise you'll feel better if you can drink some water." She cradled his head and turned the cup up.
        He tried to drink, but more water ended up on the bed than on him. "I have to lift you more," Hallie said, and slid her arm under him until he was resting against her bosom. She felt his heat through her clothes, and as he drank, his breath warmed her hand.
        He opened his eyes and looked at her, startling her.
        Hallie jerked back. "Oh." She hurriedly slipped her hand from under his head. "Th-there now, doesn't that feel better?"
        Although he didn't speak, she could tell the water had refreshed him. He now had color in his cheeks, and slowly and painfully, he stretched out his long legs.
        As he did, Hallie watched, mesmerized. She had taken care of her father after his first stroke, so she knew something of men's bodies, but knowing didn't lessen her embarrassment at seeing Jacob half-clothed.
        His lean belly heaved with the effort of moving, and he kept one leg bent, which caused the buckskin breeches to strain at their seams. It was obvious to Hallie, even through the worn buckskin, that Jacob was very much a man. Her face burned at her thoughts and she quickly averted her eyes, making a production out of squeezing and rinsing the cloth.
        Something happened to her each time she looked at him. Something she'd never felt before, different from the dislike Brent Myers engendered. Different even, from Billy Robertson, the young man who had courted her one summer, years ago.
        Billy had been sweet and handsome, in a boyish way, but his hand touching hers had never made her heart quicken or her insides quiver like jelly.
        What she felt right now was closer to the feelings evoked in her when she read the romantic books her father didn't like her to order. Tingly, breathless, warm and soft, odd feelings for an old maid. She didn't know why her foolish brain was thinking of silly romance stories now. She was here to help Jacob because he'd helped her.
        That was all.
        As quickly as she could, she cleaned his face. With the blood removed and his hair damp and slicked back, Hallie took her first good look at his face. His eye was purple and swollen, but she recognized what she'd seen every time she'd ever laid eyes on him.
        He was a fine looking man. Fine and proud and unutterably sad. His face was lean and long, with high cheekbones and a wide, straight mouth. He had a strong jaw, clenched now in pain, and his neck muscles were corded with strain. His wet hair looked dark, but when dry she knew it would reflect the sun with golden highlights.
        After she'd gotten the blood and grime off his face and out of his hair, she quickly swiped at the worst of the scrapes on his shoulders and chest, trying her best not to actually touch him with her bare hands. When she finally finished, she realized she'd been holding her breath.
        "Jacob?" she whispered, but he seemed to be asleep. Good. He needed to sleep.
        She pulled the blanket over his bare, bruised belly and chest, and sent a silent prayer heavenward that he would sleep long enough for his tortured muscles to loosen up.
        "I'd better see to the horses and the mule." She spoke to Jacob as if he were awake. It was how she had dealt with her father. She'd talked to him as if he could talk back, instead of just lying helpless as a babe, dependent on her for his very life.
        "I did pretty well with Pa, all things considered," she told her sleeping host. "He'd get frustrated and try to get out of bed. He couldn't move one whole side of his body. He couldn't do anything for himself. Much worse off than you are."
        She squeezed the cloth dry and spread it out on the table. Drying her hands on her skirt, she turned back toward the bed. "I'll be back in a few minutes. It's beginning to get dark and I think it's going to rain. I'll never get back down that mountain this late."
        A small chill of apprehension skittered up her spine. Riding up here earlier, she had not considered the possibility that she wouldn't be able to go down the mountain before dark.
        "I guess we're stuck here together for this night, Jacob." She laughed hesitantly. "This will be a new experience for me. I've never spent the night with a man before, except my father. Of course he was family. Different. You know." She glanced back at the silent figure on the bed as she went out the door.
        If his eyes and his actions had been any indication, he was a gentle, concerned man who helped those in trouble. He was not a man she should fear.
        "Besides, I could probably beat you up, the shape you're in," she murmured as she pulled the packs off the exhausted mule and led it to a makeshift corral.
        Then, she turned to the horse. "What about you? Ready to get rid of that saddle? I'll bet you are. Ho, don't get skittish on me. You look like you're about as independent as your master. Don't like to be too confined. Well, it's the corral for you, big fellow."
        Hallie was breathing hard by the time she wrestled the saddle off the big gelding. She brushed her dusty hands on her skirt, then gathered up as many of the sacks as she could and hauled them into the house. "You really intended to stock up for the whole winter, didn't you, Jacob?" she remarked breathlessly as she pushed open the cabin door.
        He seemed to be in a deep, restful sleep.
        "I won't bother you a bit," Hallie whispered. "I'm just going to put away your supplies. You've got enough flour and meal here to last the winter. Hardtack, beans, sugar." She smiled. "You like sweets? Me too. Let's see. Ah, a bottle of whiskey. Just one for the entire winter? Not much of a drinker are you, Jacob? Plenty of coffee though, and some tea. Good. I'd like a cup of tea and I think you could use some. Ooh, and a big jar of honey. You do like sweets."
        Hallie looked around. In the tiny cabin, it didn't take long to figure out where he kept things. He was a neat person. Neat and precise.
        Hallie hummed softly as she poured flour into the bin, emptied corn meal into a tin, put the coffee and tea away, and found a gallon crock for the sugar. She wiped the counter and table and lined up the cans on a shelf.
        Then she stepped back and looked around in surprise. What was the matter with her? Doing chores had never made her feel like singing, before. She'd always hated chores.
        There was a comfortable, homey feeling about doing these things for Jacob, though. A feeling very different, but just as pleasant, as that other, disturbing feeling she had experienced while she washed him.
        When the supplies were all put away, Hallie set a jar with a cracked mouth in the center of the table, then glanced at the door. Hadn't she seen some late- blooming wildflowers by the corral? It was beginning to rain, so she hurried outside, and had a sparse bouquet picked within a few minutes.
        Humming, she placed the flowers in the jar and wiped a last speck of dust off the table.
        "Now, I need something to make broth with because you're not going to feel like eating anything substantial for a while." She considered the burlap sacks on the floor. "How would you like some potato soup, Jacob?"
        She peeled potatoes and onions, and made a fire in the fireplace. Soon she had water boiling and had dipped up enough to make a pot of tea before she dumped the chopped vegetables into it with a good dose of salt.
        "While that cooks, I think it's time for you to wake up and drink some hot tea, Mr. Jacob Chandler." She brewed the tea, then put a generous dollop of honey and a splash of whiskey in it. "This will probably do both of us some good."
        By the time she pulled the chair up to the small bed and prepared to wake him, shadows had crept into the cabin, and she heard the spattering of rain on the tin roof.
        Hallie lit a lantern and brought it close to the bed, then sat down and picked up the cup. "Jacob?" she said, looking at his face.
        His blue eyes were open, staring into hers with a cold blankness that surprised her.
        She blinked and licked her lips nervously. "Hello," she said hesitantly, forcing a smile to her face. "Do you remember me? I'm Hallie Greer, the lady you saved. I'm the reason you got beaten up. I'm not sure you were awake enough to understand me, before."
        Jacob looked at her. For a moment, he couldn't remember who she was, standing right in front of him, talking to him so calmly. I'm the reason you got beaten up.
        Memory caught him off guard, like the renewed cramping in his bruised muscles. He tensed, waiting for the awful gripping pain to engulf him, but although he ached everywhere, his muscles didn't immediately knot.
        Relieved, he took the time to assess the woman who was the reason he got beaten up.
        Hallie Greer. Her father owned the general store. Had owned it, rather. He remembered hearing Mr. Greer had died.
        Her dark hair, which had been pulled into a discreet bun at the nape of her neck, was coming loose. Tendrils floated around her heart-shaped face. He studied her green eyes, memory assaulting him again. She'd looked so scared when she'd opened her eyes to find him bent over her. But as soon as she'd seen him, she'd calmed down.
        His gaze found the bruise on her cheek. Jacob remembered the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers as he'd touched it, right before his world had exploded in an inferno of pain. He looked down at the simple broadcloth shirt and riding skirt she wore, then back up to her face.
        When he met her eyes again, a blush crawled up from her collar, brightening her cheeks. Without warning his body reacted. An unfamiliar ache started deep within him. It wasn't welcome, that ache. Nor was the heaviness in his loins accompanying it. He scowled. He was surprised the ability to react to a woman was still in him.
        Clenching his jaw, shoving away the unwanted feelings, he looked at her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. They were trembling.
        Damn it, what was the silly woman doing here, anyway? The last time he'd seen her, he was on the receiving end of some nasty blows and she was cradled in Brent Myers' arms. How'd she get up here? Did Myers bring her? Jacob discarded that notion. If Myers were here, he'd know it.
        Gathering all the willpower at his command, which wasn't much, he pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard. By the time he'd finished, the cramps had started again in his muscles, and it was all he could do to keep from gasping aloud. He clenched his jaw as he felt the blood drain from his face.
        "You should take it easy for a while," Hallie Greer said. "You've got a lot of bruises. Especially around your bel --" She stopped.
        Jacob shot her a sidelong glance. Her face had gone even pinker. She'd embarrassed herself by almost mentioning a body part. If he'd had the strength, he'd have smiled. If he'd had the inclination.
        But he hadn't smiled for a long time.   He wasn't sure he remembered how. A memory played around the edges of his mind, the memory of Hallie smiling at him.
        A memory of lightness and longing creeping inside him as her brown eyes shone with warmth and she chatted on and on about the weather, new kittens, or the latest novel she had read. She'd talked to him like he were an old acquaintance.
         She'd always been kind to him. She was kind to everyone. He knew, because he'd watched her. As he stared at her, his thoughts wandering, her gaze dropped to her hands.
        Hallie looked down in confusion and embarrassment. She'd almost said belly, a word no respectable woman would ever say to a man. Her face burned. It was one thing to care for her own father, to see things and do things a woman wouldn't normally be called upon to do for her blood kin. But to care for a man - a total stranger, then to be talking about things like his belly, why the shame of it didn't bear thinking on.
        The dark liquid in the cup rippled with each tremor of her hands. She bent her concentration to holding the mug still. Jacob's scraped, bruised hand reached around hers. The warmth of his fingers, combined with the sight of his scraped knuckles filled her insides with confusion, sympathy, fear, and that strange tingling she was beginning to associate with being near him.
        Fiercely dismissing the odd feelings, she spoke. "You want the tea? Good. You need to drink lots of liquids. I'm cooking some potato soup, too. I should have made you a broth, but I didn't have a lot of time and I didn't find any meat."
        He tugged on the mug and she let it slip from her fingers into his. She watched him as he lifted it to his lips. His gaze never left her face, and his expression stayed hostile and cold. As soon as the cup touched his mouth he jerked it away, and his tongue flicked out to touch the cut that split his lower lip.
        "Oh, it's too hot. I'm sorry."
        He closed his eyes and drank the tea, his brow furrowed.
        "You needed something hot. The rain is turning the air cold outside. Oh, and I put some of your whiskey in there, too. Maybe it'll help ease your pain. Jacob, I am sorry they beat you up. I tried to tell them it wasn't you who attacked me."
        With an obvious effort, Jacob finished the tea and handed the cup back to her. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as if that small task had exhausted him.
        Hallie couldn't help herself. She had to stare at him. Even while her face burned with shame, she gazed at his bare neck and chest. He looked so vulnerable with no shirt on, purple bruises marring the perfection of his body. Her gaze touched the graceful line of his throat and came to rest on the long, red scar.
        They'd slit his throat, but he'd lived, the doctor had told her.
        A wrenching pain hit Hallie under her breastbone. A hollow, helpless pain, so deep it took her breath away. He had lain there on the ground, his life's blood flowing out of him, while his wife lay dead beside him.
        "Oh, Jacob," she whispered. "How have you borne it?"
        He glanced at her sharply, seeing where her gaze had strayed. He lifted a hand and ran the backs of his fingers across the scar, a graceful, unconscious gesture he'd probably made a hundred times. Her eyes followed his hand.
        He frowned and reached for the cup.
        A lump grew in her throat and she swallowed against it. "You want more tea? Honey and whiskey too?"
        He didn't react, but his eyes drifted closed in agreement, or resignation.
        "Okay," she said hesitantly. "Then, I'll fix you a bowl of soup. It'll sit easy on your stomach." She fetched him another cup of tea. After some searching, she found a second cup for herself on the back of a shelf, covered with dust. She washed it and made herself a cup of tea, adding honey, then with a wry smile tipped in a small splash of whiskey. She could use some relaxation, too.
        "Here you go. I can make more if you want it. Or coffee. I can make coffee. You stocked up well." She glanced around the cabin. "How can you stand to stay up here alone all winter?"
        He took the cup from her hands and stared at her a moment, his eyes more violet than blue in the lantern light. Then, he glanced over at the bins and tins and sacks she'd lugged in from outside. His gaze touched her again, an assessing, considering look. His lips thinned for an instant and an odd light flickered in his eyes before he began sipping the tea.
        "I put your supplies away. I found where most everything goes. It was pretty easy. You're fairly neat, for a man." She allowed her voice to sound amused, but he didn't react. "My father was not very tidy. I was always tripping over something of his."
        Vaguely irritated at him for ignoring her efforts at friendly conversation, she swallowed the last of her tea and got up to tend the soup. It was ready, thick and redolent of onions.
        She dipped a generous serving into a bowl. There was one big spoon lying on the counter, so she picked it up and handed bowl and spoon to Jacob.
        He sniffed at it.
        "You don't have to turn your nose up at it. It's good soup. Nourishing too. It would have been better with some bacon, but I didn't find any. I'd have made biscuits, but I didn't know where the lard was." She sat down and folded her arms. "Now eat it."
        He glanced at her, then glanced toward the water bucket. Hallie followed his gaze to a tin beside it she hadn't noticed before. "Oh. That's the lard? Well fine. We'll have biscuits tomorrow."
        Surprise crossed his face and he turned his head gingerly to look out the window at the dark sky. His eyes closed briefly and he drew in a long breath. Then he started in on the soup.
        By the time he was finished with the soup, his face was pale again and his eyes kept drifting closed.
        "You're so tired," she said, watching. "My daddy used to get tired doing the simplest things. Of course, you're only bruised and sore. You'll get better soon. After his first stroke, my father lost the use of his whole left side. He was like you, didn't like being helpless." Hallie took the empty bowl from Jacob and replaced it with a cup full of cool water.
        "Now you drink every bit of that water," she admonished, and leaned over without thinking to put her palm against his forehead. It was something she'd done all the time for her father. The action brought her face into close proximity to his and when she touched his head he opened his eyes.
        For an instant, his half-lidded gaze froze her in place. His eyes, normally as hard and sharp as blue sky reflected in a knife blade, were softer. His expression could have been amused, or merely curious.
        Hallie licked her lips and his glance flickered downward. When it did she caught her lower lip between her teeth like a schoolgirl, then immediately realized what she was doing and stopped. What was the matter with her, acting like a girl with her first crush? She covered her self-consciousness with talk, like she always did.
        "You're cooler now. See, I knew you needed liquids and some nourishment. You may not believe me, but I was a good nurse to my father those last months before he died." Hallie felt a twinge of loneliness and regret. She'd lost her father two years ago when he'd had the stroke. The invalid she'd tended since then had borne very little resemblance to her pleasant, good-natured parent. It had hurt her to watch him fade away, knowing there was nothing she could do.
        She realized she was still leaning over Jacob with her hand on his forehead.
         He hadn't moved, and his eyes had never stopped their ceaseless study of her face. She felt his breath against her cheek, its warmth sending a thrill through her. She caught at her lower lip with her teeth and his eyes flickered downward. Embarrassed, she took her hand away and straightened, looking anywhere but at him.
        "You need to sleep. I'm just going to rinse these dishes." She indicated the dirty dishes as she backed away from the bed and almost tripped over the chair. She felt her face burn. Turning, she headed for the dishpan, wishing he'd look somewhere other than at her back, because she was sure she still felt his gaze.
        Jacob had to get out of the cabin. The nearness, the overwhelming presence of her had more than his muscles tied up in knots. His insides were churning with apprehension and confusion. He didn't even want to examine the reason he suddenly felt the little cabin was closing in on him. He just wanted to get out.
        Gingerly, his limbs screaming with agony, he slid his legs over the side of the bed, relieved that she hadn't undressed him while he was unconscious.
        Hallie whirled. "What are you doing?"
        He clenched his jaw and took a long breath.
        "You can't get up. You'll faint." She rushed over to the bed.
        Sweat beaded his forehead at his effort. He closed his eyes for an instant, then took a deep breath and pushed himself up off the bed. His belly and thighs felt like they were on fire. His arms threatened to collapse under his weight, but he grimly forced himself to ignore the physical pain, just like he'd ignored the pain in his heart all these years.
        Hell, after Mary's death, physical pain was almost a relief.
        "Stop it. What are you doing?"
        He shot her a look filled with disgust and impatience. If she'd taken care of her father, she should have some idea of what would make a man get out of a sickbed. Any other reason for him to leave the cabin, like panic at her nearness, was none of her business.
        He saw understanding flash across her face.
        "Oh, of course." She reached under the bed. "Here's the chamber pot. I'll just uh, go back to washing . . . ." She made a vague gesture toward the dish pan.
        Gathering strength from his desperate need to get away from her, Jacob kicked the tin pot across the room, groaning at the pain the angry gesture sent searing through him.
        Hallie put her hands on her hips and drew herself up to her full height, which was about to the level of the scar on his neck. He looked her up and down. He hadn't realized how tall she was.
        "I suppose you feel much better after that display of temper. Will you at least accept some help?" She reached out her hand.
        Jacob didn't think he could bear the touch of her gentle hand right then, so he stared at her coldly.
        She got the message. A frown crossed her face and she stepped backward, wiping her hand on the dishtowel. "Fine, Mr. Jacob Chandler. I can see why people call you Crazy Jake. You're certainly not exhibiting much sense right now. Go on, but don't call on me to help you when you pass out. I'm quite tired myself." She deliberately turned away from him and began washing the dishes.
        He couldn't stop a groan from escaping his lips as he straightened. A stabbing pain caught him right in the ribs.
        As if she'd read his mind, Hallie spoke without turning around. "See. You've probably got at least one broken rib. I can't believe you left town without seeing the doctor."
        He made it to the door, but he had to stop for a minute, gripping the frame until his hand ached. He could feel Hallie's sympathetic gaze on his back. How could her eyes burn him when he wasn't even looking at her? With all the strength he had left in him, he escaped the house and Hallie Greer.

* * * * *

CHAPTER FIVE

Hallie stared at the empty doorway. "Stubborn man," she muttered, trying for anger, but finding inside herself only sympathy and a kind of amazement at the strength he must carry within him. He'd been in awful pain, but something, she supposed his pride, had kept him going. He was taller than she'd realized, like a young tree, his body long and lean and supple. With luck, his bones were as strong and yielding as a healthy young tree too, and he'd mend easily.
        Again she was struck by how young he was. The lines in his face were lines of pain and sadness, not of age. His face was so handsome. How beautiful he must have been when he was married and happy. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
        What was it about this silent man that drew her so? It must be just because he saved her life. Deep in her heart, though, Hallie knew it was more. She had seen him maybe four times in two years, but it seemed each time his image, his essence had been etched more indelibly on her soul.
        She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and folded her arms as he came back inside. "So, Jacob, are you feeling better now?"
        He didn't even favor her with a glance as he made his slow, painful way back to the bed.
        "I don't suppose you'd let me help you change clothes before you go back to bed? Your breeches are pretty dirty."
        He glared at her, then turned to a cedar chest Hallie hadn't noticed before. He moved toward it.
        "Wait a minute," she said. "You'll never bend down enough to get to the chest, and if you do, you'll never get up. I don't think I can lift you into bed." She walked over beside him, feeling rather than seeing him give in.
        Crouching beside the chest, she opened it, and almost cried when she saw the contents. Besides another pair of breeches, there was some soft fabric which was obviously something of his wife's, a set of fine dishes, and several books.
        Hallie couldn't resist turning a couple of them over. A volume of Shakespeare, and Jane Eyre. They must have belonged to his wife. She wanted to look at the others, but she had pried enough. She grabbed the breeches and closed the chest, her heart heavy and her eyes burning.
        "Here," she said, not looking at him. "I'll cover the soup and dry the dishes while you change."
        As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep herself from stealing a glance. In the dim lamplight, she couldn't see much, but what she did see confirmed what she'd noticed earlier. Jacob Chandler was young, he was vibrant and healthy, and he was a virile man.
        She closed her eyes quickly and turned her head.
        Oh dear. What was she doing? She was a spinster, an old maid. The kinds of thoughts she was having were totally inappropriate, one might even say unnatural.
Surely, it wasn't natural to be as curious about a man as she was about Jacob. She'd never heard any of the women in town talking about men, except to complain.
        Still, there were occasional passages in some of the books she read . . . . Did her thoughts make her a loose woman? Or were all women curious, sooner or later? She smiled wryly. For her it was later . . . too late.
        When Jacob carefully relaxed back on the bed, Hallie turned with another cup of water.
        He looked away, out the window.
        "Don't pretend to ignore me, Jacob Chandler. You will drink this water. I'm responsible for you, seeing as how you got beaten up for me. Don't dismiss me with a wave of your hand and a cold look either. I'd like to know what you'd be doing right now if I weren't here?"
        For a moment he resisted, then he shot her a glance that might have contained a spark of amusement before he relented and took the cup from her with ill grace.
        "That's right. Drink. And don't be so quick to think I don't know anything just because I'm a woman."
        This earned her another glance, but not an amused one. His blue eyes darkened, and after an unconscious flicker of his gaze down her body, he turned his head away.
        She wished he would quit looking at her like that. Suddenly, she realized it was probably the same way she had looked at him. Her face flushed, even though she was certain he hadn't noticed her stealing a look. Surely Jacob Chandler wasn't having romantic thoughts about her?
        Hallie shook her head as she shook out the blanket and lay it over Jacob. As she smoothed the blanket up under his chin, his eyes drifted shut. But suddenly, one hand snaked out and covered hers. His hand was big and warm, as she'd noticed before, and although scraped, his fingers were long and blunt, and strong.
        She looked up. A light look, almost like a smile, shone from his eyes.
        Hallie remembered that look. It was just like the one he'd given her in the store. A warmth stole over her.
        She thought she could stay here forever with his hand on hers as she basked in the glow of his smile. Shyly she smiled back. His eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened around hers.
        "You're welcome," she said softly. "Now, get some sleep, so you can recover and I can feel comfortable leaving you here."
        He frowned briefly, then closed his eyes and his hand relaxed over hers.
        Hallie didn't really want to extract her fingers from his, but she couldn't just sit there all night with her hand on his chest.
        As a matter of fact, what was she going to do all night? She looked around. "You don't have much in the way of sleeping arrangements for guests," she murmured.
        She shook out the second blanket and wrapped herself in it without getting undressed. "I guess this will have to do, although with the rain, it certainly is getting cold in here. You should have built a shutter for that window. We'll be lucky if we don't freeze to death."
        She listened to the rain pummeling the tin roof. "I guess we're in for an early winter, what with the cold rain starting this early in September. My father always said September rain foretold a hard winter, while November rain indicated it would be wet but mild. You know what? I never asked him what rain in October foretold."
        She sat down in the chair and pulled the blanket close around her, an emptiness gnawing inside her. "I never asked him a lot of things," she said sadly. "We take our families for granted, don't we? I thought Daddy would always be there for me, would always take care of me. Then, after he got sick, I merely accepted the fact that we'd changed places, and I would always be there for him. It never occurred to me that he would die."
        She tucked the blanket under her chin. "I am tired. I guess it takes a lot out of a person getting attacked and then riding for hours on a horse."
        She looked over at the bed. "Of course, you got the worst end of the deal, didn't you? I mean, that drifter knocked me down and choked me, but thanks to you that's all that happened to me."
        She wrapped her arms about herself, drawing the blanket closer. "I'm so sorry they beat you, Jacob. It was my fault. I suppose I should have listened to Mr. Myers and not walked alone. I've always tried to be independent. It's a good thing, too, because now that Daddy's gone, I'm all alone."
        Her eyes drifted closed as she talked. "I suppose the attacker must have thought I carried money. I am of an age that I am in little danger of being accosted for my favors." A frisson of fear skittered up her spine as she remembered the man's hands on her legs, violating her.
        "Brent Myers says he wants me to marry him." She shuddered. "I know why. There's little enough reason he'd want to marry an old maid like me. He's searching for respectability. Everyone in town knows where he spends most nights and I'm certain that would not change. Even if he swore to remain true until his dying day, I would never marry him. Not even to keep him from taking my store away from me."
        Hallie shifted and pulled the blanket closer up under her chin. "But it would be nice to be married. I can imagine that loving someone would be wonderful. And children. Oh how nice it would be to have children." She stopped in horror, realizing what she'd said. "Oh, I am so sorry," she whispered. "I do hope you're asleep. I didn't mean to say that aloud."
        She watched him for a moment, but he lay still and quiet, although the deep furrow was still between his brows and his mouth was still set hard.
        "I wish you could relax. If there was some way I could stop your pain, make you feel better, I would." She yawned and rubbed her eyes.
        Jacob stole a look at the woman who had invaded his private, lonely life. She'd walked into his cabin and within a few short hours had begun to make it into a home. His gaze moved to the jar of flowers on his table. A queer ache began inside him at the purely female gesture.
        His wife had done that . . . picked flowers, cooked special, fragrant soups and stews, instead of just boiling plain potatoes and meat. He'd never thought of this cabin as home, but Hallie was making him think of several things he had not considered in a long time.
        And he didn't like the things he was thinking, any more than he liked her constant stream of conversation. He had probably heard more talking today than he had in the entirety of the past three years. Her chatter irritated the hell out of him, while in an odd way it was also comforting. One thing was for sure though, he knew how to shut her up.
        She had offered anything she could do to make him feel better. He took a deep breath.
        "You could hush," he said, surprised at the rusty sound of his voice, but oddly pleased that he managed to make any noise at all.

* * * * *

CHAPTER SIX

Hallie jumped straight up. "What?"
        Jacob Chandler pushed his hair back off his forehead, grunting at the pain the gesture caused him, then turned to look out the window. Now that he'd spoken, he was sorry. Damned sorry. He'd given in to an impulse, and he was probably going to regret it for the rest of his life.
        He knew Hallie was not going to let up on him now that she knew he could talk. Damn her for being so irritating, and so appealing. Damn her for caring.
        Hallie's heart was pounding so loud she could feel it all the way down to her toes. Her fingers tingled and her ears burned with shock. "You . . . you . . . ."
        She stood there for a moment, but the figure on the bed might have been carved from stone. He didn't move, didn't even acknowledge her presence.       
        Wavering between shock and fury, she grabbed the lantern and turned the wick up, then held it over the bed, the light flickering from the trembling of her hands.
        Jacob's features closed in a frown.
        "Stop that," she demanded. "Stop ignoring me. You talked." She held the lantern close to his face. "Look at me."
        With an air of weary resignation, Jacob turned his face to hers and lifted his gaze slowly. His eyes looked purple in the red glow of the lantern.
        "Say something."
        He just looked at her.
        "Say something!" Hallie wanted to shake him. "You talked. I heard you. Now say something."
        Jacob's eyes narrowed and he ran the backs of his fingers across his throat. Then he licked his lips. "Like what?"
        Hallie stared at his mouth. The voice was barely a whisper, and sounded rusty as an old gate hinge, but it was a voice.
         "Oh," she gasped quietly, then collapsed on the edge of the bed, her legs no longer able to hold her up. The shaking in her hands had spread to encompass her entire body. Quickly, she put down the lantern.
        To her great chagrin, she felt tears start in her eyes. She put her hands over her mouth and breathed slowly, until her heart stopped pounding.
        "You can talk. Oh, Jacob." She pressed her lips tightly together and blinked rapidly, but still the tears slipped down her cheeks. She shook her head and gave him a wavery smile. "I'm so glad."
        He scowled at her, still rubbing his throat.
        "Why haven't you talked since . . . I mean, in all this time?" Suddenly she was stumbling over her words, she who never had trouble with conversation.
        He shook his head once, almost a jerk. Then his eyes met hers and Hallie saw in them a sadness so profound it made her heart ache.
        Jacob considered her question. It was a fair one. One he had asked himself more than once. He hadn't said a word since he'd first realized he was alive. He hadn't talked to anyone about his grief. He'd never shared the guilt or the agony of lying on the ground, his blood soaking into the dirt, knowing his wife lay dying beside him and there wasn't a damn thing he could do.
        It had been three years since he'd last spoken, since he'd had a reason to speak. Now, the need to say something to this woman who had invaded his loneliness was compelling, if not entirely welcome, much like the heavy, sweet pain in his loins. He blinked against the sudden sting in his eyes.
        Hallie's face reflected the compassion she felt for him. "Why, Jacob? Why have you let people think you were crazy? Why haven't you talked?"
        He shrugged gingerly. "It hurts," he managed. It was the best he could do for an explanation, and if he were lucky, she'd take it literally. It was true as far as it went. He rubbed his knuckles over the scar. His throat already throbbed with a raw ache.
        Jacob sat rigid under her scrutiny, and he knew the exact second the full meaning of his words washed over her. The blood drained from her face, making her dark eyes look as big as silver dollars.
        He wanted to touch her cheek, to wipe away the anguish he'd put there. He wanted to tell her she was wrong to think he was talking about much more than physical pain. But he couldn't, because she knew.
        He had the extremely uneasy feeling Hallie Greer was going to know a lot about him before he could manage to get rid of her.
        "Ex - excuse me," she stammered. She stood and ran out the door of the cabin.
        Jacob wiped his face and groaned. He hated knowing what she was thinking.  She hadn't wanted to cry in front of him, so she'd run outside. But she wasn't quick enough. He'd seen her tears. He debated the advisability of going after her, but it would do no good for both of them to be wet and cold, and he was in no mood to offer comfort.
        He hadn't even wanted her here in the first place. What business was it of hers whether or not he could talk? He flexed his sore muscles carefully. He'd helped her because she was a woman in trouble, but he'd known she was in trouble because he'd been watching her, and he'd been watching her because he wanted to figure out why she'd haunted his dreams for the six months since the last time he'd seen her.
        That morning in the store, he'd almost spoken to her. He'd almost thanked her for being so sweet and caring, for looking him straight in the eye, for treating him like a person.
        But that didn't mean he wanted her up here invading his privacy, making a home out of his cabin. And it sure didn't mean he wanted her trying to bring his dead soul back to life.
        He wished she'd come on back inside, because it was going to hurt like hell for him to get up to go fetch her.

* * * * *

Hallie cowered under the narrow eaves, away from the worst of the blowing rain and cried. She couldn't stop crying. She cried more than she had when her father died.
        It hurts.
        The desolation and grief in those two words overwhelmed her. She had never known such sadness. She had never experienced the kind of pain Jacob Chandler had. There were no words of comfort she could offer him, no balm to soothe the ache that must have eaten a hole in his soul.
        She'd tried to escape before he saw her tears, but she wasn't sure she'd succeeded. He was so hurt, and she needed to be strong for him. She hadn't meant to cry. As she very well knew, crying did no good. It only made a mess of one's face and caused embarrassment to everyone.
        Later, with her fingers freezing and her face burning from the rain and her tears, Hallie stepped back inside, the relative warmth of the cabin sending shivers through her body. She hoped Jacob was asleep, but when she stepped quietly over to the bed to pick up her blanket, she felt his eyes on her.
        "Better?" he whispered.
        Hallie shot him a sharp glance. His face held a glimmer of amusement that overlay the sadness and pain. An especially strong shudder racked her.
        "I'm cold," he said softly, in his ruined voice.
        "You're --" she frowned at him. He was cold? She quivered inside her wet clothes. He hadn't stood outside and cried in the cold September rain. His feet weren't like ice. His hands weren't aching. He'd been in here under the blanket.
        It hurts.
        Suddenly, Hallie realized what he was doing. He was inviting her to share his warmth. To share his bed. She averted her eyes from his.
        Deliberately misunderstanding his meaning, she nodded. "You need this blanket," she said. "You might still have some fever." She picked up the blanket with cold-stiffened fingers and moved to spread it over him. Then she stepped over to the fire to warm her hands.
        "No."
        "What?" She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.
        Please, dear God, don't let him say it, she silently begged. I don't think I can bear being that close to him. "Do you need something else?"
        She heard the rustle of material as he turned the edge of the blankets down.  She pressed her lips together and held her breath.
        "You're cold, too."
        Hallie composed her face and turned around. "You can't expect me to climb into bed with you. I can't. It's preposterous." Please, don't let him say it.
        "You're freezing. You need to get warm."
        "But, but my skirt is wet, and so is my shirt. I'd have to undress." She shook her head vehemently. "I can't."
        "Come on."
        Hallie turned her back on Jacob and the inviting warmth of his bed. "You're sick. And we're - I mean I'm . . . ." She shivered again.
        "Come on, Hallie," Jacob said on a sigh. "You're cold, I'm aching all over. Trust me. All we will do is sleep." He laughed, and realized he hadn't laughed in a long, long time. "Believe me. I'm no threat to you."
        Hallie's brown eyes were as wide and wary as a doe's. She looked at him, then down at her sodden clothes, and her face turned pink. Jacob stifled a groan.   He might not have the energy to pose a threat to her, but he had an idea he was going to sleep damned uncomfortably if she accepted his offer.
        She shivered, but didn't move.
        "Suit yourself," he said. "But you'll take cold if you stay in those wet clothes all night."
        Hallie looked over her shoulder at him, then back at the fire, which was waning. Jacob knew what she was thinking. She'd already used all the wood he'd stacked by the hearth, and the wood outside was wet.
        She took a deep breath and began to unbutton her shirtwaist. She peeled it off her damp arms, then slipped out of her riding skirt. She looked down at herself.
        "Well," she said with a laugh that sounded forced, "Of course, I am a spinster of a certain age. It's not as if, I mean, I guess I'm still more covered up than the girls down at the Bliss House. Oh...That was a silly thing to say." Her face burned.  "Why would I be thinking about how they dress, or what they . . . ?"
        Jacob hardly heard her words. He was too caught up, watching her undress by firelight. A faint memory caught him unaware, of Mary's slight form outlined by the fire's glow, but while it was poignant, the memory was faded and washed with time, and it didn't interfere with his pleasure in the sight before him now.
        His body stirred, and he closed his eyes and swallowed. What had he been thinking? Better to give her the bed and spend the night huddled by the waning fire than to invite the torture spending the night with her in his bed would bring him.
        Hallie was still talking. "It only makes sense for us to sleep in the same bed. It is merely an expedient solution to a problem. There is one bed and two people and only two blankets. I am much too old to be thinking about foolishness. And besides, as you say, you certainly pose no threat."
        Jacob shook his head. He had said that, but right now, he was beginning to think he had more strength, more stamina than he'd given himself credit for. Which was probably a good thing, he thought wryly. Because he was going to need a lot of stamina to make it through this night.
        Gathering her courage about her like an invisible cloak, Hallie turned determinedly around, only to falter when she found Jacob watching her openly. His battered mouth was quirked in a slight smile.
        "What are you laughing at?" she said quickly. "Is something showing?" She looked down at herself. No. All the tiny buttons on her chemise were buttoned, and except for the one narrow strip she'd torn from the bottom, her underskirt still covered a quite respectable amount of leg.
        "Do you always talk so much?" Jacob asked, his face lit by a tiny smile.
        Hallie shrugged and tried to ignore the flicker of his glance to the top of her chemise and the thrill it gave her to know he couldn't stop himself from looking. "I've been told I talk quite a bit."
        He patted the bed, then moved over with a groan. "Come on. I'm cold."
        Hallie slipped gingerly under the covers, curling herself into a tiny ball on the very edge of the narrow cot. The blankets barely covered her, but she was still close enough to feel Jacob's heat behind her.
        She closed her eyes and begged God for strength. The warmth emanating from him was so inviting to her chilled body. What a wonderful thing it must be to spend every night with a husband, a man with whom one shared an abiding love.   Right now, Hallie couldn't think of anything in the world more appealing than the idea of having Jacob's lean, strong body wrapped around her.
        "You okay?" Jacob asked.
        Hallie realized she had moaned. "Of course," she said brightly. "Just trying to relax. You should do the same."
        Jacob made a short, sharp sound, as if he wanted to laugh but had forgotten how. "Relax . . ." he drawled, making the word sound like a foreign language.
        "That's right," she continued. "Just close your eyes and make believe you're floating in a pond. Just floating there and watching the birds. That sometimes helps me to go to sleep when I can't, like if I've drunk coffee too late in the evening or if I've been reading an exciting story."
        "Hallie?"
        "Yes, Jacob?"
        "Shut up."
        "Yes, Jacob."

* * * * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hallie woke in the night to the sound of thunder. Her first thought was that she was dreaming. She felt safe and warm. Without moving, afraid to disturb the dream, she lay still and listened. The rain beat steadily on the tin roof, echoing outside the open window, and behind her. Jacob's even breaths lay a comforting rhythm over the sound of the rain.
        With a surge of awareness, Hallie remembered where she was. She was in Jacob Chandler's bed, and her dream of sharing warmth with a hard, comforting body was no dream.
        Instead of leaping up in spinsterish outrage, however, Hallie lay perfectly still.   She didn't want to disturb either Jacob or her dreamlike state.
        So this was it, she thought, her mouth curving up into a smile. This was how it felt to sleep with a man, to have a man's body wrapped close around hers. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, redolent of damp earth, potato soup and warm sleep.
        She was a wanton, she thought drowsily, if being a wanton woman meant enjoying lying in bed next to a man. She had nothing to compare the feeling to, but she was fairly certain it was the best feeling she'd ever experienced. She snuggled back against him, her backside fitting into the curve of his body.
        His breath caught on a quick, harsh gasp.
        Hallie turned her head, and found his eyes open, glittering in the dark.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "did I wake you?"
        His mouth curled up. "Yes."
        "I'm so sorry," she said. "I should get up."
        "No." He put his hand out, over her ribs.
        Hallie's body tingled at his touch and her breath became short. "Are you - are you feeling any better?"
        "Mmm."
        Hallie wasn't sure, but she thought that was a satisfied sigh. "Are you warm enough?"