Baby Love (7 page)

The bathroom door cracked open. The next instant, her boxcar cowboy had a strong arm around her waist. "Jesus, honey. There's a time and place for modesty, and this ain't it. " He helped her to the sink and washed her hands as if she were a child. It struck Maggie as odd that a tramp would bother. He grabbed a small towel from the rack and blotted her fingers dry. "There you go. "

The next instant, the room turned upside down. Maggie gave a thin cry and clutched his neck, dimly realizing he had picked her up. "What're you—oh, God, don't drop me!"

She thought she detected laughter in his voice when he replied, "I doubt you'd tip the scales at a hundred and ten, fully clothed and soaking wet. I think I can manage. You need feeding up. How long since you ate?"

"Yesterday. "

"What did you have?"

"Toast. "

"Well, hell. No wonder you're thin. "

He carried her back to the bed, depositing her gently on her feet beside it. Maggie tried to sink down onto the mattress next to Jaimie, but Rafe caught her by the elbows and drew her back up. His slate-blue eyes locked with hers for a long moment, and then he grasped the

56 CATHERINE ANDERSON

hem of the T-shirt. "Let me help you shuck your clothes. All right?"

She could tell by his tone of voice that he wasn't really requesting permission. It was more a warning of what was to come. When he started to tug the shirt up, she curled her fingers over his broad wrists, wanting to push his hands away. But she didn't have the strength. Instead, she simply rested her palms on his tattered cuffs, unable to tighten her grip. Tears filled her eyes again. Angry with herself, she tried to blink them away, but they kept coming.

He made fast work of peeling the shirt off over her head. Then, tossing it aside, he caught her under the chin with the crook of his finger. Lifting her tear-streaked face, he said, "What's this?"

"I'm—I'm sorry. I'm not very good at casual encounters. "

"Casual encounters, huh? Is that what this is?"

She recalled all the public-awareness commercials she'd seen on television, and a new, extremely worri-some concern zigzagged through her head. "Mr. Kendrick? I do hope you thought to get a—" She gulped and blinked at a wave of dizziness. "A you-know-what. "

He chuckled. "We don't need one. "

"Yes. " Her head cleared a bit, and she got his face into focus. Tangled hair, scruffy whiskers, and a shirt that looked as if it had been used to scour a pot... He was a walking, talking risk factor. "Please. Would you go get one? I'm not in the habit, and I'm afraid I'm not prepared. "

"Yeah, well... I figured as much. " Sandpapery fingertips brushed the tears from her cheeks. "You're also a rotten judge of character. Do you really think I brought you here for a tumble in the hay?"

Maggie gazed up at him through a swimming blur. "That was our bargain. I owe you for the stuff you bought. "

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He rubbed at her cheeks again. "Hell's bells, girl. " He gave a throaty laugh. "Would you stop looking at me like that? I'm not expecting paybacks. All right? If you insist on keeping it even, you'll have to give me a rain check. Red and purple not being my favorite colors, I can't get excited about collecting on the debt until those bruises are gone. "

"I can't stay here until then. I told you, I have to get where I'm going and find a job. My little sister is waiting for me to send for her, and I—"

He cut her off by pushing her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "And you're not interested in a big, drawn-out thing, " he finished for her. "I read you, loud and clear. So I guess you'll just have to owe me. "

"But I won't be able to pay you back. I told you, remember?"

Hunkering before her, he lifted one of her feet onto his knee and began untying her sneaker. "I remember.

" He drew off the shoe and sock, the grip of his warm fingers sending jolts up her calf. After lowering her bare foot to the rug, he lifted her other leg. "I kind of like the idea of a pretty lady being forever in my debt. On Judgment Day, maybe it'll count as a point in my favor. You reckon?"

Maggie stared down at the top of his dark head, just now registering that he had shed his hat. "You mean you really don't want to—well, you know—like we talked about?"

"Like
you
talked about, " he corrected. He tossed aside the second shoe and sock, then rose, grasping her carefully by the shoulders to draw her erect. "You know what your problem is? You assume every man you meet is a low-down skunk who'll take advantage of you if he gets half a chance. "

Too late, Maggie realized that he had unfastened the button of her jeans as he spoke. She gave a startled gasp when he bent to tug the denim over her hips. Her panties were full-cut, but the white nylon was semitransparent.

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He swore under his breath when he saw the bruises on her thighs. "That son of a bitch. If I ever run into him, he's a dead man. "

Maggie's attempt to cover the apex of her legs with the splay of her hands was abruptly aborted when he pressed her back down to sit on the mattress. He gently drew her jeans down to her ankles, taking care not to graze her shins.

"Damn, " he whispered. "You're just one big bruise, sweetheart. " He tugged the denim over her feet and dropped the pants on the floor. "I'm amazed you can even walk. "

He reached behind her to turn back the covers, then stood to gaze down at her. A flush of embarrassment warmed Maggie's skin.

"Mr. Kendrick, if you have no intention of—why are you taking all my clothes off?" she asked, her distrust lending a shrill sharpness to the question.

"So I can disinfect those cuts. Someone has to do it. Even if you were strong enough to take care of it yourself, you can't reach two-thirds of them. You don't want infection to set in, do you?"

Maggie had dreaded living up to her side of their bargain, but this latest development seemed even worse.

She had cuts everywhere, some in places she would die of humiliation if he touched. She imagined lying naked while he examined every bare inch of her, and the prospect was so alarming, she found it difficult to breathe.

"But I'm nearly naked, " she observed, her voice quaking.

"I'll do my best to make this easy for you. Haul out my manners. Be a complete gentleman. I promise not to uncover all of you at once. How's that sound?"

Maggie could only think of the parts he
would
uncover.

"You'd be more exposed in a bikini, " he pointed out, as though that should make her feel better. "I can't really see much. "

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She was clinging to that thought and trying to convince herself she wasn't really indecently clad when he slipped his hands around to her back and tried to unfasten her bra. After tugging at it several times, he said, "Shit, " and leaned around so he could see. "A woman invented these damned things. I'd bet money on it. I've never pulled off a sneaky bra maneuver in my life. " He finally conquered the clasp with a clumsy tug and jerk. "When I was seventeen, I even swiped one of my mom's bras to practice my technique. "

She gave him a startled look that he met with a wink and lazy grin. She had a feeling he was making this story up, trying to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn't feel self-conscious.

"It's a guy thing. If you don't pass Bra Clasps 101, you're flat out of luck with the girls. I practiced every night, no lie, and I still never got the hang of it. One day Mom found the bra under my mattress and told my dad. He confessed to me later he was worried sick for over a year that I was a cross-dresser. "

"A cross what?"

He chuckled. "Never mind. "

To her immense relief, he didn't draw the bra cups from her breasts, which at least gave her some covering. Instead, he gave her a gentle push, and she found herself flat on her back. Before she had time to protest or feel alarmed, he drew the bedcovers over her and tucked them around her shoulders.

"There. Completely hidden again. Now that wasn't so bad. Was it?"

His tone reminded her of the one he'd used to cajole Jaimie into nursing from the bottle—his voice pitched low, the vibrant timber seeming to surround her with warmth. Only she wasn't quite as trusting as her son. Her bra was undone, which had to mean he planned to relieve her of it soon.

He left her to chew on that worry while he returned to the bathroom. She heard him rustling the paper bag

60
CATHERINE ANDERSON

and clanking around, and she closed her eyes in dread. A moment later, the muted tread of his boots on the carpet reached her, the sounds moving closer. She didn't need to lift her lashes to know when he came to stand over her. She felt his nearness in every pore of her skin. A glass bottle made a
chink
on the nightstand. Then the mattress sank sharply at the outer edge as he sat down.

She could only guess what might come next, the one certainty being that it wouldn't be pleasant. Panic welled. She knotted her hands into fists at her sides and forced herself to be calm.
Pride.
Maybe to some people it was only a word, but aside from her son, it was all she had left. After everything she had endured to come this far, she'd be damned if she would let a small dose of humiliation get the best of her. So far, at least, Rafe Kendrick didn't strike her as being a cruel man. Not that you could tell much about a man's nature on such short acquaintance.

Oh, yes, she'd learned the hard way just how treacherous men could be, being kind one moment and acting like barbarians the next. Recalling those experiences now, her instincts warned her not to trust him.

Only if he meant her harm, what was he waiting for? They were alone in a seedy motel room behind a locked door. There was no one to intervene. In short, there was nothing to stop him from being a jerk.

"I can stack the pillows behind you so you don't have to actually sit up by yourself, " he offered. "You think that might help?"

Maggie merely nodded. Speaking was beyond her. Afraid that her bra straps might slip off her shoulders, she clutched the covers to her chest when he slipped an arm behind her. She needn't have bothered. Once she gained a sitting posture and he released her to plump the pillows, she saw that he had been holding the bedspread over her front.

He caught her look of surprise and gave a dry laugh. "This isn't exactly what you were expecting, I take it. "

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He shrugged. "Think about it. Is there a spot on you that I could touch without hurting you?"

Some men wouldn't care. Maggie knew that. Oh, God, she was going to bawl and make a total fool of herself. He was bound to think she was crazy, and she wouldn't blame him.

It was just—so unexpected. A dirty drunkard in tattered cowboy garb, turning out to be the kindest man she had encountered since her father died? It made no sense. Everyone knew that practically all railroad bums were lowlifes who'd steal from a blind man if the opportunity arose. How had she been so lucky as to meet one of the few nice ones? Maybe God actually had-heard her prayers, after all, and He'd answered by sending her this man.

He handed her the bottle of medication and a cotton ball. A strong antiseptic smell seared her nostrils. "I'll hold the spread up close, so don't worry about me looking over the top. You just get the bra off and concentrate on doctoring your chest. "

With shaking hands, Maggie drew the straps down her arms, laid the bra aside, and tipped the bottle to moisten the cotton. As she began dabbing at the cuts, the alcohol in the antiseptic smarted so badly she gasped and blew to ease the sting.

"Christ. I should have read the labels, I guess. I might have bought something that wouldn't burn. "

"It's f-fine. I appreciate that you even bothered. It wasn't part of our deal, you buying stuff for me. "

"Our deal. You sound like one of my dad's scratched records. I wish you'd get that bargain you made with me out of your head. "

Feeling strangely vague and detached from reality, she glanced up. "You really have a dad?"

He narrowed an eye. "No, a stork dropped me on my mother's doorstep. "

"Well, of course you have a dad. What I meant was—'' She broke off, not entirely sure what she meant. Her

62 CATHERINE ANDERSON

mind didn't seem to be tracking right, which left her mouth to operate solo. "It's just that you

—well, looking at you, one doesn't picture you with a family. Parents, brothers and sisters, and all of that. "

"I assure you that I'm normal in that respect, with a mom, a dad, and a brother. " He loosened his hold on the spread with one hand to rub his bewhiskered jaw. "God, do I look that bad?"

Maggie's thinking was so hazy it took her a moment to realize he'd turned loose of one side of the bedspread. She grabbed for the drooping section.

"Oops! Sorry. " He jerked the chenille back up. "I didn't see a thing. Honest. "

Above the scraggly growth of beard, the skin over his high cheekbones turned a ruddy red.

She knew he was lying through his teeth. At least he had the good grace to blush.

"All done?" At her nod, he relinquished the spread into her keeping while he helped her lie back down. "It hurts like hell, doesn't it? I got sandwiched between a corral rail and a bull once. Cracked two ribs, so I can sympathize. "

"So the cowboy apparel isn't just for looks?" she asked, her breath snagging with a catch in her side.

He tucked the covers over her. "For looks? You're joking, right? Even back when I was a rancher, I never dressed to make a fashion statement, and I've gone downhill on greased runners since. "

Maggie studied his chiseled features, trying to imagine what he'd look like cleaned up. His blue eyes were the kind to make a woman's heartbeat skitter, and his large, sharply bridged nose was attractive on him, but she could see little of his lower face with the whiskers covering so much. He had a strong, square jaw and chin. She could discern that. And a full, sensual mouth when he wasn't grim-lipped and scowling.

He distracted her from her perusal of him by thrusting

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