Heart of Winter (14 page)

S
oon after Winthrop left the room, Nicky had an unexpected visitor. Her father, neatly dressed in a gray suit, came in and took the chair Winthrop had vacated.

“Feeling any better?” he asked, and seemed to be genuinely concerned. Nicky could remember being sick as a child and having neither of her parents come near her.

“I'll be all right,” she said. “I just feel a little tired.”

“I guess so,” he said with a smile. “Your nose is red.”

“It feels red, too.” She returned the smile. “Did anybody shoot anything?”

“I got a deer,” he said. “Six-point buck. Nobody else had any luck.” He pursed his lips. “I offered Carol a jacket made from the skin and she stormed off in a snit. I shot Bambi, you see.”

Nicole laughed in spite of herself. “You cold-blooded killer, you.”

“I love venison,” he sighed. “Mary's fixing us a big stew out of the hindquarter, but you won't get any until lunch tomorrow. She says it has to simmer a long time to get done right.”

“She's a good cook.”

He leaned back in the chair to study her. “What possessed you and your dim-witted boss to go driving in a snowstorm?” he asked pleasantly.

“He was worried about Sadie Todd,” she explained. “And I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

“In a snowstorm?” he asked.

“Well, we were kind of getting tired of watching science-fiction movies…”

“That's no reason to commit suicide. Snow is deadly, as you damned near found out. If Winthrop hadn't decided to call it quits early, the two of you would have frozen to death.”

“I guess Winthrop was pretty angry.”

“Angry.” He pursed his lips. “That's an interesting choice of words. Mild, considering his reaction when he found you. I thought I had a good command of four-letter words, but he taught me some new ones. He carried you over that drift all by himself, weak leg and all. I guess he's hurting like hell, from the way he limps, but he was determined.”

She felt her heart leap with the pleasure that knowledge gave her. She toyed with the sheet. “He's quite a man.”

“I think so,” he agreed. “I told him the truth, by the way. I think you've paid enough for the past.”

“Thanks. But it won't do much good. Winthrop isn't a marrying man,” she added when he didn't seem to understand. “And I'm not a liberated woman.”

Dominic sighed heavily. “Well, different people, different attitudes.” His green eyes twinkled. “I'm very liberated, myself. But I'm kind of glad you aren't. And do you think I'm ever going to get any grandkids?” he added thoughtfully.

She flushed, averting her eyes. “Not anytime soon. I'm barely twenty-two.”

“Kids are nice. I wish I'd enjoyed you more, while I had the chance.” He frowned. “Say, would you like to go to a carnival or something? I could buy you cotton candy and ride the rides with you. Or we could go fishing….”

“This sounds serious,” she said with mock fear. “Are you suffering from an attack of fatheritis?”

“Feels like it.” He grinned. “We could at least speak. Maybe we could exchange Christmas cards. Then, as time goes by, you might come to Kentucky to see me.”

“Or you might come to Chicago to see me.” She sighed. “You and Carol,” she amended.

“Carol won't last,” he shrugged. “She's temporary. They all are. You see…in some crazy way, I loved your mother, even if we couldn't quite get our act together. She's pretty irreplaceable.” His eyes fell. “God, it hurt when she died. I couldn't even tell you how it hurt.”

“I don't think I would have listened if you'd told me then.” She sat up straighter. “I think I understand a little better now. And maybe we could exchange Christmas cards.”

He grinned at that dry remark. “Maybe we could.” He got up. “Well, I'd better go rescue Mary. Carol is trying to teach her how to walk like a model.”

“Carol models?”

“Doesn't it show? She's got style, all right. And Mary was just eating it up.” He scowled. “She mentioned something about the Rockettes….”

“That's kind of a family joke,” Nicole said, enlightening him. “Thanks for coming up to see me.”

“You look a little peaked to me,” he said. “Mary was fixing chicken soup in between parading around with a book on her head. I guess she's going to bring you some.”

“No, she isn't,” Winthrop said from the doorway, limping heavily toward them with a tray on which were perched a soup bowl and a teacup and saucer. “She's too busy trying to do a pivot without falling into the venison stew.”

“Sorry about that,” Dominic murmured sheepishly. “I did tell Carol to stay out of the kitchen.”

“No harm done. Mary seems to be having the time of her life.” With a hard glare, Winthrop bypassed Dominic and put the tray down on the bedside table. “Well, don't just lie there, prop yourself up. You can't eat flat on your back.”

“I was just trying to do that,” she shot back, “and you don't have to snap at me!”

“I'll check on you again, Nicky,” Dominic said as he started toward the door.

“Okay.”

He closed the door and Nicky tried to take the soup from Winthrop's steely hands without letting him see how much hers were trembling. But the bowl seemed pretty unsteady even before she touched it.

He looked down into her eyes and they exchanged a glance that set her heart running away.

“Here, this won't do,” he said under his breath.

He sat down beside her on the bed and began to ladle the soup gently into her mouth. She watched him, fascinated at his unexpected tenderness. The way he pampered her, the way he looked at her—even the gentle smile that touched his hard mouth as she accepted the soup like a child—tugged at her heart.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much, thank you.” She swallowed some soup. “Winthrop, my throat hurts,” she whispered.

“Yes, I imagine so. I've got something for that, and for your cold. Nonprescription, but they're what our doctor always prescribes for head colds. I'll take care of you, daffodil.”

“Somebody needs to take care of you,” she said softly, studying his hard face. “Your leg must hurt terribly.”

“It usually does after a day as hard as this one,” he said carelessly. “I've got something to take for it.”

“Well, thank you for rescuing us, anyway.”

“Gerald sounds worse than you do,” he told her. “You're both greenhorns.”

“You were out in it, too,” she reminded him.

“That's so,” he said agreeably. “But I'm a woodsman, honey. I know how to survive a snowstorm. You and my citified brother are lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, I realize that.” She took the last bit of soup and sat quietly while he mopped her up with a napkin. She knew she must look terrible. Her hair hadn't been combed, her face was pale and her throat felt scratchy. But Winthrop was looking down at her with pure pleasure…almost possession.

“You need sleep,” he said.

“I've been asleep on and off since you brought me home,” she said. “I don't want to sleep.”

“It will help you heal.” He got up, put down the bowl and offered her a cup of steaming tea to swallow down the capsules he'd put in her hand. She hesitated but he looked determined, so she swallowed them, finished the tea and lay back against the pillows.

“I hope you don't catch my cold,” she said.

“I don't usually get them,” he replied. He smiled slowly. “Even from kissing sick little girls.”

Her face colored and she lowered her eyes to his chest. That was even worse. He had a sexy chest, and she wanted very much to draw her hands over it.

“You have expressive eyes, Nicole,” he murmured, watching her intently. “You want me, don't you?”

The color in her cheeks deepened. She glared at him. “Well, I do realize that it isn't mutual. You don't have to throw it in my face. It isn't something I can help.”

His eyebrow arched. “Was I doing that? I didn't mean to. I'm pretty used to speaking my mind.”

“Well so am I.” She stared at the coverlet. “What I said…earlier,” she faltered, glancing at him and then away. “I was overwrought and tired, and I guess I kind of got carried away.”

“You mistook a chill for true love?”

She glared at him. Damn that mocking smile. “I got carried away.”

“You're one of a kind, Nicky,” he mused. “As for getting carried away, if you weren't so frail, I'd throw you back against those pillows and lie down against you. And in a very few minutes, we'd both know what you feel for me.”

He was doing it again. She felt completely out of her element when his voice dropped into that sensuous drawl and his eyes began to make love to her body. She felt her breasts tautening and drew the sheet slowly over her bodice so that he wouldn't see what he was doing to her.

But he did see her response. His eyes seemed to darken at the proof of how easily he could arouse her. She couldn't know that it made him feel ten feet tall.

“Don't worry,” he said as he picked up the tray, still watching her. “I've got sound survival instincts. I meant what I said about commitment.”

“You'll grow old all alone,” she said quietly, her eyes steady on his hard, dark face. “You won't have anyone to look after you or care about you. Eventually, you'll grow a thicker shell than you have now, and no one will be able to touch you. Is that really what you want?”

For just an instant, his expression was open. “No,” he replied. “But I don't want my heart torn out of my body a second time, either. I like my life as it is.”

“Unhampered,” she said.

“Exactly.” He left her with that parting shot. He was still limping badly, and he was scowling when he left the room.

Nicky must have slept then. She wasn't aware of the quiet, watchful man sitting beside the bed. He looked at her as if he couldn't help himself, staring at the steady rise and fall of her firm young breasts under the sheet. She looked innocent in sleep. Everybody did, he reminded himself.

But there was something different about this woman. She was special. Much too special. He was going to have to get a grip on himself before he pitched headfirst into that sweetly baited trap. He'd fought it too long to give in now.

He closed his eyes finally, with a long sigh, and tried to get comfortable in the chair. His knee was giving him hell. Probably he'd torn a muscle. But he hadn't wanted anyone else to touch Nicky. She belonged to him. She was his responsibility.

The sound of the windup alarm clock was unnaturally loud. It woke Nicky in the early hours just before dawn. She opened her eyes and glanced at the tall man sprawled again in the chair, grimacing as he breathed. His leg was probably hurting, and here he sat, when he could have been comfortable in bed.

Nicky got up, just staring at him. Even unshaven and unkempt, he was a sexy man. His shirttail had been pulled from his jeans, and his shirt was half unbuttoned down a chest thick with hair and dark from exposure to the sun. He might not love her, but he was oddly protective of her these days. That was some small comfort.

She touched his hard, warm cheek with her fingertips, tracing its high cheekbones.

“Winthrop?” she whispered.

He made a sound and his head turned, but his eyes didn't open.

“Winthrop, come to bed,” she whispered.

He never did wake up completely. He let her tug him out of the chair and he sprawled onto the bed with a mumbled protest. Nicky was glad that he'd already taken his boots off, as she wouldn't have relished trying to remove them. She eased his legs onto the bed, careful not to jar the bad one. Then, with a mischievous grin, she crawled back under the covers and snuggled close.

His arm came around her instinctively, drawing her cheek to the soft cotton of his shirt. His fingers caressed her hair gently, and she thought that she'd never been quite so close to heaven. She lay quietly beside him in the dim light of the lamp and tried to imagine how it would be if they were married, if she had the right to lie in his arms every night like this, while the wind howled angrily outside the darkened window and snow fell.

It was so sweet that she lost all fear of the future and simply went to sleep, Winthrop's chest rising and falling steadily against her.

A drum was beating somewhere. She heard it in the back of her mind, its steady rhythm comforting. It was nearby. Growing louder. Louder. It stopped suddenly and then increased. Something moved against her. Her head fell back onto a pillow and she mumbled when she felt the mattress lower then return to its normal position.

The sound of footsteps grew dim. A door opened and closed. What a crazy dream, she thought, and drifted back to sleep again.