Page 51 of Cloaked in Beauty

But it wouldn’t be easy. Not with the current pulling Philip’s legs downstream beneath the log and the chill numbing his hands.

“I’m going to pull myself out first, then come for you, all right?”

Philip twisted his body to face the log and grabbed it with both hands. Using one of the stubs left behind from a branch that had long ago been torn from the trunk, he dragged himself upward until his chest lay across the top of the log. His body demanded that he rest, but a soft whimper urged him to hurry. With a grimace, he pulled his numb legs from the water and crawled to the bramble that had trapped Rusty.

The wood creaked and groaned under his weight, but Philip ignored the ominous sound. Stretching out on his stomach, he locked his legs around the tree and grabbed hold of the rope at the wolf’s neck. With a mighty heave, he pulled Rusty from the river and draped him over the log beneath Philip’s chin. Neither man nor beast moved for several seconds. Exhaustion had rendered them inert. Philip’s cheek lay on Rusty’s shoulder as the two fought to catch their breath.

Then a voice called to them from the shoreline. An urgent voice. One filled with worry and desperation.

“Philip? Are you all right? Philip!”

He picked up his head, and gradually his body followed until he reached a sitting position.

“What do you say we get off this toothpick, boy?”

A whine was his only answer.

“Too bad that swim tuckered you out. I was gonna vote for you hauling me to shore. Guess I’m the one stuck doin’ the haulin’.”

Philip slowly pulled himself to his feet and found his balance. Then with infinite care, he bent and collected Rusty into his arms.

“Lord,” he murmured as he slowly pivoted to face the shore, “I don’t think I ever needed your help walking the straight and narrow as much as I do right now.” Staring at the log, he shuffled forward a step. “My feet are numb.” He shuffled again. “I’ve got a wild animal in my arms.” He held his breath as he lifted his foot over a broken branch nub and planted his boot on the other side. The wood creaked another warning. “And this here tree is threatening to give way.” He lifted his back leg and brought it forward. “Guide my feet, Lord, and see us safely to the other side.”

One wobbly step at a time, Philip made his way down the log. His limbs shook from the cold and wet. Rusty shivered in his arms. His boots sloshed with every step. But he progressed toward the shore and the woman in red waiting for them. He hadn’t dared look up from the log to gauge her distance from them, but the red of her cloak beckoned at the edge of his vision like a beacon of hope.

As if she knew that navigating the log took all the concentration he could summon, she didn’t call out encouragement, but he swore he could feel her willing them to shore. When he finally reached the section of log that rested atop sand instead of water, she appeared at his side, her hand clasping his arm and steadying him as he stumbled from the log to the ground.

He crumpled to his knees, unable to go another step. In a heartbeat, she swept the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around him. Her warmth and scent enveloped him, and even though he knew he should protest—the cape was her only protection against the rain that continued to fall—he couldn’t find the energy to reject her gift. She rubbed his arms with brisk efficiency, stirring his circulation.

“You shouldn’t have taken such a risk.” Her voice broke as she scolded and rubbed.

Philip tipped his head back just enough to see her face, those freckles he liked so much slowly coming into focus. “H-he’s y-your fam-ily.”

He’d known it from the moment he saw her and Rusty together. Her wolf was more than a pet. He was her friend, her confidant, her companion. Thanks to her isolated upbringing, Rusty had been as much of a brother to her as any human sibling.

Letty paused in her rubbing to meet his gaze. “Yes, but losing you both would have been more than I could have borne.” She searched his face. “You’re more than just a man hired to protect me, Philip. You’re my friend. I care about what happens to you.”

The words warmed him even more than the friction of her hands on his arms. Though the rubbing stopped as her eyes softened. Her hands slid upward past his biceps, past his shoulders, then cupped his jaw, one palm on either side.

“Thank you, Philip. For saving Rusty. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. He stilled completely. Even his shivering ceased, immobilized by the sweetness of her kiss. It lasted only a heartbeat, but something shifted inside of him. Something momentous. His brain was too numb to rationalize the significance of what had occurred, but that didn’t stop him from recognizing that something had occurred.

Letty Hood had just reached inside his chest and etched her name into his heart.

23

Letty ducked her chin and turned her attention to Rusty, rubbing his side and drying his fur with the bottom of her cape.

Good heavens! She’d just kissed a man. A thank-you kiss, of course, not an I’m-a-forward-woman-trying-to-take-advantage-of-you type of kiss, but still . . . a kiss. She hadn’t considered the consequences, she’d just . . . followed the impulse. Was there even such a thing as a thank-you kiss in the real world? She’d read stories where ladies bestowed the favor of a kiss upon knights or other gentlemen after an act of valor, but she had no idea if the practice still existed. Or if a man like Philip Carmichael would be aware of such a custom. Gracious! What must he think of her now? First she’d unwittingly imposed surreptitious snuggling upon him back in the Bullocks’ barn, and now she’d foisted a kiss upon him when his arms were too full for him to defend himself. She didn’t even have a credible excuse. Her heart had simply been so full it overflowed. Through her lips, apparently.

Heat suffused her cheeks, and her rubdown of Rusty increased its vigor.

In her defense, nothing in her experience had prepared her to witness such a valiant spectacle. Philip Carmichael, dripping river water and carting a half-drowned Rusty in his arms, would forevermore appear in the dictionary of her mind next to the word hero. Yet she couldn’t seem to assuage the guilt that had bombarded her the moment he’d plunged into that river.

He could have been swept away and lost to her forever! Her heart had squeezed so hard in her chest at the sight of him lunging off the log that she’d nearly fallen on her face when she’d dismounted Shadow. Then she’d stumbled down the embankment to the river’s edge and been tortured as time passed with agonizing slowness. Before today, she’d never really understood what the Bible meant when it talked about the Spirit interceding with groanings when a person didn’t know how to pray. Now she knew. Desperate groaning had been all she’d been able to manage as her soul cried out to the Lord for help. Thankfully, the Spirit must have interpreted, for God brought Philip safely to shore.

“We n-need to get g-going,” Philip said as he released his iron grip on Rusty and attempted to stand. “F-find shelter.”