Page 59 of Cloaked in Beauty

He seemed to accept her explanation and settled back into the chair. “Rusty and I will keep our eyes on the stove until you get back. Won’t we, boy?”

Rusty lifted his head halfheartedly and gave a little whine before relaxing back into his doze. Philip looked up to Letty, his crooked grin sending her pulse skittering into an erratic dance. Slowly, his smile melted away into something much more intense. “You have my word, Letty. I’ll respect your privacy.”

How was a girl supposed to guard her heart against such a man? Handsome, protective, honorable to the core.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you will, Philip. I trust you.”

Yet she still felt incredibly self-conscious as she peeled away her wet clothes. She’d positioned herself in a corner as far from the stove as possible for modesty’s sake, but she sincerely missed the heat. Gooseflesh rose on her skin as she rubbed herself dry with a scrap of towel she’d found on the supply shelf. The trousers Philip had laid out for her looked like they’d been taken from the rag bin. The fabric was threadbare, and both knees sported holes. But they were dry, so she pulled them on, feeling rather scandalous donning men’s attire. The too-loose waist would have been cause for concern had the fabric not pulled tightly over her hips. She’d not have to worry about them falling down. They might trip her, though. Bending down, she rolled up the cuffs a few inches on each leg until they brushed the top of her feet.

Next came the shirt. A dark-blue chambray that some cowhand had worn until it had fallen apart on him. The right elbow consisted of nothing but threads and holes, the left armpit seam had been torn open, and the top button on the front placket was missing. But it was dry, and when she pulled it over her lightweight corset and chemise, it successfully covered her from collarbone to midthigh, so Letty thanked God for his provision and hurried back out to the stove to check on her soup.

Philip made no comment on her attire, but she felt his gaze on her, and it brought a flush to her cheeks. How ridiculous she must look. Improper, ill-fitting clothing riddled with holes. It helped that he was equally ridiculous, his pant legs several inches too short with not even a rag-bin shirt to cover his torso.

Because he’d saved the shirt for her. She nibbled on her lower lip as she carried the soup pot over to the plank table. Even half out of his head from cold, he’d still put her needs ahead of his own.

Determined to follow his lead in that, Letty returned to his chair and took the empty coffee cup from his hand. “I’ll rinse this out and refill it with soup so you can stay by the stove.”

“Join me.” He tipped his head toward the vacant chair she’d used as a step stool when hanging up their wet clothes.

Still feeling self-conscious, she’d thought to sit at the table to eat. Give them both some privacy. But if he wanted company, she’d oblige him. It was the least she could do after all he’d done for her.

Once she’d dished up the soup, Letty pulled a chair over to Philip’s side and snuck her toes under Rusty’s belly, careful not to wake her sleeping pet.

Philip’s mind must have defrosted, for he started peppering her with questions about the woman who’d given them the soup. Did she live here alone? Did she have family close by? Did she know to keep their presence a secret? Had Letty told her their names?

Considering she and the old woman had spoken for less than ten minutes in total, Letty had little information to offer, but she did her best to reassure Philip.

“We didn’t exchange names,” she said as she lowered her cup to her lap and allowed the half-full vessel to warm her hands. “She mentioned that her husband died and that this bunkhouse hadn’t been used for several years, so I don’t think we need to worry about anyone showing up until tomorrow at the earliest. If you are recovered enough, we can leave first thing in the morning and likely miss any visitors.”

“I’ll be recovered.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, making it clear that he’d not welcome a dissenting opinion.

Letty lifted her soup back to her mouth to hide her smile. “Glad to hear it. Though we should probably tend those cuts and scrapes of yours just to be safe. Willpower can accomplish many things, but disinfecting a wound isn’t one of them.”

His crooked smile made another appearance, and her pulse hiccupped right on cue. “You might have a point.”

She raised a mocking brow. “Might?”

They both chuckled softly, and for the first time in hours, the vise squeezing her heart began to ease. He was going to be all right. He wasn’t there yet. His hands still shook, his complexion was far too pale, and he kept leaning closer to the stove as if its heat hadn’t yet penetrated his skin, but his eyes had lost their glossy vacancy, and his humor had returned. Death’s grip had been loosened, and she aimed to break its hold altogether.

Only trouble was, to do that, she was going to have to face a challenge nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for—viewing a man’s bare chest with detached indifference.

27

Philip finished off his soup without tasting it. He couldn’t spare any attention for something as mundane as flavor with the promise of Letty’s nursing siphoning every ounce of imagination his sluggish mind could generate.

One would expect her masculine attire to dim her femininity, but the opposite proved true. The coarse work clothes highlighted the delicacy of her features. Her slender neck stretched upward from the overlarge collar, and damp tendrils of hair curled at her nape and around her face in a way no cowboy would tolerate. Dainty wrists and hands contrasted with wide rolled cuffs, and the bare feet peeking out from the legs of her trousers made him want to sweep her off the floor and into his lap so she wouldn’t have to dirty her feet waiting on him. Not that he possessed the strength to sweep a woman anywhere in his current condition. A shame, that. Having her close enough to hold would surely warm his blood faster than the miserly stove in front of him. Old Ironsides was a stingy fellow when it came to distributing heat.

Philip placed his empty cup on the floor and held his hands out toward the stove. His fingertips recognized the higher temperature, but he couldn’t seem to draw any of it into his body. At least not enough to drive the chill from his bones. Yet. That would change in time. Hopefully. He just had to be patient. A virtue easier to master while surveilling an outlaw gang than while watching the woman he was supposed to protect take the lead and protect him instead. It pricked his pride and boosted his admiration at the same time.

She didn’t back down from a challenge, that was for sure. Didn’t let a little awkwardness keep her from doing what needed to be done, either. Once she claimed her inheritance, Scarlett Radcliffe would be one of the wealthiest women in Texas, yet here she stood dressed in trousers sporting holes in the knees and a rag-bin shirt probably last worn by a sweaty, middle-aged cowhand. And she was humming. A cheerful, bouncy tune that infused the room with hope. That infused him with hope. His physical body desperately craved heat, yet the natural warmth Letty exuded had him craving her even more. A craving he suspected wouldn’t end once his body temperature returned to normal. He’d met her barely a week ago, and he was already half in love with her.

Letty found the medical kit among the supplies and turned to face him. A smile bloomed across her face along with a pretty pink blush when she caught him watching her. She dipped her chin in that shy way of hers but marched forward with purpose radiating through her stride. The nearer she came, the harder his pulse pounded.

He was no doctor, but he could decipher the symptoms. His estimate of being half in love with her had been far too low.

She sidled up close to his chair, and he straightened his posture in response. He wished he wasn’t trembling like an undersized boy cornered by the school bully, but some things couldn’t be helped.

Her forehead furrowed as she took his measure. She set the medical kit down in the chair she had vacated, scooted the chair backward a few feet, then stepped into the resulting space.