Diamond Bay (6 page)

There was still another possibility, one that Rachel had thought
of but had no intention of mentioning to Honey. What if he was an agent…for
someone else? A drug runner, an agent – neither of those was very savory,
considering what she had learned about both occupations while she'd been a
reporter. Rachel had been a very good reporter, an ace, digging for the facts
even in the face of danger. She knew, far more than Honey did, just how
dangerous it was to hide this man, but there was something in her that was
incapable of simply washing her hands of responsibility and turning him over to
the sheriff, then letting events take their course. She had become responsible
for him the second she had seen him feebly swimming in the Gulf, and turning
him over to someone else wouldn't change that fact. As long as there was a
possibility, however remote, that he was deserving of her protection, she had
to offer it. It was a risk she had to take.

"How much longer will it be before he wakes up?" she
murmured.

Honey hesitated. "I don't know. I'm a veterinarian, remember?
With the fever, the loss of blood, the knock on his head…I just don't know. He
should be hooked up to an IV, getting fluids. His pulse is weak and fast, he
probably needs some blood and he's shocky, but he's coming out of it. He may
wake up at any time, or it may be tomorrow. When he does wake up he may be
disoriented, which isn't surprising. Don't let him get excited, and whatever
you do, don't let him get up."

Rachel looked at him, at his powerfully muscled torso, and
wondered if there was any way on earth she could prevent him from doing
anything he set his mind on doing. Honey was taking gauze and tape out of her
bag, "Change his bandages tomorrow morning. I won't be back until tomorrow
night, unless you think he's getting worse and call me, and in that case you'd
be better off calling a doctor."

Rachel managed a taut smile. "Thanks. I know this hasn't been
easy for you to handle."

"At least you brought some excitement into the summer. I've
got to go now, or Rafferty will tear a strip off me for keeping him
waiting."

"Tell John I said hello," Rachel said as they stepped
onto the porch.

"Depends on his mood."
Honey grinned, her eyes lighting with the
pleasurable prospect of battle.
She and John
Rafferty had been warring ever since Honey had set up practice in the area;
Rafferty had made plain his opinion that a woman wasn't strong enough to handle
the job, and Honey had set out to prove him wrong. Their relationship had long
since evolved into mutual respect and a continuous wrangle that they both
enjoyed.
Since Honey
had a long-standing engagement to an overseas engineer, with plans to marry
during the winter when he returned to the States, she was also safe from
Rafferty's legendary torn-catting, because one thing Rafferty didn't do was
poach.

Joe stood just at the corner of the house, muscles tight as he
warily watched Honey get in her car and drive off. Ordinarily Rachel would have
spoken soothingly to him, but today she, too, was tense and wary.
"Guard," she said softly, not knowing if he would understand the
command. "That's a good boy. Guard the house."

She managed to work for a couple of hours on her manuscript, but
she couldn't really concentrate on what she was doing when she kept listening
for any sound from the bedroom. Every few minutes she went in to check on him,
but each time he was lying just as he had been the time before. She tried
several times to get him to drink something, but his head would loll against
her shoulder whenever she lifted him, and he didn't respond at all.
Late in the afternoon his fever
began to rise again, and Rachel abandoned all attempts to write.
Somehow she had to rouse him enough to give him more aspirin.

The fever seemed worse this time. His skin burned to the touch,
and his face was flushed with hectic color.
Rachel talked to him as she lifted his
head, crooning and cajoling.
With her free
hand she stroked his chest and arms, trying to rouse him, and her efforts were
rewarded when he suddenly groaned sharply and turned his face against her neck.

The sound and motion, from someone who had been still and silent,
startled her. Her heart jumped wildly, and she was unable to move for a moment,
simply holding him and feeling the scrape of his growing beard against her
neck. It was an oddly erotic sensation, and her body quickened in remembrance.
A hot flush colored her cheeks; what was she doing, reacting like that to the
unconscious touch of a sick man?
Granted, it had been a long time for her, but
she'd never considered herself love starved, so hungry for the touch of
a man that the most inadvertent contact could turn her on.

She reached for the teaspoon with the dissolved aspirin in it and
held it to his mouth, touching his lips with the spoon as she had before.
Restlessly he turned his head away, and Rachel followed the movement with the
spoon. "No you don't," she crooned. "You aren't getting away.
Open your mouth and take this. It'll make you feel better."

A frown puckered his straight black brows and he fretted, evading
the spoon once more. Persistently Rachel tried again, and this time she got the
bitter aspirin into his mouth.
He swallowed, and while he was cooperating she spoonfed him several
ounces of iced tea before he began to sink back into a stupor.
Following the routine she had begun that morning, she patiently
sponged him down with cool water until the aspirin began to work and the fever
subsided again, allowing him to rest.

His response, fretful as it had been, gave her hope that he would soon
be waking up, but that hope died during the long night. His fever soared at
intervals until she could give him more aspirin and bring it under control
again. What rest she got that night came in brief snatches, because she spent
most of the time bending over him, patiently wiping him with a cold wet cloth
to keep him as cool as she could, and doing all of the other things that were
necessary for a bedridden patient.

Toward dawn he groaned again and tried to turn onto his side.
Guessing that his muscles were aching from lying in one position for so long,
Rachel helped him to roll onto his right side, then took advantage of the new
position and sponged his back with cold water. He quieted almost immediately,
his breathing becoming deep and even.
Her eyes burning and her muscles sore, Rachel continued to rub his
back until she was convinced that he was at last resting, then crept
into bed herself.
She was so tired…. She stared
at his muscled back, wondering if she dared go to sleep and how she could
possibly stay awake a moment longer. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and she
immediately fell asleep, instinct moving her closer to his warm back.

It was still early when she awoke; the clock told her that she had
slept a little over two hours. He was lying on his back again, and had kicked
the cover into a twisted heap around his left leg. Disturbed that his movements
hadn't awakened her, Rachel got out of bed and went around to straighten the
sheet and pull it back over him, trying not to jar his left leg. Her gaze
drifted over his naked body and hastily she jerked her eyes away, flushing
again. What on earth was wrong with her? She knew what naked men looked like,
and it wasn't even as if this were the first time she'd seen him. She had been
nursing him for almost two days now; she'd bathed him and helped sew him up.
Still, she couldn't stop the warm feeling that swelled inside every time she
looked at him. It's just lust, she told herself firmly. Plain, old-fashioned
lust. I'm a normal woman, and he's a good-looking man. It's normal to admire
his body, so I've got to stop acting like a giggly teenager!

She pulled the sheet up to his chest, then coaxed him into taking
more aspirin. Why hadn't he awoken by now? Was the concussion more severe than
Honey had thought? Yet his condition didn't seem to be getting worse, and in
fact he was a little more responsive than he had been; it was easier to get him
to take the aspirin and liquids now, but she wanted him to open his eyes, to
talk to her. Until then she couldn't be assured that she hadn't harmed him by
making the decision to keep him hidden.

Hidden from whom? her subconscious jeered.
No one
had been looking for him.
The jitters she
had been suffering from seemed foolish on this bright, cloudless morning.

While he was quiet she fed the animals and worked in the garden,
gathering the green beans and the few tomatoes that had ripened overnight.
There were a few yellow squash ready to be picked, and she decided to make a
squash casserole for dinner. She weeded the garden and around the shrubs, and
by that time the heat had become stifling. Even the usual breeze from the Gulf
was missing, and the air lay hot and heavy.
She thought longingly of a swim, but
didn't dare leave her patient unattended for that long.

When she checked on him again she found the sheet once again
kicked down, and he was moving a little, his head turning fretfully. It wasn't
time for more aspirin, but he was hot; she got a bowl of cold water and sat on
the bed beside him, slowly sponging him with the cold water until he was cool
and resting again. When she eased off the bed she glanced down at him and
wondered if she would be wasting her time to cover him up. It was simply too
hot for him, as feverish as he was, even though she'd left the air conditioning
on and the house felt cool to her. Carefully she untangled the sheet from
around his feet, her touch light and fleeting; then she paused and her hands
returned to his feet. He had nice feet, lean and tanned, masculine and well
tended, like his hands. He also had the same tough calluses on the outside
ridges of his feet that he had on his hands. He was a trained warrior.

Tears burned her eyes as she pulled the sheet up to his waist and
left it there, deciding to compromise. She had no reason to cry; he'd chosen
his life and wouldn't appreciate her sympathy. The people who lived on the edge
of danger did so because that was what they wanted; she had lived there
herself, and she knew that she had freely chosen to accept the perils that came
her way.
B.B. had
accepted the
danger of his job, counting it as the
price to be paid for something he thought was worth doing.
What neither of them had counted on was that it would be
her
job
that would cost him his life.

By the time Honey came that night Rachel had long since controlled
herself, and a fragrant squash casserole greeted Honey's nose when she came in
the door. "Umm, that smells good," she breathed. "How's our
patient?"

Rachel shook her head. "Not much change. He's moving around a
little, fretting, when the fever gets high, but he hasn't woken up yet."

She had just twitched the sheet up over him again a few moments
before, so he was covered when Honey went in to check on him. "He's doing
good," Honey murmured after looking at his wounds and checking his eyes.
"Let him sleep. It's just what he needs."

"It's been so long," Rachel murmured.

"He went through a lot. The body has a way of taking over and
getting what it needs."

It didn't take much to get Honey to stay for dinner. The
casserole, fresh peas and sliced tomatoes did a lot of convincing by
themselves.
"This is
a lot better than the hamburger I'd planned on," Honey said, waving her
fork for emphasis.
"I think our boy is out
of danger, so I wasn't going to come by tomorrow, but if you're cooking again I
can always change my mind."

It felt good to laugh, after the tension of the past two days.
Rachel's eyes sparkled. "This is the first meal I've cooked since it got
so hot. I've been living on fruit and cereal and salad, anything to keep from
turning on the stove. But since I've been running the air conditioning to keep
him comfortable, tonight cooking didn't seem so bad."

After they'd cleaned the kitchen
Honey checked her
watch.
"It's not too late. I think I'll stop by Rafferty's and check
on one of his mares that's due to foal. It may save a trip back out as soon as
I get home. Thanks for feeding me."

"Anytime. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

Honey regarded her for a moment, her freckled face serious.
"You'd have managed, wouldn't you?
You're one of those people who do what has
to be done, without fussing about it.
That guy
in there owes you a lot."

Rachel didn't know if he would see it that way or not. When she
came out of the bathroom after showering she watched him intently, willing him
to open his eyes and speak to her, to give her some hint of the man behind
those closed lids. Every hour that passed increased the mystery that surrounded
him. Who was he? Who had shot him, and why? Why was there nothing being
mentioned in the news media that could apply to him? An abandoned boat found
floating in the Gulf or washed up on shore would have made the news. A missing
person's report would have been in the newspaper. A drug bust, a prison escape,
anything, but there had been nothing that would explain why he had washed in
with the tide.

She got into bed beside him, hoping for at least a few hours of
sleep. He was resting better, she thought, the fever not climbing quite as high
as it had at first. Her fingers closed over his arm, and she slept.