High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) by Beaudelaire Simone

Author:Beaudelaire, Simone [Beaudelaire, Simone]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2014-09-22T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

James carried Rebecca down the street to his house. Inside, he kicked off his wet, muddy shoes and then stood, just past the doorway, in a quandary. Both he and Rebecca were thoroughly drenched and water dropped from their hair and clothing onto the wood floor. She had not regained consciousness yet, which was beginning to alarm him. A mere faint shouldn't have lasted this long. He hoped she had not sustained serious lung damage.

“Rebecca!” he shook her a little roughly. “Rebecca, wake up. Open your eyes, honey.”

She stirred and moaned, turning her face against his shoulder.

“No.” He shook her again. “Wake up. Come on, Rebecca.”

She groaned, coughed, and raised her head a bit. “Wha… what happened?” Then she broke into a fit of prolonged coughing. James held her while she expelled the smoke residue from her lungs.

No longer stymied, James realized he needed to get Rebecca a drink. Heedless of the fact they were both still dripping wet, he walked her through the house to the kitchen. Carefully setting her on a chair, he brought her a glass of water. She sipped the cool drink and then sighed at it soothed her raw throat.

“What happened?” she asked again, her voice raw and harsh-sounding.

“There was a fire,” he replied honestly, if not completely. No need to frighten her with the idea of intentional arson. He watched the memory dawn on her. Her face crumpled and she began to cry. He was at her side faster than a heartbeat, setting her cup on the table and pulling her forward into his arms. Her wet hair was hanging half unbound in long, straggly strands. He removed the pins and stroked the sodden mass tenderly.

“You're fine, Rebecca,” he soothed. “You're safe.”

“My shop?” she choked out.

“I'm sorry,” he replied, setting off a flood of fresh tears.

“Oh no!” she moaned. “All that time and money. My fabrics. The dresses I had almost finished. How will I ever come back from this?”

“You will, Rebecca. They're just things. They're not your whole life.”

“They are!” she insisted, lifting her face and meeting his eyes. “How will I make a living now? I was counting on the shop for my future!”

She must still be confused. “You don't need that, remember?”

She shook her head, looking as lost as he felt.

“I'm here, darling,” he told her. “Let me take care of you.”

Something about his words seemed to cut through her, and not in a good way. Her confusion gave way to sorrow. She buried her face in her hands.

Women were beyond his comprehension. Giving up the conversation for a calmer time, James helped Rebecca to her feet. He took her hand and guided her though the house to the guest bedroom.

“James, what are we doing here?” she asked, that serene expression and tone firmly back in place.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes. Some of Trudy's are here. They might be a little loose, but at least they'll be warm and dry.” Rebecca was still trembling. Without thought, James reached for the buttons of her sodden blouse.

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