Her embarrassment subsided long enough for her to accept the warm piece of bread. She took a small, hesitant bite. Although her gaze rested elsewhere, she could feel the heat of Drake’s eyes watching her carefully. The biscuit slipped down her throat with apparent ease. The next bite was bigger. And the next.
“Is that bacon?” she asked, a grin curling her lips as she eyed the plate hungrily. “Real bacon?”
Drake returned the grin. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to be sick again, he pulled the plate from the shelf. “Real? As opposed to what?”
“Don’t get fresh with me, Frazier. I’ve been sick.”
The bacon was still warm from the cooking fire. To Hope, it tasted richer than any apple pie she’d ever baked. She licked the grease from her fingers as she eyed the other strip.
“I think I liked you better when you were senseless,” he griped good-naturedly as he handed over the plate. “At least then you didn’t eat all my supper.”
“Where are you going?” she asked around a mouthful of food as she watched him make his way to the end of the wagon.
“For more food,” he replied over his shoulder.
Pulling back the curtain he’d hung over the canvas opening to keep out the cool night air, he disappeared. In less than a minute, he returned with another plate of food, this one heaped with more than enough for two.
“I had a feeling you’d wake up tonight,” he said, as he leaned over her and dropped some of the contents onto her almost empty plate.
“You can’t be too comfortable down there.” She raised a fresh biscuit to her lips and watched him settle back onto the hardwood floor. There was barely enough room to sit, though she had to admit he made good use of the accommodations. Slipping his long legs beneath the low platform on which she reclined, Drake settled the plate on the firm pillow of his thighs and began to eat with a vengeance.
They finished the meal in silence, though both eyed the other when they thought they weren’t being watched. For the first time, Hope noticed the dark circles beneath Drake’s eyes, and the pronounced hollows under his cheeks. His hands were dirty and his hair was shaggy and rumpled. He looked like he hadn’t seen a bar of soap in weeks.
With his hunger slaked, Drake wearily settled his empty plate on top of the shelf. His questioning glance flickered over her half-finished food, and she handed over her own plate. “Guess I felt hungrier than I really was,” she apologized.
Drake settled back on the floor. His thoughts drifted to the pot of coffee sitting close enough to the fire to stay warm, but not close enough to burn. The strong brew would’ve done him good right about now. Too bad he didn’t have the energy to go and fetch it.
“Drake?”
Hope’s soft voice penetrated the tired cloud that had settled over him. One eye opened and regarded her skeptically. “Hmmm?”
“You can’t sleep down there.”
Funny, but she hadn’t stopped to wonder where he’d been sleeping while she was sick. “I’m fine, Hope,” he mumbled wearily. Pulling his hat from the floor, he placed it over the upper portion of his face and rested back against the sack of flour. “Go to sleep. The doctor said you needed plenty of rest.”
Doctor? What doctor? It didn’t matter, she decided. She’d ask him about it in the morning. Right now, she had to get him off the floor. He couldn’t sleep down there, and even with all her strength intact she wasn’t strong enough to pick him up!
“Drake?” He grumbled, shifting but not answering. Sighing, she lifted the comforter invitingly. The cool night air wafted over her naked body, and pain shot through her shoulder as she huddled back against the wall, stealing the focus of her concentration. “Come on, gunslinger, there’s room enough for two.”
Without conscious thought, Drake whipped the hat from his head, uncoiled his legs from beneath the platform, blew out the lamp, then climbed tiredly onto the mattress. He mumbled something about savi
ng the dishes until morning as Hope flipped the blanket over them both, then rolled onto her right side. She kept her back to him for fear of putting any undue pressure on her wound. But that didn’t stop her from snuggling into the warmth his body offered. The hand that draped her hip was a heavy, thoroughly welcome presence.
“We should talk,” he murmured into her hair. “There are things you have to know about—”
“No.” She reached around her waist with her right hand and let it rest atop the one that possessively rode her hip. Her reaction to pain was fast and sure from years of practice. “I remember what happened. That’s enough. Talking about it won’t change it.”
Hope felt Drake stiffen, as though he meant to challenge the words. But sleep won out in the end. As they lay there, bathed in silence and the pale glow of moonlight, she could feel his body gradually relaxing. The breath that warmed her ear and neck eased into a deep rhythm.
Stifling a yawn, Hope basked in the feel of his body snuggled against her, and in the wave of sensations that feeling evoked. It wasn’t long before she joined him in sleep.
Hope awoke to find Drake working free the buttons of his sleep-wrinkled shirt. She was not unmindful of the way he kept his back to her as he slipped the shirt from his shoulders. She was treated to a fine display of a rippling back and muscular shoulders before a clean shirt was shaken loose from a wooden crate and the sleeves slipped up over his arms.
“What doctor?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
He glanced over his shoulder, and the surprise that flickered in his eyes soon melted to warmth. “Morning, sunshine,” he said with that infernal, lopsided grin. “And aren’t we talkative today? You must be feeling better.”
“I am, thank you,” she answered with light sarcasm. She shifted on the mattress, and winced at the pain that shot down her arm. “And what doctor? Where is he?”