to him on her own time if there was ever to be anything more between them.
The rain tapped on the windows again, drawing their attention. Aggie turned up the lamp by the bed, then watched gray streaks run down the long windows. “Tell me about the beauty of this land again, dear. I’m having trouble remembering.”
Hank laughed, realizing this time of year it would be hard to see any beauty, but she seemed to need calming. Worry wrinkled her forehead, so if she needed to talk of something besides what had happened, he’d give it a try.
He told her of the first day he’d ridden over his land. How spring turns the world green and the colors in the rock walls of the canyons seem to wave and billow like the skirts of Spanish dancers. He described a summer shower that came up all of a sudden like a phantom riding the wind, dumping a bucket of water that sparkled like diamonds over the wet grass. He told how a dust devil seemed to chase him over the open range, following behind no matter which way he turned his horse.
He caught her glancing out the window from time to time as if she didn’t quite believe his tale. The tapping grew louder as the rain turned to hail. The tiny balls of ice hit the ground and bounced almost like popcorn jumping in a skillet. Within seconds the ground was white as snow.
Hugging herself, Aggie asked, “Should I light the fire in the main room?”
“No.” Hank chose his words carefully, knowing there might be a long way between what he wanted and what was about to happen. “We’ll be warm enough under the covers.” He kept every word level, without emotion, as if he’d said the same words many times before.
She nodded, and to his surprise picked up the flannel shirt. “I’ll wash up in the kitchen and change.”
As soon as she left, Hank grabbed the stick that Blue had left to serve as a cane. Slowly, he moved off the bed. Without putting any of his weight on the broken leg, he crossed the few feet to the washstand and chamber pot.
Aggie might be his wife, but there were some things Hank had no intention of asking her to help with. By the time he was washed up and back to the bed, sweat covered his forehead. He sat down with his back resting against all the pillows and pulled the covers up to his chest. He wished he’d had the sense to buy a nightshirt sometime in his life. Having lived all these years alone, he’d seen no need. But Aggie might find his bare chest shocking.
Hank smiled suddenly. She hadn’t commented on it earlier. Maybe she didn’t notice. One leg of his long-handled underwear had been cut off at the knee just above where the splint started. The other leg was spotted with dried blood, but he’d wait until morning to put on a clean pair. He wasn’t sure he had the energy tonight.
Aggie appeared wearing his shirt. “I washed my gown earlier,” she began, “but it didn’t get dry.”
“You look fine,” he said, and then wished he’d thought to say something more. In truth, she looked adorable.
She sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs beneath her. “I was hoping, if you’re not too tired, that we could talk a while.”
Hank didn’t move. Bedtime conversations were totally new to him and he had no idea what to talk about. She, on the other hand, looked like this was part of her nightly routine, and with four sisters it may very well have been.
She placed her elbows on her flannel-covered knees and rested her chin in her hands.
He swore she looked twelve years old.
“Blue and I have been talking and we don’t think the attack on you was an accident. No one would be just riding by this place. It’s too far off the road.”
“So, what are you saying?” Hank watched her as he tried to follow the conversation. She had shifted and now the soft roundness of her left breast molded against the shirt. Suddenly, nothing about her seemed childlike. There was no doubt she was all woman.
“I’m saying . . .” She moved again and Hank closed his eyes so his ears would work. “I’m saying,” she repeated, “that someone wants you hurt . . . or dead.”
Hank shook his head, then regretted the action. “I don’t think so. I don’t make