Cover Of Night

"I’ll splint it tomorrow, give the bone some support," Cal said as he wearily climbed to his feet. "He isn’t going anywhere tonight."

"I’ll make sure he doesn’t try," Neenah said.

"I’m right here, and I can hear yon." Creed said grumpily, but he looked exhausted, and he didn’t protest when Neenah settled beside him.

"I need a couple of hours’ sleep," Cal said, looking around for a quiet corner.

"That can be arranged," said Cate. She and Sherry grabbed a couple of blankets and a pillow, and Cate unpacked more of the old clothes from the box Maureen had opened, arranging them to form a rough mattress. They dragged over some more boxes to form a partial shield, stacking them two high on each side of the pile of clothes, then draped an old curtain over the boxes to form an enclosure that would keep out most of the light and give at least the illusion of privacy.

Cal watched all this with weary bemusement. "A blanket on the floor would have been Hue," he said. "I’ve slept in rougher circumstances than that."

"Maybe," said Cate, "but tonight you don’t have to."

"’Good night," Sherry said. "Look, Cal, don’t think you have to do everything. The other men have organized themselves to stand watch for the rest of the night. You can sleep longer than a couple of hours. They’ll wake you if anything happens."

"I’ll take you up on that," he said, and Sherry moved away to join the others.

Cate stood there awkwardly, suddenly not knowing what to say or do. She murmured "Good night" and started to follow Sherry but Cal caught her wrist. She froze, staring at him, unable to look away. Abruptly her heart was thudding against her breastbone His pale gaze moved over her face, settled on her mouth lingered

"You’re tired, too," he said in his quiet voice, as with surprising strength he pulled her down and into his makeshift quarters •’Come sleep with me."

Chapter 20

Cate’s mind went blank. "W-what?" She stuttered, completely disoriented by the suddenness with which she found herself lying on her back on a pile of blanket-covered clothing, staring up at the underside of a curtain draped over two stacks of boxes. She felt a ludicrous moment of pride at how comfy the makeshift bed was, and how dark was the interior of the makeshift tent. Even the steady buzz of" conversation from the other twenty-odd people in the basement with them seemed muted.

"Sleep with me," he repeated softly, stretching out in the limited space and settling his head on the pillow beside hers. His voice was very low, meant for her alone. His gaze met hers, and mesmerized by the crystalline depths, she lost the ability to think, almost to breathe. She felt almost as if she were seeing straight through to his soul, and the sense of connection was more powerful than if they’d been having sex. Almost without realizing it, she reached out, lightly touching his lips, feeling the slightly damp softness of them under her fingertips. He caught her hand, his fingers cool and hard but infinitely gentle, turning it so he could touch his lips to her knuckles in the sweetest, lightest kiss she’d ever received.

The intimacy of lying here with him was staggering; she could feel him all along her body, the way she hadn’t felt anyone since Derek’s death. The long years alone had dimmed her memory of" how it was to lie so close to a man that their breaths mingled, that she could smell the heat of his skin, feel his heart beating with strong, solid thumps. They were fully clothed – well, she had on flannel pajamas, as well as the thick cardigan she had pulled on before starting the trek to the Richardsons’ house, but she was covered – yet she felt as vulnerable as if she were naked. She was acutely aware of their neighbors outside this little enclosure, watching and speculating, wondering what was going on between the handyman and the widow.

Her cheeks heated as she wondered that herself. Things had changed so fast that she wasn’t certain how or why, or even what had changed. All she knew was that shy Mr. Harris seemed to have disappeared as if he’d never existed at all, and in his place was Cal, a shotgun-toting, wound-suturing stranger who looked at her as if he wanted her naked.

Duh, her brain whispered. He was a man. Men wanted women naked; that was who they were and what they did. Simple as that.

But the way she felt wasn’t simple. She felt confused, upset, worried, and turned on all at once. Nor was Cal a simple man. A lot of people had hidden depths, but his hidden depths evidently rivaled Loch Ness’s. She should crawl out of here, and sleep alone. He wouldn’t stop her; he would accept her decision. But telling herself she should do it and telling herself In do it were two entirely different things, and while she could do the first, the second was evidently beyond her ability.

"Stop thinking," he murmured, touching one finger to her forehead. "Just for a little while. Sleep."

He was serious. He expected her to sleep beside him with everyone outside watching their feet to see if their toes remained pointing in the same direction. Fatigue dragged at her bones, but she didn’t think she could even close her eyes. "I can’t sleep here!" she whispered urgently, finally getting her voice to work. "Everyone will be thinking – "

"There’s something I should tell you about that later." His voice sounded drowsy, and his eyelids looked heavy. ‘Tor now, let’s just get some sleep. I’m still cold, and tomorrow will be a bitch. Please. I need you beside me tonight."

He was cold, and tired. The plea went straight to her heart, arrowed through it. "Roll over," she whispered, and with a grunt of effort he did, turning his back to her. She pulled the second blanket over both of them and straightened it, leaning out of their enclosure to tuck it around their protruding feet. Her own feet were freezing, and she instinctively tucked her feet against his sock-clad ones as she curled against his back.