Page 23 of Rainwater
“You exasperating man.” She felt irritation curl inside her. “Iknowyou’re pitching hay. You’re supposed to be in bed. Now let’s go.” She struggled not to stare. His hair was braided and the dark wisps at the ends tumbled against his tanned flesh every time he moved. A red bandanna was tied around his forehead to catch the sweat. She lost the fight and openly stared.
In the act of sticking the pitchfork back into the hay, he grunted, clutching his ribs. She jumped forward and wrapped her arms around him, lowering him gently to the unbundled hay. She snatched the pitchfork out of his hands.
“Corey, why are you doing this?”
“I don’t want your charity, Jennifer,” he muttered quietly.
“It’s not charity.”
“Then what do you call it?” he asked, his voice raised.
“I call it being human, and from what I can tell in the short time that I’ve known you, you haven’t met many of those.”
His mouth tightened, and his breathing seemed labored.
She sat down next to him. “It’s not charity. You’re going to work for me once you’re well. We’re just delaying payment. God, Corey, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“So it’s guilt.”
“Yes, partly.”
“What’s the other part?”
She wouldn’t touch that question with a ten-foot pole.
“Jennifer?”
“What?”
“What’s the other part?” he asked insistently.
“Oh, do you have to know everything?” she groused loudly. She got up but didn’t go far.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around. He rose painfully, awkwardly. She ached to help him.
“Yes, I want to know. I want desperately to know,” he said, as if her next words could shatter him.
She looked up at him, the need in his eyes almost buckling her knees. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, the pain below the surface. Just a little kindness, she thought. She wouldn’t lose herself if she was just a little bit kind. “Because I care what happens to you.”
“What did you say?”
She screwed up her courage. Her voice rose with each word. “I said that I care what happens to you.”
He turned away, his body so rigid that Jennifer backed up slightly. What had she said that would make him so angry?
He picked up the pitchfork and started to pitch hay with ferocious energy. She was mesmerized by the way his back muscles flexed, the way his arms bulged. The tingling in her body intensified until it was a profound ache. The guilt rose in her, too, at the sight of the mottled flesh of his ribs and tight stomach. The huge black and blue bruise that marred his lower back made her want to touch it and make it better.
“Corey, you asked.”
“I’m sorry I did!” The tone of his voice was strange, choked, and the steely edge spoke of his need.
What did he want her to feel? She thought suddenly. What more did he want from her than her sympathy?
This time she grabbed his arm and made him face her. He winced and she let go. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?I don’t understand what’s going on here. Maybe you should explain it to me,” she demanded.
His eyes blazed into hers and he swore softly, glancing away. “I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything.”
“It’s not pity.”
