her, take down her hair, and forget all his aches and pains. He did his best to put that fantasy aside.
"I didn't get much sleep on the trail," he said.
Her smile faded as they met in the hallway and each came to a halt. "Of course you didn't," she said in a voice that was intimately soft and inviting. "You were much too busy watching over us to get much rest. How could I have forgotten that? Did I ever thank you?"
"I'm sure you did."
"Well, in case I forgot in all the excitement, thank you, Sinclair Sullivan." Her fetching blue eyes widened. "What would I have done without you?" Gentle and sweet and almost unbearably tempting, she looked up at him. And he was a goner.
"Did I ever thank you for saving my skin in Webberville?" he asked.
"I don't believe so," she said, her voice intimately low.
"Thank you, Eden Rourke," he whispered. "What would I have done without you?"
All was silent for a moment, as he looked into blue eyes and remembered the night he'd kissed her. He'd tasted her passion, felt her response to his very bones. Maybe she was a beautiful woman; maybe she was a lady; maybe she was Jed's sister. Right now none of that mattered. The ache in his ribs subsided, but was replaced by a more insistent, more demanding ache much lower.
She leaned slightly forward, her face tilted up. He leaned carefully forward and down, until their lips met somewhere above the soup.
It was a soft kiss, a thank-you. An impulsive test, perhaps. The kiss didn't last nearly long enough, but it was plenty enough to ruin what was left of Sullivan's day. How was he supposed to think of anything else when Eden was right here ?
When they both pulled back, he set his eyes firmly on hers, searching for a sign. He saw warmth and a flicker of untested passion. She licked her lips.
"Would you open Mr. McClure's door for me, please?" she whispered, her voice wavering slightly.
"That's his soup?" Sullivan asked.
She smiled up at him again, the kiss not forgotten but lingering in her eyes. "I made a big pot. Go downstairs and get yourself a bowl."
He opened Grady's door and got quite a shock. The room was clean, the window was open to allow a fresh breeze to waft in. And Grady smiled as Eden entered the room.
"That smells good," the geezer said weakly.
"It is good," Eden insisted, "and I expect you to eat every drop."
Grady's smile dimmed as his gaze lit on Sullivan. "Look at what the girl did for me," he said, tears coming to his faded eyes. "She put fresh sheets on the bed, and made me some kind of godawful sweet tea, and fussed at me every time I said goddamn it."
"Mr. McClure," Eden said sternly, "please don't use such language."
"See what I mean?" Grady asked fondly. "She's an angel, come to take care of me while I die."
"I'll have no talk of dying," Eden insisted as she sat beside Grady's bed and lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth.
In truth, Grady really was dying. He'd been going downhill for months, looking smaller and older with every passing day. Until today, he hadn't grown any less disagreeable. Eden seemed to bring out the best in the old man.
Sullivan watched her feed the ailing man, content, for the moment, just to be in the same room with her. Just to watch her feed an old codger soup. Every move she made was graceful; every word she said so sweet the sound of her voice made him ache.
He wanted her. Jedidiah Rourke be damned, he wanted Eden with everything he had, in a way he'd never wanted anything before. He craved her, he needed her, and another kiss over steaming soup was not going to be enough. Having her would likely cost him everything he held dear: his home, his friends, maybe even what little heart he had left. Surely a woman was not worth such sacrifice. Not even this one.
She lifted her head and smiled at him. She said so much with a smile, with her eyes. No one had ever looked at him this way before, and likely never would again.
"Go get yourself a bowl of soup, Sinclair. You look like you could