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stemmed from her own emotional vulnerability, that the soulless lawyer's letter had been the key. When
she next saw him, she'd expected to feel embarrassed by her adolescent overreaction. She hadn't
expected the attraction to deepen. A tendril of fear curled in her stomach. She'd barely recovered from
Adam. The thought of plunging headlong into another relationship, when she knew she wasn't anywhere
near ready to try again, turned the fear into a tight, cold knot of panic.
"Hey, Cul," Dane croaked. "How 'bout that? Grapes."
Rachel straightened and moved back a step, resisting the urge to put even more space between herself
and Cullen. Resisting the urge to snatch up her holdall and flat-out run. "You probably won't be able to
eat them yet," she said in a voice that was too husky, too abrupt.
As if sensing her uncertainty, the raw panic churning in her stomach, Cullen took the bag of grapes from
her without so much as brushing her fingers with his and placed it on Dane's bedside cabinet. "He'll
appreciate them in a day or two."
Rachel took another step backward. "If there's anything else I can do& ?"
Cullen tracked her retreat, and, if anything, his expression became even grimmer. "You've already
helped more than most people would ever dream of doing."
Rachel stiffened. Despite her need to escape, the dismissive quality of Cullen's voice rankled. Evidently
he'd pigeonholed her as thoroughly as Cole thought he had as a soft city creature playing at living in the
country. The kind of woman who needed to be protected from anything too rough or earthy. Rachel
checked her watch, and relief that she could leave warred with the sudden inexplicable need to prove to
Cullen that she wasn't made of spun glass. But the thirty minutes were nearly up, and while she had no
qualms about ignoring her brother's dictates, she didn't want a scene in front of a ward full of sick people.
"I have to go. Can I come see you again, Dane?"
Dane tried to smile and ended up wincing instead. "You don' have to bring anything next time."
"But I will," she said firmly, resisting the urge to glance at Cullen, to challenge his assumptions about her.
"What do you need? Books? A magazine? Some more fruit?"
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"Maybe a magazine. 'Bout horses."
"Horses?" This time Rachel did glance at Cullen, and even though she was prepared, the cool power of
his gaze still sent a minor shockwave rippling through her. "If you don't mind back issues, I can bring you
a whole pile. Cole's got an office overflowing with them."
Dane thanked her, but she hardly heard him, her awareness was so attuned to Cullen. With a blank
goodbye and an even blanker smile, she retrieved her holdall and turned, only to be confronted by a
beefy, older man who'd just come to a halt at the foot of the bed.
"Trask," Cullen said in a rumble so low it lifted all the hairs at her nape.
"Logan," the man snarled in return. "What the hell are you doin' here?"
Rachel felt Cullen's heat all down her back. "Making sure your boy's all right."
"Dane doesn't need your kind of help. He's got his family to look out for him."
Dane's father switched his attention to her. The cold aggression of his stare had Rachel's hand tightening
involuntarily on the strap of her bag. Almost without conscious thought she twisted the strap once around
her wrist and firmed her grip again.
"Who's she?" Trask snapped.
He didn't speak to Rachel but directed the question at Cullen, as if he disdained women. As if she
belonged to Cullen and he answered for her. Rachel's chin shot up, but Cullen moved before she could,
brushing past her and planting himself directly in front of her so his broad back obscured most of Dane's
father from her view.
"None of your business, Trask," Cullen replied. "Just like the boy in that hospital bed is none of your
business."
"She's the one, isn't she? The bitch who's getting my boy into trouble."
"Get out," Cullen said softly. "Before I call the police and lay a complaint of harassment."
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