She didn’t think she’d ever in her life spent this much time without clothes on. It was at once very freeing and very nerve-wracking at the same time, especially around him. Not even Hemmingway had demanded that she be naked this much. Or, now that she thought about it, much at all. Although he certainly appreciated the view, Cage found part of him—the more civilized part that he thought he had pretty well buried—was chafing at the idea of all the hard work she had to do. If he were well, he would have done all of that toting and lifting for her. But, hell, he acknowledged, if he were well he wouldn’t be here—in the boonies—at all. When she had returned to the cabin with milk, eggs, water and wood, and having done a few extra things he hadn’t even thought about including she removing all of the splotches of blood that he had dripped to and from the barn and the cabin, he barred the door again behind her, and stumbled to the bed. Rachel heard him almost fall onto it, heard the wood protesting against his sudden weight, but she was busy putting things away so that they wouldn’t spoil, and then she made a fire in the fireplace as it was already getting a bit chilly out there.
