Rocky Mountain Wild (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 6) by Lee Savino Page A

broth, or supported her as she went to the chamber pot.
    Finally, the sweats went away, and her body shook with cold.
    “Dammit, Phoebe.” He sounded angry, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t want him to be upset.
    “I’m sorry…”
    “Shh, it’s not you, lass.” A big body sank into the bed and curved around her.
    An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to the warm wall of his chest.
    “I’m c-cold,” she chattered.
    “You’re going to be all right.” Fingers played in her sweat soaked hair, and then his breath caressed her neck. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
    She let out a huge sigh and fell asleep in his arms.
    *
    The next she woke, she was dressed in one of his great shirts; it was so long on her it may as well be a nightrail. She felt sinful, wearing the fabric that had touched his big body. The cloth even smelled of Calum—smoke and hickory and something wild.
    “You’re awake.” His chair scraped as he rose and caught her up in his arms and brought her to the chair. “You should’ve called me.”
    “I didn’t want to disturb you.” She yawned, even though she felt like she’d slept for weeks. “How long was I in bed?”
    “Long enough to give me a scare, and send for the doctor.”
    She blinked at the cup of tea Calum handed her. “The doctor came?”
    “Aye.” Calum disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a pair of wool socks. Sitting cross-legged before her, he chafed her foot and leg to warm them before pulling on the giant sock. One of his, it came up halfway to her knee. “Ye were sleeping and he didnae want to wake ye up. He advised lots of broth tae keep ye warm.” Calum’s brogue clogged his speech as it always did when he was really worried. “Ye gave me a right scare, wee one.” Bending forward, he kissed her knee and gave her an impish smile. He seemed relieved to have her awake.
    “I’m sorry.” She sipped her tea and felt the liquid revive her. Her body seemed so weak.
    “Ah, well, as long as you don’t do it again.” Calum shook his finger at her with a mock frown, and drew out her other leg to ease up the sock.
    He’d almost finished when she realized which foot it was. He handled it gently, but briskly, as if the action was routine. She wanted to recoil, but forced herself to sit still.
    “Does that hurt?” he asked softly.
    “No.” He eased her leg down, but kept it in his lap, rubbing the calf with long, careful strokes. His touch was heaven on the oft-cramped leg, and she melted a little.
    “Feel good?”
    “Yes,” she sighed. “Thank you.”
    He spent several minutes massaging her. With his big sock swathing her foot, she could relax without worrying about him staring at the cursed appendage.
    It didn’t seem to overly bother him. At one point he even cupped it in his hand and squeezed gently. She held her breath.
    “It’s not sore is it?”
    “No. It just aches sometimes.”
    “Has a doctor looked at it recently?”
    Her head jerked no.
    “Has a doctor looked at it at all?”
    Her gaze dropped and he bent his head to find her eyes. “Phoebe.”
    “I didn’t see the use,” she whispered. She’d spent her life hiding her curse, not flaunting it.
    “If you never let a doctor look at it, how do you know it couldn’t be fixed?”
    “It can’t be fixed.” She tried to pull her leg out of his grasp, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he rubbed her calf again.
    “Why not?” he asked in a reasonable tone.
    “Because it’s a curse.” Her cheeks heated with shame.
    “What do you mean by that, lass?”
    “My family said it was because I was born out of the clan, and it’s a sign of my wickedness.”
    To her surprise, he snorted. “Wicked, my arse. Sorry.”
    “It’s true,” she insisted. “My father lay with my mother against the clan’s wishes.”
    “What clan?”
    “The Wilson clan of Shreveport, Louisiana.”
    “Never heard of them.”
    “My grandfather founded them.”
    Calum