Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 9 "Rest"

Grateful tears sprang to Kitty’s eyes as she caught sight of the humble little one-room cabin and barn, a sight for sore eyes indeed. She spied two fairly fresh graves out behind the house, where it seems Chester and Matt had buried the couple who’d lived here together, and then died here together as well. She hoped the house was still empty, so that she and Matt could dry out and get some rest. She was bone-weary and so chilled, she felt like she’d never be warm again. And poor Matt…

Her feet were dragging by the time she led the horse right up to the front door. She pulled the latchstring and entered the musty-smelling interior. Evidently, no one had been here since Chester and Matt buried the couple, because everything had been left behind undisturbed, just as it had been when the man and his wife had lived here. It made the hair on her arms stand on end to think of it, but at the same time she felt very thankful.

Most happily, there was dry wood still piled on the hearth with a tin of matches nearby. Shivering, she immediately piled kindling from a basket into the small fireplace and tried to light a match with shaking hands. It took two or three tries, but finally the well-cured kindling caught fire, and she carefully piled a few more larger sticks on top.

Once she got the fire going, she hurried back outside to help Matt down off his horse. She gently shook his shoulder and he jerked awake, his face a mask of pure misery. “Come on, Matt…” she soothed. “I’ve got a fire going. Let’s get you inside.” He was so weak he practically fell off Buck, sliding into her waiting arms. He leaned heavily on her small frame as she helped him stagger into the house. She steered him toward the one bed in the room, quickly brushing away dust and a few dead insects with her hands.

He started to lower himself onto the edge of the bed, but she quickly stopped him. “Pants,” she ordered.

Even in his groggy, injured state, he looked taken aback.

“Matt Dillon, you are soaking wet and we are going to get these clothes off you before you climb in that dry bed. You’ll catch your death!”

“But, Kitty…”

“No ‘buts’, Cowboy, take off those pants or I’ll do it for you.”

“But…”

“What did I just tell you?” She sighed in pained exasperation, looked to the ceiling and lowered her voice. “You are not the first man I’ve ever seen.” Her cheeks turned pink at the admission, and so did Matt’s.

She began unbuckling his gun belt hurriedly and unfastening his pants until his fumbling hands, trembling with the cold, brushed hers away. She looked up into his eyes and he glanced away quickly while he stripped his wet pants down to his boots. When his awkward fingers were unable to manage the tiny buttons on his shirt, she pushed his hands aside and finished the job, helping him to quickly shuck his vest and shirt.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

She crossed her arms and did as he asked while he stripped off his boots, pants, and cold, wet union suit, dropping them all in a heap to the floor to join his other sodden clothing. She heard him slide beneath the covers, his heavy sigh evidence that he was situated.

She turned to face him, a look of concern creasing her forehead. “I’ve got to take Buck to the barn, Matt, but I’ll be back in just a few minutes. Maybe I can find us something to eat. Okay?”

Matt grunted in reply, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes wearily. She’d barely gotten the door open before she detected the soft even breathing of sleep.

Hurriedly, she led Buck to the small barn, where, thankfully, there was still a little hay left behind for him to eat. She removed the makeshift rope halter Matt had made and then uncinched the saddle, hoisting the heavy wet leather atop the stall gate to dry. The saddle blanket followed. She stroked Buck’s neck as he contentedly ate his hay, then closed the barn door and eagerly hurried back to the house.

Kitty could still hear Matt’s soft breathing emanating from the bed, so she stoked the fire and added plenty more wood. Unbuttoning her riding jacket with trembling fingers, she glanced around the room. She spotted a folded quilt on a bureau in the corner, which she shook out and placed by the fire to warm.

Checking to make sure Matt was still asleep, she stood in front of the roaring fire, stripping off her clinging, wet clothing one piece at a time, spreading each out to dry on the hearth. She finally stood naked in front of the fire, drying her waterlogged skin, when she felt someone’s gaze. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Matt’s eyes watching her quietly in the dim cabin, the only illumination the firelight that was warming her smooth skin. She gasped and quickly reached for her quilt, holding it in front of her, as Matt’s eyes slowly but surely drifted closed again and his quiet, even breathing resumed. She let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding, then wrapped her quilt around her body, tiptoeing to the bed. He was sound asleep.

She gathered his wet clothing and spread it before the fire with hers to dry. Her utter exhaustion hit her all at once. Her body ached and her feet felt like they were made of lead. She eyed the bed longingly. Matt would never know if she lay down and took a little nap beside him. He was passed out cold again. What harm would it do? She was so tired, and there was only the one bed. Quiet as a cat, she slipped under the covers on the far side of the bed, tucking her quilt tightly around her, listening to the sound of Matt’s quiet breathing. Kitty was asleep before her exhausted head hit the pillow.

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