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the soothing, cellolike timbre of Ben Drake’s voice.
    â€œWhat time is it, anyway?” Indulging herself in the heady, restful feeling, she stretched beneath the warm covers. She edged a sleep-fuzzed gaze over to see him leaning against the wall, one booted foot draped over the other and his arms crossed in a relaxed fashion at his chest.
    The merest whisper of awareness quivered down her spine.
    â€œEight o’clock.”
    When he moved over to the bed, she focused on the way the sunlight danced about the room. “Hmm…the way I feel, I would’ve thought—”
    â€œFriday. You’ve been asleep for over a day, straight.”
    Horrified, Callie slammed her eyes shut.
    â€œCatching up, are you?”
    She’d had no intention of languishing for so long. This would only delay her in getting the job. Ben could’ve hired someone else, for all she knew. She hadto have this job so she could pay off the rest of Max’s debt—before Whiteside came looking for her.
    She glanced up at Ben, trying not to notice his fresh-shaven, squared jaw and the half grin tipping his lips.
    And the rebellious trip of her heart.
    She gave her head a hearty shake. “I apologize that I’ve taken up—”
    â€œNo apologies are necessary.” He settled a warm hand against her brow. “How are you feeling? You look much improved from the night before last when you showed up here.”
    â€œI feel fine.” Folding back the covers, she hauled her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.
    â€œHold on, there. Not so fast.” He braced a hand at her back and hunkered down, eye level. “You may feel better, but you’re probably weaker than a newborn colt.”
    â€œI’m just fine. And I don’t need your help.” The sound of her own pulse surged like breaking waves through her head. Dizzy, she clutched the quilt to her chest and feebly pushed herself up to standing. She teetered, struggling for balance. “Better than ever.”
    Her knees buckled and she started to fall, but his strong arms caught behind her with disarming comfort.
    â€œWell, I’ll give you this much, your stubbornness hasn’t weakened one bit.” He lifted her into bed, his muscle-roped arms searing straight through her thin undergarments like a warm, mesmerizing flame.
    She drew in a slow, pulse-calming breath.
    â€œYou must’ve grown up with a passel of brothers to stand your ground with, right?”
    â€œWrong.”
    â€œThen what?” His eyes sparkled. “Let me guess, the middle child in a houseful of girls?”
    â€œWrong again,” she shot back, noticing, for the first time, a picture hanging on the wall next to the bed. Her gaze moved slowly over the photograph.
    The image captured five boys, all neatly tucked in and trimmed for a moment in time. She stared at the hopeful faces. She recognized Ben, standing like some sturdy pillar, his dark hair dangling over his brow even as it did now.
    â€œThat’s a picture of me and my brothers. I was thirteen, there.” He pointed to the middle boy in the frame, his long arms draped around his brothers.
    She shifted her gaze from the image to Ben then back again, remembering how Max used to say that Ben had been so controlling. That he’d been harsh and demanding, squashing fun and taking his role as the oldest way too seriously.
    â€œAnd this is Joseph, Aaron, Zach…” He pointed to each face then stopped at the boy to the far right. “And here’s Max. He was nine at the time.”
    She swallowed hard, seeing a much younger and far more innocent Max. “That spark of adventure was in his eyes even at that age.”
    â€œThat’s for sure. He was always off doing something or other. It was hard to keep tabs on him,” he said, his voice low and tight.
    She found it hard to disagree. Max would often be gone for days at a time, never disclosing his whereabouts