Six

Breathe.

As the cellar doors closed behind him, Alexa struggled to get her breathing under control. Her insides quivered, her hands and knees trembled. But was it from his words, which had cut closer to the bone than she’d have liked—or his kisses?

Her stomach hollowed out at the very memory of kissing him. She’d never felt that way in a man’s arms before—she’d wanted to forget herself, forget her duty to her patients, forget everything but the nearness of him and the thrill it sent through her.

In the small confines of the fruit cellar, he’d seemed taller somehow, even more handsome in the gray uniform that fit him precisely.

She pressed fingertips to her lips where they still tingled from his passionate assault and her willing surrender. She could still smell the bay rum that lingered on his skin, still taste him…

Little wonder women made such ninnies of themselves over men. She’d never understood it, until now.

Alexa pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to release it slowly. She had no time to act like an addlebrained fool. There were men to be cared for, not to mention more mouths than she would be able to feed. The major had provided a pleasant diversion from an unpleasant situation, but their time together had ended and there was work to be done.

She gathered up her basket of medical supplies. It wouldn’t go far toward helping if tomorrow’s fighting came to pass, but every little bit was needed right now.

Extinguishing the candles, she headed up the cement steps and out the doors. The humid night air and the lingering stench of death greeted her, an unpleasant reminder of what her world had become. She’d barely stepped onto the porch when the door opened and Felicity darted out.

“Oh, Alexa, thank heaven you’re home. I was beginning to think that Southern officer kidnapped you!”

“I’m fine,” she paused to check on a wounded man she’d cared for earlier in the day. He slept deeply, probably as much from exhaustion as blood loss.

Another reached for her, and she took a moment to speak with him.

“God bless you, Doctor Alexa,” yet another murmured.

Tears stung her eyes. This was her calling, not behaving like a loose woman in the arms of a man who was betrothed to another.

“Well?” Felicity stamped an impatient foot. “What did he want? Where is Nate?”

Straightening from the soldier she’d been comforting, Alexa placed her hands to her back. The dull ache from bending over so frequently returned, along with a bone-weariness that made her wonder when she’d last slept.

By now, Granny had come to stand at the door, face drawn with exhaustion and worry.

“Nate is missing. He has been for over a year. Which means he’s either a prisoner, or…” Unwilling to complete the thought, she let the words die on her lips.

Inside the kitchen, she stepped over another wounded man who slept on the kitchen floor and made her way to the stove for a cup of coffee.

“I don’t know what we’re going to feed them tomorrow,” she said, sinking gratefully into a chair.

“Why not eggs?” Felicity chirped.

Alexa rubbed her hands over her face, wishing she dared take a moment to put her head down. “The Rebs took all the chickens, Felicity.”

“Not all.”

Intrigued by her cousin’s smug tone, Alexa glanced up at her. “What do you mean?”

Her smile turned into a bubble of laughter. “Earlier today, I caught some Reb soldiers taking our last two chickens. I asked them how we’d ever be able to feed all the poor wounded Southern boys in our care if they took our last chickens.”

“Child, you’re lucky you weren’t harmed,” Grammy scolded.

“Not at all. In fact, they said they’d gladly bring us more food—for the poor wounded Southern boys.”

Too exhausted to be relieved by this news—or concerned that any food delivered was undoubtedly stolen—Alexa stretched an arm along the table and rested her head on it.

Granny placed a bowl before her, and despite the tantalizing aroma of broth causing an interested rumble from her stomach, she didn’t have the energy to raise her head. A shawl was draped over her shoulders, but she was too sleepy to protest that she didn’t need it in this heat. Instead, she gave herself up to the waiting arms of slumber.

****

The first gun sent the signal for a hundred more to open. In his military career, Caleb had never seen such artillery fire. The air was filled with the hiss and scream of missiles bursting overhead, the ground littered with the bodies of dead horses and soldiers.

Following the barrage, thousands of Confederate troops began advancing. They marched abreast in a long, straight line, uphill toward the waiting Union army, their stride that of men who believed themselves invincible. General Lee seemed to believe they were, but Caleb knew how exhausted, weak and worn his men were. A lump rose in his throat at their bravery. Shells struck about them, the sun beat without mercy, yet still they moved forward.

And then the Union artillery opened fire again, blasting a gap in the Confederate line. Under orders not to fire, the Confederate ranks closed the gap and continued to advance. Federal infantry sent volley after volley of gunfire in their direction, but the men continued to march forward.

At last the Union line was penetrated and the hand-to-hand fighting ensued. Caleb urged Girl forward, galloping into the midst of the fighting. Around him, men swore and cursed as they struggled in deadly combat.

“Fall back!” came the echoed cry from behind him. “Fall back!”

And still the caissons exploded.

He wheeled around to lead his men away from certain death, defeat leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Spying one of his men on the ground, wounded, he leapt from his horse and rushed toward him. “O’Toole!”

“I’m fine, Major. It’s just me leg…” the other man shouted above the din. “I got me another one.”

Caleb spied two of his men nearby. “Get O’Toole to the field doc—”

A sudden, sharp pain blasted through his hip, the momentum spinning him around, and the ground rushed up to meet him with a thud. For a moment, he lay there stunned, scarcely able to believe he’d been hit. He felt no pain, and for a brief moment, wondered if he’d suffered the same fate as Edwards. Refusing to die in the dirt or give up so easily, he jabbed his sword into the ground, pulling himself upright to assure his men he was all right.

He had no idea how long he actually stood there before the world exploded in a kaleidoscope of color, spiraling about him, until he rushed headlong into blackness.

****

The cannons began late in the afternoon, their racket rumbling across the sky like an endless clap of thunder.

Determined to stay with her patients, Alexa tried to convince Felicity and Grammy to retreat to the cellar, but Grammy wouldn’t hear of it and her cousin refused to go alone. Instead, they stuffed cotton in their ears and went about caring for and feeding wounded.

The soldiers offered steady reassurances. Those who were able to gathered on the porch, staring longingly toward the column of white smoke curling toward the sky.

Quentin leaned heavily on Alexa as she and Felicity helped him out to the porch.

“Sounds like it’s south of here,” one southern man commented after a particularly loud series of booms.

“The two ridges just south of town, on that open plain, I’ll wager,” Will Carter added with a nod in that direction. “I think we’re whupping you boys pretty good.”

Alexa followed his line of vision but saw nothing to indicate victory. “How on earth can you tell?”

Will turned to her, brown eyes soft and warm. “For every cannon that’s fired, one answers back,” he explained patiently. “The Rebs can’t afford to waste ammunition like that. Sooner or later, they’ll run out.”

“You really think so?” Felicity asked with a sniffle.

Alexa placed an arm about the frightened girl’s shoulders. There were several affirmative nods.

“Those Rebs got nothing left to give,” spoke up a Minnesota man. “Poor miserable sons of—”

A nearby southern man cleared his throat.

Alexa scarcely heard his murmured apology. She stared toward the rising smoke, emotion choking her so that she could hardly breathe. With each explosion men were being torn to pieces. Was it wrong to pray for Nate’s safety when he fought for the enemy?

And what of Major McKenna? The thought of him sent a wave of hot, unsettled feelings through her. His kisses had left her trembling and breathless. No man had ever made her feel that way. Even after the bitter words they’d parted over, the memory of his mouth on her skin sent a shiver through her despite the warmth of the day.

She sent up a silent prayer for his safety.

A large, warm hand settled on her shoulder. “There, there, Doctor Alexa,” Will said, patting her a bit awkwardly. “Don’t fret so. It could be the end of the war we’re hearing today.”

Hadn’t she just wished for that last night?

For long moments, no noise came, the silence almost deafening. Sporadic pops of gun fire sounded, followed by the occasional blast of a cannon, and then…silence.

Alexa exchanged weary glances with Grammy and Felicity, wondering when the wounded would begin to arrive.

The soldiers talked among themselves, speculating as to what had happened.

A young boy Alexa recognized from town came running down the road, fists pumping the air in triumph.

“We licked ‘em,” he shouted, not slowing a bit as he ran past the house. “The Rebs are pulling back! They’re retreating!”

A cheer went up from the soldiers on the porch. They shook hands and clapped one another on the back. Then they broke into an impromptu, slightly off-key version of “Hang Jeff Davis from a Sour Apple Tree.”

Relief flooded her, but Alexa couldn’t share their exuberance. Not when so many men already lay dead and wounded on the fields around town. How many had been added to their number today?

Hands folded under her chin, Felicity gave a contented sigh. “We can truly celebrate tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Alexa frowned. “What on earth would we have to celebrate?”

Will Carter broke away from the celebrating to approach her, a smile lighting his hound dog eyes. “Doctor Alexa, surely you haven’t forgotten tomorrow is Independence Day?”

****

The soldiers were still in a celebratory mood later that evening as news of the day’s events continued to pour in. The South had been defeated. The Confederate army was retreating. Most felt it would be the end of Lee’s army, and soon, the war.

Dusk was fast approaching when Alexa stepped outside to draw another bucket of water. Exhaustion had been her companion for so long, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like herself. She paused for a moment to lean against the house and collect her thoughts.

Retreat meant the end of the fighting, the end of the steady stream of wounded men pouring into town. Relief nearly brought her to her knees. Though it would be a lifetime before their little town was back to normal—if ever—at least the fighting was over.

Would the war really end now, as so many believed? And if it did, would she ever see Nate again? And for the thousandth time that afternoon, she wondered if McKenna was all right, if he’d been in the thick of today’s fighting. Had defeat left a bitter taste in his mouth or was he glad to have it over with for now?

She didn’t expect to see him again, but for the rest of her life, she’d remember the way the world had tilted beneath her feet when he’d kissed her, the delightful shivers that had coursed through her when his tongue stroked the hollow behind her ear.

A movement near the road caught her attention—two gray clad soldiers carrying a wounded man on a litter. She stifled a groan and, forcing herself upright, stepped forward, praying for the energy to care for every last man who needed it.

One of the men was familiar, short and stout with a bristly red beard. Smitty? Was that his name? The one who’d held his hand over Simon Edwards’ wound yesterday.

Yesterday? How in Heaven’s name was it possible that had been only a day ago?

Smitty’s face all but crumpled as she rushed toward him. “Doc, you gotta help him.” He set the litter gently down.

“I’ll do the best I can,” she said, leaning in to see how badly wounded the man was.

“Field surgeon says there’s nothing can be done. I thought maybe you...” His voice, raw with emotion, broke, and he turned away.

How on Earth had they made it here with Federal troops in control of the town? They must care a great deal about their comrade.

She knelt down. The wounded man lay on his side, his trousers torn and bloodied, a wound packed with blood-stained rags over one hip. He moaned in pain.

“It’s all right,” she said soothingly as she removed some of the bloody rags. “I’m just going to examine you.”

He mumbled something incoherent. Reminded of her vow to look each of them in the eyes, memorize their face, she took a moment to stroke the hair back from his face. Hair the color of maple sugar that felt like silk beneath her fingers… Oh, God, no...

Startled, she turned a shocked gaze to Smitty. “This is the major.”

“Colonel, Ma’am,” said the other man. “General gave him the promotion right there on the battlefield.”

Alexa glanced back at Caleb then into the worried faces of the men who had risked capture and imprisonment to bring him here. She pulled in a steadying breath. “I’ll do what I can, but I’ll need both of you to hold him down. Come with me.”