Emmy retrieved the last cloth from a bucket of cold water and wrung it out as well as she could with a tender wrist. How many times had she done this the past week? She frowned at the cracked, red skin on her hands. Clearly, too many.
Coughs and a few moans followed her across the sick ward. Winter winds raged against the windows, but the blankets she’d nailed up blockaded drafts from attacking those too helpless to parry. No sense adding more misery to the men suffering from the spate of severe measles.
Major Clem occupied the bed nearest the door. When she bent to lay the cloth on his brow, his eyes popped open, glassy and shot through with red.
His lips worked a moment before any sound came out. “Thirsty.”
“Good, I’ve just the thing for you.” She smiled, taking care to mimic the soothing tone her father used to employ. Papa always said healing was more than medicine. Oh Papa.
She straightened, once again shoving grief to a cellar in her heart. “I’ll be back in a trice with some licorice-root tea, Major.”
Crossing to the dispensary door, she eased it open, glad she’d stood her ground for the extra bear grease. The men slept fitfully enough without ill-mannered hinges scraping against their ears.
Sweet tanginess rode the crest of the smoky scent in the room, and she inhaled deeply as she drew nearer the hearth. Some said licorice smelled of wildness, the untamed spoor kicked up by one’s feet when tromping through loamy earth, but not her. Why, she’d pour herself a large mug just for the sheer enjoyment of it if they weren’t so low on stock.
“Afternoon, Miss Nelson.” Dr. Clark’s voice entered on an icy gust from the front door. “How goes it?”
She felt the touch of his eyes upon her, and irrationally wished she’d chosen her green serge instead of her drab grey. La! What a thought. She was worse than a moonstruck schoolgirl. Even so, after she returned the kettle to the grate, she smoothed her skirts before she faced him.
The doctor shrugged out of his coat, waistcoat fabric taut across the muscles of his back as he reached to hang it on a peg. Ahh, but she could look at that fine sight all day and never tire of the long lines, of the suggestion of strength and protection. And when her thoughts strayed to what lay beneath that fabric, heat flared up her neck.
“Quite dashing,” she murmured.
“Sorry?” He pivoted, head cocked.
She grabbed handfuls of her apron to keep from slapping a hand over her mouth, for surely that would be even more indicting. “Oh, er, the day is quite dashing away from me, I’m afraid. How goes it down at the camp?” She rushed on. “How is little Jack faring?”
One of his brows quirked as he crossed to the counter and set down a package. “Makawee won’t let me near him. Swears by the ‘old medicine,’ as she calls it.”
“Good. It is enough you tend the smallpox victims on your own. You needn’t add another disease to your repertoire.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I am no novice, Miss Nelson. I assure you, I take every precaution.”
“Of course.” She bit her lip as warmth bloomed over her cheeks. Sweet heavens! What was wrong with her tongue today? Or any day, for that matter. Whenever the man entered the room, her words flew out before she could think. “I am sorry. I never meant to imply such.”
Little crinkles highlighted the sides of his mouth as he grinned. “Apology accepted. And you’ll be glad to know Jack’s rash has stopped spreading.”
“Then he’s on the mend, unlike a few of the men in there.” She nodded toward the ward, though she needn’t have—wretched coughing crept from under the closed door. “Truthfully, I fear for Major Clem, which reminds me …” She reached for the mug of tea.
But the doctor stayed her arm with a light touch. “Then I’ve come just in time. I’ve brought something.”
There was almost a bounce to his step as he retrieved the package from the counter and ripped it open, revealing a small wooden box. He held it out to her like a crown of jewels to be admired. “A new shipment of fresh leeches, which was quite the feat in this weather.”
She suppressed a groan but couldn’t stop the censure in the shake of her head. “You know my feelings on the matter.”
He drew back his box, taking the warmth in his voice with it. “The siphoning out of bad blood is proven science, Miss Nelson.”
“Maybe so, yet my experience proves it weakens the patient. My father said—”
His hand shot up, and what was left of his grin faded into a straight line. “Not another lecture. If your methods are not working with the major, then it’s time you use scholarship.”
The implication smacked her. Hard. Scholarship? As if what she’d been using was nothing but folderol and superstition? For a moment, she clenched her teeth so tightly, crackling sounded in her ears. Perhaps she should give in to Aunt’s entreaties, go where she was wanted, find an orphanage in the city and tend to their needs instead.
She met his stare dead-on, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to stay either. “Maybe, Doctor, it’s time I leave. You barely consider my medical advice, nor do you use me at the encampment anymore. Give me one reason why I should stay.”
Because your beautiful smile will no longer brighten this barracks.
Because you are life and breath and air.
James staggered, pushed back by a rush of emotions and the real reason lodging low in his gut.
Because I fear my heart will stop beating without you.
He raked his fingers through his hair, a desperate attempt to push back the wild thoughts and fatigue that ailed him. This couldn’t be. When had this snip of a wilderness woman worked her way so deeply into his soul? A relationship with her would change his plans, his future … his everything. Everything he’d worked so hard to gain. Years of study. Of jockeying for position on Harvard’s wobbly ladder of success. His goal to achieve all his father had dreamed for him. He should just stride to the door, hold it open, and thank the lady for her service.
And while he was at it, he might just as well grab a knife and stab it into his chest.
For a moment, he searched her eyes, desperately trying to judge if leaving was what she really wanted. Did she?
Sweet mercy! The woman ought to be a card shark the way she hid every emotion behind those long lashes. There was no reading her desire—and there was no discounting his.
He forced words past an ache in his throat. “You should stay because I ask it of you.”
“But why do you ask?”
The question gaped like the sharp jaws of a bear trap. If he answered too personally, he’d frighten her away. Too detached, and she’d not feel needed. Either would set her and her bags on the next possible wagon out of the fort.
He caught both her hands in his, hoping the added touch might sway her. “Despite our differences on manner of care, the fact is, Miss Nelson, that you do care. I would be hard-pressed to replace you and, in fact, could not. Truth is, I am in over my head at the encampment with this foul weather. I cannot possibly tend to both the men here and the people down below. Would you force me to choose, knowing what the colonel would have me do?”
A sigh deflated her shoulders. “No. Of course not. I will stay, leastwise until you can manage both.”
“Thank you.” He squeezed her fingers then released his hold. “If it’s any consolation, the colonel is holding a Christmas dinner day after tomorrow. Would you do me the honor of attending with me?”
A small smile lifted her lips. “I suppose it would please my aunt to know I am owning some measure of society out here.”
“Good.” He returned her grin. Though the festivity might pacify her relative, it would please him even more to have her at his side.