***
A rooster crowed somewhere in his dreams. The sound broke through Ty's slumber like the bugler's wake-up call. He knuckled his eyes to rouse himself from the dregs of the best sleep he'd had in a long while. Hearing the birds outside as they offered up a cheerful song, he rose with effort. Dragging his wounded leg close to the edge of the four-poster, Ty started to get up. Slinging back the hand-made quilt, he aimed at the slop pot to relieve himself. The fact he had to use one wore on his already tattered pride. His tolerance for convalescence grew thinner with each passing hour. Soon, he would be up and under his own power again. Ty glanced around the tiny bedroom remembering where he found himself. The small wooden vanity, which shelved a brush and comb atop a simple cotton runner stood along the right wall. A washbowl and pitcher stood there as well. She must've put them there while he slept. The left wall contained the room's only window.
Glancing down, Ty rubbed the healing flesh over his wounded thigh. He'd healed so quickly. Had he imagined the severity of his injury? He examined the wound in his leg. Pink, still tender, yet free of fever, the skin around the wound showed remarkable improvement. In fact, the pain didn't exist. Hadn't he been at death's door when the woman came upon him in the mist? Had Sonja been the woman in the mist? If so, how had she managed to carry him to safety? He marveled at the invigorated sense of well-being he experienced. He reasoned he'd soon be able to leave the room and be of some use to her.
Massaging the muscle in his healing thigh, he reflected on his time abed. He'd counted only one day since he'd awoke to find her at the door staring at him as he stood naked brandishing a wash basin as a weapon. Battle ready at a moment's notice, he'd reacted as he'd always done when confronted unaware. A wash of color spread across his face. Not only had she saw him in the altogether beside the bed but during his convalescence as well. Deciding to try to forget the details, he reminded himself he should feel fortunate. He still had both legs and could walk. So many others couldn't, he mused. Rubbing at his chest, he couldn't decide what the strange yearning that continued to nag his consciousness could be. A vague sense of need swept over him as if Sonja meant something more to him than the sympathetic caregiver she had been. The yearning went so far as to plague his conscious mind. Probably stress induced, he mused.
With a knock on the door, she stepped in with a tray of food the likes of which he had not seen in some time. Again, he found words would not come. The smells imitating from the tray were delicious.
"I've brought you some chicken and dumplings. You could stand something with real meat." She smiled at him as she set the tray on the nightstand. "I'm afraid the chicken meat is meager. Our roosters aren't growing off like they should. I have to keep the hens as fat as possible for the egg production."
Her factual expression had guilt rising in his gullet for taking food away from her store, food to feed herself and her husband.
"Thank you, ma'am."
She turned for the door when he picked up his fork.
"Would you stay?" Ty's question proved a surprise to him as well as her.
"I have chores. Daylight is limited this close to the full moon. I must see to my garden." She waved a hand in the direction of the swamp.
"I'd appreciate a visit. Besides, you've been working too hard. Won't you rest?" he asked. He didn't want her to overdo.
Sonja glanced at the slim pressed oak chair against the wall while smoothing the front of her apron in a habitual move he found endearing. If he had to speculate, he'd say Mrs. Brooks appeared proficient and organized besides being a damn good cook. He spooned up another mouthful of the dumplings.
As she settled, Ty found the urge to know more about her overwhelmed him. He had a captive audience, at least for a little while. He would learn as much about Sonja Brooks as she would share. "May I ask how long you've lived in Pennsylvania?"
"All my life, Lieutenant. Almost twenty-nine years."
"Are your families nearby?"
"Yes, my family lives on a farm the other side of Spotsylvania. I have a sister. Her name's Brianda."
"A sister. I have a sister- well, a half-sister." Ty cut her a lopsided grin. "She's a few years older than me. Her name's Casey." He smiled. "Casey recently married. She was a saloon waitress till she got hitched. Casey married is still hard for me to swallow." He flicked a glance across the small table. Sonja meeting Casey would be interesting. The outspoken hell-cat meets the reserved nymph. He shook his head at the picture.
"Brianda is a new wife herself," Sonja said. The tone she used brought him back. Her words sounded conversational. Ty considered they might be making progress.
"Do you get to see her often?"
"We meet in town from time to time to visit." She splayed her hands across the apron in her lap. A telling reaction to nerves, Ty mused.
"Family's important. We started out with the two of us, Seth, my older brother, and I. Our pa remarried after Seth's ma died. They had me." He glanced up. "Seth swears things picked up with my arrival." He shot her a knowing wink.
Sonja lowered her eyes and grinned. The notion struck Ty squarely in the chest. The nymph surprised him at every turn. "I see you have fresh herbs in the dumplings." He spooned up another mouthful. "Do you grow vegetables as well?"
"Yes, I love growing things. My mother is an avid gardener. She taught me." Her pleasure with the statement showed in the beauty of a relaxed smile. Ty's heart sang for a second. So lovely, poised, gentle no to mention kind, he mused. "Thank you for the book, Alice in Wonderland. I'd read about the release of the latest by Louis Carroll before I left home." He glanced up from his next spoonful of dumplings. "I'm enjoying the story." Satisfaction at both the meal as well as her company had him smiling for her again.
"Where's your home, Lieutenant Loflin?"
Very direct, Ty mused. He liked that. Most women danced politely around a subject picking at the topic until they wormed the information out of her counterpart, leaving the person drained by the encounter.
"Texas. Tyler, Texas west of the Sabine River." Her warm whiskey colored irises followed his every move. "Do you know where I speak of?" he asked.
Nodding, Sonja gave him a brief smile. "I understand Texas is a big place, but I know where you mean. Have you lived there all of your life?" she asked in return.
He gave her one of his careless shrugs as his mouth split into a boyish grin. "All my life except when I traveled to Savannah for schooling."
"Savannah? School," she said and reminded him of a magpie.
"Yes. My Pa made sure my brother and I had an education. He sent Seth to West Point while I attended St. Matthews Military Academy." Giving her a wink, he couldn't help but add, "Since my mother was Choctaw, I wasn't eligible for West Point, but I got an excellent education at St Matt's."
Sonja nodded. She understood his meaning. Rather than try for outrage at the affront of his plight in life, she firmed her bottom lip before asking, "You've been decorated?"
Surprised momentarily, Ty paused. She had examined his medals. Now if she would tell him where his clothes were. "Yes, I fought in the first Manassas. I received the badge of honor for bravery there."
"I'm impressed," she offered coolly. "Do you miss your family, Lieutenant?"
Something had her back stiff. "Yes, very much. I find the not knowing to be the worst. Still, no word from me can't be good for their nerves. Of course, I can take care of myself, but that doesn't hold water where Maggie and Cloe are concerned."
"Your wife and mother?" she asked.
"No, my brother's wife is Cloe and Maggie is our housekeeper. She's like a mother to us, though. She's been with us ever since I came along." Ty paused a moment when he remembered how he'd been thinking of them that night in the swamp. With his death near, he realized he'd been wishing to see them one last time. "Did you find me in the swamp?"
Sonja nodded. "Yes, I did." Sh
e dropped her gaze to her lap. "You were dying," she said softly.
Ty waited before asking the questions he'd wanted to ask since he awoke. Afraid she wouldn't tell him, he hesitated. She must've seen the hesitancy in his face. "Go ahead. You have a question. Ask, Lieutenant."
A warm flush filled his jaws as he realized she had read his mind. "Are you the woman who came to me out of the mist?"
"Yes"
"Did you carry me?"
Sonja tensed with the question. Her jaw clenched telling him she didn't want to give away anything, but maybe he could get at least that much out of her. "Yes, I located a horse."
Horses? Where had there been horses? The Yankees had shot theirs first. He didn't recall the vision he'd seen in the mist on a horse. "I thought perhaps your husband helped you carry me home."
She sent him another tense lipped glance. "He's? he's gone." Her chin lifted a fraction.
The statement had taken some consideration. Finding something amiss, he went on, "Gone where?" he asked.
Sonja glanced at the drapes over the singular window in the room. Tiny beads of sunlight poked through and played across the bed, eliminating the dust particles floating in the light. She lowered her head. The statement had become clear before she answered, and Ty realized how he blundered. In a voice he could barely understand, she said, "He's dead. He died at the First Manassas." Before Ty could apologize, she rose and headed for the door. "I have things I have to do. Call me when you are through."
Berating himself for his stupidity, he called out to her. "Wait, Mrs. Brooks, I'm sorry."
Sonja stopped but didn't turn back around.
Ty got up, hobbling to her. Reaching out he traced a golden curl down her cheek. "I'm sorry." The man she had called husband had gone off to fight the Rebels at the First Manassas. He was a Rebel from the First Manassas.
"You aren't responsible."
Two strokes of the clock in the front room had sounded before either of them looked away. Sonja was the first to move. Without another word, she closed the door behind her leaving him alone once more.
Ty let her go. What had he done? He should not have touched her, but he could not help the feeling washing over him. She had saved his life. He should be grateful. But the urge to comfort her came from somewhere deeper. He would not be around for long, his conscious reminded him. Ty found he did not care at the moment. Turning, he followed her to the kitchen.
She stilled when he came up behind her. "I should be apologizing for back there."
Her back stiffened.
"But, the truth is I can't apologize for feeling the way I do. You've cast some spell over me."
She lowered the skillet to the counter top. Resting her hands on the blackened iron, she stilled again. She didn't turn to him but stared out the window instead.
"I'm grateful to you for all you've done."
Sonja released a breath before dropping her gaze to her folded hands.
"But I shouldn't be feeling the way I do right now. My feelings will cause you nothing but pain." Ty paused.
Sonja turned to him, her eyes swimming with tears. Her mouth trembled. "No, you're wrong. I will cause you pain," she said.
Tears trickle unheeded down her cheeks. "You're in grave danger, Sonja. You're harboring the enemy."
"Yes, I am." The words were a statement, pure and simple.
The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) Page 8