Endless Heart: Heart, Book 3

by Emma Lang

  “I am Marta, not ma’am.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Until your hands heal, you will need help.” She picked up the plate, and he noticed she had already cut the ham into small pieces and mixed it with eggs. A fluffy biscuit topped off the meal.

  He couldn’t argue with her. The food looked and smelled better than anything he’d had in years. Shane felt odd letting this kind older woman feed him, but the food was as delicious as it smelled. He only ate half before he had to stop. His stomach couldn’t hold anymore, although he’d only eaten a child’s portion.

  “It’s okay, liebchen. You are healing.” She examined his wounds and then smoothed his hair back as though she were his grandmother. “You rest now.”

  Her gentle touch and acceptance of him made his throat tighten up. Something had brought him to this town, perhaps to heal or to die. Whatever the reason was, he didn’t deserve the kindness.

  He must have dozed off, likely due to the fact his belly was full to bursting, because when he woke again, Miss Brown was standing over him. Her expression was full of confusion and infinite sadness. He knew that sadness well—he’d lived with it as his daily companion for years.

  She started when she noticed his uninjured eye was open. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “I was dozing because I ate too much breakfast.” He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious about staring at him. Although he’d love to know why.

  “Marta is an amazing cook. Her eggs are fluffier than any I’ve ever seen.” She gestured to his hands. “Did she feed you, or did you manage on your own?”

  “She insisted on feeding me.” Liar. He could have said no and done it on his own.

  “Sounds like Marta.” She sat on the chair beside the bed. “I, um, was wondering if you would rather go to the doctor’s instead of here. To make you more comfortable.”

  “If I could walk, I wouldn’t be in this bed at all. I appreciate your hospitality, Miss Brown, and I promise I will be gone as soon as I can.” These folks had done a great deal for him, and he hadn’t done a thing in return. Not that he had anything to give. “When I’m better, I can do some jobs for you to make up for everything.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel… Well, never mind. I was thinking because there are lots of women here, you might want to be with the doctor because he’s not. A woman that is.” She stood and went over to the washstand. “Forget I opened my mouth. I tend to trip over words.”

  Shane looked away from her awkward fumbling, feeling foolish and useless. “My head feels better this morning.”

  “Was it hurting bad?” She rung out a rag and turned around with it in her hand.

  “Like someone used a hammer on my skull. I could live with the rest of the pains, but that was downright brutal.” He hadn’t said a thing about any of his discomfort before. He usually kept it to himself. What had possessed him to say it now?

  “We could have given you some laudanum for it.” She sat back down, her brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He tried to shrug but found his shoulders wouldn’t work right. “I ain’t one to whine about my aches.”

  Her gaze traveled over his face, and he considered asking for a mirror. No doubt he was unrecognizable, not to mention swollen, bruised and stiff.

  “You are stronger than most men then.” She reached for the bandage. “I need to clean the wound and put a new bandage on. It’s going to hurt.”

  “I remember you telling me that before.”

  Her lips twitched, but she didn’t smile. “I wanted to warn you, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Please call me Shane. I ain’t been called Mr. Murphy in quite some time.” He had been not much of anything in quite some time.

  “Marta would say she doesn’t think it would be appropriate, but I don’t mind. Shane. It’s a good Irish name.” She started untying the bandage, her face so close to his he noted her eyes were actually several shades of brown, not only one. They were framed by long, thick, dark eyelashes, ones that made a tiny breeze when she blinked.

  What a perfectly silly thing for him to notice.

  Then he started noticing more, such as the clean scent that surrounded her, and the fact her hair curled around the pink shell of her ears. She wasn’t a plain brown bird after all.

  “What’s your first name?”

  Her gaze snapped to his, the bandage hanging from her hand. A few seconds passed and he thought for sure she wasn’t going to answer him. “Lettie.”

  “Thank you for helping me, Lettie.”

  She turned away and stood. “Without kindness, we lose part of ourselves.”

  He wondered what she meant by that but didn’t necessarily want to know the answer. She took a clean bandage from the washstand and came back to the bed. Her hands trembled slightly.

  Was she afraid? Was there some other reason? Shane wanted to know more about her, needed to know. What was it about Lettie that made her different from the other hundreds of people he’d encountered since he left home for good?

  She cleaned his wounds with a gentle touch, which was surprising considering his memory of how rough she’d been when he first arrived. Of course the whiskey could have warped that experience. Her hands were strong, the fingers long and elegant. He saw calluses on her hands, yet they weren’t ugly at all. They told him this woman worked hard and took pride in what she did.

  As she washed his face and neck, she wrinkled her nose. “I think we need to get you into a bath as soon as possible.”

  “Am I that bad?”

  “No, worse than bad.” She was definitely blunt. “I’ll have Dennis bring up the hip bath and water.”

  The very idea of taking a bath—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one—made his gut clench. Would Lettie be bathing him? A hip bath was small, would barely cover his ass much less anything else. He didn’t know if he would be strong enough to allow her to bathe him. Logic told him she must have seen most of him already since he only wore his drawers.

  “Where are the rest of my clothes?”

  She met his gaze again, hers direct and shuttered at the same time. “We burned them. You had, ah, critters in them, and there were more holes than fabric.”

  Embarrassment waged war with a spurt of anger. “You’re saying that if I wanted to leave, I’d have to go in a pair of drawers since I have nothing else to wear. Do you steal from all the people you show kindness to?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Lettie shot to her feet, water spraying on his chest and the sheet.

  “I’m going to let that pass by because I know you’re suffering. Getting off drink is near impossible without a lot of hurt.” She set the rag in the basin. “But if you ever accuse me of stealing again, Mr. Murphy, I won’t be showing you any kindness.”

  With that, she quit the room, basin in hand. Shane’s anger disappeared as quickly as it had come. He started shaking again, awake, alert and craving that which he couldn’t have. Damn, why did he have to be sober and an ass? Well that was one of the reasons he drank. He was an ass, one who cared only about himself and his needs. One who would let his family be slaughtered while he drank his cares away.

  Painful memories pushed at the door he’d erected deep inside his soul. That way lay agony. He could not, would not, let them out. If he did, Shane would put a gun to his head and end the misery before it could overwhelm him.

  He managed to push himself into a sitting position, or nearly sitting. The sheet had fallen away, and he realized the drawers he was wearing weren’t his. They were a sturdy pair of white cotton, clean and for sure not his. Hanging from hooks on the wall were a brown shirt and trousers. On the floor beneath them sat a pair of used but sturdy boots.

  Shame swept through him again. These folks had given him clothes and shoes to wear, doctored his wounds, fed him and kept him alive. What did he do? Accuse them of stealing his flea-bitten clothes. He felt sick at the monumental stupidity of his actions.

  The door banged open, and
a floppy-haired boy came in. Shane assumed it was Dennis. He was around twelve, gangly as all get out, his hands and feet too large for his skinny frame. As he set the wooden hip bath on the floor, he stared at Shane wide-eyed. A towel lay around his neck, which he carefully put on the very end of the bed, close to the bath but as far from Shane as possible.

  “I thought you was dead, mister. I thought Lettie brought you back with her healing touch.”

  Perhaps she had since Shane was experiencing emotions he had long since buried. Lettie Brown had brought out the human being who had been hiding inside him for six years.

  “I don’t think it was a miracle, son. She does have a healing touch though.” He could see out of his left eye. Only a slit of light, but it was better than it had been. His fingers didn’t ache as much either.

  Without a word, the boy fled the room, his big feet slapping as he ran down the hall, presumably to get the water for the bath. The knot in his chest loosened a smidge.

  The sound of footsteps returning was slower this time, and Dennis appeared in the doorway with two buckets, one in either hand. Steam rose in wisps, winding up around his skinny wrists as he stepped into the room. He set one down then poured the first into the tub, followed quickly by the second.

  Again, the boy ran from the room, the thump of his shoes echoing as he made his way downstairs. Shane stared at the tub, at the piping-hot water that awaited him. He leaned down and sniffed at his armpit, and the stench made him gag. How had Lettie been able to doctor him when he smelled like a dead animal left in the sun for three days?

  Holy hell, he had let himself scrape along the bottom of life for a long time. Drunk, foolish, starving and stinking. If he hadn’t been taken in by the folks at the restaurant, he would likely be dead in a ditch somewhere, forgotten and not missed by anyone.

  Was it a kindness? Or a punishment to make sure he suffered more?

  Dennis appeared a third time with two more buckets. Presumably cold water was in his left hand since no wisps of steam rose from it. He put the third bucket of hot water in and then looked at Shane. A bar of soap emerged from his pocket, along with a clean rag.

  “Miss Marta told me to help you, but I ain’t sure what to do.”

  “I can wash myself if you help me out of bed. It’s been a long time since anyone washed me.” He managed a lopsided grin. “I don’t expect you are keen on doing it either.”

  Dennis shook his head hard enough to make his floppy hair get in his eyes. “No, sir, I ain’t, but Miss Marta says I need to show kindness.”

  The granny angel had an influence over the folks in the restaurant, a good one too. He had definitely landed in the right place if he wanted to be treated well. Too bad they didn’t know who he really was, or they would have left him in the mud outside.

  “Then you can show me kindness by helping me stand, then closing the door behind you.”

  “I can do that.” Dennis came around the side of the bed warily.

  Shane didn’t want to think he scared children, but since he had no idea what he looked like at the moment, he would assume it was because of his injuries. Any other reason would be unacceptable. He wasn’t a monster—he was a coward.

  The boy was strong, lending his bony frame to Shane’s shaky efforts to become upright. By the time he made it to his feet, he was sweating and lightheaded.

  “Are you sure you can bathe yourself, mister?”

  No he wasn’t, but he didn’t want to tell Dennis that. “I’ll be fine. Just get me over to the tub.”

  Together they managed to shuffle forward. Dennis led him to the edge of the bed where Shane rested, the towel beneath him. As the boy poured the cold water into the tub, he kept his eye on Shane.

  “You don’t look so good, mister.”

  His laugh was nowhere near amused. It was more like a strangled sob. “I’m not so good, Dennis. Thank you for your kindness.”

  The boy stared at him for a moment longer, then he picked up the buckets and quit the room.

  Shane leaned against the bed, shaking and nauseated, barely able to move an inch closer to the water. He shouldn’t have sent the boy away because now the bath would go to waste. With some extra effort, he might be able to scoot backwards onto the bed to save himself the indignity of falling on his face if he attempted to walk.

  When the door banged open, he was startled enough to get to his feet. Lettie stood there, anger written in every pore of her body, a bucket of water in one hand. One look at him and his shaking knees, she closed the door behind her and set the bucket down. Quick as lightning she was there, supporting him before he realized he was about to do what he hoped he wouldn’t—fall.

  “You are an idiot, Shane Murphy.”

  “You have no idea, Lettie Brown.”

  “You should have let Dennis help you, foolish man. You can’t even, well, for pity’s sake, take a piss by yourself.”

  This time he did laugh. “You sure believe in being honest.”

  She repeated his words, “You have no idea.”

  Oh he really did like her. She was certainly not a demure, soft-spoken little thing. Her strength surprised him, considering she was holding up his two-hundred-pound-plus body without effort. She was tall too, her nose nearly even with his chin. Most women were only up to his shoulder in height. Or perhaps the whiskey had made him shrink.

  “You are skin and bones, held together by bandages and sheer willpower,” she griped as she maneuvered him to the tub. “I hope you don’t think I do this every day because I don’t.” With that, she stripped off his drawers, and he stood in front of her naked as the day he was born.

  Shane met her gaze, and a spark of something passed between them. He could hardly believe it, would have trouble accepting it, but damned if his body didn’t react to her as a woman. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman, longer since his dick did anything but piss out used whiskey.

  Before he could embarrass himself any further, he pulled his gaze from hers and focused on the tub. He used the bed as leverage to lift one foot into the steaming water. It was hot, but not too bad. By the time he had both feet in, she was behind him, steadying his hips with her strong hands. She was inches from his foolish dick, which took the opportunity to twitch and show signs of hardening.

  Shit.

  He needed to get this bath over with right now before he did something to scare away his brown angel of mercy. Gritting his teeth, he sank as far as he could into the tub, the water barely covering his ass.

  “Hand me the soap please.” He didn’t sound polite even if the words were. Shane needed to get the scrubbing over with.

  She dipped the soap in the water by his leg, making his dick twitch and harden. With a wet slapping sound, she soaped up the washrag vigorously. He had to look away when his imagination decided to think about her rubbing him like that.

  He grew another inch and felt another twitch.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be attracted to her, to anyone for that matter. He had the touch of death for anyone close to him. Only a heartless monster would allow himself to lose control in this situation. He assumed he was reacting because he was naked and hadn’t been with a woman in six years. Logic told him to think about something else.

  She started washing his back, her touch firm but not brutal. Shane should protest and tell her to stop, but it felt damn good. More than good. He sighed at the sheer pleasure, his head lolling forward, his eyes closing.

  “You have an inch of filth on you, Mr. Murphy.”

  “Shane,” he mumbled.

  “Do you think now is a good time to be using your first name?”

  He chuckled at her honesty. “Yes I do. You saw me at my worst, Lettie, and now you’ve seen me at my very worst.”

  She chuffed a laugh. “I’m helping for purely selfish reasons, Mr. Mur—Shane.”

  A tiny and decidedly foolish part of him smiled at the selfish part. Was it because she wanted to touch him naked? Of course not.
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  “You really do stink.”

  This time he laughed, a rusty sound. “Good thing you’re not a delicate flower who would be offended by my manly stench.”

  “Oh I’m offended all right, which is why I’m making sure you’re clean.” She moved to his arms and armpits, and to his surprise, her touch made him laugh. “Are you ticklish?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t ever been tickled.” His life hadn’t been silliness and games. Farms needed hard boys and harder men. Shane had been groomed to be a farmer since he could pick up a bucket and milk a cow. The war sent that plan sideways, but war sure as hell didn’t involve tickling either.

  She paused at his hand, her gaze sliding to his. Without a word, she told him she had never been tickled either. Whatever life she’d led, it had been as hard as his.

  “I’ll try not to do it anymore.” She resumed scrubbing.

  He shook his head. “It’s okay. I kind of liked it.”

  She set the washrag on the side of the tub and picked up the bucket of clean water. “I’m going to wet your hair now. I think you need to cut it too.”

  “Do what you need to. I’m a mess.”

  The tepid water felt good sluicing down his back, then she started scrubbing at his scalp and he groaned. Years of life and dirt coated him, no more so than in his hair. Tears stung his eyes at the pain and the finality of ridding himself of the filth. He wouldn’t call it a baptism, but it surely was a cleansing of his soul, which was black at pitch.

  “I’m going to let you clean your bottom half while I go get another bucket of water.” She put the washrag on his shoulder. “Soap is on the floor beside you.”

  He held his breath until the door closed. The sigh that escaped him made ripples in the tiny tub of water. With grim determination he used his bandaged hands to wash his body as best he could, the effort costing him dearly. By the time the door opened again, he shook from head to toe, completely sapped of strength. But he was clean, almost.

  “I couldn’t get my feet.”

  “I’ll do them after I cut your hair.” She set the bucket beside the tub. Her fingers ran through his hair, separating the locks, bringing back the intense memories of her scalp scrubbing. Soon the snip-snip was the only sound in the room. He kept his eyes closed, trying desperately to keep his mind blank. However, his stupid dick, which decided to come to life again, kept yanking his thoughts back to Lettie’s hands.