Accidental Courtship

by Lisa Bingham

  His eyes narrowed slightly—as if he sensed her amusement. But he took the blanket.

  “Ten minutes, Mr. Ramsey. I doubt it will take me any longer than that to fetch your dinner. Then I’ll be back.”

  She was nearly to the door when he called out, “Wait!”

  His mouth opened, but he thought over his words, then said, “Have you eaten yourself, Dr. Havisham?”

  “I don’t know why that matters.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then fetch us both something hot to drink. After you’ve finished looking me over—if you’re still feeling agreeable—we’ll go to the cook shack for dinner. Together.” He quickly added, “So we can talk about the welfare of the men.”

  His words might offer an innocent reason to share a meal.

  But those eyes...those eyes conveyed that his motives were far more personal.

  And she couldn’t resist. Because the warmth of his gaze heated her from the inside out far more than any cup of coffee would ever do.

  “Very well, Mr. Ramsey. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jonah knew the moment that Sumner returned, even though his back remained to the door. He could feel her in some strange indescribable way. An ease spread over him, like sunshine sliding over his body and relaxing him even through the shield of the blanket.

  He heard the rustle of her skirts as she rounded the examination table.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Cocoa.” Her eyes crinkled in the corners. “Willow Granger shares Creakle’s love for it, and when she found a keg of cocoa powder in the cook shack—” Sumner shrugged endearingly “—she figured the injured needed a special treat. But be warned, Willow likes her cocoa to be more chocolate than milk.”

  She passed the steaming mug to him, and he was pleased to see that she’d brought one for herself, as well. The fact that she wasn’t rushing immediately into her assessment allowed him to relax even more.

  He hadn’t realized how cold he’d become until his fingers wrapped around the enamelware mug. The heat seeped into his skin, making it tingle and prick as sensation returned to his extremities. He blew on the dark liquid, then took a small sip.

  “Hot,” he offered needlessly.

  “Drink it all. It will help warm you from the inside out.”

  He took a healthier swallow, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation as the liquid made a path down his throat. Sumner had been correct. The drink thawed him from the inside out, easing the rash of gooseflesh that pebbled his entire body. Still, it couldn’t compare to the way that this woman made him feel, just by being near.

  If he were honest, he’d have to admit that he was nervous, anxious—a little scared, even. His back felt as if Lucifer himself had been clawing at it. When the avalanche had been triggered, Jonah had been pushed from his feet and swept down the mountainside like a piece of driftwood. He’d been dragged over rocks and bushes, through tree branches and across icy snowdrifts. At the very least, he knew some of his skin had been chewed up.

  At the worst...

  He could have dislodged the shrapnel near his spine.

  Several quiet moments passed before he looked up again, only to find that Sumner was watching him, her head slightly cocked, her eyes filled with concern.

  In the past, he’d shied away from the scrutiny of other people since it was usually the precursor to pity. But with Sumner, he felt no such qualms. At least, not yet. Not until she’d seen the full extent of his scars.

  “What happened today?” she finally asked.

  “We found a way through the pass.”

  “Oh.”

  The word emerged as a bare puff of sound but it held so many emotions: hope, anxiety, regret.

  “At first, it was only accessible on foot and the climb was...difficult.” He took another gulp of chocolate, but it seemed to go down his throat in a lump. “We spent a few hours with the shovels and pickaxes until we were finally able to get a team through.”

  Something in Sumner’s eyes dimmed. “A team. Then the women could be taken out on a sledge.”

  “In theory.”

  He waited until she met his gaze.

  “It wouldn’t be easy. And they’d have to walk the last stretch through the steepest, rockiest portion of the canyon.”

  “How far would they have to go?”

  “Five or six miles.”

  “Oh.”

  Again, it was a single syllable, but it said so much. He knew she was thinking of the women, some of them still injured from the avalanche, most of them unaccustomed to such hazardous conditions. The same thoughts had plagued Jonah most of the day.

  “We’d come prepared. We could have made the entire trek ourselves, over the next day or two, and cleared a portion of the path but...”

  Her eyes were wide and slightly sad.

  “I couldn’t do it, Sumner,” he admitted, the words barely audible. “I kept thinking of the women...of you...being forced to make that journey. Maybe it could be done. Maybe. But who knew what other dangers awaited them—not just on the mountainside, but in the valley below. The trek wouldn’t have taken a few days...it could have been weeks.” His voice grew husky as he remembered the hazards the women would have encountered—cold, sheer cliffs, slippery conditions. And none of the mail-order brides would have had the clothing or skills to endure such hardships. They’d planned on a journey made entirely by train, not a mountainous hike. “So I called it off.”

  He knew that she understood the depth of what he was saying. It was more than the fact that he’d determined the trip would be too difficult and had abandoned the idea. No, for the first time, he’d openly defied his employers. Ezra Batchwell had insisted that if there was a way, any way, for the women to be evacuated, Jonah needed to ensure that it happened. Immediately.

  But Jonah had defied them.

  Unbelievably, Sumner took a step forward, placing her cup on the examination table. Then, somehow, their arms were around one another and they clung to each other in solace, comfort and solidarity.

  “So how were the men injured?” she whispered in his ear.

  Jonah shook his head. “I—I don’t know what happened. We were on our way back—we were nearly within sight of the camp. I heard a muffled boom and then—” he couldn’t prevent the way he held her tighter, drawing from Sumner’s warmth, her inner strength “—then a rush of snow came from behind us. We almost outran it. Almost.”

  He thought Sumner’s lips pressed against the top of his head and his eyes closed. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d been this close to anyone—and he found that he was starved for human contact, for the support of someone who understood. It ignited a spark of something inside of him that he hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

  Hope.

  Then, as if he hadn’t been blessed enough, he heard her soft murmured prayer.

  “Father in Heaven, thank You for all that Thou has done for us this day, for the way that Thy hand hast blessed these men with strength and safety. Please continue to bless and help them, for they are so dear to us and they have so much yet to offer up to You...”

  Maybe he hadn’t been meant to hear the words. Sumner had murmured them quietly. They could have been a private expression of her faith and gratitude. But Jonah was so overcome by the action he could barely breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time that someone had cared enough about him to pray for him.

  The hope that had fluttered within his soul grew stronger, taking wing, inundating his body with a glow unlike any he’d ever known. And he was forced to acknowledge that, for years, his life had been...empty. He’d done little more than exist, going through the motions, focusing on the job and only the job. He didn’t regret his work. No, he’d always been a man who ha
d gained great satisfaction from honest toil. But there’d been nothing more.

  No true connections.

  No joy.

  He’d been a hollow shell of a man, allowing the uncertainties of his future and the disappointments of his past to overtake him.

  And that was no way to live.

  Lifting his head, Jonah met Sumner’s gaze. Never in his life had he seen a woman who could relay so much emotion from a single look. He knew without her speaking that she was concerned about him, not just physically, but emotionally. She honestly cared about him. Not just as a doctor...

  But as a woman.

  There were times in a man’s life when a person reached a crossroads, when nothing could ever be the same again. And Jonah knew he’d just encountered one of those points. He could retreat back to the life he’d led up to now.

  Or he could open himself up to the possibility of a different path.

  There would be no guarantees. He already knew that there were women who wouldn’t be willing to saddle themselves to the uncertainty of his old injuries. At any moment, he could become an invalid, or worse. By allowing himself to even think of opening up his heart, he could invite the pain and frustration he’d experienced at Rebecca’s desertion to return.

  But he couldn’t go back.

  And he couldn’t go forward if he didn’t have faith.

  Faith in God, who had protected him in so many ways.

  And in the woman who seemed determined to look beyond the wounds to the man.

  * * *

  A knock caused Sumner to reluctantly step away from Jonah’s embrace. Unable to meet his gaze, she moved to crack open the door. Willow stood on the other side, holding a basin and pitcher.

  “Here’s the hot water you asked me to bring.”

  “Thank you, Willow.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  Sumner glanced at Jonah, but he shook his head. Sumner was amazed that the man was willing to let her examine him at all. He’d always been so adamantly opposed when she’d offered in the past. It was a sign that something must be paining him a great deal that he’d agreed to let her tend to him.

  “No. I don’t think so. But I’ll call if I need you.”

  The young woman backed away—and not for the first time, Sumner found herself wondering about her upbringing. Her speech was that of someone who’d once been employed in service, and her loose clothing and wild Bohemian hair were at odds with her prim manners. But she was so shy and quiet that Sumner couldn’t imagine her working as a maid or scullery.

  Bumping the door closed with her hip, Sumner carried the pitcher and bowl to a small side table. Willow had looped a cloth through the handle, so after pouring some of the steaming liquid into the bowl, Sumner dropped the square of flannel in to soak.

  Then she turned to Jonah.

  “How were you injured?”

  The moment he opened his mouth, she knew he was about to back out of the examination, so she held up a hand to stop him before he’d even started.

  “I know you’re hurt.” She touched her hand to his forehead. “The fire in the fireplace has made this room blazing hot, and you’re cold and clammy. Pale. Something has happened beyond the chronic pain you usually feel.”

  His head dipped. “When the wall of snow came down, I tumbled down the side of the hill. I might have scratched up my back a bit.”

  The words were uttered in the same light tone as if he’d gone sleigh riding and had fallen into a drift.

  “Then I’d better take a look.” She moved around the table, reaching for the blanket draped around his shoulders. “May I?”

  He didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he reached to grip her fingers. “Sumner...there are scars on my back. From the war.”

  She didn’t hesitate, merely squeezed him in reassurance. “I know, Jonah. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re well.”

  She felt him shudder, then relax. Then he nodded and loosened his hold.

  Carefully, she helped to expose his back, then had to keep her jaw clenched to keep from hissing at the sight.

  There were scrapes and cuts and deep gouges in the skin. Dirt and pine needles had become embedded in the wounds and stuck to the strong planes of his shoulders. But all of the fresh injuries couldn’t disguise the web of old scars that ran from his neck to the waistband of his pants.

  He’d been hurt so badly. It was a wonder that he was alive. The fact that he was able to walk at all...

  That said as much about his character as his determination.

  “You really aren’t bothered by them—the scars—are you?” Jonah’s tone held a note of wonder.

  “No. I’m more worried about what’s happened today.” She made her tone light, breezy.

  “There have been...others who found them rather shocking.”

  The fact that he felt he needed to be so careful in explaining his reticence hurt her heart.

  “Sounds like a bunch of ninnies to me.”

  That comment made his lips twitch, and she was glad.

  “I’ll be careful, but there’s a lot of debris in the wounds. This may sting a bit.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Nevertheless, she could see the way his knuckles grew white as he gripped the edge of the table.

  Sumner retrieved the flannel from the water and began to carefully dab it over the exposed area.

  He flinched, sucking in a breath, but other than that, he appeared determined to remain stoic, so she tried to think of a way to take his mind off what she was doing.

  “So where are you from originally?”

  There was a beat of silence, then, “Pennsylvania.”

  “Did you grow up on a farm?”

  “In a way. My father was a cabinetmaker, but we had a little land outside of town. We had a few cows and chickens, a huge garden and some acres that we planted to corn and wheat, squash and beans.”

  Sumner smiled. “It sounds lovely.”

  “It was.” He sighed. “Until the war came.”

  “Did you join up right away?”

  He nodded. “I had the idea that it would be all brass bands and glory. I was so sure that it would be over in a month or two at most. I’d be back before the harvest for sure.”

  “And that didn’t happen.”

  “No.”

  As she wiped his skin clean, Jonah’s back told her another story. She could see at least two round scars that could only have been gunshot wounds. And the rest...

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Scattershot mortar. Do you know what that is?”

  She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “No.”

  “It’s a type of cannon shot. The Rebs liked to fill them with old nails, pieces of glass and scraps of metal. One hit pretty close as my men and I tried to outflank one of the Rebel strongholds. I don’t—” he hissed when she began dabbing at a deeper gash, and she didn’t know if the reaction was from the memory or the newer wounds “—I don’t remember much after that.”

  Sumner could imagine. Judging by the extent of the damage, he was blessed to have lived at all.

  “So the pain you experience...”

  “I have shrapnel wedged near my spine. The surgeon tried his best but—” he shrugged “—it was field hospital medicine.”

  “And you’ve been examined since then.”

  “I tried a passel of doctors, half of whom turned out to be quacks. None of them could offer me much hope. It would be more dangerous to try and take the pieces out than to leave them where they are.”

  Sumner could understand the diagnosis. The threat of infection was very real. If it should travel to his spine, it could be a death sentence. But the dangers didn’t end by ignoring them. The shrapnel could move. Especially after being
thrown down the side of a mountain. She tried to probe the area, but he was so tender and raw it was difficult to determine whether the pain ran deeper than those hurts she could see.

  She’d managed to clean his skin, so she began to cover the cuts and scrapes with one of her ointments. Then she took a roll of bandages from the shelf and wound them around his chest and abdomen. In the next few days, she would insist on changing the wrappings herself, just to make sure that the area didn’t become inflamed. Once the swelling went down, she could focus more on any lingering effects.

  “I know your back is feeling raw, but are you experiencing any deeper pain? Near the old injury?”

  “I—I don’t think so.”

  “Any numbness to your lower limbs? Tingling?”

  His feet moved in slow circles.

  “I don’t know. My boots were wet and my feet have been cold.”

  “We need to get you into some dry shoes and socks.”

  She took a step toward the door, but he reached out to snag her arm, pulling her around the table until she faced him again. Then he took the other hand, as well, holding them loosely in his broad grip. For several long moments, he stared down at her palms as if they held the mysteries to the world.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” She offered him a wry smile. “I told you I was a good doctor.”

  His lips twitched. “So you did. But that wasn’t what...wasn’t why...” He squeezed her hands. “Thank you for your...tact.”

  Her brows rose. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “My back. I know it isn’t pretty.”

  “It will heal.”

  He looked up and held her gaze. “But the scars won’t. They’ll always remain.”

  And in an instant, she understood. Somehow, somewhere, someone had seen his back and reacted badly. Judging by the careful way he’d phrased his words, Sumner would bet that it had been a woman.

  What had this unknown female said and done, to make Jonah think that he would be rejected, simply from the sight of a few pinkish lines?