by Lisa Bingham
“You need to take better care of yourself,” she said as she pushed his hands into the liquid. Even though it was tepid, he hissed at the sting of his battered flesh.
She retrieved a clean cloth from a pile on the upper shelf, then sank into the chair next to him. Scooping his hands from the basin, she began to blot them dry.
“Why didn’t you wear gloves?”
“I... I forgot.”
Her movements were sure, gentle. Far gentler than he deserved. And with her head bent over the task, Jonah was overcome with a wave of regret.
If things had been different—if he had been different—he could easily imagine what it would be like to make his house a home.
With her.
But swift on the heels of that thought came an icy wave of reality.
He couldn’t change the past.
He wasn’t even sure he could change the present.
She looked up at him then, her eyes dark and warm and filled with concern.
“Now tell me the rest.”
The words were enough to cause his heart to thud against his ribs with slow dread.
“The rest?”
She made a soft, disappointed tut-tut.
“Something has changed.”
One last time, he tried to prevaricate.
“Changed?”
She sighed. “You’re moving more stiffly. Your gait is altered. Sometimes you steady yourself going up and down stairs.”
He should have known that she would notice. He should have stayed away even more.
“Are you in pain?”
Again, he considered prevaricating. But when their gazes locked, he knew that he owed her the truth. If anything could help to drive a wedge between them, it would be the starkness of his future.
“The pain in my back is different. Sharper.”
“Do you have any redness in that area? Swelling?”
He shook his head. “The scrapes and cuts are all but healed. Other than that...nothing.”
“Any numbness? Tingling?”
“In my toes. Sometimes farther up.”
“So your balance has been affected.”
“Sometimes.”
He wondered if she was aware of the way her thumbs had begun to move in soothing circles over his wrists. Could she feel even a portion of the warmth that began to spread from that point of contact?
Jonah had thought that by confessing the worst to her, he would feel himself emasculated. After all, what kind of man spoke so bluntly to a woman? His father had taught him that men were to be strong and uncomplaining, never giving any hint of weakness. What lady would entrust herself to a male who couldn’t be a provider and a protector?
To his surprise, there was no change of affection in her eyes. In fact, if anything, she grew fiercer in her devotion.
“The shrapnel may have shifted. Judging by the abrasions on your back, you were pushed down the slope with tremendous force.”
Again, his throat seemed to be full of wooden blocks that were all pointy edges.
She reached to cup his cheek.
“But it could be nothing at all. There could be some deep swelling that we cannot see, or an injury to the bones themselves.”
Did she know how the heat of her hand filled him with bittersweet emotion?
Could she sense the way her attempts at encouragement had the power to rip his heart from his chest?
Because he wanted to believe her.
He wanted to believe that he could have a future.
With her.
She must have sensed at least a small portion of his chaotic thoughts, because her gaze dropped to his lips. He knew what she was thinking.
He should kiss her.
But he couldn’t. Not with his confessions hovering in the air around them. He didn’t want their first kiss to be given that way—out of fear or concern.
He wanted to give himself freely to her. Heart and mind.
She must have understood, because she leaned back, her hand dropping into her lap. The curve of her lips became rueful.
“We’re quite a pair, you and I,” she murmured.
“Oh?”
“You can’t give your heart away because you worry about the future. And me? I can’t give it away because of the past.”
She stood then. “See to it that you wrap your hands with clean, dry cloths until the blisters heal. I won’t see you adding an infection to your list of worries.”
Then she left in a swirl of skirts.
Leaving the tantalizing scent of orange blossoms hanging in the air around him.
* * *
The moment her feet touched the snowy ground, Sumner strode away from the bachelor quarters so fast that her Pinkerton guard had to run to catch up to her. But as he took his regular place at her elbow, she barely noticed him.
What she’d told Jonah was true. His symptoms could be nothing more than his body trying to heal itself. But his own concern over his new symptoms was so palpable that it had touched a frisson of fear within her body, as well. She could sense the emotions and uncertainty that tore at him—and she understood the way he inwardly warred with himself.
Because she was feeling much the same confusion.
Neither of them knew where tomorrow would take them—let alone the next few months. But even those concerns paled in comparison to the emotions that were building between them. They’d begun to care for one another. Deeply.
But their relationship was complicated. Too complicated. There was no denying the fondness blossoming between them. Neither of them could pretend that it was just friendship they shared. Not anymore. No, the tangle of sentiment that ran between them spanned the gamut from attraction to affection to...
Sumner shied away from the thought, knowing she couldn’t bring herself to admit that love had entered the arena, as well.
Love was improbable—impossible.
Especially for her.
Her words to Jonah echoed in her brain. You can’t give your heart away because you worry about the future. And me? I can’t give it away because of the past.
What she’d told Jonah was true. It wasn’t just the fact that she wanted to be a doctor. It wasn’t just that she’d spent a lifetime sacrificing all she’d held dear to bring such a dream to fruition.
The old ghosts of the past still haunted her. As much as she might revel in her accomplishments, there was still a part of her, deep inside, that couldn’t believe they were true.
Unwanted tears prickled and stung—against the cold, only the cold. But that still didn’t stop her mind’s eye from recreating that moment when her father had brought home his new bride and her son.
Jefferson Thackery Newton.
He’d been younger than her, stout and double-chinned, with mean piggy eyes. He’d had an aversion to bathing and a tendency to tease and demean those in his path until tears flowed.
And her father had adored him.
Because he was a boy.
Jefferson had never lost an opportunity to needle her with the fact. Indeed, he’d become her father’s toady, echoing her father’s sentiments about the proper role of females. But where her father had couched his words in barely veiled criticism, Jefferson had not been so diplomatic.
Her chin tilted ever so slightly.
In the end, she’d shown him—shown them both—that she would not be confined by so narrow a fence. She’d made something of herself—and she’d continue to do so.
Even if a part of her sometimes wished that she could add the role of wife and mother to her list of accomplishments.
But the world didn’t work that way. She would be allowed a profession or a relationship but never both. And even if she could have it all, there would still be a mountain range of obstacles in her path. Because she was beginning to
believe that she’d met the only man who might be willing to accept her many facets. But in a few months’ time, the snow would melt and she would be forced to leave for an uncertain future.
While he would have to remain.
Sumner knew how much he loved his job at the Batchwell Bottom mine—with the men and the employers that he’d grown to respect so much. And since his health was an issue, he might not be able to get work elsewhere.
Not that she would ever ask him to leave.
Sumner would never deny a person the opportunity to work at a job they loved. Not when she herself had suffered such a fate so many times in the past.
So she had to remind herself that they were both better off if they hadn’t kissed. They should keep their contact to a minimum and avoid the emotions that twined between them.
“Miss. Miss!”
She skidded to a halt, realizing that she’d walked right past the Dovecote without realizing that she’d arrived.
“You’re already home,” the man said, gesturing to the door.
Once again, her eyes pricked and she blinked against the brightness of the snow, taking in the V-shaped valley, the dark, spicy pine trees and the glitter of the river in the distance. Here in the Dovecote, away from the mine and its outbuildings, the view was unhindered and spectacular. For a moment, the beauty of the sight was so overwhelming that it nearly took her breath away.
Yes. She was home. This place spoke to the core of her being, reminding her of the beauties of God and the importance of service and devotion.
And love.
So how on earth was she going to survive that moment when she was told it was time to leave?
* * *
“I can get that, Sumner. I’ve already got the hot pads right here.”
Not for the first time, Sumner was gently maneuvered away from the range—or the counter, or the worktable. Not sure where she could go to be out of the way, Sumner paused in the doorway of the cook shack, her gaze roaming over the miners who were bent above their meals.
Normally, she tried to help during the morning shift, but after her encounter with Jonah, she hadn’t wanted to spend the evening alone with her thoughts. And since she lacked patients to fill her little infirmary at the Dovecote, she’d decided the heat and steam of the kitchen would give her the diversion that she needed.
But she was beginning to believe that she’d become an extra wheel in a well-oiled machine.
So, she needed to find something else to do. Something where she wouldn’t be in the way.
Grabbing a cloth, she retrieved a pot of coffee from the stove. Rather than filling the mugs of the men who made their way down the line, she moved into the dining room itself.
She knew there would be the devil to pay if Batchwell or Bottoms came into the room. The women had been allowed access to the kitchen, but had been strictly forbidden to talk to the men without the pass-through counter between them. Even then, their conversations were supposed to be contained to yes, no and the food.
But Sumner didn’t care.
“Good evening, Mr. Cowan.”
Cowan jumped when she hovered over his shoulder.
“Miss... Dr. Havisham.” His gaze glanced guiltily to the door, then to the other miners seated at the same table. A hush settled over the room. Even the sound of cutlery stilled as the men waited to see what happened.
“How have you been feeling since you returned to work?”
“Fine.” The word was a statement, but emerged as a slight question.
“Wonderful. Could I warm up your coffee for you?”
There was a beat of silence, two, each of them accompanied by the blink of his eyes. Then he seemed to shake himself loose.
“Yes, ma’am?”
This time, his response was a definite question, but Sumner didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. She topped off his mug and turned to the next man. “Mr. Smalls, how about you?”
Smalls eagerly nodded his head.
“I heard that you have a small herd of goats near the livery that you keep for their milk?”
He grinned.
“Are any of them angora goats?”
He nodded again.
“I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Skye and the Misses Claussen. They are very fond of knitting, and they’ve mentioned that they are nearly out of wool.” She turned to the next man. “Mr....”
“Ingraham,” he supplied quickly, holding his mug out, even though it was still nearly full.
“Klute Ingraham?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you so much for the stuffed ferret clowns you donated to the Dovecote. The women have found their addition to our home delightful.”
By the time she moved from that particular table to the next, the men had lost their reserve. They welcomed her arrival with broad smiles and raised cups, offering her their names without being asked.
“Cliff Cooper. I work in the shop.”
“Peter Rundel. I’m part of the blast crew.”
“And Mr. Wanlass,” she said, recognizing the lay preacher. “I’ve enjoyed your sermons at the evening Devotionals. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Miss Havisham.”
She paused with each man, asking about his day, inquiring whether he liked the food, discussing the weather. As conversation went, there was nothing scintillating about her topics or her methods. But with each encounter, the men began to stand out in her mind as individuals, rather than just a group of employees for the mine.
Again and again, she returned to the kitchen, filled the coffeepot, then ventured out into the dining hall. When the coffee ran out, she returned with plates of cookies. To her immense satisfaction, the interaction helped to remind her why she’d become a doctor in the first place. She loved helping people, loved making them feel better, physically and mentally. So she smiled and laughed, her spirits lifting with each conversation.
Something of her mood must have translated itself to the men, because the dining hall—which had always echoed with low, hushed tones—grew loud and boisterous with laughter. The men seemed less on guard.
Sumner wasn’t sure when she became aware of being watched. She turned, fearing that the owners had stepped into the room, and inwardly, she braced herself for a confrontation. But when she looked up, it wasn’t Batchwell and Bottoms who stared at her from the archway leading to the kitchen.
It was Jonah.
Her heart lurched into her throat. She might have been willing to defy the owners, but she didn’t want to do anything to make Jonah think less of her. But as she met his gaze and wondered if she’d strayed too far from the rules, his lips lifted in a smile—one that crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Then he touched a finger to the brim of his hat in silent salute.
The breath nearly left her body altogether. How could such a simple gesture of support affect her so deeply?
She wasn’t given enough time to analyze the sensation. Just as quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.
“I do believe he’s smitten with you, Dr. Havisham.”
She whirled to find that the table nearby held a single occupant. A tall, slender gentleman dressed in the familiar Pinkerton uniform. But as she studied his face, Sumner was sure that she’d never seen him guarding the hall.
He reached for one of the cookies on the plate she held.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr....”
“Gault. Gideon Gault.” He took a bite of the cookie, chewing slowly, peering at her so intently that she feared the heat beginning to creep up her neck might give her true feelings away.
“I don’t think so. Ramsey and I...we go way back.”
His gaze was piercing, his features blank—and in that instant, Sumner knew why she’d never seen him as one of her guards. This was a man who was used to being in charge, who regarded each a
ssignment as a battle campaign to be fought. There’s no way Batchwell would have moved such a keen employee away from his silver to watch over a passel of “no account females.”
“Mind you, I don’t have anything against it, if you and Ramsey take a shining to one another.”
“But?”
Gault’s brown eyes glittered with something akin to ice and he leaned forward slightly. When he spoke, his voice was so low that only Sumner could hear him.
“But the man’s been hurt.”
“I know about his—”
“I’m not talking about his back. I’m talking about his heart. So if you can’t accept him the way he is, flaws and all, then I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your distance for the next few months.”
Sumner stiffened. “I really don’t think that any of this is your concern, Mr. Gault.” She couldn’t help the way her voice adopted the pinched, high-clipped tones of her childhood governess, Miss Primble. “But you may rest assured that I need no such warnings. I have found my interactions with Mr. Ramsey to be beyond reproach.”
He watched her with eyes narrowed, and then, to her infinite astonishment, the man grinned. And with the speed of lightning, his expression changed and the starch fled from his posture. Lounging back in his chair, he took another bite of his cookie, then shook the remaining half in her direction.
“I like you, Dr. Havisham. You’ve got some backbone to you.” He nodded, then ate the rest of his cookie in one bite and stood. “I think you’ll do. I think you’ll do very well indeed.”
Then, before she could say another word, he swept his hat from the table and tipped his head in her direction. “Good evening to you, ma’am.”
* * *
Jonah strode from the cook shack into the frigid, snow-driven air, but even the bite of the mountain air in December couldn’t douse the warmth that had settled into his chest. He supposed he should be out of sorts at finding Sumner interacting so freely with the men, but he wasn’t. If anything, he’d found the episode endearing. When one spent so much time with a group of men, they became a person’s family. He’d been pleased to find the men laughing and relaxed. For weeks now, they’d tiptoed around the women, not wanting to do anything that might give the girls a bad impression. But Jonah had known that such restraint was wearing on them, and he’d feared that their efforts in the cook shack would lead to frustration and short tempers in the mine.