by Paty Jager
“I’m so sorry.” She clutched his hand tighter. Her stomach rumbled.
“Have you missed eating because of me?”
“I asked Mrs. White to have the cook send up food.” She let go of his hands. A moment later something in the vicinity of the doctor clicked. “Dinner is almost over for the students. We should have our meal soon.”
The bed rose, and her warmth disappeared, cooling the heat coiling in his system.
“Where are you going?” He enjoyed her company. More than he’d enjoyed anyone’s in a long time. And he didn’t want to be left alone to think about how he’d spend his time confined to a bed.
“I need to tidy up the outer office and get things ready for tonight.”
“Tonight?” Did he need more medical attention?
“I’ll spend the night in the infirmary with you.”
His heart pounded and blood rushed to a rising appendage. He eased a hand under the covers, capturing the beast her comment brought to life. Her statement eased his pain more pleasurably than the laudanum.
Chapter 7
If not for her embarrassment at how her words came out, Rachel would have found Clay’s antics amusing.
“I don’t want you left alone, and because you are sedated, I want to remain close in case there are complications.” She sat on the bed four feet away from Clay. It creaked, and his head shifted her direction. “There’s another bed I’ll rest on through the night.”
“You really know how to burst a fella’s dreams.” The smile curving his lips was devilishly charming. Heat swept through her body and ignited a blaze of desire. She shook her head to expel the image. When he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, he was quite the charmer.
“You can dream all you want, but it won’t come true.”
“Doc.” Mr. Smith’s deep voice boomed from the other room.
She stood. “I’ll go see what Mr. Smith wants. Rest, that’s what helps bones heal.”
Mr. Smith stood in the middle of the room holding a satchel. “Yer ma sent these things along.” He held the satchel out.
Leave it to her mother to think of sending clean clothes. Always conscious of her appearance and those of her daughters. With a scarred older daughter who refused to socialize, her mother taught her younger beautiful daughter all the fine points of being a lady. This suited Rachel just fine.
She took the satchel. “Did she say anything?”
“She done said you best be home for a dinner tomorrow night.” Mr. Smith nodded toward the other room. “Mr. Halsey, he feelin’ better?”
“As well as he can with a broken leg. You may go in and see for yourself if you’d like.” Rachel put the satchel on the table and opened the clasp to see what her mother had sent. She didn’t want to attend the dinner tomorrow night. There would be people—men—William had told about her “deformity”. She could always tell. They stared at her face all evening trying to find the scar under her makeup and couldn’t keep a decent conversation going due to their preoccupation.
The rumble of male voices drifted from the other room. Footsteps stopped at the doorway.
“How is Mr. Halsey?” Mr. Griffin asked.
Rachel faced the superintendent and smiled. “He’s as he should be considering he has a broken leg and a lump on his head.” She noticed a notebook in his hand.
“I need to take down his statement as to what happened.” Mr. Griffin headed to the other room.
“Mr. Smith is visiting, so you’ll get both accounts.”
The man hesitated. Didn’t he want Mr. Smith’s account as well? He continued into the room. Curious, she followed the man and stood at the doorway.
“Mr. Halsey, it’s Mr. Griffin. I need to write down how your accident happened.” The man barged in, interrupting Clay’s conversation with Mr. Smith.
Rachel frowned. One more mark against the man in her mind.
Mr. Smith backed away from the bed and stood, his eyes downcast. Mr. Griffin sat on the empty bed and opened the book. He pulled a pencil from his breast pocket.
“Now, why did you climb the ladder? Did Mr. Smith ask you to?”
Rachel wanted to protest the accusation, but her gaze traveled to Clay first. The angry line of his mouth and the red tinting his ears indicated he understood the direction the man headed.
“Mr. Smith was still in the shed getting the shingles when I took it upon myself to climb the ladder. I figured he could hand the bundles up to me and save time. It’s hard to misstep on a ladder and a shed roof isn’t that steep. I’ve helped shingle before and figured another person on the roof would make Mr. Smith’s job go faster.” He ran a hand over the back of his head. “I didn’t consider the moss being slick on the roof.”
“So, you’re saying you found the ladder and climbed it of your own volition?” Mr. Griffin questioned, his eyebrow arched.
“I followed Mr. Smith to the shed. He’d said he was going to patch the roof and told me to go in my room and practice reading.” A crooked smile formed on Clay’s lips. “Instead, I found the ladder leaning against the building and climbed it.”
Rachel smiled. She could see him doing just that. He was a typical male. Rather do physical things than reading and paperwork. Other than Mr. Smith, her life had been filled with men who were intellectually tough. She liked the physical toughness of Clay mixed with his intellect. Her gaze scanned his bare shoulders. Her heart picked up speed.
Mr. Griffin slapped his book closed, jammed the pencil in his pocket, and jerked to his feet. “Mr. Halsey. I’ll have this printed in Braille and ink and get your signature.” The superintendent glared at Mr. Smith and breezed past Rachel without a word.
She entered the room. “You didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear.”
Clay’s head jerked her direction. “He didn’t want to hear the truth.”
“Don’t jump on me. I know you told the truth.” She flashed a smile at Mr. Smith. “Considering Mr. Griffin is on a witch hunt, I’ll stay here every night until Clay is ready to return to the cottage.”
The handyman shook his head. “Doc, you’re respectable. I’m nothin’.”
“I’d feel less respectable if you were tossed out of here for nothing and I could prevent it.” Her voice squeaked from the ball of anger clogging her throat.
“Jasper, I don’t mind the doc hanging out with me.”
The grin and slight waggle of Clay’s eyebrow swept away her anger and sent a wave of heat rushing from her toes to her hair.
“You best not be thinkin’ those things,” Mr. Smith growled and glared at Clay.
Rachel glanced from one man to the other and laughed. One was dead serious, and the other was joking. “How have you two been getting along the past two weeks?” She walked over to Mr. Smith. “Clay’s fooling with you and me. He won’t be getting out of that bed for several days and even after that, I’ll be able to run faster than he will.” Clay frowned at her last comment, and Mr. Smith nodded, his stern expression wavering.
“Doctor Tarkiel,” Mrs. White called from the other room.
Rachel left the two men and hurried to the woman who held a tray covered with a tea towel.
“Your dinner.” The matron sat the tray next to her satchel on the wood table near the window. “When did you have time to get clothing?”
“Mr. Smith brought it after delivering the note to my parents.”
The woman sniffed. “Well, Mr. Griffin is looking into Mr. Halsey’s fall.”
Rachel bit back the words she wanted to say and squared on the woman. “Mr. Smith had nothing to do with Mr. Halsey’s fall. Mr. Halsey told Mr. Griffin that. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start spreading false rumors.”
Mr. Smith walked out of the other room. The matron’s mouth fell open wide enough Rachel could have reached in and pulled out her molars.
“You need any more help, Doc?” he asked, not glancing at Mrs. White.
“I think we’ll be fine for the night, but if you could check in before brea
kfast, I’d like to change the bedding and could use your help.” She smiled, giving the handyman her full attention. He nodded and left the room.
The matron shook her head. “Doctor Tarkiel, you shouldn’t be so friendly with him.”
“Why? He’s a person just like you and me.” Rachel leaned closer and whispered, “I know for a fact their blood is just as red as ours.”
Mrs. White straightened and hustled out of the room. Rachel burst into giggles. She shouldn’t have said that, but the attitudes of the superintendent and the matron dangled her good manners on a short fuse.
She picked up the tray and headed into the other room.
The aroma of food swirled around Clay, and his stomach growled.
“Dinner’s arrived.”
Rachel’s no-nonsense tone told him the visitors had ruined the bond he and the doctor had started to forge.
“It smells good. Mrs. Daniels’s cooking sure beats the slop Hank makes.” He tried to scoot to a sitting position. The movement aggravated his leg, slicing pain upwards. Nausea rather than hunger clenched his gut.
“You get broth tonight.” Her voice came from beside his bed.
Fingers fluttered across his brow. The sensation lighter than the wings of a butterfly but affected him like a sledgehammer slamming into his chest.
“Feel like trying to sit up some?”
“It would make drinking the broth easier.”
Her small hands helped him lift his shoulders off the bed. A soft cushion grew behind his back. Her citrus scent wafted around him, tickling his nostrils and heating his body. Need swirled in his gut.
He reached out. His palm cupped what felt like her small, hard, round shoulder. “You have a gentle touch.”
Her motions stalled. “Thank you.”
Her breathy words danced across his face. Her shoulder slipped from his hand and dishes clattered.
“Mrs. Daniels put the broth in a mug. Do you want me to feed you or just drink it yourself?”
“I’d enjoy you feeding me, but I don’t want you waiting to eat. Put the mug in my hands.” Clay extended his hands and a warm smooth object filled them. He brought the mug to his mouth and hesitated, inhaling the meaty aroma. He’d anticipated his stomach rebelling; instead, it emitted a slow easy rumble of hunger. He sipped the soup and swallowed. The broth slid down, appeasing his stomach. He smacked his lips. A feminine giggle fluttered on the air.
“Are you eating?” he asked, tipping his head.
“Yes.”
“So while you eat, tell me about your family.” He’d told her about his, and now he wanted to know more about the woman and why she became a doctor. Most people frowned on a woman in a man’s occupation. What had motivated her to ignore society and pursue a life of medicine?
“My father is a judge, my mother loves being the center of attention at functions, and my sister, Celeste, gives my mother competition these days.”
Her flat monotone delivery piqued his interest. Why did she show so little emotion when talking of her family?
“She’s become the most sought after young woman in Salem.”
Did her dreary tone mean she wished men sought after her or had she tired of her mother and sister’s rivalry?
“And you? Do you like the social life and have many suitors?” He worked to keep his tone non-committal, but inside his heart stopped. He hoped she didn’t have a string of suitors. Why, he wasn’t sure, but this woman renewed his excitement for the future. Something he hadn’t considered since losing his sight.
Her soft laughter floated to his ears like the song of angels. “Heavens, no! My family can enjoy the politics and the parties. Give me a good thick medical book to read and I’m happy.”
“Only medical books? I would think someone with your wit and compassion would be the center of charity work.” Stillness hung in the room like a mist. He strained to hear anything. “Did I say something wrong?” Damn! He wanted to see her reaction so bad his headed pounded from the strain. Frustration at the darkness and inability to read her expressions clenched his hands and triggered a pain down his injured leg.
“You didn’t say anything wrong. I just— I have my reasons for staying out of any social settings.” Sadness wrapped the softly spoken words.
What could be a reason she hid herself away with medical books? And tried to convince herself it was what she wanted?
“I don’t hear you eating.” He sipped his broth, listening for her to resume eating. He’d keep their conversation on neutral ground.
“Tell me about the school staff.”
“Mr. Griffin has been the superintendent here for five years. Mrs. White came here as the matron when her husband died three years ago. And the teachers are both in their second year here. Mr. Smith has been here less than a year.” She’d slid back in control. Her tone rang clear and precise, stating less than useful information about the staff. He wanted descriptions. He also noticed she didn’t mention herself.
“I meant what do they look like, so when I’m talking to them I can visualize them. I see Jasper as a big bear, Mrs. White a sturdy woman with a sour disposition, Mr. Griffin a small, round man with a scowl, Miss Hubert, like a crow, and Miss Collins a tall thin woman who is forever smiling.”
Rachel’s laughter floated through the air, sprinkling him with good humor.
“So, I’m way off in my images?” He smiled and took another sip of the broth.
“Yes and no.” Her giggles subsided. “Mr. Smith at first sight is very imposing, but he’s kind and gentle. I wish Mr. Griffin and Mrs. White would just let him do his job and forget his skin is a different color.”
“How did he get the job here when the two main staff members don’t trust him?” The question had plagued him for several days, but he hadn’t wanted to ask Jasper.
“Same way I got mine.” She sighed and mumbled, “My father.”
The defeat laced in her words throbbed in his chest, and he ached to console her. “I don’t understand. How did your father get you and Jasper jobs here? Especially you.”
“I attended the Woman’s Hospital Medical College of Chicago. Most of the other medical colleges are men only. After graduating, I spent the required year under a woman physician in Chicago, then came back to Salem. After three years of schooling and one year of practicum, all I could find was a nursing job.” She spit the last statement out as though forcing it through clenched teeth. “My father knew the physician who’d been on call for the Blind School was overworked and offered my services to Mr. Griffin, along with an endowment for the school.” She snorted. “My position here was bought. I could have been some person who’d never been trained and I’d have received this job.”
He wanted to jump off the bed and wrap his arms around her. Console her wounded pride and learn more about the passionate woman he heard in her words and felt in her actions. “I don’t believe that. Mr. Griffin must have seen your credentials and your worth.”
“All he saw was money for the school and another person to help with the students.” Dishes rattled. “Are you through with the broth?”
Clay drank the rest of the liquid and held up his cup. Her fingers brushed his, igniting the sparks he tried to suppress. Each small gesture and innocent touch fueled his desire for her. The mug disappeared. Her scent wafted away with her footsteps.
He’d bet she placed top in her class and had high hopes of securing a practice with a physician about to retire. Surely in a town the size of Salem such an opening had existed. Her light steps returned.
“Would you like me to remove the pillows so you can rest?” The clipped words sent a message. She’d finished her visit.
Well, she may not talk, but he could still get close to her. “Yes, this leg hurts like a son-of-a-gun.” Citrus circled his head, and the heat of her body drew close. His body lowered a pillow at a time, and he drank in her nearness. She tugged on the last pillow. He reached up, found her hand, and brought it to rest on his bare chest. The coolness of h
er hand on his skin surged heat to his shaft. His desire for her doubled. Did she crave him as he craved her?
He’d give up his family to see her emotions reflected in her eyes.
Her breath hitched as her fingers splayed across his skin.
“Will you come back and visit with me when you finish your duties?” Her hand pressed down, pushing to get away. He wrapped his fingers around her dainty wrist and stopped her retreat. “No one’s brought me a book to read, and I’m bored.”
“You need your rest.” The words came out on a breathy sigh.
His lips itched to slip into a satisfied smile, but that would only make her pull away.
“If I rest, when you come back will you visit with me?” He ached to slide his hand up her arm and draw her down beside him, but she was skittish of close contact.
“Y-yes.”
Her hesitation made him laugh. “You’re just going to tippy-toe back in here and go to sleep.” Clay opened his hold, freeing her.
She straightened but didn’t move away from the bed. “The thought had crossed my mind.” The sheet tugged across his chest. Hands gently tucked it around him. “Rest.”
Her footsteps retreated.
He inhaled and smiled. Doctor Rachel Tarkiel was an intriguing puzzle. She shied from close contact when he initiated it, yet, she touched him at every opportunity.
She said she preferred being alone, yet when she talked of her family her tone had been bittersweet, as though she yearned to travel in the circles they did.
Clay slid his hands behind his head and smiled. He had a penchant for solving puzzles.
Chapter 8
Rachel ran a hand over her heated brow and peeked back at the man smiling smugly. Did he know the affect his naked chest had on her? When he’d placed her hand on his hard pectorals dusted with dark brown curly hair, her knees nearly buckled. The heat that surged through her and exploded in her pelvic area brought desires the like she’d never experienced.
She stood in the doorway staring at his sheet covered form. What was it about this man that brought her body to life? Did he feel the same? Spinning from the room, she stared at the satchel on the table. No way would she undress anywhere near that man. He may not be able to see, but she’d feel his presence. Just thinking about disrobing in the same room shot heat to her cheeks and neck. She fanned her face.