She came around to the basin again, rinsed out the washcloth, and rubbed it with soap. Eyeing him with a frown, Rachel looked at his bruised chest and shoulder wound, then began to gingerly cleanse his neck and breast area. He winced when she washed too close to the bullet wound. Murmuring an apology, she quickly withdrew the cloth and concentrated on his stomach area instead.
A blanket still covered him from the waist downward. Did he expect her to remove that bedcover and wash beneath?
He wore nothing besides the blanket. Her father had removed the brave’s loincloth that first day in order to attend to contusions and injuries to his groin and upper thigh area. Rachel had been out of the room. John Dempsey had been the only one thus far who’d doctored Black Hawk’s most private area.
Was there a way she could avoid that private place?
She looked at him. His eyes were still closed, but he seemed relaxed now. The sight of his ease encouraged her to continue. If she could make him feel better by giving him a bath, then why should she be nervous or embarrassed?
She lathered his stomach, and found herself fascinated with the taut muscles of his belly and his smooth skin. Here, the flesh had somehow managed to remain uninjured. Surveying the surrounding area, Rachel narrowed her gaze and silently wished a terrible pox on the men who had done this to him.
She gave no more thought to embarrassment as she carefully lowered the blanket to ease the washcloth over one hip. She kept his most private parts covered as she ran the cloth down his leg from hip to thigh to knee and to calf. He had little body hair. The lack of it surprised her, but it made him seem no less of a man. In fact, he was more masculine than any man she’d ever met ... and that included Jordan.
She felt a moment’s guilt. She had loved Jordan. She still did—didn’t she?
She didn’t want to think of Jordan now. She’d lost too much sleep and spent too many nights crying over the man. She was sure that Black Hawk wouldn’t betray the woman he’d chosen for his wife.
Wife? Was he married? she wondered. Did the Ojibwa marry the way she understood marriage to be? Or did they spend time with one woman before finding another?
Her thoughts went wild as she moved around to the other edge of the bed, where she began to wash his opposite side.
She glanced upward, saw that his eyes were open, and froze. “Am I hurting you?” she asked him, feeling awkward.
He shook his head. Black Hawk stared at the woman before him, fascinated by the red color on her cheeks. He was tired, so tired. Her ministrations soothed him. He enjoyed her touch, the warm water, the gentle way she rubbed the cloth over him. He was sore and sensitive in certain areas, but he didn’t want Rachel to stop.
“Perhaps I should leave you to sleep,” she said, averting her gaze.
“I would like you to finish,” he said. “Daga. Please.”
She looked at him. He held her gaze unflinchingly. There was something that attracted him to her. He felt helpless lying here injured, but the fact of her presence made bearable his efforts to remain still.
Rachel’s hair was tousled, and she had a streak of something across her right cheek. She looked tired, but lovely. He’d never wanted to touch a woman the way he wanted to touch Rachel. Since he couldn’t give in to the urge to caress her, he satisfied himself with his enjoyment of her hands on him.
Unable to tear her gaze away from Black Hawk’s face, Rachel rubbed a little harder than was warranted, and he grimaced. She apologized profusely and felt her cheeks turn bright red.
I can’t do this, she thought, gazing at that bedcover. I can’t remove the blanket and wash his ... genitals.
She avoided that area, lifting the edge of the blanket just enough to wash his left leg. When she was done, she went to the basin, dropped in the cloth, then with a brief glance in his direction, she began to gather the bath supplies.
To her relief, he appeared to be sleeping. He didn’t open his eyes or speak as she picked up soap, damp towels, and basin, then left.
Two days later, she was not so lucky. Black Hawk was still there, and her father had decided that it was bath time again. This time the Ojibwa brave watched her the entire time she prepared for and then gave him his bath.
It was extremely disconcerting for Rachel to have Black Hawk’s dark eyes studying her while she carried in the water and supplies. She flushed brightly when his onyx gaze followed her every movement as she soaped up the cloth, then turned her attention to washing her patient.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, trying conversation to banish her uneasiness.
“I am well.” He shifted, and the movement called her attention to the rippling of his arm muscles as he braced himself and pushed himself to rest higher against the headboard.
“Father said you’ll be able to go home soon,” she replied, keeping her attention on washing his muscled arm.
He didn’t respond, and she looked at him. His eyes glowed as they locked gazes. “You wish me to leave?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that,” she said, looking away.
She gasped when he caught her wrist. “You have cared for me a long time. You wish me to go home so you can rest.”
On the contrary, she thought. Black Hawk made her feel restless, not tired. When she was near him, she felt more alive than she’d ever felt before.
“I am fine,” she said, trying to pull away, but the brave’s grip was firm. “It’s important that you get well.” She heard noise in the outer room, and she shifted her gaze to the door. “That will be Daniel. He came earlier to visit while you were sleeping.”
Black Hawk released her wrist and slid his fingers up her bare arm. She shivered with pleasure and moved away.
“I think you’re all clean now,” she said brightly. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.
With a slight wince, he shifted and grabbed her arm. “I have not had a proper bath,” he said softly. His eyes glowed. He gestured with the other hand toward the private area beneath the sheet.
She could feel herself flush from the neck upward as she gazed at him with horror. “Here then,” she said as she slapped the wet washcloth across his chest. “You seem well enough to handle it. Wash there yourself!”
She left the room, muttering angrily under her breath when she heard his deep chuckle fill the room.
She was cleaning the surgery when she felt someone’s presence. Rachel turned and gasped. A strange Indian stood inside the room not far from her. He wore an unusual headdress and was an elderly man. Her heart began to pound as she approached him.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a shaky voice.
The man muttered something in his native tongue. Rachel glanced helplessly beyond him to the door; she hadn’t understood a word he said.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry but I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”
The Indian repeated his words.
This time Rachel eyed the door behind her. She felt a rising panic.
Hugging herself with her arms, she looked back at him. “I wish I knew what you were saying!”
“My chief wishes to know where you are keeping me,” Black Hawk’s voice said from behind her.
“Black Hawk! I thought you were sleeping.” Rachel spun to see the injured Ojibwa brave leaning heavily against the doorjamb. “Your chief?” she asked.
Black Hawk nodded, then stood upright, and swayed on his feet. Seeing his pallor, Rachel rushed to his side and put her arms around him to steady him. The heat of his muscled flesh enveloped her instantly. She became conscious of his scent. He smelled of the soap she’d used earlier when she’d bathed him, and another extremely pleasant scent that belonged only to Black Hawk.
“You should not be out of bed,” she told him as she tightened her hold on him.
He smiled down at her before he spoke softly to his chief.
The chief answered back. Rachel thought she detected concern in the old Indian’s voice.
“Come,” she said to Black Haw
k. “You must get back to your room. Tell your chief he may come if he’d like.”
Black Hawk’s dark gaze flickered with amusement as he glanced at her before addressing his chief.
Rachel waited patiently for the chiefs answer. The man spoke, and Black Hawk translated. “Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw thanks you. His only desire is to see his Ojibwa father, Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn.”
“His father!” She frowned as she looked at the old man and then Black Hawk. “How can that be?”
Black Hawk’s onyx eyes lit up with laughter. “We do not use the word father as you do. I am his father and he is mine.”
“I see,” she said, but she didn’t. She began to urge him back into his room. “Please, Black Hawk, you must lie down before you fall on your face.”
“Such a demanding woman,” he whispered teasingly, but he allowed her to lead him back to bed.
Once she had made sure that Black Hawk was comfortable, she turned, then drew a sharp breath as she came nose-to-nose with Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw.
“Tell the chief that he must not tire you,” she said.
There was a moment of silence. Rachel glanced back at Black Hawk to find him studying her strangely. She flushed and turned back to the chief.
“Tell him, Black Hawk.”
The chief frowned at her and said something to Black Hawk. Slowly, carefully, the recovering Ojibwa brave answered.
The elderly Indian stared at her hard.
Rachel shivered. “What did you tell him?”
Black Hawk didn’t respond.
Had he fallen asleep? She glanced back. He hadn’t. “Black Hawk?” She felt a chill. “What did your chief say?”
His expression was solemn as he regarded her. “He asks why the white woman with hair of brown fire keeps me prisoner.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open in shock. “I’m not keeping you a prisoner!”
Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw spoke. Black Hawk answered from his bed.
“What?” Rachel said with a hint of panic, as her gaze searched for a weapon on the old man. “What did he say?”
“He asks why you treat me like abinoojiinh.”
“Abinoojiinh?”
Black Hawk nodded soberly. “A child.”
“I—” She felt tongue-tied. What could she say? Was it true? Was that how it seemed to him? “Do I treat you like a child?” she asked him, meeting his gaze.
He stared at her without answering.
“Do I?”
His eyes lit with laughter. “Black Hawk, eat your food. It is good for you. Black Hawk, it is time for bed. How will you get strong if you do not get your rest?”
She could feel herself flush. Then she saw his amusement. “He didn’t say that, did he. You are having fun at my expense.”
Black Hawk frowned. “Do you not say these things to me? Did you not bathe me as a mother would bathe her child?”
“I—I’m trying to help you get well!” she exclaimed. Heat burned all the way down her neck.
“That is good to hear, Black Hawk. This woman cares for you to help you,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said in perfect, if accented, English.
Rachel gaped at him. “You speak English!” She glanced at Black Hawk. “He—”
Black Hawk nodded. “Yes,” he said. “My chief speaks your language. He has understood everything you said.”
Her jaw tightened with anger. “That’s a mean trick!” she exclaimed.
The chief had the good grace to look uncomfortable, but not Black Hawk. He apparently had found the previous exchange vastly entertaining.
“You should not anger the one who feeds and bathes you, Black Hawk,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said.
Rachel narrowed her gaze and eyed him thoughtfully. “Your chief is right, Black Hawk. You shouldn’t be mean to the one who cares for you nicely.”
Black Hawk stared at the woman, uncomfortable with the look that had suddenly entered her green eyes. “Have I not thanked you for my food? Do I not listen to you when you speak?”
She nodded, but her expression promised retribution. She spun on her heels and headed toward the door. “Supper will be in an hour,” she said breezily, as if their conversation and her anger had never occurred.
Watching her leave the room, Black Hawk got an uneasy feeling.
“You had best watch where you place your moccasins with that one,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said. “She didn’t enjoy your little joke.”
“No,” Black Hawk said. He still stared at the doorway where she’d disappeared. “I do not think she did.”
“Ah, but she will soon forget her anger,” the chief said.
Black Hawk looked at him with surprise. “Why do you say this?”
The older man shrugged. “Women soon forget these things.”
As if Rachel Dempsey were an ordinary woman, Black Hawk thought, which she isn’t.
“Now,” the chief said, “tell me how you are feeling, and if this white woman is treating you well.”
Black Hawk glared at the older man, and laughter erupted from the chief’s throat.
Chapter 10
The Ojibwa brave was kind, and he was patient—except with himself. Although Black Hawk was healing remarkably well, Rachel could sense frustration in him. She knew he was anxious to be gone. The inactivity of his recovery bothered him. Each day her father came into Black Hawk’s room, checked the brave’s injuries, and pronounced him healing. But John Dempsey still wasn’t ready to discharge his patient.
Black Hawk was eating well again. Rachel was in the kitchen preparing the midday meal. She thought she would make the Ojibwa something special to cheer him up. She’d spent part of the morning baking finger-cakes. The mouth-watering scent of baking cake filled the entire infirmary building. She had made sandwiches from the bread she’d baked yesterday and some homemade jam that Amelia had given her. She set the sandwiches and a cup of tea along with two finger-cakes on a tray and carried it toward Black Hawk’s room.
She heard a thump followed by a groan as she approached the doorway. Concerned, she hurried inside and saw that Black Hawk had fallen beside his bed. She hastened to put down the tray so she could help him.
“Black Hawk! Are you all right?”
He was struggling to get up as she hunkered beside him and slipped her arm around his waist. Her spine tingled as her arm brushed against his skin.
“Black Hawk?” she asked when he didn’t answer.
He looked at her. His breathing was labored; his effort to get up had exhausted him. “I am all right.”
“What happened?”
“I tried to get up and felt weak.”
“You should have called me.”
“I needed to relieve myself.”
She blushed. Her father had handled that matter with Black Hawk. He must have felt uncomfortable asking her for help.
“Shall I get you the chamber pot?” she queried. Warmth filled her cheeks.
“I wish to use the outhouse.”
She helped him into the bed, conscious of his nearness, his weight, and his scent, and studied him. “You’ll never make it. I’m sorry.” She stood awkwardly, wondering what to do. “Shall I call my father?”
Scowling with frustration, he nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” With the sharp image of his expression firmly implanted in her mind, she escaped gratefully to find her father. She searched several places, and finally found him with Allen Whitely in the good Reverend’s kitchen. After asking to speak with her father alone, she explained the situation. John Dempsey excused himself to Reverend Whitely and returned with Rachel to the infirmary.
“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” she said. “When you’re done, I’ve made some sandwiches for us.”
The doctor nodded and went to help his patient.
A short time later, John Dempsey appeared in the kitchen, looking for a sandwich.
“Did he eat?” Rachel asked her father.
“He was eating when I left,” he said.
“He wants to go home, Father.”
John frowned. “I know. I’ve asked him to stay for two more days.”
Two more days? It would seem strange when Black Hawk left. He’d been with them a week. She thought she might actually miss him.
“There’s cake when you’re done,” she said.
Her father’s eyes lit up.
“I’ll see if our patient wants anything else to eat,” Rachel added. Then, she headed back to the room, and saw that Black Hawk had eaten and now slept. She took the empty plate and tray, and silently left the room.
She dreamt of Jordan, then woke up in the middle of the night and started to cry. It had been some time since she’d wept for him. She thought she had gotten over him completely, but then when she least expected it the memory of him would surface, making her long for him all over again.
The dream had been wonderful. It had mirrored some of their happiest times together. They had picnicked in the country, away from their family and friends, just the two of them with a basket of wonderful food, a blanket, and their love for one another. In her dream they had eaten, and then Jordan had stretched out on the blanket with his head in her lap. Gazing up at her with hungry eyes, he had talked of their future together, the house they would live in, and the children they would have. Then, they were silent for a time, while Rachel played with Jordan’s hair and listened to the hum of insects while enjoying the warm, spring sunshine. After a while, Jordan opened his eyes, looked at her, and then drew her head downward for a kiss.
Rachel’s heart raced just to remember that dream and the effect of his kiss. She had been so happy ... until she had awoken to reality.
It had taken her a while to go back to sleep after that. She had trouble rising that morning, and had to force herself from her bed to tend her patient. Fortunately, Black Hawk no longer needed all-night care. Rachel tugged on her chemise and gown, then dragged herself wearily into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
“Good morning.” John Dempsey entered the kitchen with a cheerful smile.
“Morning, Father,” she murmured as she measured the ingredients for porridge.
Wild Innocence Page 10