“You look tired, daughter,” he said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
Glancing at him, she shook her head. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
He didn’t comment as he went to the pantry and pulled out a loaf of bread. He sliced off a large crusty piece and reached for Amelia’s jam.
“Maybe you should go back to bed for a spell,” her father suggested.
Rachel looked at him with surprise. “What about Black Hawk?”
John brushed her concern aside. “I’m going to release him today.”
And Rachel’s spirits plummeted lower.
When she carried in the Ojibwa brave’s breakfast, Black Hawk was sitting up in bed. His chest was bare. The bedcover draped his lower half; the contrast of white against his darker skin drew Rachel’s attention briefly to his waist. She flushed and met his gaze.
“Good morning,” she said without much cheer.
“Aaniin.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she set the tray across his lap. The warmth of him reached out to her as she adjusted the tray, then straightened.
Uncomfortable with his gaze, she began to babble. “I made porridge. I hope you like it. I tried something new. I sweetened it with Amelia’s jam. And I made you tea as well. You seemed to like tea so I thought you’d enjoy it for breakfast. If there is anything else you’d rather have, just let me know and I’ll be happy to get it for you—”
She paused when he touched her arm. “What is wrong?” he asked softly.
She quickly turned away to hide her tears. “Nothing.”
He was silent for so long that she finally looked back. She expected to find him eating his breakfast, but he hadn’t touched a bite of food. He sat, staring at her, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Rachel wanted to escape from the room. “I have some chores to do,” she said, and was relieved when he didn’t try to stop her. Black Hawk affected her in a way she didn’t want to be affected. Jordan had hurt her; the pain of his betrayal was still raw. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to this Indian.
She went into the surgery and began the task of checking her father’s instruments. She made a list of supplies that were needed. Since Black Hawk had come to stay, her father had seen only a dozen patients, all for minor cuts, scrapes, and burns. Rachel wanted to ensure that all would be ready for the seriously injured patient like Black Hawk.
She worked hard to scrub down her father’s work area. Time passed quickly as her thoughts returned to her dream. She scrubbed more briskly as she fought self-pity. Tears blurred her eyes, so that every so often she had to stop and dash them away with her hand to see.
Rachel didn’t pause in her work when she heard someone enter the surgery from the back rooms. It would be her father come in to get his notes, which he would take back to their small parlor to review. There, he would jot down information about yesterday’s patients. Later, after he was done, he would leave the infirmary to visit and check on some of his recovering patients.
Rachel didn’t glance at her father as she continued to clean the room. John Dempsey didn’t immediately go to his cabinet, as he usually did. She didn’t give it any thought, for sometimes the doctor checked on the contents of his medical bag first.
She wiped down the table by the examining bed, then moved to the medicine cabinet and unlocked each compartment. As she looked into the hutch door glass, she stared at her reflection and wondered why Jordan had abandoned her for an older woman. Had it just been for the money? If so, why had Jordan pursued her so persistently in the first place?
Why, Jordan? Why did you propose?
She sniffed as she pulled out a new length of white linen fabric and began to cut it into approximately six-inch strips.
A hand settled on her shoulder. Rachel gasped and spun.
“Black Hawk!”
He gazed at her with obsidian eyes filled with compassion.
She blinked as she looked back at him. The warmth and concern in his expression were her undoing. With a soft sob, she flowed into his embrace and began to weep quietly against his breast. She felt his arms close and tighten around her, his hand on her hair. Then she heard his soothing voice murmuring to her in Ojibwa. And she was comforted by him.
Several minutes passed; Rachel didn’t know how many. She liked being in Black Hawk’s arms, but she wondered what her father would think if he saw them together. Her parent didn’t know about Jordan. He would see the Indian and assume the wrong thing. She knew she should pull away from Black Hawk, but she didn’t have the desire to leave him.
He seemed in no hurry to let her go either. She had spent little time in his room that morning. How had he sensed the depth of her pain?
As thoughts of Jordan left her, she became conscious of everything about the man who held her ... the warm, smoothness of his bare, muscled chest ... the strength of his embrace and the gentleness of his hand in her hair. He had put on his loincloth, and she was aware of the heat of his maleness against her lower abdomen.
She closed her eyes, enjoying his scent, the nearness of him. She knew she should step away, but it just felt too good to be held in this man’s arms.
“Rach-el,” he whispered.
She looked up, and the gleam in his eyes warmed her.
“You are all right now?”
She nodded, unable to glance away. Her gaze fell to his mouth, and she had the strongest desire to kiss him. When their gazes locked, passion flared in his dark eyes, the sight of it making Rachel weak in the knees.
Black Hawk studied the woman he held in his arms, and he wanted her with an intensity that surprised him. He had come to say good-bye. The doctor had finally released him. Suddenly, he didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here with Rachel. He wanted to lie with her and show her the pleasures of the sleeping mat. His mouth went dry as he gazed at her. The look in her green eyes heated his blood, and he tightened his hold on her.
“Rach-el,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her. To his pleasant surprise, she gave herself up to his kiss. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted sweet. He felt her hands slip to his shoulders and cling.
His heart pounded within his chest as he trailed a path of moist kisses to her ear, then back to her wonderful mouth. He released her waist to cup her face with his hands; then he deepened the kiss, delving past her lips to taste her tongue.
He heard her gasp, felt her stiffen; then she shivered with desire as her tongue dueled and mated with his own.
“Black Hawk,” she moaned when he lifted his head to study her. Her eyes remained closed, her lashes forming dark feathery crescents against her smooth, white cheeks. He slid his fingers into her hair, gently cupping her behind her ears. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him with green orbs hazy with passion.
With a groan, Black Hawk kissed her again, before he released her and stepped back. “I have come to say good-bye,” he said huskily.
Rachel felt a wave of pain. “My father released you.” She turned away. “You must be happy that you’ll be reunited with your people.”
He stepped closer to her and settled his hand on her shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. “There is no one there like you,” he admitted, then silently scolded himself for those words when she spun to gaze up at him. He felt himself mesmerized by the vivid green of her eyes. He didn’t want to feel anything for her, but he was helpless to fight it when she looked at him that way. “You are good with your patients,” he said.
Disappointment clouded her forest-green eyes. “Yes, well, I am learning,” she said, averting her gaze once again. “My sister helped Father in Baltimore. I never wanted to help.”
“You must come to visit my village. You will like Spring Blossom.”
“Spring Blossom?”
“My sister.”
Rachel was relieved. She was afraid that Spring Blossom was Black Hawk’s woman. Did he have one? she wondered. Not that it was any of her concern. They were from different culture
s, and she had vowed not to have anything to do with men.
“There is no one,” he said, as if reading her mind.
She released a shaky breath. “I didn’t ask.”
His eyes gleamed. “There is no one,” he repeated. “I have no time for a mate.”
Rachel blushed. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say? That she was glad that he had no wife? How could she say anything without giving him the wrong idea?
But what of that kiss? What idea have I given him by allowing him to kiss me?
“I may have misled you with that—our—kiss,” she whispered, embarrassed by the exchange.
He stared at her, his expression somber. “I understand that you were not inviting me to your sleeping mat.”
She gasped. “No.”
He smiled then. “You cared for me when I needed you. This has not been easy for me, but you helped to cheer me. Miigwech.”
She understood that he’d just thanked her. “You are welcome.” She felt her throat tighten. “Good-bye, Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn.”
He bent and kissed her mouth. She closed her eyes and responded. “Giga-waabamin,” he murmured. And then he released her.
When Rachel opened her eyes, Black Hawk was gone.
Chapter 11
The infirmary seemed empty to Rachel without Black Hawk. She missed his quiet but commanding presence whenever she entered the sickroom. That morning as she came in to clean, she gazed for a long moment at the bed where he slept. She recalled how he’d looked lying there ... his dark hair against the pillow ... his onyx eyes glistening as his gaze followed her about the room. He was the most intriguing individual she’d ever met.
His appearance had been much improved when he’d taken his leave of them. His gunshot wound had formed a scab, the swelling in his face had long since gone down, and the colorful bruises on his body had faded to a dull shade of purplish yellow. For someone who had been injured so badly, he had healed quickly without any serious lasting damage. Eventually, he’d have only the scar near his shoulder left as evidence of his ordeal.
Thoughts of the Ojibwa brave ultimately brought back memories of his kiss. She’d been shocked at her response to him. If she closed her eyes, she knew she could recall every single detail about him. She’d never felt this way when she and Jordan had kissed, but then Black Hawk was nothing like the suave, sophisticated man who’d once asked her to marry him. Black Hawk’s looks were compelling ... savage. And he made her heart race as Jordan never had nor ever could.
Why did Black Hawk kiss her?
Because he was grateful, nothing more, she told herself over and over again. Her heart began to beat faster. His gratitude certainly stirred her blood!
“Rachel.”
She spun to find her father at the doorway. Fortunately, she’d brought a broom to sweep the floor, so John Dempsey wouldn’t guess that she was mooning over Black Hawk.
Her father was frowning.
She was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We’ve a new patient. He’s sliced himself and needs stitches. Would you please assist me?”
Rachel nodded and set down her broom to lean in the corner of the room.
“Is it serious?” she asked as she followed her father closely.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Who is it? Anyone I know.”
“Young Will Thornton.”
“Oh, no,” she gasped. Will Thornton was a nice young man who had been helpful to Rachel when she’d first come to the mission. He’d carried in her clothes trunk for her and helped her to rearrange the furniture in her room.
As she entered the surgery, Rachel saw Will immediately where he sat on the examining table. He looked pale as he held a cloth bandage to his injured hand. Already, blood seeped through to stain the white fabric red.
She hurried forward. “Oh, Will, what did you do to yourself?”
He looked ghastly as he glanced at her apologetically. “I was sharpening a knife for Mrs. Jenkins.”
“I told him to be careful,” a woman’s voice said from the other side of the room.
Rachel turned and spied Freda Jenkins standing at the door to the waiting area. “I’m sure you did,” Rachel said. She frowned as she centered her attention on Will again. “Will, you’d best lie down. Let me help you.”
She helped him to lie back, while the doctor repositioned his supplies. When she was done, she looked at her father and asked him a silent question. At his nod, she hurriedly left the room to put water on the stove to warm. Then she rummaged through the kitchen cupboard for her father’s unopened bottle of whiskey. She returned to the surgery with the whiskey bottle and placed it on the doctor’s instrument table.
“What’s that for?” John Dempsey asked.
Rachel was momentarily flustered. “I thought you might need it for Will.”
Her father frowned. “We’ve got laudanum for the pain.”
“I know, Father. I thought that you may need it to clean the wound.”
“I’ll need it after I finish with my patient,” he said with a chuckle.
Will groaned at the joke, and Rachel patted his shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Will. My father is only teasing me.”
The young man winced as the doctor probed the area of the wound, but he managed a slight smile when John Dempsey announced that the injury wasn’t as serious as he’d first thought.
“A few stitches, Will, and you’ll be as good as new,” the doctor said.
The patient didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of being stitched up; then Rachel remembered that Will had been injured once in an Indian attack that nearly cost him his life. This cut must be nothing compared to those injuries he’d sustained at the hands of the Sioux.
Watching her father work, she shivered, recalling that her father had been kidnapped in the same Sioux attack in which Will had been hurt. If things had turned out differently, then her father would be dead or still missing. The thought of losing her father gave Rachel a chill.
There had been no talk of trouble with the Indians since she’d arrived. Did that mean that they were at peace?
Rachel frowned. What about Black Hawk? He said it was soldiers who had injured him. Why? Were there white men who hated the Indians that much?
Of course there are, silly, Rachel thought. Stop being ridiculous. Remember how afraid you were of Indians before getting to know Black Hawk? Fear can drive a person to do strange things.
As she was thinking, she automatically responded to her father’s instructions. She gave Will some laudanum for the pain, and John Dempsey cleaned the cut, then closed it with neat, even little stitches. When he was done, the doctor left it to Rachel to bandage the wound.
Rachel collected the bloodstained cloth and placed it in a basin. Then she gathered fresh bandages and returned to Will.
“How does it feel?” she asked gently as she unrolled a cloth strip.
“All right,” Will said.
“Does it throb much?” She held the bandage up in readiness to apply it.
“Some.” He looked at her. “Your father’s a good doctor.”
“The best,” Rachel agreed. “Now, I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” he said with such emphasis and confidence that Rachel stopped and stared at him. His expression made her uncomfortable. She had seen that look on the faces of many interested men.
“Will—”
“Have dinner with me this evening.”
She frowned as she carefully placed the fabric over the injury. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Why not?”
She paused in what she was doing and glanced at him. “Because I’m afraid you’ll take my acceptance the wrong way.”
He scowled at her. “And what way is that?”
“That there could be something more than friendship between us, but there can’t be.”
“You’re not married. Are you betrothed?”
S
he felt a painful pang as she carefully, gently wound the bandage about the palm of Will’s hand. “No,” she said. I was.
“Then why won’t you look twice at me?”
“It’s not you, Will,” she said as she continued to work. “It’s all men. I’m just not interested in courtship or marriage.”
“You, a woman”—he mocked hurtfully—“have no interest in marriage?”
Rachel, who had just finished, paled as she stepped back. “Will, I think this conversation is over.”
“Rachel—”
But Rachel was wrapped up in her own painful thoughts. She had been interested in marriage to the one she’d thought was the right man. But that man had betrayed her, proving to her that no man was trustworthy. Yes, she’d had a lot of admirers back in Baltimore, but every one of them had had their own best interests at heart. None of them, especially Jordan, had cared enough for her to worry about her happiness.
Am I being too selfish to think this way? I would have done everything I could to make Jordan happy, too.
“Rachel!”
Will’s pleading voice finally caught her attention. She had moved to the medicine cabinet and was replacing the unused bandages. She faced him. “Yes?”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Cry? Rachel touched her cheek and realized that it was wet. She had, in fact, shed a tear. I’ve shed enough tears over Jordan Sinclair! she thought.
“Do you see why I will not have dinner with you? You would expect more than I can give you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking glum. “I don’t want to lose your friendship. Can we forget this conversation?”
Rachel forced a bright smile. “Of course.” She approached him with a small book—her father’s book of notes. She flipped through pages until she found what she needed. “I’m going to give you some instructions on how to care for that cut. You’ll follow them carefully?” She met his gaze. He nodded. “Good.”
Rachel’s attention was drawn to the waiting room doorway, through which she could see Mrs. Jenkins seated in a chair.
“Is she here to walk you home?”
Wild Innocence Page 11