He kept his eye on the pistol shaking in the woman’s hands. “I wasn’t part of that raid, and I only want to help you before I’m on my way.”
Losing the battle with the weight of the gun, Rosemarie dropped it to her side and closed her eyes. “Amelia tells me you’re the one that fixed my leg.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She opened her eyes, and two tears slid from their depths down her cheeks. “Thank you.” The sound barely a whisper.
Daniel sucked in a deep breath and moved farther into the room. He knew how much those two words cost her. Mrs. Wilson was not the sort of woman who wanted to be beholding to anyone.
“I promise I’ll only be here long enough to see you back on your feet.” He nodded toward her leg. “You have a nasty cut there, and it will be some time before you’re able to get around.”
She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How is it you know so much about injuries, Reb?”
He bit back a grin at the name she continued to call him. “I worked as a medic in prison.”
Her eyes widened, and she hugged Jace to her side. “Prison? Amelia, come back here. Now.”
“Not regular prison,” he hurried on. “The Yankees captured me, and sent me to Camp Morton in Indianapolis until a couple of weeks ago when I escaped.”
Rosemarie collapsed against the pillow, all animation gone from her face. “Do what you have to, and go.”
“I intended to change your sheet and check your bandage. Can I move you to the parlor while I do that?”
She shifted to rise, and let out a low keening sound.
“No. Don’t move by yourself.” Daniel strode across the room, took the gun from her side, and placed the weapon high on the shelf over her bed. Sliding his arms underneath her body, he lifted her and the blanket at the same time.
The woman’s face lost all color. She bit her lip and moaned softly against his chest. Mixed with the smell of the medicine he’d used, her faint scent of lemon swirled around him. Still warm from fever, her heat seeped through his worn shirt to his skin. He tried not to jar her as he moved to the parlor, where he gently laid her on the settee.
Amelia stood next to her mama, her eyes wide as she watched him.
“Amelia, can you fetch the blankets from the beds in your room, then bring them here to your mama?”
The child hurried away, brown curls bouncing down her back.
“As soon as I cut more wood, we’ll have a fire. Right now I’ll add the extra blankets and clean up your bed.”
Rosemarie reached for his hand as he turned. “Why are you doing this? We’re nobody to you. You’re a Reb.”
“I’m a man first. And you need looking after.” He took the blankets from Amelia’s hands and settled them around Rosemarie. Assured she would stay as warm as possible under the circumstances, he left the two children sitting near her.
Rosemarie’s gaze followed the stranger as he left the room. A Rebel named Daniel McCoy, an escaped prisoner of war.
I can’t believe things have gotten so bad I’m relying on the enemy to take care of me and my children.
No, not her enemy. Not her war, either. Hans had been adamant he would not leave his land to fight the Rebs, a bunch of devil-worshiping slave holders, as he called them.
The throbbing in her leg reminded her why she needed to keep her anger at the Reb in check. She was laid up, and he certainly looked as if he could handle the chores. Although Hans had been a large man, this Reb was bigger. Though most likely on the thin side because of his stint as a prisoner, his broad shoulders and large chest straining his filthy uniform left no doubt as to his ability to chop wood, plow a field, or swing a hammer. His dark brown hair hung to his chin, and his unshaven face gave him the look of a large bear. The entire time he spoke with her, he continued to push wayward strands of hair behind his ears.
His most remarkable feature, hazel eyes flecked with gold, radiated warmth and trust.
Ha. As if any Reb could be trusted.
No matter. She had no choice but to trust him. He’d saved her life, and hopefully, her leg as well. As grateful as she felt, her discomfort at his presence would not ease until she saw his back for the last time.
“Mama, why are you mad at my friend?” Amelia’s blue eyes met hers.
“I’m not mad at him, honey. I think he’s a very nice man for taking care of me while I’m sick.”
“I know.” Her eyes widened as she nodded. “And he made scrambled eggs so I didn’t have to eat oatmeal.”
Rosemarie smiled. She doubted Hans would have made scrambled eggs to keep the little girl happy. Although a hard worker and good provider, there had been nothing soft in her dead husband’s nature. Definitely of the ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ ilk, the only time his hands touched their children was when he spanked them. Not that he spanked them often. Good children by nature, they required little discipline. After the child’s experience with men, Rosemarie found it amazing that Amelia seemed to accept the Reb so easily. It had been said that a child can sense goodness in a person.
“Mama, me and Mr. McCoy are going hunting today.” Chandler entered the parlor, his eyes alight with wonder.
Rosemarie frowned. “Your papa didn’t think you were old enough to hunt yet.”
Chandler nodded. “I know, but Mr. McCoy said as the man of the family now, I have to make sure everyone eats.” He drew himself up, a sense of pride in his smile.
“That’s right, son. You need to help your family with your pa gone.” Daniel ruffled the boy’s hair as he passed, and headed to the sofa. “Your bed is ready now, ma’am.”
Once settled on the fresh sheet, a growing need in her lower parts had Rosemarie shifting on the bed.
Daniel watched her, his large hands on his hips. “Is your leg hurting? If I slip a pillow under it, the pain might ease a bit.”
How to tell this stranger she needed the chamber pot? “Um, yes my leg hurts, but there’s something else.”
He waited for her to continue, his eyebrows raised.
“I, ah.” She stiffened, and hitched her chin. “I need the chamber pot.”
Daniel’s lip twitched, but he quickly re-arranged his features. “Oh. Yes. I’m sorry. Where is it?”
She closed her eyes, wishing he would leave. “Under the bed.”
He pulled out the pink and white flowered lidded bowl and handed the container to her. “I’ll send Chandler in to help you.”
Rosemarie took care of her business, and winced with pain as she climbed back into bed with her son’s help. Chandler left her as she settled in.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she rested her head on the pillow. No matter how embarrassed she was, she had to let the Reb stay a day or so. She was tired. So very tired. Her eyes drifted closed
Several minutes after Chandler had returned from assisting his mother, Daniel tapped on the bedroom door. No answer. He opened the door, and peeked into the room. Rosemarie lay on the bed, eyes closed, her chest moving softly up and down. He moved closer and rested his hand on her forehead. The fever had returned, along with a slight flush to her cheeks.
“Is Ma okay?” Chandler stood outside the door, the rifle clutched in his hands.
“She’s sleeping right now. Where are your brother and sister?”
“They’re asleep on the settee in the parlor.” He laid the gun on the floor. “Should I carry them in here to sleep with Ma?”
“No. Having them all together might seem like a good way to keep warm, but I’m afraid they might roll into your ma and hurt her leg.”
“Ma keeps some extra blankets in there.” He pointed to a long maple chest at the foot of Rosemarie’s bed.
“Good. Fetch a couple of blankets to cover Amelia and Jace. Then you and I are going hunting.”
Chandler raced to do as he asked.
Daniel covered Rosemarie, and studied her for a moment. So delicate, how in hell could she keep t
he farm going alone? Despite her paleness and the dark circles under her eyes, Rosemarie was a pretty woman.
A rosebud mouth, high cheekbones, and dark lashes rested against her fever-flushed cheeks. The long braid of brown and gold silky hair had loosened. Wouldn’t she be surprised to have him offer to brush and re-braid her hair? He’d oftentimes done that for his mother when she suffered one of her headaches.
His mind drifted to the memory of Maggie McCoy, his mother, and how overcome with anger he’d been when he visited his family’s horse ranch a couple of years ago. His regiment’s march through Virginia had given him the opportunity to stop by his homestead.
He was stunned to learn his mother had sold the McCoy land−his birthright. He’d tracked her down to a decrepit boarding house where she was living out her last days, suffering from consumption. It didn’t take much for him to forgive her when she’d explained how with both sons gone, she had to sell the land to pay the taxes. The tiny bit left from the sale barely kept a roof over her head and food in her stomach.
Realizing what little thought he and his brother had given their mother’s welfare when they’d both rushed off to war, he was consumed with guilt.
He’d held her hand, and kissed her dry cheek before returning to the battle. Knowing it was the last time he’d see her, he left her bedside with tears standing in his eyes. His land had been sold, his mother hovered near death, and his brother was fighting with the enemy. It had taken weeks of interminable marches and battles in bitter cold to numb his spirit to the losses he’d suffered.
He shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and joined Chandler, who waited impatiently on the porch. They headed down the steps, the rifle clutched in Daniel’s hand.
Once behind the cleared area of the house and the grove of pear and apple trees, they entered a heavily wooded section. Thick branches from large elm and oak trees blocked the meager winter sun.
“What kind of animals are we huntin’?” Chandler skipped alongside him, his warm breath visible in the cold air.
“Since it’s late in the day, I think we’ll be lucky to get a couple of rabbits.” He smiled at the boy. “Do you like rabbit stew?”
“Yes, sir. Mama fixes that a lot. Pa used to bring home heaps of rabbits.”
“What else did he hunt?”
“Deer, mostly. Once he shot a pig, but Ma said it probably belonged to Mr. Macey, and got mad when Pa wouldn’t return it.”
Daniel smiled at the bit of family gossip. What had Hans Wilson been like? Based on what he’d calculated from the man’s grave marker, he’d been forty-three when he died. Even with the haggard look from her illness, Rosemarie had to be no more than twenty-four or five.
Chandler turned and walked backwards, skipping along as only a child could do. “Mr. McCoy, why do you have slaves?”
“I don’t have slaves, never did.”
“Pa said all Rebs had slaves, and beat and starved them.”
Daniel grabbed the boy’s shoulder before he walked into a small birch tree. “Not all southerners have slaves. My family owned a horse ranch in Virginia for many years, and we never had even one slave.”
“You calling my pa a liar?” Chandler’s back stiffened.
Daniel sighed and squatted in front of the boy. “No, not a liar, but misinformed.”
Chandler’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”
Daniel took his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair, then settled it back on his head. “Some people in the south have slaves, mostly those who have large plantations.”
Chandler’s brows drew together. “What’s a plantation?”
“Like a farm, but very big. Most people in the south don’t have slaves, don’t want them, and couldn’t afford to buy one if they wanted to.” He placed his hand on the child’s shoulder and rose. “The Confederacy is not fighting for slaves, although that’s part of it. We’re fighting for state’s rights.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means we don’t want the Federal government, the people in Washington, telling us in Virginia how to live, what to do.”
“You a teacher, Mr. McCoy?”
Daniel smiled. “No.”
Chandler shrugged. “You sure sound like one.”
Side by side, they continued on for a while, the cold air reddening their cheeks. Chandler glanced up at Daniel. “Do you miss your pa, and your horse ranch?”
Daniel shrugged and turned to the boy. “My pa’s dead. So’s my ma. And with me and my brother gone off to war, she had to sell the horse farm.”
Chandler digested the information, then said, “Does that make you feel sad?”
He smiled at the concern on the young boy’s face. “Yes. I do feel sad. But a man has to move on when things don’t go the way he wants.”
“I have an idea,” Chandler said, his eyes lighting up. “You can stay here with us, and take care of Ma and our farm.”
Daniel winced at the hope in the boy’s eyes. “Staying here does sound like a good idea, son, but we’re in the middle of a war, and I have to return to my regiment. Once your ma is feeling better, I’ll have to leave.”
“My pa said he wouldn’t leave his family to fight a bunch of slave-loving Rebs.”
Daniel chuckled and shook his head. “Well, your pa had a family to provide for. I don’t.”
“We can be your family.” The words came out soft and hesitant, his young eyes filled with hope.
Before he could answer, Chandler tugged on Daniel’s cuff. Then he pointed off in the distance. “Rabbits.”
Several rabbits stood still, only their whiskers twitching. A rabbit den must be close by. Daniel raised his index finger to his lips and shook his head.
Chandler nodded his understanding and stood perfectly still. After studying the small animals, Daniel bent on one knee and raised the firearm, aiming for the largest one. A quick shot scattered the group of rabbits, and the largest one lay on the ground, blood seeping from its head.
“You got ‘em!” Chandler shouted, and raced to where the animal lay. He picked the body up, and held the dripping carcass out, a bright smile on his face.
Daniel slung the rifle over his shoulder and joined him.
“Are we gonna shoot some more?” the boy asked, jumping up and down.
“Not today, son. I’m a little nervous with your ma back there all alone with the two little ones.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Chandler grinned. “We’re the men, and we have to protect them.”
Daniel ruffled the boy’s hair. “Indeed we do. It’s our job to make sure the women-folk are safe.”
Why did his comment feel so good? He’d always known one day he would have a wife and hopefully a family. He shook his head at his foolishness. The boy’s words had affected him. Now was certainly not the time, nor place, to be thinking along those lines. He needed to remove himself from enemy territory and re-join his regiment. Besides, Rosemarie Wilson despised him, and most likely would fill him full of buckshot if he wasn’t gone in a few days.
He grinned. The best part of this whole package would be that fiery woman confined to bed. She was all spit and vinegar, but the softness in her seeped out when she dealt with her children. Had her husband seen that soft side too? It was too bad he couldn’t stick around to find out.
In fact, given the attraction he was beginning to feel, he best beat a path as far away from her as possible.
Chapter Four
Daniel slapped the gutted rabbit on the table and hung the rifle over the fireplace. “I’m gonna check on your ma. Can you go out back to the few hens left and collect whatever eggs are there?”
Chandler nodded and raced out the door.
Rosemarie tossed on the bed, her mass of brown and gold hair tangling as she moved. Daniel approached the bed and checked her forehead for fever. It had spiked again.
“Hans?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“No, Rosemarie. It’s Daniel.”
Her brow
furrowed. “Thirsty.”
“Give me a minute to bring you something to drink, and to cool you down. I’ll be right back.” He touched his fingertips to her arm, and she stopped moving. Her dry skin seeped heat into his fingers.
After retrieving the pan of water from the floor, he strode down the hallway to the kitchen.
Chandler added eggs to the bowl from the pocket he’d made with the front of his shirt. “How’s Ma?”
“Her fever’s returned. I’ll have to bathe her again.” Daniel pumped fresh water into the pan and glanced over his shoulder. “Can you see to your brother and sister when they wake up?”
Chandler frowned. “What about the rabbit?”
“I don’t suppose you know how to skin it?”
The boy shook his head, his face paling. “No. Ma always did that stuff.”
“All right, I’ll do it when I’m finished with your ma.” He nodded in the direction of the basket sitting on the floor. “Why don’t you wash those vegetables and set them into a pot of water? We’ll add the rabbit in a little bit.”
Daniel grabbed the cloths left to dry next to the sink, then carefully carried the pan of water down the hall. As he reached the doorway, he turned and spoke in a loud whisper. “Bring your ma a glass of water, please?” Then he ducked under the door jamb and headed to the bed.
Tears slid down Rosemarie’s cheeks. When the bed dipped as he sat alongside her, she opened her eyes. “Where are my children?”
“Chandler is fetching you a glass of water. Jace and Amelia are asleep in the parlor.”
“What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave.” Her sore lips barely moved. He had to bend close to her mouth to hear what she whispered.
“You people sure know how to welcome visitors.”
Her lips twitched.
“You need help, ma’am, and your children require someone to watch over them while you’re laid up.”
“Ma?” Chandler stood alongside the bed, glass in hand. “Do you feel better?”
She nodded and reached for the water.
Daniel slid his hand under her head, and eased her up so she could drink.
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