"Miss Hunter could probably help you improve your horsemanship, if you would ask her."
"No, General Tremain," Patricia said in the most forceful voice Abby had heard her use. "I would never presume to take Abby away from her duties."
He glared at his future daughter-in-law. "Those who are too shy to ask are left out."
Abby saw the stricken look on Patricia's face, and her heart softened a bit toward her. She was in a land she didn't understand and was trying to adjust to the change in her life. It couldn't be easy for her to have to contend with a man as demanding as Daniel Tremain.
"I have the time to help you," Abby said kindly. "I would be glad to."
The woman's face brightened. "You wouldn't mind?"
"No, I wouldn't mind."
Abby was beginning to like Patricia in spite of her resolve to dislike her. And the more she liked her, the more guilt she felt about what had happened between herself and Jonah. She had never had a friend her own age, and, until now, she had never known the amusement of talking about frivolous things that would never interest a man.
Patricia told her about her life in Philadelphia. She had an older sister and a younger brother, and her home was next door to the Tremain estate. She and Jonah were the same age, which made Abby wonder why Patricia hadn't married before nowQuince had told her that Jonah was thirty.
She and Patricia were sitting on the front porch sipping lemonade and trying to cool off in the earlyevening breeze. Patricia's question came out of nowhere and took Abby completely by surprise.
"What do you think of Jonah?"
Abby stood and moved to the steps, leaning against the post. "I have heard he is a fine officer, and that he moved up fast in the ranks. Quince told me his advancements had nothing to do with his father's rank but more to do with Jonah's own abilities."
"Jonah isn't close to his father, not like I am to mine-he never has been. He resisted going to West Point as long as his mother was alive, but when she died after a long illness, he left right away." Patricia looked down at her clasped hands. "I always knew I wanted to be Jonah's wife, but I am not sure he felt the same-"
"Look, it's Quince!" Abby said, interrupting Patricia's conversation. She found it too painful when Patricia spoke about her relationship with Jonah.
And there was always the growing guilt.
After almost twenty-one hours of riding, Jonah and his troops had reached Rattlesnake Springs, where they joined a small company of cavalry men.
Jonah realized at once that the terrain would be difficult to defend, since it was located between the Sierra Diablo and the Delaware Mountains. His eyes swept the craggy land there were just too many places a man could hide.
The troopers took up their positions to fortify the area and settled in to watch for Victorio.
They didn't have long to wait.
The first Apache appeared on the nearby hillside, soon to be joined by another, and still another. They struck with a force that staggered the weary soldiers. But the cavalry men maintained their positions and held them off.
Since Jonah's troop had traveled fast, they had lightened their loads by carrying the minimal amount of ammunition and supplies they were now getting dangerously low on both, and each man watched for reinforcements and the supply wagons that were supposed to catch up with them.
The Apache were proving to be worthy adversaries. Victorio attacked their position again and again, but each time they managed to rebuff him.
Jonah didn't know how much time had passed since the battle had begun. He was exhausted and every move was an effort but his men were fighting back with everything they had, and he stood with them, urging them on.
Sweat stung his eyes and burning thirst parched his throat, but there was no time to satisfy that thirst or even to wipe the sweat away. He heard a bullet whiz past his face and kick up dirt beside him. When he turned in the direction the shot had come from, he spotted a lone Indian on a ridge to his left. But it was already too late for him to defend himself. The Apache was ready to fire again, and Jonah's pistol and rifle were both out of bullets.
When the impact hit him, Jonah staggered backward. Darkness was closing in on him, and he fell to his knees, then slid forward into blackness.
Sergeant MacDougall took up a position to stand near his fallen commander, his Springfield firing in rapid succession. With cold assessment, he glanced down and saw the blood seeping through Jonah's uniform. The wound appeared to be near his heart. It didn't look good.
Jonah didn't know when the battle ended, or that Victorio retreated back into Mexico, never again to cross the border into Texas.
Abby was training one of the mustangs to a saddle when she saw a uniformed rider heading toward the house. Her heart stopped, and she slid off the horse and tossed the reins to Curly. Without a word she hurried forward just as the man dismounted.
"Ma'am," he said, removing his cap and tucking it under his arm. "I am Sergeant MacDougall, and I have a message for you, if you're Miss Hunter."
In her anxiety, she placed her hand on his arm to steady herself. "I have heard of you, Sergeant. What is your message?"
He had certainly heard about this little gal-she would be Quince's sister. "Ma'am, the major was wounded, and he-"
There was a gasp behind Abby as Patricia came down the steps. "Tell me quickly, is he alive?" the bride-to-be asked.
"Go on, Sergeant," Abby said, her whole body trembling from dread. "Tell her."
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, the major's a stubborn man. He let the doctors bandage his shoulder when we got to the fort, but he wouldn't let them do anything else. He said to tell you he was coming to you." He settled his gaze on Miss Hunter, confused about which woman should have been given the message. "That's what he told me to say."
Abby spoke up quickly. "Thank you, Sergeant, for delivering the message to Miss Van Dere. But please tell us what his condition is."
"Well, ma'am, like I said, it's a shoulder wound. The bullet's still in him 'cause he wouldn't let the army doctor dig for it."
Abby's mind was racing ahead. "How long before he gets here?" she asked.
"He can't be more than an hour behind me. The doctors told him he shouldn't ride in his condition, but he's a contrary man." He looked from one woman to the next, his gaze finally falling on Miss Van Dere. "He is mighty partial to seeing you as soon as he can-don't seem like a bullet could stop him-it just slowed him down a bit."
"How is he making the journey?" Abby wanted to know.
"He's staying in the saddle, and it's got to hurt him like hell-" He cleared his throat. "It's got to hurt him real bad, Miss Hunter. There were times on the ride I wished that he would lose consciousness so he wouldn't feel the pain. He just won't stop till he gets here."
Patricia gasped and covered her mouth. "I cannot stand the thought of him being hurt."
Abby sprang immediately into action. "Sergeant, you will find a man in the barn his name is Navidad-ask him to ride for Quince as quickly as possible." She ran up the steps to the house. "I'll have Frances gather everything we'll need to remove the bullet. I'll make the room ready."
Patricia looked at the tall sergeant as he led his horse toward the barn. She wished she had been able to think clearly and react as quickly as Abby had.
"Sergeant," she called, stopping him in his tracks.
"Ma'am?"
"For whom did Jonah intend his message?"
He saw trouble here, and he quickly sidestepped it. "I can't really recall his exact words, ma'am. But since you're Miss Van Dere, it was probably for you-you are his intended bride."
He walked away, still thinking the message had been meant for Quince's sister.
Abby had called on all her strength to step aside and not rush to Jonah when he rode up slumped in the saddle. She remained at the front door, digging her nails into the palms of her hands while Patricia rushed to him. She watched Sergeant MacDougall direct the other troopers to lift Jonah off his horse and carry him
into the house.
Jonah's eyes were closed, but Abby saw him wince with pain when they carried him up the steps. She opened the door, noticing how pale he was. He must love Patricia a great deal if he was so desperate to get to her. She gathered her courage and directed the soldiers to Matt's old bedroom, where Jonah had stayed before. She turned down the covers and motioned for them to lay him on the bed.
Abby touched his forehead while Patricia huddled in the doorway, pale and shaking. "He isn't feverish, and that's a wonder, considering the bullet is still in him." Abby turned her attention to MacDougall-if she'd followed her heart, she would have gathered Jonah in her arms. "I'll give you time to take his boots off and undress him before I return."
"Yes, ma'am."
Abby took Patricia's hand and led her down the hallway to the bedroom she was occupying. "You are white as parched paper. You'd better lie down, or we will have two patients."
"I... never could stand the sight of suffering, especially not when it's someone I care about." She placed a delicate hand over her mouth. "And seeing blood makes me so sick."
Abby spoke more kindly. "Don't worry; just rest. I'm sure Jonah will be all right."
"Why did he push himself so hard to get here?" Tears trailed down Patricia's face. "Why didn't he allow the doctors at the fort to remove the bullet or even one of his men?"
"I have heard horror stories about army doctors. He probably didn't want them poking around in him. As to why he pushed himself, I assume he wanted to be with you."
Patricia shook her head. "No. He would never ... he...»
Abby opened a window and pulled the covers back. "Rest for a while. I'll let you know when we have removed the bullet."
Patricia looked relieved to lie down. But when Abby would have left the room, she grabbed her hand. "I wish I could be more like you. You always know what to do in every situation, and I seem to flounder at every crisis."
Abby stared at Jonah's bride-to-be. She couldn't admit to her that she would gladly trade places if she could have Jonah. "I must go. They might need me."
As Abby stepped into the hall, she wasn't feeling so steady herself. She heard Quince's voice at the front door and ran to him. "Christmas told you about Jonah?"
"Yeah. I got here as fast as I could."
"Since D.Gibbs left town so suddenly, Diablo doesn't have a doctor. I didn't know what to do but send for you."
He rolled up his sleeves and entered the bedroom. "You did right. But I'll need you to help me."
She nodded. "Just tell me what to do."
It was growing dark, so Sergeant MacDougall held the lamp while Abby held the washbasin for her brother.
Jonah was so pale, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. She gritted her teeth when Quince probed for the bullet, and a tear ran down her cheek as she watched Jonah groan in pain.
She set the basin aside and went down on her knees, taking his hand in hers. "Hold on to me, Jonah. Hold on."
His eyes opened briefly, and she stared into dark blue pools of pain.
He mouthed her name but made no sound.
"I'm here."
Quince looked at her strangely as he dropped the spent bullet into the pan. Then he dunked his hands in the basin to wash the blood off them. "You can doctor and bandage him now, Abby. I just heard riders out front. It might be Jonah's father. I'll need to tell him what happened."
She nodded, afraid to meet Quince's eyes because he already suspected what her feelings were for Jonah.
The sergeant looked on as Abby skillfully put ointment on the wound and rolled the bandage under Jonah's arm and over his shoulder. As gently as she could manage, she tied the bandage in place.
"I think he'll sleep now," she said to MacDougall. "All we can do is hope he doesn't get a fever."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay here until he can give me orders to go elsewhere. I can bunk down anywhere." He smiled. "Quince could tell you that."
"Of course you'll want to stay. First, go into the kitchen and tell Frances to feed you. I'll have a cot put in the parlor for you, since the bedrooms are all taken."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm mighty obliged to you. Major Tremain is a brave man, ma'am-he was fighting at our side when he took this bullet. He's a mighty fine man."
Abby knew enough about army life to appreciate that if a hard-bitten sergeant gave a man his approval, it was certainly worth noting.
"I know he is," she said, smiling at him.
She watched him leave the room, then pulled a chair beside the bed. She should let Patricia know how Jonah was doing, but she didn't want to leave himnot just yet. She touched her lips to his hand, thinking how strong those hands had been when they had swept across her body, and how tenderly they had touched her. She tried putting a name to her feelings.
Love, that was the name of what she felt for him. The emotion Jonah admittedly did not believe existed.
She touched his cheek-he needed a shave. Patricia would probably do that for him. She had started to rise when he groaned and clamped her hand.
Patricia would have him for the rest of her life, but Abby would have him for only a few more moments. Jonah was a strong man, and this wound would not keep him down for long.
For now-for this moment in time-he belonged to her.
Brushing his dark hair out of his face, she watched the way his lashes lay against his tan cheek. She had seen his eyes blaze with desire, and it was a memory she would keep with her forever.
The hours passed slowly, with no change in Jonah's condition. Then she heard someone at the door and MacDougall appeared. "Ma'am, I can sit with him now and give you a rest."
Abby sighed when she stood to give him the chair. She was in no position to protest, although she would have liked to. She said in a whisper so she wouldn't disturb Jonah, "He's been restless but hasn't awakened. If he feels feverish during the night, no matter what time it is, knock on my door. Mine is the room next to this one."
The sergeant whispered back to her, "Yes, ma'am. I surely will."
She touched Jonah's hand once more and let her fingers drift away. "Sergeant MacDougall, whatever happened to that young private who came here looking for Jonah?"
The big man grinned. "Well, ma'am, it's like this; Davies was transferred to Fort Leavenworth, and he'll do some time in the guardhouse for actions unbecoming a soldier." He glanced up at her. "I've never seen the major as mad as he was that day-and I've seen him plenty mad before."
Jonah moaned and opened his eyes, his mind in a fog. He felt as if he were being swept along by dark waters, sinking and rising sickeningly. He closed his eyes briefly, and the world seemed to right itself a bit.
He turned his head to find Quince bending over him, pressing against his shoulder. "That hurts like hell," he mumbled.
"It's supposed to hurt; I'm tightening your bandage."
Jonah licked his dry lips. "Why am I so thirsty?"
"Because you've ybeen dead to the world for twelve hours."
Jonah glanced around him, finding everything comforting and familiar. "I'm in your brother's bedroom."
"Your men brought you here, apparently at your insistence. You always were lucky," Quince drawled. "You never seem to get shot where it really matters. You got your leg shot up, now your shoulder-what's left, your foot?"
Jonah tried to smile, but he merely grimaced in pain. "And every time I get shot, you're there to remind me I should have ducked."
"Someone had to dig that bullet out of you this time. But I can't take all the credit; Abby and MacDougall helped." He placed the slug in Jonah's hand. "It looks like Victorio and his Mescalero didn't like you any more than Geronimo and his warriors did. You might want to avoid Apache in the future-they seem intent on killing you."
Jonah struggled to sit up and finally succeeded, lying back against the three pillows someone had provided for him. "I don't even remember arriving here."
"It's no wonder, since MacDougall told us you had been fadin
g in and out of consciousness."
"Give me a drink, dammit!"
Quince grinned, poured him a glass of water, and handed it to him. "Are you up to a surprise?"
Jonah took a sip of water and then drank deeply. "That depends on what it is."
"Your father and Miss Van Dere are here."
Jonah knew that Quince expected him to be pleased about that bit of information-he wasn't.
"I asked you if you'd meet their stage; I didn't expect you to bring them home with you."
"It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time. And, as it turns out"-Quince watched him closely-"it was lucky. Now you can have Miss Van Dere here to nurse you back to health."
"Yes" Jonah turned his gaze to the doorway, wondering where Abby was. "Thank you for everything."
Quince moved across the room. "Just see if you can stay out of trouble for a while."
MacDougall was waiting for Quince when he came out of the house. "Thanks for what you and your family are doing for the major."
Ready to mount up, Quince thrust his boot into the stirrup and smiled at the sergeant. "When are you going to retire, MacDougall?"
"Can't. Gotta keep an eye on the major."
Quince squinted against the sun. "Yeah, I guess somebody has to."
"Can I ask you something?" MacDougall inquired.
"Sure."
"Is there anything between the major and your sister? I mean, is there some reason he'd try so hard to get here to her when he was wounded?"
Quince frowned. "Why would you ask that?"
"He... the major asked me flat out to get him to Abby. Maybe he trusted her nursing more than the army doctor's."
Quince drew in an intolerant breath, not liking what he was thinking. "Let's just hope that's all it is."
Jonah stared at his father, who was seated near the bed, his arms folded across his chest. "It's been a while, General."
"It looks like you had one hell of a fight. I'll want to hear all the details. The talk in town is that my son is a hero."
Jonah shifted his weight and stiffened because of the pain. "I wasn't a hero. I did what was expected of me. And I don't want to talk about it with you, now or later."
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