When The Geese Fly North

by Dragon, Tracey L.

  She returned with her sleeves rolled up, carrying a towel in her hand. “Okay.” She bent down and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

  “I’m fine now,” he said as she deposited him on the toilet seat. “I can take it from here.”

  Hands on her waist, she frowned. “I’m afraid not. You can hardly stand, let alone climb in and out of a tub on one limb.”

  She reached for his undershirt and forced his arms up to remove it. Then she knelt beside his good foot, unlaced his boot and pulled it off, but when she reached for his prosthetic one he growled.

  “It’s all yours.” She stepped away. “If you think you can remove it without falling off the can.”

  Fine, he thought, too sick to give a damn if she fainted at the sight of his damaged limb. He reached down and yanked up his long johns then removed his leg from the boot. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes.

  “Okay now.” She tossed the towel she’d thrown over her shoulder across his lap. “You’re going to slide your bottoms down and I will tug them off.” She knelt at his foot, and without batting an eye slid the underwear down over his stump and then off his good leg.

  He draped the towel as low as he dared.

  “This is the tricky part. I’m going to help you up, and you can wrap the towel around your waist while I support you. Then we’ll move to the tub where you can sit on the edge. Once I get you there, I’ll help you lower yourself on your good leg into the tub.”

  With absolutely no dignity left, he nodded and did as she told him. After she left he removed the towel he’d tucked around his waist, laid his head back against the rim, closed his eyes, and sighed. This was the first time he felt warm in days. He planned to stay there until his skin shriveled like raisins. He must have dozed because Amy’s knock startled him.

  “If you’re alive in there . . .” She rapped again. “Soup’s ready. Do you need a hand? I also brought a clean set of long johns from your room for you.”

  “I’m fine,” he called. “Set the clothes outside the door, and I’ll get them when I’m out of the tub.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need help?” she asked, concern evident in her tone. “Why don’t you let me give you a hand?”

  “No.” He growled. God the woman was nothing but persistent—a real pain in his behind she was. “Just leave the damn clothes.”

  “Suit yourself,” he heard her mumble as she stomped off. “Fall and damage the other leg, see if I care.”

  Getting out of the tub would be a mite bit tricky. Normally, he’d be able to manage it, but still weak as a kitten he’d likely as not land bare-ass up on the floor. Still he’d rather risk it than suffer further indignities at the hands of Amy. The way he saw it he had two choices. He could try and lift himself to the edge of the tub using his arms and leg, but wasn’t sure he had the strength to hold his weight long enough to do that or he could throw the towel he’d covered himself with on the floor and crawl over the edge of the tub dragging himself onto it. He opted for the second option. It wasn’t pretty, but he eventually had himself dried off and dressed in the fresh underwear she set outside the door.

  He managed to stand long enough to make his way back to the sofa where he promptly collapsed with a groan. He wrapped the afghan back around him.

  “Stubborn man,” Amy scolded as she brought him a tray of soup and a glass of ginger ale. “See if you can keep this down. We need to keep liquids in you.”

  He grunted. He really rather she let him die and get it over with than prolong the agony. There was no doubt in his mind she took great delight in torturing him. He finished the chicken broth and downed the soda and had to admit, he felt a little better. Hopefully, it would stay with him.

  Amy removed the dishes and went upstairs to check on Thomas before she returned to the living room where he was dozing off.

  “Up you go.” Her no-nonsense voice jarred him awake as she yanked on the knitted Afghan covering him.

  He ignored her, held tighter to the blanket, and rolled toward the back of the sofa.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” She leaned over and grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him back around.

  He flipped flat on his back and yanked her down on top of him. His eyes locked with hers. “Good God, woman. What in holy hell are you doing to me? I’m trying to sleep.”

  “That’s the plan.” She glared at him. “You can’t sleep here. We need to get you into a proper bed where you can get some rest.”

  Half dead or not, the words we need to get you into bed, got a rise out of him. One he had difficulty controlling at the moment and one unfortunately, Amy quickly took note of.

  Her eyes widened with surprise and maybe a little wonder before she pressed her lips together and hopped up. “My bed’s larger and closer to the bathroom if you need it.”

  He should have refused the offer, but he’d been too stunned by the feel of her against him to refuse. Mutely he allowed her to lead him into her room.

  Chapter 28

  “There you go.” Amy smiled down at Will and tucked him in as if he were Thomas. “There’s a pitcher of water with a glass on the table and a bucket on the floor beside the bed in case you can’t make it to the bathroom.”

  Will grunted a response from where he’d burrowed under the covers.

  “I’ll leave the hall light on.”

  The only reply was a whisper of a snore.

  She returned to the hall, but stopped and gazed back through the open door at the bed. She was worried about Will. He’d always seemed indestructible even with his damaged leg, but tonight his acceptance of her help spoke volumes to the state of his health—it was not good. If he didn’t improve by tomorrow, she’d take him to town to the doctor whether he liked it or not.

  After setting the teapot to boil, she wiped down the tub and ran a bath for herself. A nice relaxing bubble bath with Epsom Salts and a cup of tea would ease her muscles and remove the chill from the damp weather—a balm for her frazzled soul. As she lay in the steaming water, sipping the hot drink, she began to ponder her feelings for Will.

  Tonight, when she realized the seriousness of Will’s condition, her only thought had been to bring him in and nurse him—to ease his pain if possible. He asked for little but gave so much. He was the antithesis of her ex-husband and more the man she’d always hoped she’d find. She found Will attractive in a number of ways, but did he feel the same about her? Now that was the question. His arousal earlier had caught her by surprise, but not an unpleasant one.

  She’d forgotten how it felt to be loved or admired. Rob had long disabused her of the notion she was pretty or had much to offer a man. Until Will, she hadn’t really minded. She never imagined she’d find another male appealing or have thoughts of desire in her head or even wish to be seen as attractive again, but Will had restored her faith in the male species and brought about a change within her. She was not the same naïve girl who married Rob four years ago. She’d never be that Amy again, but maybe she was becoming a much stronger woman.

  A thunk against the bathroom door a second before it flew open sent her slipping lower in the water as Will’s eyes locked with hers then slid down her body before he turned to the toilet.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled right before he tossed up the fluids she’d given him earlier. He flushed and stumbled back to the bedroom.

  So much for romantic thoughts of desire, she sighed as reality set in. She climbed out of the tub, dried off, and hurriedly slipped on her robe then went to make sure Will was all right. After which she made another cup of tea and settled in with the book Fran had loaned her. She planned to stay up to give Will another dose of aspirin before she retired for the night.

  “Get down. Damn it, get down,” Will hollered from her room.

  His
voice shattered Amy’s sleep, and as she shot into an upright position on the sofa, the book she fell asleep holding, slid from her lap and thudded onto the floor.

  “Goddamnit, my leg, my leg.”

  The edge to Will’s voice had her moving at breakneck speed to the bedroom where she discovered Will thrashing about in her bed.

  Afraid to startle him awake, she called to him softly, “Will, it’s Amy. You’re having a bad dream. You need to wake up.”

  Her voice seemed to soothe him, and his body relaxed.

  “Shh.” She repeated his name, slowly making her way into the room. “It’s all right now, Will. You are safe. Are you awake?” Silence followed her request.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep.

  “You were having a nightmare. It’s probably the fever. Here you need to take another dose of aspirin. Let me get it, and I’ll be right back.”

  He grunted and eased himself into a semi-prone position.

  After she handed him the aspirin, she poured him a glass of water. “Drink as much of this as you can. Hopefully, a little of it will stay down.”

  Will drank the whole glass before slipping back under the covers.

  “You okay now? You were yelling in your sleep. Do you need to talk about it?”

  The scowl on his face and the grunt he gave her was a definitive no.

  “All right then.” She patted his arm. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. Call me if you need anything. If not, I’ll see you in the morning, hopefully feeling better.”

  Chapter 29

  The morning roared in with a vengeance. Will came awake as the first rays of light shined through the closed curtains. He stumbled to the bathroom and barely managed to make it back to bed without falling on his face. He thought he might be a tad bit better.

  The next time he woke the clock beside the bed indicated it was near noon and for the first time in days, he thought he might actually feel hungry. The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when Amy arrived at his door, wooden tray in hand.

  “Ah, you’re alive.” She entered and set the food on the dresser before turning to him.

  “If you can call it that.” He attempted a semblance of a smile as he inched himself up against the head of the bed.

  “Do you think you can keep anything down? You need to eat before you waste away.”

  He ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth the sides. He could imagine how he appeared with three days of beard growth and his hair standing on end. His appearance might be acceptable in the trenches, but not in the presence of a lady in her home. “It’s the first time in days my stomach actually feels like it might tolerate a little food.”

  “That’s a good sign.”

  Her smile lit up the room and warmed the lonely place in his soul.

  She removed the tray from where she’d set it and placed it across his lap. “It’s not much, a bowl of Cream of Wheat, dry toast, and tea. It will warm your insides, though. Thought it best we ease you back into eating.”

  He grunted and tried not to frown at the tea. He could really use a strong cup of coffee but loathed to complain.

  She must have caught his doleful glance at the teacup because her lips twitched as if amused. “Tea’s better on the belly. If you can handle it, we’ll see about coffee tonight or in the morning. In the meantime, let’s see if you can tolerate this.” She picked up the delicate cup and handed it to him. “Go on, try it. It’s really not that bad.”

  He took several healthy swigs and groaned with pleasure as the warm liquid ran down his throat to awaken his stomach. The tea was not half bad. His gut rumbled, and he set the cup down to grab a piece of toast.

  “I retrieved your library book from your room last night when I picked up your fresh clothes. It’s here on the dresser should you want it.”

  Will swallowed the last piece of toast he’d been chewing on and nodded. “Thanks. I don’t think I can fall asleep quite yet, but neither am I sure I’m up to reading.”

  “I have a little time right now while Thomas is napping.” Amy placed her hands in the pocket of her apron as if unsure of herself. “I can read to you for a bit if you like. Maybe it will help you doze back off. Rest is the best thing for you right now.”

  Amy’s unending kindness after he’d been a jerk humbled him. Afraid to let her see his heart in his eyes, he tilted his head down and reached for his spoon. “I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”

  “Nonsense.” She reached across and laid a hand on Will’s arm. “It’s no trouble at all.” She picked up the book and took a seat in the chair beside the bed. Opening it to where he had marked, she began to read softly, her voice rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the characters and the plot.

  It wasn’t long after he’d finished his brief meal that he found himself being lulled into sleep by the voice of the angel sitting beside him. God had finally smiled down upon him, making him wonder what he’d done right.

  It was dark when he awoke feeling considerably better. The smell of bacon frying revved up his appetite, and he wondered if he had the strength to make it to the table. He was getting mightily sick of lying flat on his back. He’d finally decided to give it a go, when his nightingale returned to his door.

  “I brought a warm bowl of water, a washcloth, and a razor. I thought you might like a shave.”

  His lips turned up at the edges. “I’m not sure my hand is steady enough.”

  Amy set the metal pan on his lap and perched on the edge of the bed. In her no-nonsense voice she used with her son or the pups, she dipped the rag into the sudsy water and wiped it across his whiskers before he realized her intentions.

  He sputtered but stopped when she removed the cloth from his face and glared at him. “You are as bad as Thomas when it’s time to wash. Just hush up until I’m finished.”

  He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again when she lathered the rag and ran it over his cheeks and forehead marred by the shrapnel scars. He couldn’t decide if he were more disconcerted by her fingers touching his skin or her up-close-and-personal view of his injuries. Both evoked an uneasy feeling, but not of the same kind. Having her scrutinize him so closely set him on edge, but the feel of her touch set off a whole other set of emotions that made him quake inside.

  “You’ll feel better once we have you washed up and shaved.” She studiously avoided meeting his gaze as she busied herself with the razor.

  “You ever done this before?” He eyed her doubtfully.

  “I think I can manage.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Nope, but there is a first time for everything. How hard can it be?”

  When the sharp blade in her hand came close to the skin on his chin, he closed his eyes and groaned, only to pop them open again when her fingers touched and stroked his scars. His jaw clenched.

  “You’re worried about a few more nicks after these?”

  “I wouldn’t call those nicks.”

  “Maybe so,” she agreed as she ran the razor delicately along his jaw line. “But they add character to what I expect were boyishly good looks.”

  “Character?” He would have laughed if there wasn’t a sharp blade at his throat.

  “Yes, character to what I’d say was an entirely too pretty face for a man. There’s nothing a woman hates more than a guy better looking than she is.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork, her chocolate-brown eyes warm with humor. “Okay, you can relax now. Not a speck of blood in sight.”

  And her words did exactly what he suspected she’d meant them to, the tension eased from his body as he realized she truly wasn’t bothered by either the scars on his face or his damaged leg. When she gazed at him, he felt almost like himself or rather his old self—whole again. The
chains binding him snapped open, and he could breathe deeply once more.

  If he weren’t sick and afraid of giving her his illness, he’d drag her into his arms and kiss her silly with gratitude for accepting him as he was and not rejecting him as less than a man. “Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes piercing hers.

  “You’re welcome.” Her pixie smile lit up her face, and she squeezed his hand. “Can you make it up for dinner? Oh, no . . .” She grabbed the basin of water and rushed from the room. “I forgot about the bacon.”

  He grinned as the waft of burnt meat made its way into his room. Oh, he’d make it to dinner all right if he had to crawl to the table. He had no intentions of letting that woman stray too far from his sight.

  Chapter 30

  “Damn.” Amy grabbed a potholder and shifted the crispy bacon from the burner. She should have turned it off before she went in to see Will. Well, there wasn’t much she could do about it now. It was the last bit of meat she had in the house. They’d just have to eat it anyway. At least there would be warm buttermilk biscuits to go with the eggs she intended to scramble.

  “Thomas,” she called up the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready. You need to take the pups to the barn and feed them, then come in and wash.”

  Her son trotted down the stairs and out through the kitchen door with the dogs at his heels. She watched him go with amusement and a deep motherly love. Since Will and the dogs had come into their lives, she noticed that Thomas had begun to suck his thumb less and to run about like a happy little boy. She worried how he would take Will’s departure in the fall then sighed. There was no use fretting over things she could not change, of course, unless she could. She had every intention of trying to influence Will’s decision in whatever way possible. She was more determined than ever to try and convince him to stay.