Laurie Alice Eakes - [Midwives 03]

by Choices of the Heart

  “Come along.” He urged her forward. “We need to get you home.”

  He led her back into the clearing, where he paused to scoop up his shotgun.

  She shuddered at the stench of spent powder. “How did you get that so fast?”

  “I had it with me in the things we brought down for the picnic. Wasn’t about to go through the woods at night without it.”

  “But I was.”

  “Not too wise of you.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders again. “C’mon. Those rascals might take a notion to come back.”

  That was enough of a threat to get her going. They entered the blackness of the woods and started uphill on a path too narrow for them to walk abreast. Griff took up a position behind her, his hand on her shoulder, guiding her as though he were a cat and could see in the dark. Up, up, up they climbed. Perspiration ran down her spine and beneath her hair. Breath rasped in her throat, and the sole of one shoe flapped loose. Just when she thought she couldn’t go on, they crested the ridge, and the bubbling splash of tumbling water greeted her like a blessing.

  He had brought her to the waterfall.

  20

  Hands clasping the gun barrel, Griff stood with his back to the waterfall pool. The rush of water drowned out any sounds Esther made. She could be simply splashing water on her face, or she might have gone for a swim. He’d asked her if she could swim.

  “Like a dolphin,” she replied.

  He understood that to mean yes, but he had no idea what a dolphin was. Not that he could admit that to her. It only emphasized the gulf between them—her education and his only passable ability to read; her respectable family background and his disreputable family, fallen sister, vengeance-seeking father, and his own bleak future regardless of how much money the mine might bring the Tollivers.

  He had taken too much of a liking for a woman he had declared he wouldn’t pursue. He had gone further, too far. He had held her close and kissed her. What might be worse, she had kissed him in return. Weeks of her darting away from him like a minnow in a pond racing from larger fish, then welcoming his nearness with glances from beneath those ridiculous eyelashes, followed by abrupt evasions from catching his eye, had ended like a thunderstorm concluding with a cliff tumbling into the river—disaster and repercussions yet to be known.

  “I only meant to give her comfort, Lord.” Griff spoke to the night, knowing only God could hear him above the plunging cliff of water. “I lost control.”

  And then some. Her scent like those tiny purple flowers that grew in dim places in the spring, her softness save for where she wore one of those corset contraptions, her willingness to let him hold her—all served to break down the will he’d worked to strengthen when around her. And once his lips touched hers and she didn’t resist, he was lost to reason that tried to tell him she had just had two men assault her and didn’t need a third manhandling her.

  She didn’t consider his touch manhandling this time.

  “Why this time, Esther Cherrett? Why did you let me kiss you?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” She appeared beside him.

  He started. “I didn’t hear you over the water. Some watchman I am.”

  “You were being a gentleman.” She smiled at him, automatic brilliance like something she practiced on all men and not just him. That her hair hung in sodden hunks around her face and over her shoulders, and she stood in a tattered cotton gown, did not detract from her beauty. It was a face and form a man could happily wake up to every morning and see passed along to his children.

  The skin-deep beauty was there and then some, but what of the spirit of the woman inside?

  Uncertainty about that was all that kept him from drawing her to him and kissing her again. If he kept telling himself that she flirted with all men, or most of them, and that she had led Zach to believe he could pay her compliments and then had run from him as though he’d insulted her—a coy act if ever there was one—he could talk himself out of caring for her. He was nothing to her. She had probably returned the embraces of many men.

  “It wasn’t the first time for you, was it?” He sounded accusatory but didn’t care.

  She shook her head. “I’ve been kissed before. I’m . . . I’ve been . . .” She took several quick steps forward, then caught the toe of her slipper in a crevice between two rocks and stumbled to a halt, her back to him, her hands gripping her upper arms. “I shouldn’t have done it. But those men were so rough, and you were so gentle. And they smelled so bad, and you—you tasted—that is . . .” Her voice dropped so low he couldn’t hear the rest of her words over the waterfall behind them.

  He should move closer to her, yet with her talk of how he tasted to her, he dared not close the distance. He ached for no distance between them. But being there on their own in his favorite place, being near her, might prove more disastrous to them both at that moment.

  “We should go,” he snapped out. “We’ll be missed if we’re gone much longer, and the others will want to know I found you.”

  “I disrupted the party,” she exclaimed. “I am so sorry.”

  “Zach disrupted the party. He shouldn’t have been making advances to you when you said no.” Griff had to close the distance between them now. He strode past her, then held out a hand to help her over the rocky climb to the top of the gorge.

  She laid her fingers in his, hers ice-cold on that warm night, and a jolt came, an impact to his belly, his heart. At that moment, nothing would please him more than to warm her hands between his. She should never be cold when he was near.

  He gazed down at her. “I think I’d have kissed you sooner if not for Zach. I thought you wanted him to court you with all that book learning you’re giving him.”

  “I think everyone should learn who wants to. If I can help, I will.”

  “And the dancing?”

  Even in the minimal light, he saw her glare at him. “You never asked.”

  “I didn’t dare. I think you know why now.”

  “You don’t want to upset your cousin or fight with him.”

  “Especially not over a female who is likely to run off without saying a word about it.”

  Her silence was enough of an affirmative response for Griff.

  He released her hand as soon as they reached the path down the mountain. Over the ridge, the gurgle of the waterfall diminished and the intermittent night sounds of the forest took over.

  “I’ll tell you when I go. I’ll leave in the morning,” she said into the stillness. “If you all will lend me a horse, I’ll hire someone to bring it back once I reach a town.”

  If she felt the same pull toward him as he did toward her—and her kiss suggested she did—then her decision was best. Yet the hoofbeats of her riding away already seemed to pound into his chest, crushing it, interfering with his breathing.

  “You can’t ride off alone,” he said. “And the children need you here.”

  He needed her there. But so did Zach.

  “I’ll stay away from you if you stay,” he added. “I promise not to touch you.”

  She walked beside him for a hundred yards or more, the crunch of their footfalls doubly loud, her gown swishing, brushing against his legs, before she asked, “Can you?”

  His lips formed the word yes—silently. It was a stupid vow he couldn’t keep.

  “I’m not certain I want you to, and that’s the trouble,” she answered for him. “Zach thinks he has some kind of claim on me, and if I stay, I’ll make trouble between you.” She stumbled again and caught her breath. “I’m afraid I gave him too much reason to.”

  Oh yes, she had, with her smiles and her hands in his, her warmth in greeting his arrivals, the time she had taken to help him with his reading, their heads bent close over a slate and chalk, the way she held his arm when they went for walks. No wonder Zach thought he could pay her compliments and have her accept the way he wished to hold her in the dance, perhaps even steal a kiss in the shadow of a tree.


  She had flirted with him. She had flirted with Griff until he kissed her. And she had kissed him back out of gratitude, out of curiosity to know if it would scare her off, because she wanted it right down to her toes.

  No wonder God had deserted her. She was everything the people of Seabourne claimed, leading two men in a merry dance, then deciding to run away from the trouble she caused. Surely it was nothing more. She couldn’t love Griff Tolliver. She no longer had a heart to give to anyone. And yet she wanted nothing more than to have him hold her, kiss her again, beg her to stay.

  “Esther?”

  “Ye-es?” She tripped on her broken shoe, and the word emerged more a gasp than a word.

  He faced her on the path. “Why did you leave Seabourne?”

  “Not because I had to.” She looked straight at him. “My parents didn’t want me to go away.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “It doesn’t concern my ability to carry out my duties here.” She delivered the pronouncement in icy tones, then brushed past him and continued down the path.

  For half a dozen yards of uneven footfalls.

  Then she brought down one foot and gasped loudly enough to be a soft cry, and dropped to her knees.

  “Esther.” In an instant, Griff was beside her, on his knees, reaching for her hands. “What is it? Did something bite you? It would be unlikely to have a snake here in the dark, but a body never knows how wild creatures behave.”

  She shook her head. “No bite. A sharp rock. My shoe.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “I broke my shoe. The sole’s come clean off, and I stepped on something sharp.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you broke your shoe?” Frustration infused his tone.

  “What could you have done about it?”

  “Likely more than you’re doing. Are you bleeding?”

  “Yes, I think I am.” Her voice was tight, strained.

  “You’re in pain,” Griff said.

  “I’ll be all right. I can tear off a strip of my petticoat and bind it.”

  And grit her teeth hard enough to not express the pain that would cause.

  “And walk another mile to the house?” Griff stood.

  Esther tore off a ruffle of her petticoat. “I will walk, thank you very much.”

  “Ah, her royal highness is back.” He laughed and reached out as though he had a right to embrace her for the pure pleasure of her taking on her uppity way of speaking in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night, while wearing a torn-up dress.

  “You won’t get a dozen feet, Esther.”

  She stood with less than her usual grace, took one step, and stopped. “Or a dozen inches.”

  He handed her the scattergun. “Hold this.”

  “You’re going to leave me here?” Her voice rose in pitch. Panic. Fear. Weakness.

  “No, sweetheart, not that.” He laid his hand against her cheek. “What? Is this a tear?” He smoothed it away with his thumb. “I’m going to carry you,” he told her softly.

  Her heart began to race. “You can’t. I’m too—”

  He pressed his thumb to her lips. “Don’t tell me I can’t. I got to or leave you here ’til I get help.” And with that, he scooped her into his arms.

  She squeaked a protest. His arms tightened around her, strong, warm, protective. She dropped her head onto his shoulder. Her wet hair soaked through his shirt.

  “It smells fresh like the water of the pool.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head for a moment.

  “I couldn’t resist the chance to swim. I miss the sea.”

  “Enough to go back?”

  “Not to Seabourne. Somewhere else, perhaps.”

  Though having him hold her felt too good to make that a desirable action right then.

  “You can’t go anywhere,” he whispered.

  “You won’t be able to go anywhere if you hold me much longer,” she returned.

  “True, true.” He laughed and started walking. “Good thing it’s downhill all the way.”

  She pressed the stock of the gun into his chest a little harder than necessary. “I said you couldn’t carry me. I’m not a little thing like your sisters.”

  “You’re just right.” He stumbled over a rock. He caught his balance and Esther before he dropped her, and he let out a grunt of pain.

  She shifted and wrapped an arm around his neck. “What’s wrong?”

  Besides his face being too close to her right then, too tempting.

  “Nothing much unless you count me thinking of kissing you again.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “No, ma’am, I reckon that’s a bad idea.” He kept walking, but his breathing gathered a hitch in it.

  “It sounds like you’re in pain. Did you hurt—oh no.” She struggled to free herself. “You had that stab wound. It’s likely not healed properly. You can’t carry me with that wound. It could open up again. You could start bleeding and not be able to walk anywhere. I’ll have to go for help, and I’m useless in these woods. I’m scared to pieces I’ll come face to face with a mountain lion.”

  “You can always talk him out of attacking you,” Griff said drily.

  “Not if I can’t talk you out of carrying me.” And she should. Having him holding her so close to his heart gave her odd notions of wanting it longer, perhaps forever—notions of things a nice girl didn’t think about.

  “Truly, Griff,” she pleaded, “I can walk the rest of the way.”

  “Not with a cut foot.” If anything, he held her closer. His lips brushed her hair.

  No, this couldn’t continue. “Please?” She dropped her voice to a murmur like a purr, then she smoothed the hair on the back of his neck, marveling at its softness, its springy thickness, and the power of the flesh beneath. “I really need to walk.”

  A shudder ran through him, and he began to walk faster. Firs replaced the birches and walnut trees, pungent in their scent. The ground leveled in the holler. He paused. He was sweating from the effort of carrying her or from the warm night.

  Gooseflesh raced up her arms and down her spine. Fear. Anticipation.

  “I can walk now,” she exclaimed in desperation.

  “No you can’t.” He started up again. Muscles rippled across his shoulders.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She would not, not, not get interested in another man, not like this. She must use some of her arsenal, whatever the consequences. If she was lucky, they would disgust him as she should.

  “Griff, you must be in pain.” She touched his cheek with her fingertips, trailed them across the strong bone of his jaw to his ear and behind.

  “Stop it,” he ground out between his teeth. “Esther Cherrett, you stop it right now.”

  “Stop what?” She twined her fingers in his hair again. “Trying to persuade you to let me down?”

  “What do you think?” He clenched his teeth together and fairly sprinted across the field to the compound and the house.

  He kicked open the kitchen door and deposited her on the bench beside the stove. His hands on her shoulders, he leaned toward her, his face close enough for her to feel his breath on her lips but too far away to kiss. “Don’t you never—ever play those tricks with me again to get me to do what you want.”

  She widened her eyes. “Do what again?”

  “Don’t you go teasing and tormenting me into a state where I can’t think right so I’ll jump when you say jump.”

  It had worked. She’d made him angry enough to turn him from her. And it hurt. Knowing her wiles had lost her the only man she knew she could love sliced her open inside.

  Tears she didn’t have to manufacture sprang into her eyes.

  And Mrs. Tolliver, Zach, and half a dozen Tollivers burst into the kitchen.

  21

  Esther stared into Griff’s sky-blue eyes, only vaguely aware of others crowding into the room, only dimly hearing their voices. The end of the world would have suited her just fine at that moment. Her world had ended with
the slamming realization that she had crossed the line again in her attempt to cajole him into letting her down.

  She could protest that he should have listened to her. In the end, the result was the same—she had let down her barriers with him. In her distress over the drunken men’s assault, she had clung to the only familiar and kind person near, as she had clung to her parents and brothers back in January.

  Only Griff wasn’t her brother, and her response to him bore nothing close to feelings of kinship. Clinging to him stirred the attraction she’d been fighting since she met him. She should have stayed away from him.

  But she hadn’t.

  “I meant nothing by it.” Her voice emerged in a rasp. “Believe me, I—”

  Even if what seemed like a score of people weren’t firing questions at them like shotgun shells, she couldn’t have gone on, for she had meant it—the kiss, the affection in stroking his surprisingly soft hair, wanting to be out of his arms before she begged him to kiss her again, despite her throbbing and bleeding foot.

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked out.

  “What are you doing to her?” Zach’s voice rumbled through the fray of voices.

  “What’s happened to her?” Mrs. Tolliver demanded.

  “Your pretty dress!” Liza cried.

  They all came closer, the oldest ones anyway, Zach first, grabbing Griff’s shoulder and yanking him back. “Get your hands off of her, you—” He raised his fist.

  Esther grabbed his wrist with both hands. “No, don’t. It’s not as bad as it looks. He wasn’t hurting me.”

  Her foot was, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it at that moment.

  The adults stopped talking at once and stared at her. The children hushed except for giggles from Brenna and Jack.

  Griff’s lips curved into a half smile. “I don’t think they thought I was hurting you, Miss Esther.”

  “He was going to kiss you,” Brenna said in a singsong chant.

  “Ewww,” the younger boys chorused.

  Esther pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks. “He wasn’t.”

  Mrs. Tolliver turned toward the children. “You all go to your rooms. And no sneaking down the steps. That includes you, Brenna.”