Impending Love and War

by Laura Freeman

  Tyler grinned wider. “I don’t mind.”

  Cory tugged on the sleeve of his coat, but it didn’t budge. She straddled his body, cursing the starched crinoline beneath her skirt as it flew up behind her like a bell tolling the hour.

  “Can you sit?” She leaned forward and put her right hand beneath the wound and the other on his opposite side. No force on her part would have raised him, but he suddenly sat upright. He caught her with his right arm when she collapsed against his chest and rested on his lap.

  “Cozy.”

  “Be still.” Cory brushed back a loose curl shaken loose from her chignon. She rolled forward to her knees and pulled his coat sleeve off his right arm. She reached around his neck with her other arm to move it to the opposite side and tugged it off his left arm. Her face was inches from his as she repeated the motion with his vest. Tyler hadn’t budged. “You could help.”

  Beads of perspiration glistened on his brow, and his voice was husky. “You said to be still.”

  So she had. Less gently she yanked his suspender straps down and undid his tie before she tugged his shirt free from his trousers and moved it around his massive back and around to the left side. His shirt stuck to the bandage and both came off. The wound burst into a fresh flow down his side.

  Cory shrieked and pressed the saturated bandage against the wound. “I hope this isn’t a new shirt.” She wadded it over the wound to help squelch the flow. “Hold this here.” She placed his right hand over the makeshift bandage. She shoved off his rock-hard body and stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to fetch some alcohol.”

  “I don’t imbibe,” he confessed, “but I could start.”

  She paused in the dining room opening. “It’s not to drink. It’s to clean the wound.”

  Cory returned with a bottle of corn liquor one of the neighbors had brewed. Adelaide said Hiram had bought it for his rheumatism and other medicinal purposes. Cory uncorked it and knew from the smell it would do the job. Her father was always reading about new medical discoveries and insisted upon cleanliness. Soap and water, alcohol, and even fire could prevent a wound from turning poisonous or gangrene. She had to help with the amputation of a foot once. The memory made her shudder.

  Cory put the jug on the table in front of the fireplace, took some wooden matches from the mantel, and lit two candles on the table. “Stay there,” Cory ordered when Tyler moved. She carried a candle and the jug to him. “Roll over on your good side.”

  Cory fetched the other candle and arranged them so she could see the wound clearly.

  Tyler had his back to her, but she turned away to raise her skirt. She untied the annoying crinoline that kept popping up and exposing her drawers and stockings. She removed what remained of her torn petticoat and tore a few more strips. She arranged the folded pads of fabric near one of the candles.

  Tyler looked almost comfortable stretched out on the braided rug. His right arm was cocked under his head, and his left held the bandage in place.

  “Move your hand.” Cory touched his shoulder. “So I can examine the wound.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

  Cory didn’t know whether to take him seriously. He had such a boyish charm about him that she wanted to give him a reassuring hug. Then she saw the wide grin on his face and knew he was teasing. She lifted the wadded shirt and bandage, expecting a gush of blood, but the flow had slowed. She carefully cleaned the wound. Tyler cried out.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cold.” Tyler unclenched his teeth. “How bad is it?”

  Luckily, the ball had gone through the muscle on the edge of his ribs below his armpit and was lodged in the parlor wall. “It went clean through.”

  She placed a thick square of cotton on the long slice the ball had cut in his otherwise flawless flesh. “I think I did more damage to Miss Adelaide’s plaster than you.”

  She positioned a longer strip over the bandage to keep it in place. “I need you to sit and hold this until I tie it off.”

  He pushed into a sitting position, his muscles rippling with the movement in the flickering candlelight. Cory forgot what she was doing. Tyler raised his arms, his muscles bulging with the flex. “Can you get around?”

  Cory stared at his arms, amazed by the size and strength.

  His deep masculine voice startled her. “My chest,” he reminded her. “Aren’t you going to wrap the bandage around my chest?”

  She did a mental slap to break whatever spell left her unfocused and stretched the bandage around his body, tying off the ends near the wound.

  “I heard a shot,” Adelaide called from the top of the staircase. “What happened, Cory?”

  “I accidentally shot a man!” Cory checked the knot she had tied.

  “Are you sure it was an accident?” Tyler asked.

  Cory, who was on her knees, leaned back to get a clear view of the man who had accused her. “Of course it was an accident. If you hadn’t reached for my arm, the gun wouldn’t have gone off.” She corked the jug and returned it to the pantry.

  When she returned, Tyler stood near the wall with a letter opener in his hand and a candle in the other.

  “What are you doing?” She blew out the other candles and returned them to the table before the fireplace. She gathered the clothing from the floor and joined him by the wall.

  “I found the lead slug.” He pried it from the wall. “Evidence if I choose to press charges.” He had pulled his suspenders up, and the vertical lines only emphasized the width of his shoulders and chest.

  Cory chewed on her bottom lip, wondering what the penalty was for shooting a man. She held out her hand. “Let me have it.”

  “It’s my souvenir.” He shoved the ball into his trouser pocket. “I’ll think of you whenever I look at it.”

  “It belongs to me.”

  He looked at his pocket and then her. “Then take it.”

  Cory reached for the opening of his pocket and hesitated. Her mother had warned her never to touch a man below the waist and above the knees, and she didn’t take her mother’s warnings lightly. Her face grew warm, and she withdrew her hand.

  He chuckled softly.

  “Do you think he’s going to die?” Adelaide was slowly descending the staircase.

  Cory scowled at Tyler. “I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky.”

  He looked shocked. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about a guest.”

  “You are not a guest!”

  “I am now.” He examined the bandage around his chest. “You don’t expect me to walk all the way to the inn in my condition. Do you want my death on your conscience?”

  “You won’t die,” she reassured him and herself. “The ball barely grazed you.”

  “I’ve lost a great deal of blood.” He staggered a few steps and reached for her with his right hand.

  Cory stepped away, but his arm wrapped around her shoulders like a massive yoke.

  “I feel faint. I think I should lie down.” The candle in his other hand shook.

  Cory adjusted her load of clothing and took the candle as they headed for the foyer.

  Adelaide, wearing a robe and knitted slippers, had reached the bottom of the stairs. “What are you going to do with him?”

  Cory debated. She wanted to throw out the slave owner, but she had wounded the man. She had an obligation to ensure he didn’t suffer any ill effects from her carelessness. She sighed. “I guess we’ll have to take care of him until he’s healed.”

  “That is kind of you.” Tyler took an unsteady step toward the staircase.

  “You can stay in the barn.” Cory turned him toward the hallway.

  “No, he cannot,” Adelaide said. “He can stay in the bedroom at the head of the stairs next to yours.”

  Cory couldn’t have heard correctly. A man did not sleep under the same roof as an unmarried woman unless unavoidable. “That’s highly improper.” She lowered her voice.
“We don’t even know him.”

  “There’s a lock on the door.” Adelaide turned and headed upstairs.

  Cory was not appeased. “On the inside.”

  “That is reassuring,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to worry about you coming into my room in the middle of the night and trying to do me harm. After all, you did shoot me.”

  Cory looked at the steep incline. Her voice was thick with false concern. “Do you think you can make it all the way upstairs?”

  “With your help, I think I can manage.”

  ****

  Tyler’s hand brushed perilously close to Cory’s breast as she climbed the steps with him saddled to her slim frame.

  Each movement caused an equal and opposite reaction above the barrier of her gown. Tyler was mesmerized by the firmness and suppleness of her anatomy. Nothing else existed. The only thing that mattered was the rhythm of two mounds of flesh playing a seductive dance before his spellbound eyes.

  Tyler regretted wasting all his time attending school and studying law. If he could get past the girl’s prickly nature, he might enjoy his temporary stay. He’d always imagined his life as a confident womanizer, a man of the world, but his Quaker upbringing and strict school masters had held a tight rein on any worldly experiences. He was hoping to change his Puritan lifestyle.

  Adelaide had opened the door to the spare bedroom on the back southeast side of the house. A nightstand with a pitcher and washbowl was near the door. A chest of drawers stood opposite the bed, and a secretary was nestled in the corner along with a small storage chest. Adelaide turned down the coverlet and moved out of the way. Tyler plopped down on the edge of the bed, dragging Cory with him. She scrambled out from under his hold and joined Adelaide by the door.

  Tyler wasn’t ready to part company. “I need some help with my boots and trousers.”

  Cory turned to Adelaide.

  “Don’t look at me.” Adelaide hurried out the door. “I’ve only seen one man naked in my entire life, and I have no intention of making it two. Besides, you’ve probably seen plenty of naked men helping your father.”

  “Miss Adelaide!”

  Tyler heard a door close down the hall. How convenient for Adelaide to leave him alone with his prey.

  Cory stomped across the room. “How dare she!”

  “What has she done?”

  Cory dropped the pile of clothing on the end of the bed. “Left me alone with you.”

  “Does that cause a problem?”

  “Are you married, Mr. Montgomery?”

  He was amused by her switch to formally addressing him. “No, are you, Cory dear?”

  She bristled. “No. That’s why we need a chaperone.”

  He winked. “I won’t tell anyone we were alone if you don’t.”

  Cory shook her head. “It does seem rather silly. After all, you’re wounded. You couldn’t do anything improper even if you wanted to.”

  She couldn’t be more wrong. The wound throbbed no more than a headache. The rest of his anatomy was functioning in full force.

  When Cory lit the oil lamp on the secretary, he could see her more clearly. She was young but had a woman’s figure. Without the crinoline and petticoat, he could see her natural shape. His hand itched to explore the curves that flowed gracefully in seductive lines. He admired a comely woman, but Cory had ignited a hot desire he’d never experienced. He wanted her like food, water, and sleep. But he was disciplined. He could wait for her to come to him.

  Chapter Four

  Cory studied Tyler in the lamplight. He was heavily muscled, which is why the bullet had missed bone and simply torn a slash along the side of his chest. Cory had seen naked men. At least arms, legs, and partial areas of the torso when her father worked on patients, but nothing like this man. Tyler’s body lacked any soft fat, and the muscles were clearly defined by the taut smooth skin emphasizing every bulk and shallow of his body. Cory fought the urge to stroke his tempting flesh.

  Cory sorted the clothing and examined his damaged wardrobe. She poked her finger through the hole in the vest. The embroidery work was intricate and skilled. “Did someone make this for you?”

  “A woman I know.”

  Cory felt a quick jab of jealousy. Logical reasoning replaced her sudden fit of fury. She barely knew the man. What did she care if a woman had taken the time to make the embroidered vest for him? “It’s beautiful. I hope I can repair it.”

  “What about the hole in me?” Tyler examined the bandage under his armpit.

  “It will heal. All you need is rest.”

  “I could use some help with these.” He lifted a boot.

  Cory didn’t trust Tyler. In her panic to tend to his wound, she had forgotten he was a slave owner, a stranger, and a man. What if he was dangerous? But Grandpa Donovan had taught her not to show fear in the face of an enemy. She reached for the boot and tugged. After she removed one boot and sock, she repeated the task with the other foot and placed them on the floor side by side. “I think you’re ready for bed.”

  “What about my trousers?”

  “You can drop those after I’m gone.”

  “I may need help getting into bed.” He grimaced as he stood.

  Cory turned away and heard his pants drop to the floor. Tyler hadn’t worn anything under his shirt. What if he had nothing under his trousers? “You do have pants on, don’t you? Men’s undergarments,” she clarified.

  “I hope you won’t peek,” he said. “I’m a rather modest man.”

  Cory heard the ropes of the bed groan and cautiously turned.

  Tyler was safely under the blanket, which he had tucked around his waist. He leaned against the pillows propped on the headboard, his right arm raised and cocked behind his head as if he was expecting company. His left arm remained by his wounded side.

  “Do you need anything else?”

  His brow furrowed. “I feel a bit warm.”

  The man was taxing her patience. “It’s July.”

  “I may have a fever.”

  Cory pressed her hand against his forehead, and he snatched it into his own. “You have a gentle touch for someone so bloodthirsty.”

  She tugged her hand free. “Do all Southern men talk so boldly to women they barely know?”

  “Only to those who shoot them.”

  Cory stared him in the eye. “I’m beginning to think I should have taken better aim.”

  He stuck out his bottom lip. “Our children would be disappointed.”

  “We’re never going to have any children.” She stepped to the window beside the bed and pushed it upward. She propped a board against it to hold it open. “There’s not much of a breeze, but this should help cool your ardor.”

  He chuckled. “Miss Adelaide called you Cory. It suits you better than Courtney.”

  “My sisters call me Cory. You can call me Miss Beecher.”

  “How many sisters do you have, Cory?”

  “Five.”

  “Five?” He studied her. “Are they all like you?”

  It sounded like an unintentional compliment, and Cory smiled. If he ever met her sisters, he’d think she was an angel by comparison. “We bear a family resemblance, but we’re all different.”

  “Any of them married?”

  “Not yet. I’m the oldest.” She recalled her responsibilities. “That means I’m the first to marry.”

  “You’re a woman looking for a husband.”

  “Wipe that look of panic off your face.” Cory laughed. “You are off my list of suitable husbands.”

  “Already?”

  She counted off on her fingers. “I won’t marry a drunkard, a cheat, a liar, an abuser, or a slave owner.”

  “I’m hardly all of those.”

  “It only takes one,” she said. “You are the worst, a slave owner.”

  “What if I wasn’t a slave owner?”

  Cory dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Then you would be a liar.”

  “Who else is in the house besides you
and Adelaide?” he demanded. “Be careful, Cory dear, or I might call you a liar.”

  Cory backed away from him. “I hope you don’t plan on paying back our hospitality by robbing or murdering us.”

  He shook his head. “No, but why are you and Adelaide alone in such a big house?”

  Hiram’s death was common knowledge. “Hiram Thomas died from a heart attack four weeks ago.”

  Tyler frowned. “How well do you know Adelaide?”

  “She’s an old family friend. She’s having a hard time adjusting to life without Hiram. I help with the chores, make sure she eats, and keep her company.”

  “It’s difficult being alone.”

  “Especially when you’ve been married for so many years like Adelaide.”

  Tyler frowned. “Family is important.”

  “Do you have any family?”

  “I didn’t see much of them while I was away at school.” He grinned. “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Like Mr. Lincoln?”

  Tyler looked like he was going to be sick. “Lincoln didn’t go to law school. He’s a country con man who can spin a good yarn and win over a jury with his humor and charm. I graduated from Harvard.”

  Why were college educated men so arrogant? She had spent all night listening to Douglas brag about his Yale College education, and now Tyler was repeating the performance. “I am not impressed.” She plucked his trousers from the floor and placed them at the bottom of the bed. She gathered his damaged clothing, her crinoline, and what remained of her petticoat. “I’ll wash the blood out.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  She had her hand on the doorknob but turned. “Is there something else you needed?”

  His stare was intense, but he remained silent.

  Cory recognized the unspoken invitation. Usually it preceded an attempt at a kiss. He was waiting for a sign of acquiesce from her. She turned the knob and hurried out of the room. She leaned against the door jamb to steady her racing heart. She’d almost answered his call.

  She passed the top of the staircase and paused at her bedroom door. She should check on Adelaide. As she walked toward Adelaide’s room, she heard familiar snoring. She was asleep.

  Cory’s room had belonged to Adelaide’s daughters. She dropped the clothing on a cedar chest at the end of the bed and sat on a stool in front of the dressing table. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and scolded the wide-eyed innocent. “The man is a rake. The handsome ones always are. He’ll steal more than a kiss. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like Deborah Jackson with a baby to remind her of a handsome stranger and an old husband to give him a name.”