Distant Thunder

by Lisa Bingham

  Returning to Daniel’s room, she closed the door behind her. He hadn’t moved. He still lay big and broad and half-naked on the bed. She spread a dish towel over the dresser surface and laid out an assortment of bottles as well as a roll of bandages.

  “What’s that for?” Daniel asked suspiciously.

  “You.”

  Chapter 8

  A murderous scowl spread over Daniel’s face. The materials she’d pulled out of the basket looked complete enough to allow her to perform surgery. He wasn’t about to have her spread him out on the floor and poke and prod at him with a serrated knife. “What the hell do you plan on doing?”

  “I plan on doctoring you.”

  “I’ve already seen to that, thank you.”

  “Evidently not well enough.”

  He settled back against the pillows. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a few hours’ sleep won’t cure.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “When did you become so bossy?”

  Instead of acting insulted, Susan beamed. Her new-found assertiveness was much more admirable than the way she used to react shyly to confrontations or avoid them altogether, but Daniel didn’t think that gave her the right to appear so damned smug.

  “I’ve been taking lessons from the sisters. They can be quite … persuasive when need be.” After taking a stack of folded muslin strips from the basket, she sat on the edge of the bed.

  The heat of Daniel’s feverish skin sank into her skirts, but she pushed any recognition of the sensation out of her head. She had a job to do. She couldn’t let her own insecurities get in the way.

  “Let me see your wound,” she said, indicating the spot on his side where she believed the blood had come from.

  Daniel clutched the covers to his chest. “No.”

  “You’re being childish.”

  “I’m being smart.” When she lifted one brow in inquiry, he continued, “I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to do this.”

  “Whyever not?” But Susan knew what he meant. She could feel the tension pulsing around them. Phantom memories of their intimate embrace hung like gossamer ribbons tickling her nerve endings. She had only to reach out and touch him to satisfy the forbidden curiosity that had welled inside her since their kiss. The seclusion of the room offered a perfect haven. Not a soul would disturb them. She could indulge her wickedness for a few stolen moments and no one would ever have to know.

  Daniel groaned. “Go, Susan. Leave,” he urged, so softly that the words were almost inaudible. His deep, raspy voice throbbed with a blatant warning. The rich, clear color of his eyes grew cloudy and dark.

  “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  “Are you convincing me or yourself?” At her stricken look, Daniel relented and teased her wrist with the back of his index finger. “No. You’re not doing anything wrong. You won’t be struck by lightning for touching me.”

  Daniel’s feather-light caress invaded her senses. She felt drawn to him even as his maleness frightened her. She forced herself to remain still and silent beneath the tender exploration, but uncontrollable tremors began deep in her muscles and spread outward. Her body trembled. She opened her mouth, preparing to offer some half-formed explanation about her chill being caused by the cold hearth and the icy room, but she knew the lie would be useless. He knew what was happening inside her. He knew.

  He must have guessed the reasons for her reaction because he added, “You saw something in me the other night.”

  Don’t say it, Daniel. Ignore it. Deny that it ever existed and it will go away.

  But he didn’t stop.

  “I frightened you.”

  No. Not a sound emerged from her throat, but her lips formed the denial.

  “I never meant to scare you.”

  She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “I know.” She stood and walked to the window, then stared out into the crisp January morning. Snow lay piled in frozen mounds, obscuring the gentle earth. So cold. So bleak. So barren. Just as Susan had been for so many years.

  “I’ve touched you before, kissed you before.”

  “Not like that.”

  “I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to do.”

  “I know. But—”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m the same person who always watched over you.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  The silence became painful, but she knew he wouldn’t let her go without explaining. She forced the words out of her throat. “You aren’t a boy anymore.”

  “We all grow up, Susan.”

  What could she say? That she didn’t want him to get any older? That she wanted to retreat into the safety of their childhood?

  Seeking to lighten the conversation, Susan returned to the supplies she’d arranged on the dresser. “Let me see what ails you.”

  But Daniel wouldn’t let the subject pass so quickly. “You grew up, too, Susan.”

  How was it possible that with a single deliberate statement, he could affect her so deeply?

  “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak.

  “I remember the little girl who followed me like a shadow. She had carrot-colored braids, grass-green eyes, and a button nose covered with freckles. But now …” The harshness of his features eased. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He added slowly, “That’s why I followed you to Ashton. I couldn’t let things end between us like that. I had to follow you and make things right.”

  His admission was startling. Disconcerting. But it was his compliment that piqued her attention. “I’m not beautiful,” she insisted. But she wished she were. And she hoped that what he said was true, that he had come after her just because he cared for her in some little way. Then she might know that he was just as deeply affected by her femininity as she was by his masculinity.

  “Yes. You are.” He leaned forward in emphasis. “Maybe that’s why God is tempting you to hide away. Maybe he thinks no earthly man is good enough for you.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  He continued more passionately, “But your beauty goes deeper, Susan. You’re kind and good—inside, where it counts.”

  “You make me sound like a custard pie.”

  He eased back against the headboard. “I give up. You never would accept a compliment. Go ahead and think whatever you like.”

  “Good.” Needing to dispel the sober mood that had settled around them far too quickly, Susan took hold of the sheets. “Let’s have a look at you.”

  “No. Go get Essie.”

  “If I do, you’ll have to answer some awkward questions.” When he didn’t relent, she elaborated. “Such as how you were injured, how you came to be here without anyone knowing, and how you managed to take such poor care of yourself in the first place. Then Essie will fuss and fret, badger you about your job—you know how much she hates the risks you take—and feel guilty about taking time away from overseeing your convalescence to prepare for the reunion.”

  “Leave the supplies here and I’ll bandage the wound.”

  “Daniel!” She huffed in irritation when he refused to give in. “Drat it all, are you afraid of what I’ll see?” As soon as she’d asked the question, she wished the floor would open and swallow her. She had been referring to viewing the seriousness of his wound, not … not anything else. But judging by the gleam that entered Daniel’s eyes, he’d assumed something entirely different.

  “Why, Susan, I never dreamed you thought of me in that way.” There was a caution to his teasing, as if he were treading on thin ice by saying anything at all. Susan felt encouraged enough to respond in kind.

  “Even if you were worried, there’s no need,” she plunged on bravely. “I’ve seen it all before.”

  His brows rose.

  Though she could feel her face flame, she explained, “The other girls and I used to pla
y by the creek. Sometimes we caught sight of you and the other boys swimming.”

  “Susan, we weren’t allowed to swim unless we wore our drawers.”

  The heat she felt in her cheeks could have singed hair. “I’m not asking you to … strip. You can keep your drawers on.”

  She thought she detected a slight hint of color on his own cheeks, but his response was silky smooth. “I’m not wearing any.”

  “Oh.” The images that rushed into her head nearly pummeled her with their strength. The thought of his being bare to the world except for the bedclothes brought forth a rush of warmth and a chilling awareness. Fire and ice.

  He reached for the bandages she’d dropped on the bed. “Let me—”

  “No. I told you I’d take care of you, and I will. Just… uncover a little.” But he was already uncovered quite a bit as it was. More than was proper.

  “Susan—”

  “I won’t go away until you do.” Her chin jutted out at a stubborn angle. “You can either humor me or bleed to death while I wait.”

  He sighed.

  “I mean it.”

  “And damned if I don’t believe you,” he conceded. It was apparent that even this much of an argument had taxed him. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Sell tickets, but get the peep show over with so I can get up.”

  “There’ll be no getting up yet. Not until you’ve had a good long sleep. I told Sister Mary Margaret you had the ague. As soon as I’ve taken care of you, I’ll pass the same news on to Essie. She won’t need to know the extent of your foolishness, though I’m sure you’ll still have to answer to her for sneaking into the house like a thief.” Dipping the facecloth in the cool water, she ordered, “Uncover, please.”

  In those few brief seconds before he moved, she steeled herself for what she might see. But her imagination could never have prepared her properly. As a child, Susan had been so shielded from the male sex that except for the boys at the swimming hole, she had never seen so much as one shoulder exposed.

  Right now she was afforded with the sight of more male flesh than she had ever dreamed she would view. Taut, masculine flesh. Daniel could have been carved from marble or bronze, his musculature was so clearly defined.

  Just when she felt she couldn’t bear seeing another inch of exposed skin, Daniel stopped lowering the sheet, revealing a long, wicked gash that sliced into the spot where his waist butted against his hips.

  “What have you done?” she breathed.

  “I was whittling, and the knife slipped.”

  The hard edge of his flippant reply warned her that he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. And the pale crisscrossing of faint scars proclaimed that this was not the first time he had been so incapacitated.

  The sight of so much maleness, so much blood, caused a wave of nausea. Old and bitter memories crowded into her head, bringing the odors, the visions, of faded horrors.

  Swallowing back the rising gorge and fighting the memories, Susan stood and rushed to the dresser to soak the already wet facecloth and to hold her hands in the freezing water, concentrating on the bite of the liquid.

  “You should go back into the kitchen.”

  “No! No. I’m fine.” She offered him what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “I wasn’t expecting so much …”

  “Blood?”

  “Yes. That’s it.”

  But that wasn’t the complete problem. And they both knew it.

  Determinedly she returned to the side of the bed. Concentrating on the wound with a vicious intensity, she tried to forget whom she tended. She tried to forget everything but her task.

  “This has already been stitched.”

  “I told you I’d seen a doctor.”

  “It isn’t binding together. When were you hurt?”

  “A week or so ago.”

  She touched the angry skin around the wound, and he hissed, his abdominal muscles contracting. She could see each rippling strand of tissue as it tightened beneath her fingers.

  Drawing a tight rein on her thoughts, she turned back to the dresser. “You said you have some medicine?”

  “It’s in my saddlebags, but it’s almost gone.”

  “I’ll find a way to run into town and have the alchemist restock your supply. In the meantime some of the skin is a little too red and inflamed for my liking. You may be developing an infection.”

  He offered her a thoughtful look. “You appear to know quite a bit about this.”

  “The sisters have taught me several skills in addition to teaching.” She took a jar from the basket and carefully unsnapped the wire hinges that held the ceramic stopper in place. “This will sting.”

  “I’m sure it will. I’ve never known any kind of medicine not to.”

  She placed a folded towel on the bed at his side, then gingerly rested her hand above the wound. Hard, yet tensile. Issuing no further warning, she doused the inflamed area with the pungent liquid.

  “Aaagh!” Daniel’s hips lifted off the bed, and he grabbed great fistfuls of bedding. “What the—”

  “Turpentine,” she supplied, knowing what he’d been about to ask.

  “Turpentine! Hell and damnation, woman, what are you trying to do to me?”

  “Heal you.”

  “Maim me, you mean. Damn it, you knew it would hurt!”

  “I warned you.”

  “You said it would sting—sting! Not eat away at my flesh like the fires of perdition.”

  Susan didn’t dare tell him that he’d only suffered the first step of the process. Quickly she uncapped a squat jar and poured some granules on the afflicted area.

  Daniel’s face drained of all color. The breath he took rasped in his throat in a surprised half-yelp, half-gasp. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and all but reared completely from the bed.

  “Salt,” she said with a smile.

  He pried open one eyelid and glared at her in reproach. “You did that on purpose.”

  “It’s the best way to cleanse the wound and stop the bleeding.”

  He fell weakly against the mattress. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “No …” Her lips twitched at his dazed expression. “Well, maybe a little.” She retrieved a length of muslin and, after helping him to sit up, swiftly wrapped it around his waist. Then, after tying the ends in a bow as she did for the children at the academy, she gathered her supplies and stowed them in the basket. “I’ll be back later with some broth and a cup of tea. Tonight I’ll sneak in and bring you a poultice to draw out the rest of the infection.”

  “What are you planning on putting in that? Ground glass?”

  “A handful.” At his startled grunt, she laughed out loud. Having Daniel at her mercy this way was a novel experience. He was always so calm, so cool, so controlled. But today the icy reserve he usually wore had cracked a tiny bit.

  “Get some sleep,” she urged, her voice gentling. She could have been a mother speaking to a child. Or a woman whispering to her lover.

  When she tucked the blankets beneath his chin, it was with a reverence, a tenderness like none she’d ever felt before. As she settled the folds around his chest, her knuckles brushed the winged ridges of his collarbone. Skin as smooth and firm as velvet over steel enticed her, even as a clammy, familiar regret sank into the pit of her stomach.

  “Get some sleep, Daniel.” Shifting her attention away from the tormenting lines of his shoulders, she tested the heat of his fevered brow. Yet that couldn’t explain why she paused to cup his cheek, touch his chin.

  He remained still during her explorations. Still and intent and wary.

  “Daniel, I …” But she didn’t finish. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say. She could only frown beneath the emotions roiling in her, each fighting for supremacy: fear, need, doubt.

  Daniel’s knuckles lifted to hover at the side of her face. Susan inhaled sharply, willing herself not to flinch and resisting the instinctive urge to re
coil. She could touch, but still shied away from being touched. She needed to feel she was in control of the situation and had an avenue of escape if she needed it. But Daniel’s caress was so fleeting and tender as he stroked the delicate curve of her jaw that she didn’t retreat. It tugged at her heart to see the way he shook with the effort it took to complete the simple task. Next to her chilled flesh, his finger burned. The rough texture of his skin lightly abraded her own.

  “Little Susan,” he whispered. “You’ve changed.”

  “I’m still the same,” she insisted, thinking he found something lacking.

  “No. You’re different. Stronger.”

  “Not strong enough,” she stated regretfully. Then, as if to prove herself wrong, she leaned forward, slowly, hesitantly, eyes wide open.

  Her lips grazed his, gently, a mere wisp of pressure. Even so, her pulse began to thunder in her ears. Wrenching away, she gathered the medicines and ran from the room, closing the door behind her.

  Daniel stared at the door. A yearning twisted in him. A need. Not so much physical, not so much emotional, but a combination of both. As he lay in silence, he could feel the careful walls he’d erected tremble, crack.

  Though his body ached and his mind wanted to escape, he summoned enough energy to lean over the side of the bed and grasp his saddlebags.

  Moving with a weariness that sank deeper into his bones each day, he delved inside the bag and withdrew a leather envelope. His thumb rubbed the flap in indecision. Then he opened it and withdrew the stiff daguerreotype.

  The three women in the picture were dressed identically in the somber uniforms of Ursuline novices, yet Daniel had no trouble whatsoever finding Susan Hurst. Even as a child she’d been strikingly pretty, with her fiery red hair, deep green eyes, and fragile features. But while the other two women stood tall and proud in the photograph, their lips tilted in secret, peaceful smiles, Susan stared soberly into the camera, her face filled with a wistful entreaty.