Almost a Bride (The Bride Ships Book 4)

by Jody Hedlund

  Would death have been preferable? Sometimes he wondered, especially when the tortured screams of the victims echoed in the corners of his mind, reminding him of everything he’d run from. He’d never be able to make up for the pain he’d caused those poor people and their families.

  The burning flames raced over his skin again, and he released a moan.

  “A little water, Zeke,” came a soft plea nearby, a woman’s voice. “Take just a sip.”

  Cool fingers caressed his cheek down to his chin. “For me. Please?”

  He forced his eyes open to find the most beautiful face above his, the face of an angel with the prettiest brown eyes framed by long lashes. Kate.

  “You’re awake.” She smiled down at him, her eyes glistening with sudden tears.

  His mind cleared, bringing him back to the present. He’d been injured in an explosion at the mine. His pulse spiked with a burst of fear. “Phil?” he croaked. “How’s Phil?”

  “He’s just fine. His injuries aren’t nearly as bad as yours.”

  Zeke was stomach-down on a bed. His bed. In his room. In his house.

  What was Kate doing here? Especially after the way they’d parted? She’d all but told him she didn’t want anything to do with him, that he wasn’t good enough for her because he wasn’t a church-going, God-following man anymore.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice came out harsh, but he didn’t care.

  “I’m helping take care of you—”

  “I don’t need help.”

  Her smile only grew wider, making her more beautiful. “Fiddlesticks. The doctor said you can’t be left alone and that you need constant supervision.”

  “Doc doesn’t control me.” Zeke attempted to push himself up onto his elbows, but pain shot down his torso to his leg. He bit back a cry of agony.

  She brushed his hair again, only to make him realize his head was swathed in bandages and was pounding harder than a pick against stone.

  During the explosion, he must have suffered a blow to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight off a wave of dizziness.

  “Take another sip.” The rim of a mug pressed against his lips.

  “I don’t want your help.” He shifted away, even though it caused more throbbing.

  Her fingers against his hair stilled.

  “Get Mr. Peabody. He can help me instead.”

  “He’s sleeping now after being up all night caring for you.”

  “I don’t care. I’d rather have him here than you.”

  Kate pulled back. For a long moment, she was so silent he could hear himself breathing raggedly.

  “You’re acting like a child, Zeke.” Her voice was strained with hurt.

  Not only was he behaving like a child, but he was acting like a donkey. He needed to stop talking before he said even more he’d regret later when he wasn’t reeling from pain.

  The scrape of a chair told him she’d scooted away from the bed, but he didn’t hear her footsteps leaving the room. As much as he wanted to see if she was still there, he forced himself to keep his eyes closed.

  Moments later, his breathing evened and drowsiness fell over him, lulling him back to a world of oblivion.

  The next time Zeke awoke, fresh torment jerked him from his nightmares.

  Gentle fingers smoothed salve into a burning spot on his back. A spot very low on his back. And the coolness of the air blowing in his window brushed across his skin. His very bare skin.

  Was he naked? In front of Kate?

  Embarrassment flooded him. Should he pretend he was asleep and didn’t know she was there? She’d be mortified if she knew he was awake while she tended to his wounds.

  He lay motionless.

  “I know you’re awake.” The voice wasn’t Kate’s.

  Zeke’s eyes flew open, and he strained to see over his shoulder, but the knife wound still pained him. “Mr. Peabody?”

  “Of course it’s me.” The portly man paused and glared at Zeke. “You certainly didn’t think I’d subject Kate to such indecencies, did you?”

  Zeke lowered his head to hide his disappointment. “She was here last time I woke. So I assumed—”

  “She told me you’d rather have my help than hers.” Mr. Peabody’s tender ministration came to a halt.

  “That’s right.” Zeke tried to keep his voice light.

  “Well, here I am.”

  “Good.” The disappointment at her absence crept deeper.

  Mr. Peabody moved to a new painful spot on his back and applied the salve, the first touch making Zeke nearly cry out. He waited for Mr. Peabody to elaborate on Kate’s whereabouts, but the stubborn man carried on silently.

  “What time is it?” The light peeking through the open window told him it was past dawn, but not by much.

  “It’s six thirty.”

  “How many days have I been in bed?”

  “Two.”

  Zeke felt as though he’d been lying there for two hundred. Every part of his body ached in one way or another, and he was ready to get up, stretch, and start healing. “You’re sure talkative this morning.”

  Mr. Peabody didn’t respond.

  Zeke squirmed. He’d obviously made his housekeeper mad. No doubt the older man was tired and ready for a break. And now that Zeke had told Kate to go away, Mr. Peabody wouldn’t get any relief. “Listen. I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Peabody’s fingers paused their rubbing. “Sorry for what?”

  “For being selfish and demanding of your time.”

  Mr. Peabody clicked his tongue but didn’t speak.

  Zeke guessed the housekeeper was waiting for more. “For kicking out perfectly good help and leaving you to do my care alone?”

  “And . . .?”

  “And what?”

  Mr. Peabody released a sigh that rivaled a winter wind. “And for behaving so abominably toward Kate.”

  “Abominably?” Zeke released a scoffing laugh, but Mr. Peabody’s fingers jabbed him, stopping him short with a flood of pain.

  “Fine,” Zeke said quickly. “I behaved abominably with Kate. I apologize. You satisfied?”

  “No. I won’t be satisfied until you apologize to her.”

  Zeke had already planned to tell her he was sorry for his rude comments. Even if her rejection stung, she didn’t deserve his contempt. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She had the right to turn down his advances and choose any man she wanted. That’s all there was to it.

  “It may be a while, but next time I see her, I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” By then, hopefully, he’d be feeling better and have time to build a few fences around his battered heart.

  “Why will it be a while? She’ll be here soon.”

  Zeke stiffened. “She will?”

  “Fortunately, she’s not scared away by your insolence.”

  He started to push himself up. “Hurry and help me get dressed. I need to comb my hair and wash my face.”

  Mr. Peabody chuckled. “I knew you still wanted her.”

  Propped on his elbows, Zeke reached for the glass on the bedside table, but the water sloshed over. “’Course I want her. The problem is that the feelings aren’t mutual.”

  “Who says?” Mr. Peabody took the shaking glass from Zeke and lifted it to his lips.

  “She says,” Zeke said, before swallowing several mouthfuls.

  “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and it’s clear she cares about you. Besides, I don’t think she would have offered to be your caregiver during your recuperation if she didn’t have feelings.”

  “She offered?”

  “When the doctor said you needed someone else besides me, she was eager for the opportunity.”

  “Eager? Doubt that.”

  “Rest assured, she likes you.” Mr. Peabody patted Zeke’s cheek, bringing back the vague memory of the housekeeper calling him son and promising to be there for him. “The problem is that you need to prove yourself worthy of her.”

  Prove himself? Zeke rested hi
s head against his pillow. “How do I do that?”

  “You’re a smart young man.” Mr. Peabody lifted a sheet over Zeke’s body. “You’ll figure it out, especially since you’ll have her all to yourself for the next few weeks as you heal.”

  Zeke’s chest thudded a new faster tempo. Mr. Peabody was right. If Kate really had offered to be his caregiver, he’d get to spend hours a day with her. He’d have more of her time than any other man. And he wouldn’t squander it.

  He had to do everything possible to prove he was worthy of her love, so in the end, he could win her—heart, soul, and body.

  TWELVE

  KATE’S PENCIL FLEW over the page, sketching the details of the caribou she’d watched grazing on the hill behind the laundry earlier that morning. Coming back from the necessary at dawn, she’d stopped at the sight of a dozen of the beautiful animals munching silently on the sedges. The sun rays streaming over the eastern range had added an ethereal glow to the morning feast.

  She darkened the charcoal that outlined the large velvety antlers before swiftly shading the body and leaving lighter patches around the rump and neck.

  She hadn’t expected to be able to draw the creatures so soon after arriving at Zeke’s house, especially when Mr. Peabody had briefed her in the front hallway and excitedly relayed the news that Zeke was awake and alert and on the mend.

  However, when she’d made her way into Zeke’s bedroom, he’d been asleep, apparently having taxed himself. She planned to tend to other household duties and relieve Mr. Peabody of some of his burden, but she’d been unable to resist the temptation to sit down and draw the caribou first.

  She’d gotten carried away, and instead of simply drawing the caribou, she’d sketched the entire herd and the hillside.

  Pausing, she held her pencil between her teeth while she brushed the charcoal with her fingers, lightening and smudging to blend the lone hemlock tree that stood wild and scraggly, casting its long shadow across the meadow.

  As she held the sketch pad at arm’s length to study it, she glimpsed Zeke’s green eyes upon her, crinkling at the corners with amusement.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she retrieved the pencil from her mouth. “You’re awake.”

  “Aye. And enjoying the view. I’d much rather wake up to your face every morning than to Mr. Peabody’s.”

  His words started a fluttering of warmth in her stomach. “Are you sure?” she asked, not willing to give in to his charm quite yet. “Last time you said you’d rather have Mr. Peabody’s help.”

  “Only because I was an idiot.”

  She tried not to smile, but her lips curved upward nonetheless.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Doubt I was thinking at all if I wanted Mr. Peabody over you.”

  This time she laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  His smile broke free and brought out his dimples. “Do you forgive me for all the awful things I said to you?”

  “I already have.”

  His eyes widened, making their green as lush as a mountain meadow. “You have?”

  “Aye. Forgiveness doesn’t have to be earned. It’s free. Besides, I know you were in a lot of pain and weren’t thinking straight.”

  “I’ve got no excuse for being rude to you when you’re here to help.” His sleepy expression was much too handsome, his eyes too beckoning, his lazy grin too enticing.

  This was exactly why she’d always been enamored with him, because no matter what he did, she could never dislike him for long. Even so, she couldn’t let her attraction surface again, not when there couldn’t be anything between them.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  Zeke shifted, then winced. “Like I took a dive down a rocky cliff.”

  “You could have died.”

  “I’m too stubborn to die.” His voice contained a note of mirth, even though his smile was gone.

  Part of her wanted to shake him so he’d admit his need to make peace with his Maker. But she sensed that even though he’d come close to dying, he still wasn’t ready to talk about God, and that to push him to do so would only push him away altogether.

  “What are you drawing?” He changed the subject, as if he, too, wanted to avoid the topic of death.

  She tipped the sketch pad away from him. “I can’t show you until I’m finished.”

  “You’re drawing me, aren’t you?”

  “No, of course not.” Her denial was too quick. And she wished she could keep the flush from rising into her cheeks.

  “Hope you’re making me very handsome and including my adorable dimples.”

  “No, I’m drawing you more accurately and including a big head.”

  His laughter tumbled out easily, and the sound of it pleased Kate. She loved bantering with him, something she hadn’t been able to do quite as well with any of the other men she’d gotten to know over the past years.

  She had no doubt Zeke Hart was a special man. If only he was the man for her.

  “Show me.” His intense gaze focused upon her and made her wish she’d taken more time with her appearance.

  “I told you I can’t.”

  “Is that some kind of rule you artists have?”

  Was she an artist? Painting and drawing were activities she did in her free time when she had enough supplies and energy. Even though she’d sold some of her sketches in Victoria, she’d never considered herself an artist.

  She tried on the idea and saw herself doing more of what she loved. But just as quickly as the vision came, she let it fade. Life was too busy and had too many demands for her to entertain fancy notions about being an artist.

  “If you show me, I promise I won’t criticize.”

  “If I show you before I’m finished, I might lose my muse.”

  “Maybe I can help your muse. Maybe I can even be your muse.” He twisted to his side, the tautness in his muscles attesting to the pain he was enduring.

  She needed to put her sketch pad away and make him breakfast so that he had nourishment before the doctor arrived to apply a plaster cast. Even so, she skimmed her fingers over the drawing before she flipped it around, so he could see what she’d been working on.

  He propped himself up on one elbow, the sheet falling away to reveal his bare chest and arms. Sleek and hard and powerful.

  Her mouth went dry, and she made herself look at her creation.

  He studied the drawing, his silence lengthening and making her want to snap the cover closed.

  “Wow,” he finally said. “That’s amazing.”

  “Don’t say something just to be nice.”

  “I’m not.” His tone was reverent. “You’re more talented than I realized.”

  Her grip on the pad relaxed. “I still need to finish the baby.”

  “The calf?”

  “Aye, over here. And this must have been the mother.” She pointed to a caribou with short antlers that stood close to the baby as though protecting him.

  “She looks as if she’s scolding her child. And telling him to hurry up and finish his breakfast before the miners come out and disturb the peace with their guns.”

  Kate angled her head to view the drawing the way Zeke was.

  “On the opposite side of the picture,” Zeke continued, “the father is standing guard, watching over his herd and making sure they aren’t in danger.”

  Again, Kate studied the picture, seeing it from a new perspective. “I think you’re right.”

  “’Course I’m right.” Zeke’s voice took on a playful quality. “And as with most children who think they know everything, the calf’s telling his parents to stop worrying, that they’re overprotective, and that they imagine danger in every shadow when there really isn’t any.”

  She smiled at Zeke’s animation.

  “What Cari doesn’t realize—?”

  “Cari?”

  “Would you rather call him Bou?”

  She stifled a laugh. “Definitely not Bou. Let’s go with Cari.”

  �
��Good answer. What Cari doesn’t realize is that he’s looking for danger in the wrong place.”

  “He is?”

  “Aye. He’s facing the town, confident he’ll hear the approach of hunters before they can get anywhere close enough to take aim.”

  She studied the drawing, noting the way the baby caribou was chewing with confidence, his head turned from his mother, as if he was communicating to her everything Zeke was saying.

  “While he’s watching the town, a silent but deadly predator is slinking down the mountain from the opposite direction.”

  “What silent but deadly predator?” Kate searched the hillside as if she could see something she’d overlooked.

  “The wolf.”

  “There isn’t a wolf.”

  “Not that you can see yet. And not what our little Cari can see.”

  She shifted her attention to Zeke, a strange sliver of realization coursing through her. Zeke was a natural storyteller with a big imagination. She should have realized it sooner, especially when they’d worked together cleaning up his store. He’d kept her entertained with silly stories of things that had happened in Williamsville over the past year. Even as children, his tales had always regaled her, Jeremiah, and anyone who’d listen.

  For several more minutes, he continued with his tale of Cari ignoring his parents’ warnings about the dangers of the world around him, particularly the hidden perils, the threats that crouched closer and closer, waiting to spring up when he least expected them.

  With each scene, she mentally sketched the wolf creeping closer, hiding behind a boulder, then within a thatch of tall, thick grass, drawing ever nearer as Cari turned his back on his parents, focusing on the pleasures of the meadow and ignoring the dangers around him.

  “In the end,” Zeke said, “the wolf snatched poor Cari, dragged him away, and ate him.”

  “What? No. You’re not allowed to kill off Cari.”