Redemption

by Carolyn Davidson

  And then his eyes closed and he groaned, a sound that reflected an agony she could only wonder at. “Jake,” she whispered, leaning over him, thankful that his fingers had loosened their grip on her. He did not hear her, but muttered under his breath. Then he reached for her again, this time drawing her over him, his arms enclosing her as she leaned awkwardly against his chest.

  As if he could not release her, could not bear to be alone where he lay, he drew her to his side, his hands strong, his arms capturing her, and she found herself lying beside him, held against his warm body. She shifted a bit and he tightened his hold.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “Lie with me. I need you.” He opened his eyes and slurred the syllables of her name. “Alicia.” He spoke it softly, pleadingly, and she responded in the only way she could. She reached her arm across his chest, rested her head against his rib cage, and heard the reassuring thudding of his heart as he inhaled deeply and then released a shuddering breath.

  He was quiet then, neither hot nor cold, and she determined to be thankful for this respite from the ordeal he’d suffered. She closed her eyes and slept.

  THE WOMAN IN HIS ARMS was soft, curving against his side, and Jake felt a satisfied grin curve his lips. He was exhausted, still feverish, but knew that the worst of his attack was a thing of the past. The fever had come on suddenly, before he could call out for Alicia to help him.

  Alicia. The woman he held was Alicia. He’d thought…For a moment, he’d thought it was Rena, had thrilled to the joy of holding her close. But Rena was gone. She would ever be beloved to him, but Alicia had somehow moved in to fill that hollow place in his life where Rena had once reigned.

  Alicia. He opened his eyes and saw her lashes against her cheek. Dark and sweeping, they touched the rosy skin, concealing her blue eyes from his sight. She must be worn out with nursing him, he thought, and felt a moment’s tenderness for the woman he’d married. He’d expected much, and received abundantly from her hands.

  Now she opened her eyes, as if she sensed his regard and blinked up at him. “Jake?” she asked. The dawn was breaking, the window becoming filled with the glow of radiance that preceded the rising of the sun. “I must have slept,” she whispered. Then, as if she became aware of her position, she jerked from him, rising in a quick movement to stand, swaying, beside the bed.

  “Don’t fall,” he said, reaching to steady her.

  “I won’t.” She was embarrassed, her face flushing as he watched. Looking around her as if she sought some distraction to turn his attention from her, she raised her hands to her hair, smoothing back the waves and loose tendrils that had come free from her braid. “I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  He uttered a sound of protest. “You haven’t done any such thing,” he told her. “You only stayed with me and took care of me.” And then he recognized that he lay naked beneath the quilt that covered him. The woman had seen him, had no doubt gotten an eyeful of his maimed body. He felt a rush of shame that she should have been forced by the weakness of his condition into this situation.

  “I’m sorry to have put you through this,” he said roughly. “I’ll be fine now. Go on up and get some rest, Alicia. I’m all right to be alone. The worst of it is over.”

  She stepped back from him as if he’d struck her, and indeed he had, in a figurative manner. She’d only done what any considerate, concerned person would do. Had no doubt spent long hours tending him, and all he could think of was the shame he felt at her viewing his body, with its scars and the stumps he called legs.

  Before he could speak words of apology, she was gone, turning with an awkward movement and heading for the door. He heard her go into the kitchen, knew when she put wood into the stove, then heard the coffeepot scrape across the iron surface.

  As if his senses were refined, and his hearing attuned to each movement she made, he listened for her. Her footsteps were light as she left the kitchen, approaching his doorway. And then she watched him from the threshold. “I’ll fix you something to eat,” she offered. “How about some toast, maybe a scrambled egg or two?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I can swallow anything yet. I still feel a little feverish.”

  “You are,” she agreed. “Perhaps I should make another cup of the tea the doctor said you should drink.”

  He shivered, an automatic reaction as he recalled the vile taste of the stuff she’d poured down his throat during the long hours. Most of his illness was a blur, as it usually was when he had these episodes, but he distinctly recalled her sitting beside him, spooning the tea past his lips and into his mouth. “I’ll be fine without any more of it,” he said firmly. “I’ll settle for some ordinary, everyday tea, instead, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly.” She spoke the word with formality, as if a barrier had been set between them. And then she was gone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NO MATTER THAT HE HAD been abrupt, Alicia could not turn away from Jake, recognizing that his pride was involved, that his disability would perhaps forever be a barrier between them. Whether he liked it or not, he still needed her, required care that she alone could give for now. And so she went to her room and dressed for the day, returning to him as soon as she had fixed his tea. Her own cup sat on the kitchen table, for she would not presume to join him, leaving him to the privacy of his bedroom.

  His bedroom. She’d been in his bed. That fact was enough to make her want to sink through the floor-boards. She’d been in his arms, no matter that he’d pulled her down against him. She could have left his side. He wouldn’t have clung to her, especially once he’d recognized that it wasn’t his beloved Rena he held.

  The cup trembled in her hand as she carried it to him, the tea threatening to slosh over the side. He watched her, raising himself on one elbow, and she thought that his face looked drawn, his skin waxen. His bout with fever had not left him unscathed, for there was an air of fragility about him that reminded her of how very ill he had been only hours before.

  “Is that for me?” he wanted to know, and at her nod he scooted up in bed to rest against the headboard. “Will you prop my pillows behind me?” he asked, taking the cup from her hand. Leaning forward, he waited until she did as he’d bid her and then leaned back, his breath leaving him with a shudder.

  “I’m worn out,” he admitted, lifting the cup to sip with appreciation.

  “I can believe that,” she replied, feeling uncomfortable, smothering her natural inclination to pass the time of day with him. She felt strange, almost like a trespasser in his room, and yet there was no need. She’d been here for a purpose, and her presence had been of necessity.

  “You look like you’d rather be somewhere else, Alicia.” He regarded her from beneath his brows as he raised the cup to his lips again. “Did my illness turn you against me?”

  She was stunned by his query. “Of course not,” she said firmly. “I don’t know what would make you think that.”

  “Don’t you?” He rested the cup on his lap and gave her his full attention. “I’m assuming that, in the course of events, you were given a bird’s-eye view of my legs. Or what remains of them. Am I right?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, of course I saw your legs. There was no help for it. I helped the doctor care for you, and then I spent the night in this room.”

  “I remember parts of it,” he said. “I knew who you were when I awoke and found you with me. Quite often, I’m lost in dreams or memories that sweep through me like the ocean tide.”

  “You had a few of those, too,” she said, remembering the cry of anguish he’d released. Don’t let them do it.

  His mouth curved. “Did I? I hesitate to ask about them.” He rested his head against the headboard. “I’m not as strong as I’d thought. Perhaps I should wait and drink the rest of the tea later. Would you mind taking it away?”

  She bent and removed it from his hand, noting the trembling of his fingers. He was shaky, unwilling to admit just how weak he still
was, but she was smart enough to recognize that he had not fully recovered his strength.

  “I’ll let you rest now,” she told him. “Perhaps I can make some soup for you. I’ll have it ready for you later today, after you sleep for a bit.”

  “You’re determined to make an invalid out of me, aren’t you?” he asked dryly. Scooting down amid the quilts, he found a comfortable spot and drew the sheet up to cover his chest. She’d never seen such an expanse of bare male skin before in her life, and from the look in his eyes, he was mightily enjoying her discomfort.

  “You’re my wife, Alicia,” he said softly, as if he would remind her that their situation was not in any way against the rules of good taste. “You’re allowed to see my chest, you know.”

  “I saw more than that,” she said sharply. “Looking at a man’s nakedness is not my usual behavior.”

  “Well, since you’ve never been married before, I suppose I understand that.” He smiled, his grin triumphant, and then closed his eyes. “Let me know when the soup is done,” he said, turning his head aside and dismissing her abruptly.

  She left him, turning on her heel and leaving the room with a swish of her skirts that spoke a language he would have no doubt recognized had he been watching. The man was crude, she decided. Either that, or he was protecting himself against the thought of her eyes beholding his body; if that were so, she could understand.

  The soup was vegetable, begun with a pint of the beef Rachel had cooked up for Jake’s use last year. Alicia added vegetables from the garden; peas and carrots, a handful of green beans and a large onion. A cabbage was ready to cut from its roots, and she sliced thin pieces from it and placed them atop the simmering mixture. By the time it was ready to eat, Jake had been asleep for three hours, and she was aware that he needed nourishment more than he needed rest right now.

  She placed a bowl of steaming broth on a tray she’d found in the pantry, then carried it in to him. He roused when she walked across the room and blinked at her, as if he were confused about her presence there.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, and his eyes focused on her.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he answered. “I’m feeling much better. I think I’m well on the road to recovery.”

  She sat beside him, uncomfortable with his nearness, yet aware that the hot soup could prove to be dangerous should he slip and spill it on his lap. He allowed her to help, watching as she held the bowl in front of him, then handed him the spoon. He savored one sip, then he sighed. “I’ve married a woman of many talents, Alicia. You not only know how to tend a sick man, but you are capable of feeding him food fit for a king.”

  “It’s only soup,” she said. “Not the nectar of the gods.”

  His brow tilted a bit. “Don’t argue with me. I’m the one who’s sick.”

  He was teasing her again and she felt suddenly more at ease. The soup was finished readily, and he looked at her pleadingly. “Do you suppose I could have some more?”

  “Later on,” she said, bargaining with him. “If this doesn’t upset your stomach, I’ll fix another bowl in an hour or so.”

  “You strike a mean bargain, Mrs. McPherson.” His eyes made a slow survey of her and she felt the heat of his appraisal. “You look nice in that dress,” he said. “I haven’t seen it before.”

  She’d pulled it from the wardrobe, a brightly flowered gown that had struck her fancy in the store one day, and then had hung, unworn, for the past year. Too bright for the schoolroom, and definitely not subdued enough for Sunday church services; she’d rued the day she spent good money for such a frivolous garment.

  Now, as he looked at her with admiring eyes, she found herself flustered by his words.

  “Thank you. The colors are brighter than I usually wear.”

  “It brings out the pink in your cheeks,” he told her. “Makes your eyes look blue.”

  “My eyes are blue,” she said, wondering where this conversation was heading.

  “Bluer, then,” he told her.

  She picked up the tray and rose and he leaned back, never moving his gaze from hers. “Thank you for looking after me,” he said, teasing aside now.

  “You’d do the same for me.” And then she paused. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Would I strip you naked and sponge you off?” He paused as if considering the question, then grinned. “Why, of course!”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she retorted, not knowing where to look as she cringed from the picture his words brought to mind.

  “I’m teasing you, Alicia,” he said quietly. “Come back in later, will you? I want to talk to you.”

  She escaped to the kitchen, and then stood thoughtfully in the middle of the room for a calming minute. Things were out of hand. The relationship they’d managed to keep on an even keel was rocking like a small ship on a large ocean. She felt the waves lapping at her feet and knew a moment of panic.

  What if…. The thought of him actually doing such a thing, of his hands removing her clothing, was too frightening to contemplate.

  She dished up a bowl of soup for herself and took it out onto the back stoop, sitting there in the late afternoon sunshine, wondering what he wanted to talk about. Maybe Jason would be home tonight. Certainly Cord or Rachel would be bringing him back. And yet, Rachel had said a day or two.

  If Jason was having a good time with his cousins, and if Rachel’s brothers, the two Sinclair boys, who lived and worked on the McPherson ranch, were about, Jason would be more than happy to extend his visit. He’d sung their praises several times during the summer, speaking of Henry and Jay in the language of hero worship.

  Back in the kitchen, she worked to clean up the stove, storing the remaining soup in another, smaller pan, and then decided to see if Jake had a taste for more of it now.

  “Are you still hungry?” she asked, poking her head around the doorjamb of his room. He nodded and she backed away, pleased to be busy after lollygagging around for most of the day.

  When she returned he took the bowl from her and ate in silence for a few minutes, as if his appetite had returned full force. “Do you know how to play checkers?” he asked, pausing in the midst of lifting the spoon to his mouth.

  She only looked at him disbelievingly. “Everyone knows how to play checkers,” she said. “I can play checkers, jacks, mumblety-peg and poker. I know how to jump rope, and I’ve played a mean game of hide-and-seek in my day.” She reconsidered the last statement. “That is, before my mother and father decided there were more important things to do than run and play.”

  “Were they very strict with you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I wasn’t unhappy, mind you. Just restricted from the common, ordinary games that most children play. I was trained from an early age to be a schoolteacher, given the best education they could afford, and then turned loose in a classroom when I was nineteen years old.”

  “Eleven years? You’ve taught for eleven years?” Jake asked, amazed. “That’s almost half your lifetime.”

  “Sometimes it seems longer than that,” she admitted. Then she shook herself mentally, as if to set aside the sadness she’d felt for a moment. “To get back to your question, Jake. Yes, I can play checkers. Are you asking me to give you a game?”

  “It would make the evening pass quickly, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “Then maybe you could read to me, pretend I’m an invalid in need of care.”

  “Poetry?” she asked, thinking of the ladies in the general store who’d thought a book of poetry might be a welcome gift for him.

  He looked up at her, his eyes narrowing. “Now that you mention it, I like some of the poets. Although fiction is more to my liking. I have some books on the shelves here.”

  She rose and walked to browse among them, selecting two from the shelf and opening them at random. “I enjoy reading aloud,” she told him, and placed both books on the table beside the bed. “I’ll find a lamp to bring in here and use it to read by later.”

  HE DECIDED THAT LAMPLI
GHT was kind to Alicia. It magnified the hollows in her cheeks, made her eyes appear larger and once more changed her hair to a hue not unlike the mahogany banister’s richly polished surface. She read well, but then he’d known she would. The woman did everything she tackled as if it were of utmost importance in the general scheme of things. Whether it was a simple task such as sewing on a button or putting together a meal fit for a king, she was adept in each part of her life.

  Now she read, and he found that he was not following the storyline, but instead relishing the pleasant sound of her voice and the animation of her face. He was simply enjoying her company, he decided, never mind the fact that she was devoting her evening to his entertainment.

  They’d played four games of checkers, and she’d beaten him soundly three times before he called it quits. The final game had ended when he lifted his knee and scattered the checkers over his lap, and then frowned as if he were truly repentant. “I was no doubt going to win that game, too,” he’d said regretfully, and been pleased at her hoot of laughter.

  Now he lay back against the pillows and concentrated on the sound of her voice, its resonance lending depth to the words she read, even as he listened with half an ear to the tree frogs outside that filled the night with their music. He could have written a symphony, he decided, using the simple chirp they produced, varying it and elaborating on its melody.

  No, he couldn’t. The thought of what composing would entail—the long hours at the piano, the sheets of paper he would fill with notes, and the very act of fingering the keys—was enough to make him retreat into brooding silence.

  “Jake? Are you all right?” Alicia’s voice called him back, and he blinked as he focused on her expression and the concerned look that darkened her eyes.

  She was attuned to him, he’d found. When his mood changed, as it so often did, she became aware of it, casting him long looks and biting her lip as if she would inquire as to his thoughts, but felt constrained by his belligerent silence. Now he forced himself to look beyond the perplexed expression she wore, knew a moment of guilt as she closed the book and placed it in her lap.