by Vanessa Vale
Doctor James arched one dark brow. Instead of rolling his eyes as Dahlia often did or offering me a smile that indicated I was being humored as if I were a child, he tapped a finger over his lower lip.
“Indeed? Then it’s best that not only are there no bees this time of year, but the strawberries are not in season. Those who might fall prey have a reprieve.”
“Indeed,” I replied.
I inwardly groaned. I was a complete dolt. Why would a doctor want to learn something about medicine from a simple girl from the territory? Surely Amanda would have said something that was witty, humorous and made her appear even more attractive to the man. I came across as a ridiculous bluestocking. Flustered, I spun on my heel and opened the outer door to go about my errands. Perhaps then I could think of something witty to comment upon. Cold air swirled in.
“Miss Lenox.”
I spun at the dark voice and looked at him, closing the door with my shoulder. Hopefully, he didn’t see the eagerness I tried to hide.
“You are well read,” he commented.
I offered a small smile. “I enjoy science.”
“You have books on the subject?” His voice did not hold a mocking tone and he seemed genuinely interested.
“Mr. Crane orders them for me and they are shipped from Denver. I hope to have a new one today.”
“On what subject?”
I bit my lip, afraid to say. “The migratory patterns of New England water fowl.”
The dark brow rose again and I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth tip up. “I see.”
When he said no more, I opened the door once again. Clearly he wasn’t interested.
“You’ve forgotten to wear your hat,” he commented, his words stopping me. “Winter comes early in these parts, I’ve learned. It is too cold to go without.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Perhaps you would like to choose a book from my collection the next time you are in town… if you wear your hat.”
I could only nod. “Perhaps you would like to read my new book when I have finished?”
“I might read it. Many of those New England birds migrate to Georgia, where I’m from.” He nodded his head. “Good day, Miss Lenox.”
My mouth fell open and I stood rooted in place as he left me to join Hyacinth and Jackson, the inner door clicking shut behind him. While I should have felt chastised by his words regarding my lack of outerwear, I felt something else entirely. It was the warm, soft feeling I had when he had complimented me in the mercantile over the summer.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face and I dashed off to fill the list. Doctor James seemed to be one of the only people genuinely interested in the fact that I loved to read and the unusual topics at that. He’d only seemed mildly surprised, but did not mock me for being well read. In fact, he’d offered to lend me one of his books. It was this attention that made me feel… special. Happiness filled me and kept me warm in a way a hat could not do.
Warm…
My thoughts returned to my current predicament. The horse continued to plod forward, step by step. He seemed to know where he was going. I should just sleep, then all would be better. I wouldn’t be cold any longer. I wouldn’t feel numb. The painful sting of the cold was gone now. I could continue to dream of Doctor James, to hear his voice, to imagine the feel of his hands. The horse whinnied, then settled. My hands fell from the reins. I’d let go and hadn’t felt it. I could just let go now.
Sleep. I’d just sleep for a minute.
CHAPTER TWO
ETHAN
The fever that had spread through the group seemed to have run its course. The elderly woman before me was resting easily now, comfortably settled in a bed of furs. Her daughter and granddaughter would tend to her now. I turned and nodded to them and they quietly took my place. One held a wooden cup of hot broth for the woman to drink. As I pushed back the flap and stepped out of the tipi, I rose once again to my full height and took a deep breath of the cold air. While there was ventilation within, the interior of the Indian’s home was smoky. I stretched my back and circled my neck as I took in the snowy landscape.
The Montana Territory was a far cry from the flat, tree-filled landscapes to which I was accustomed. There were similarities, however, in the turmoil and dejection found in Decatur, Georgia these last twenty years. The War Between the States had destroyed not only the land, but the people as well. Carpetbaggers from the North were ruthless with the downtrodden, the crippled, the poor. In these parts, a far cry from Georgia, there was another kind of war where people were driven from their land by harsh aggressors. In this case, the enemy was called an Indian. What the whites were doing to the people who truly belonged to the land was something I could not stomach, could not sanction. I’d thought I’d escaped evil, but I quickly learned that it was everywhere. Nothing changed. People didn’t change and because of that, neither did I.
I would continue to help those in need, regardless of skin color, regardless of state lines, regardless of politics. This stance did not bode well for my job as town doctor, so I kept my visits to the nearby Indian village a secret.
The sun slipped low on the horizon, the days short this far north this time of year. While the sky was still mostly clear, the chief had told me the weather would be quickly turning. His warning afforded me enough time to return to town before the shift. If this was the best it would be, then I wanted to be safely home before it turned worse.
Georgia had soft, humid winters, barely cold enough to even warrant a frost on the ground, and I had not glimpsed snow once during my childhood. It was only when I moved north that I saw it for the first time. This was my first winter in the Territory and I still had not acclimated. Tilting the collar of my coat up around my neck, I had to wonder if I ever would.
As I was attaching my satchel to the back of the saddle, the loud sound of swift moving horses had me turning. The Indians who were working around their small group of tipis and a central fire turned as well. They’d been trained to be wary of the danger, for it often came in the form of the white man.
These riders, however, were Indian. Instead of stopping at the roped-off area they used as a corral, they rode directly to me. They wore a mixture of indigenous garb and white man’s clothing. Besides the bow and arrow, a rifle was strapped to one of the saddles. It wasn’t the men who were remarkable, or even that one of the riders wasn’t a man at all but a boy of ten or so; it was the body that lay over Red Bear’s horse, just above the saddle. One of his hands rested upon the back.
At first I thought it a man, but I saw long skirts that hung below the dark coat, women’s boots. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew by the shoes alone that this was a white woman.
“You must help,” Red Bear said, tilting his chin to indicate the woman. Since I helped him at the mercantile a few months prior, we had become… friends. Friends enough where he trusted that I would treat anyone in need and at the same time help protect the group from any whites who might want them harmed. In return, he understood the careful balance I had with keeping my visits secret.
I strode over quickly, going around the animal to her head. I placed a hand on her upper back. “She’s wet!” I said. Her dark hair hung in wet clumps, some spots even beginning to ice and I reached around to feel for a pulse at her neck. Her skin was cold to the touch. Deathly cold.
I pressed and moved my fingers along the column of her neck searching. There! It was weak, but she was alive.
I exhaled a huge breath. “Hurry. We must get her warm.” I grabbed her beneath her arms and tugged her over the horse, with much haste yet careful to catch her and settle her in my arms. She was like ice. She must have fallen in the river to be this wet, and yet she lived. It must have been recently, otherwise she would be dead. No one could survive long without shelter or warmth in her condition.
Red Bear led me to a nearby tipi, held back the flap and let me enter.
“It is she.”
I frowned
, not knowing who she was.
“I will have broth sent, hot rocks. Extra furs.” As he spoke from the entry, I placed the woman down upon a bed of thick furs, brushed the sodden hair back from her face. Stroke after stroke over her damp skin, her identity was revealed.
“Shit,” I muttered, then uttered a more thorough string of swear words.
It was Daisy Lenox, the only customer in the mercantile that day who had helped Red Bear. Her skin was all but leached of color. Even unconscious and with blue lips, there was no doubt. What the hell was she doing out in the middle of nowhere, wet and dying? I ground my teeth together as I took in her sturdy coat, which could not sustain her if she were lost on the open prairie. Thin gloves covered her hands, no hat. Had it fallen off or had she not worn one? I wanted to take her over my knee and spank her ass for putting herself in this dire situation, but I wouldn’t be able to do that if she were dead. So I began to work, to save her as I saved everyone else under my care.
I deftly opened her coat as I thought about what I knew of the woman. She was at least a decade younger than my thirty-five years, most likely more. Since the first time I saw her, my thoughts had often been filled with her dark hair, oval face, full lips, even the little line that formed at her brow when she was focused on something. Often enough, it seemed her attention was on me.
I was used to being carefully watched by young ladies and their mothers. They were the same from Georgia to the Montana Territory and every town in between. It seemed my bachelor status was perhaps more important than my medical degree. I’d assumed Daisy to be among this group, but when she had given the appropriate care to Red Bear the day he fell ill, I saw her in a new light. She was smart and seemed far from missish or mild. Nor was she afraid of an Indian.
When she’d come to town with her sister, Hyacinth, her knowledge of science had surprised me. I’d only had a moment to speak with her, and while I’d been prepared for her to spout nonsense regarding the weather or the upcoming town dance as most young ladies would, she’d talked of severe bodily reactions to bees. I was instantly intrigued. I’d been… dare I say, smitten. Aroused. Even more so when I admonished her for not wearing a hat in the cold weather. Instead of being chastened by my tone, she’d been… pleased. I saw the flare of happiness in her eyes. Of course, I’d tempted her with the offer of my scientific journals. With her brother-in-law, Chance Goodman, she’d returned once to collect a book and had been wearing a hat. She hadn’t lingered, for I had a patient to see, but I knew then that I wanted Daisy Lenox to be mine.
I was the first to admit I was not the warmest of men. I did not coddle. I did not have an empathetic bedside manner. I also had secrets. I could not become entangled, even through courtship, with a woman who lacked discretion, who had prejudice or fear toward the Indians. If my secret was shared, I would certainly be out of a job and the Indians would be without medical care, and even worse, possibly in danger.
Because of this, I carefully gleaned what I could about her from the townsfolk without raising suspicion. There was not much difference between a town in the Deep South and in the Montana Territory when it came to gossip. Word of marriages, deaths, gout, a pie recipe, new haircuts and even who would soon be making their way to the altar spread like the measles.
Because of this I knew a fair amount about the Lenox family. There was talk about the two sisters being former brothel owners, but meeting them at the grist mill one morning made me question its validity. It mattered not to me what they did in the past, and it seemed the town was of a similar opinion as they held them in the highest of esteem. I knew they’d adopted eight little girls, all orphaned during the Great Chicago Fire. With all of them named after flowers, it was quite easy to determine a Lenox even when they all looked vastly different. I’d met Rose, for she was quite large with child and her time was quickly approaching. Hyacinth was also expecting, but would not deliver of the child until late summer. I had yet to meet Dahlia; however, from the gossip, she’d been quite a little spitfire before she married Garrison Lee.
But there was only one Lenox who was of a particular interest to me. Daisy’s hair was as dark as mine and there seemed to be a curl to it that, while pulled back snugly into a demure bun at the nape of her neck, threatened to escape the pins that held it in place. I’d seen long tendrils hang down along her narrow neck that hot day when Red Bear fell ill.
I saw her in passing, at church or walking down the boardwalk. It was only after the time at the mercantile did I take additional notice of her and recognize that she crossed my path with more frequency. In fact, by the time the weather turned cold, I knew I was being outright watched.
I may have been equally focused on her, but I refused to do anything about it. She wanted my attention, but beyond lending her books, I could barely give in to my interest. She was lovely and smart and a woman worth courting. Exceptionally intelligent. Regardless, being pulled in different directions by those in need of my services, I just hadn’t found time to go about that particular task.
Even so, I should have been more prudent about her interest, for if I had, she would not be close to death. If she knew of my interest in her, if she were mine, she most definitely would not have done something so risky or foolish, for she would know that my fiercely protective nature led to harsh punishments when warranted.
The buttons down the front of her sodden dress were difficult to open, but I finally got them all done, tugging the garment roughly from her, down, down and off her body. At her feet, I worked off her boots, then stripped her white stockings. My concern for her kept my actions clinical. While I ran my hands over her shapely calves and behind her knees, worked off her corset and then her thin shift until she was stripped bare, I could only think of keeping her alive. I’d certainly taken notice the full size of her breasts, the pale pink color of her nipples, but would consider it at another time. If she lived. Only when she was well again would we discuss what was between us.
Skin-to-skin contact was the best for warming a person and I stripped off my own jacket and shirt. Sliding behind her so her back was pressed firmly against my front, I hissed at the contact of her cold skin. Reaching up, I tossed the blankets over us, gently rubbing her skin—her arms, legs and across her belly—to bring heat back.
Two women came into the tipi. One used a cloth to take rocks from the fire and place beneath the furs, then left as quickly as she came. The other carried a cup of broth and knelt beside the bed. Daisy needed to be warmed from the inside as well, so I shifted us both so she could drink. If the woman was concerned for Daisy’s virtue—being naked with a half-dressed man, even to help stay alive—she did not comment. “Daisy, wake up,” I urged.
I continued to talk to her, to rub my hands over her arms and torso, careful to keep the furs over her. The woman went to retrieve a blanket warming beside the small fire. She returned and wrapped it around Daisy’s head and neck; only her face peeked out.
“Come on, darlin’, it’s time to have something warm.”
I don’t know how long it was that I crooned to her as I rubbed her cold skin. The Indian woman helped me until Daisy began to stir, then put the cup to her lips.
“Drink, Daisy.” I tempered my voice lower and with more command. If coaxing wouldn’t work, then perhaps a firm directive would. I took a decisive breath and tried again. “Miss Lenox. Drink.”
Her lips parted the smallest of amounts and the Indian woman was able to tilt the cup so that some of the warm liquid coated Daisy’s tongue.
She moaned, but allowed more. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she swallowed it all. The Indian woman wiped Daisy’s chin with a cloth, nodded, then left.
Daisy would live. She knew it and I knew it as well. Daisy shivered anew. This was a promising sign. She’d passed the life-threatening stages of hypothermia. Her skin was noticeably warmer and I began to sweat beneath the heavy furs. Once the shivering subsided completely, she slept. Shifting up on my elbow, I pushed the blanket back from her face and c
ould no longer see the tiny veins beneath her skin. Her lips were no longer blue and the hair I brushed back was half dry.
Certain she would no longer die on me, my mind switched to a more carnal direction. Her skin was incredibly soft, the color of it akin to milk. Her hair, a wild tangle, was dark and beginning to curl. Her equally dark lashes were long and fringed her cheeks. She was beautiful and I was glad to be afforded this moment to be close enough to discern this. From the distance I usually maintained with Dahlia and other maidens, I had missed these nuances of her that I found more than appealing. And these were my findings of her features above the furs.
Beneath them, she was lush. My hand stroked over the flare of her hips as it tapered to a narrow waist. Her belly was flat, her navel a small indentation. All of this I felt beneath my hand. Tossing back the pile of blankets, I kicked my legs free, for I was grossly overheated. Daisy was no longer cold and that changed everything. I toed off one boot, then the other, tugged off my socks as I took in Daisy’s naked body. My cock hardened and I adjusted myself in my now snug pants.
This time I wasn’t seeing her through a doctor’s assessing eyes. Now, I saw her as a man and she was not a patient, but a woman. A woman with full, lush breasts. The nipples were no longer beaded tightly, but plump pink tips that made my mouth water. The hair at the apex of her thighs looked silky and was as dark as on her head. With her legs slightly parted, I could see the hint of her pussy, a teasing glimpse of perfect pink lower lips.
My fingers itched to touch her, but I would not. I was not a lech and while I did take this moment to look my fill, she was neither awake nor consenting in this. When I bedded Daisy, for there was no question now that this woman would be mine, I wanted her alert and very, very eager. Because of this, I climbed from the bed and settled the blankets to cover her once again. She was not mine—yet—and I would not dishonor her.
I moved to a small three-legged stool and sat, my hands on my knees. Running my hand over the back of my neck, I considered the predicament I was in as I watched Daisy sleep. The tipi walls shook with the wind that had risen. The Indian had been correct—I had not doubted them as they were more attuned to the earth than any white man could be—the weather was turning for the worst. Daisy would need to remain in bed for at least a day and the incoming snow would force us to remain here, possibly even longer.
