“Then you’d better be off.” Cliff shifted a black brow. “You going to steer clear of Doc’s clinic today? It might be wise, considering the morning arrival.”
August frowned. “I made a promise to Dr. Ross that I would be available for sutures. He has a surgery today.”
“Sewin’ up people or suffering the wrath of Jessica Ross?” Cliff winced and took off his cap to run a hand through his dark hair. “Both reasons would keep me far away from Doc’s clinic.”
August tipped his hat and bowed his head in subtle salute. “Wrath or not, the scenery at Dr. Carter’s clinic just improved, you think?”
Cliff’s growing smile turned into a full-fledged laugh as he handed August a slip of paper. “Soldier or not, you don’t need to be in Europe. You’re goin’ head first into the frontlines of Hot Springs, and I’m not too sure you’re armed for the battle.”
August slipped out of the covering of the depot and into the sunlight of the late spring day, his steps marked with purpose. His life had provided one painful challenge after another, so why not charge headlong into one with the best prize so far? He unfolded the paper and read through Dr. Carter’s list of supplies. With a whistle on his lips, he took the steps off the platform and glanced down at the sleepy mountain town. Nothing in the meanderings of the quiet street hinted at a battle, but his pulse still hammered from the touch of Jessica Ross’ hand and the fascinating hue in her fiery eyes.
A white German shepherd sat by the railway tracks, waiting at the corner near the Iron Horse Station Tavern.
August’s lips spread into a full grin. “Guten Morgen, Blitz.”
The dog perked an ear at August’s voice but didn’t move. He might be a German shepherd, but it would take more than eight months to have him comfortable with his German name.
“Come, Lightning.” The dog jumped from his spot and ran to August’s side, taking a pat to his head with pleasure. “We have a few supplies to collect for the good doctor.”
Lightning followed close, passing across the dirt road toward the twin line of brick buildings. Some of the regular townspeople nodded in August’s direction and even smiled their welcome. A few of the women averted their gazes, but for the most part, the German occupation of Hot Springs was met with indifference.
Mostly.
The town nestled in a valley surrounded by smooth-topped mountains, nothing like the carved peaks of home but a place which had become increasing more attractive in the year he’d arrived with his countrymen. The quiet streets and serene landscape drew him, a home for his wandering spirit.
He tucked his hands into his pockets and made his way to Kimper’s, halfway between the Depot and Dr. Ross’ clinic. Lightning halted at the door and looked up, awaiting direction.
“Stay.”
Without hesitation, the shepherd yawned and settled himself on the porch by the door. A twinge of regret flickered in August’s chest, reminding him of the family dog he’d left behind two lonely years ago. Left behind? No, more like he’d been tossed aside. There was nothing across the ocean for him anymore.
He shrugged off the melancholy and pushed open the door to the popular general store. The usual jingle of bells followed his entry, along with the scent of licorice and sawdust, an odd combination he’d come to identify as solely Kimp’s place. A model fighter plane hung from the ceiling, the only apparent addition to the eclectic store’s usual fare since August’s last visit.
“What do you need, August?” The owner jutted out his square jaw, his look of disapproval as constant a feature as the white apron around his wide frame.
“I’ve come to collect Dr. Carter’s items, sir.”
Kimp grunted a reply, took the proffered list, and disappeared to the back of the store. August touched the tip of a few wooden trinkets, ‘widdled’ by the locals, simple stick and spring devices. His countryman could do much better. In fact, their little ‘village’ they’d designed on the inn’s grounds, a cacophony of discarded wood and metal, proved their talents, if one only took the time to look.
His fingers paused on the wheels of a small wooden train. Would Jessica Ross look beyond prejudice?
A noise from behind and the scent of smoke pulled August’s attention around. A stranger, cigarette in hand, watched with a narrowed expression. His dusty, unkempt clothes appeared less hard-working and more uncaring. August nodded but kept his distance. Arger. Trouble.
“Not from around here, are ya, boy?”
August measured the man with a look, his gaze steady. “I have been here for almost a year. Are you new to Hot Springs?”
The man’s frown snarled, and he blew out a long puff of smoke. “You one of them friendly Germans in the camp? The ones taking all our jobs and supplies?”
“I do not know of what you speak.”
The stranger loomed a few steps closer. “Oh, I bet you don’t. And what are you sending back to your countrymen in all those letters your kind mail off every day?”
“I wouldn’t know. I rarely write them.”
“Here they are, August.” Kimper emerged from the back with a box in hand, his gaze flicking from August to the stranger. “You best get them to the doctor.”
“What’s this one doing without a guard, Kimp? I thought they all had to be escorted outside the camp.” The stranger’s gaze never left August’s face.
Kimper settled the box on the counter and sifted through the bags, checking the items. “Dr. Carter made an arrangement with the guards since his grandyounguns have been ‘crost the Pond. August, here, seems to keep to the rules just fine. There’s been a handful like him, with no complaints from the town.”
The stranger released a groan similar to a growl. August turned toward the counter, finished with the conversation.
“I don’t like it any better than you do, Davis, but August ain’t caused no trouble.” Kimper’s gaze fixed on August over the parcel, a warning. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t start no trouble.”
August nodded his thanks for the backhanded compliment and to assure Kimper of his assumptions.
“Besides, with Dr. Perry gone to Asheville—” Kimper shot military straight and rounded the counter. “Daggone it, Davis. What have I told you about smokin’ in my store? I don’t care how long you’ve been on the rails, my rule ain’t changed.” He waved Davis toward the door. “Get out before I call the law.”
Davis tipped his hat to August as he passed and lowered his voice. “No guards. No witnesses.”
August followed the man with his gaze until he left the store.
“I’d steer clear of him if I was you.” Kimper held out the box of supplies. “Lost two brothers to the Germans already, and just returned back in town last week from his own wounds. He ain’t lookin’ to be your friend, if you know what I mean.”
The warning stiffened the hair on the back of August’s neck, but he forced a smile to the shop owner and took the proffered box of supplies. “Thank you.”
***
There was no sign of Davis outside the mercantile. Morning sunlight blinked between dark clouds and sent shadows across the dusty street. August had hoped most of the dissonance related to the German presence had died down months ago. Evidently not. And all it took was one to stoke the fire of discontent.
He didn’t need or want any enemies. What he wanted was...
A flash of green up ahead of him on the street turned his attention in a more pleasing direction. Jessica Ross. Her dress hugged her slim form, but not enough to slow her down, even with the slight limp in her step. An obvious fire of determination added momentum to her stride, or perhaps it was a personality trait.
August’s smile spread into a full grin. He’d never backed down from a healthy challenge, and Miss Ross added a dimension to the bond he’d built with Jacob and Lillian Carter, which fueled his curiosity all the way down to his heart. Listening to Lillian read Jessica’s letters around the dinner table for the past five months only deepened his interest. They sh
ared many commonalities—the deaths of their mothers to lengthened illnesses, the love of music and family, a fierce loyalty, and the desire to serve God and others. Surely those important similarities could withstand her prejudice?
The memory of distrust in Jessica’s eyes returned with full sting. Would her anger cause a breach in his relationship with their family? They’d become as close to him as his own blood, his lifeline beyond the rejection in his past. Could he win her over, at least in friendship, to keep a hold on that connection?
Her grandfather referred to Jessica as a pistol. Her grandmother, as a spitfire.
And from his first glance into her eyes, something akin to electricity shot through his body.
He called to Lightning and walked toward the clinic, the distant sound of thunder an ominous warning. The Great War for Europe’s freedom ebbed across the ocean, but a battle brewed at the corner of Bridge and Walnut, and he was pretty certain the enemy wore a tan skirt and green hat.
The thunder sounded again, only closer, and more like galloping horses. August turned toward the sound. A wagon hurried forward in a stampede of orange dust and horses’ hooves, a strange sight in this sleepy town.
The few people along the street rushed to get out of the way as the wagon passed them at frenetic speed and nearly jumped the train track. August looked down the road toward the clinic just as Jessica stepped into the street.
Why didn’t she turn? Couldn’t she hear the wagon?
August’s stomach knotted with awareness. Her left side. Her wounded ear.
He dropped his hold on the supplies and darted forward into the line of the incoming wagon. Jessica slowed her pace, stopped in the middle of the road, and then turned toward him. The wagon rattled forward, hammering nearer. Jessica’s eyes grew wide and she dropped her bag and cane. With every muscle in his body, he propelled forward, wrapping her in his arms and turning to take the impact of the fall. The roar of the wagon shook the earth as he landed, her body tight against his. One thing was certain. No enemy he’d ever known smelled like honeysuckles and peppermint.
Maybe the wagon had crushed him already, because this was nothing short of heaven.
Chapter Two
Jessica’s legs wouldn’t move. It served her right for plunging across the street in fury and forgetting she couldn’t trust her left ear. When would she learn to think before allowing her anger to erupt in careless words or life-threatening actions?
Her doom blasted toward her in the form of a speeding wagon, two brown steeds leading the way, and she almost laughed at the irony. She’d survived a Zeppelin bombing, grueling months on the Frontlines of France, along with being captured by a German spy, only to die under the wheel of a farmer’s wagon?
How uneventful.
The driver strained to veer the wagon from its course, but his forward momentum sealed her fate. She closed her eyes and prepared to meet her mother, when a sudden jolt to her left sent her spiraling through the air. Arms tightened around her, drawing her away from the approaching wheels and into a haven of warm strength. Dying wasn’t quite as terrible as she thought.
Reality jarred her as she landed with a thud against something that smelled like fresh pine and was much softer than the ground. She loved pine. It reminded her of Christmas, chestnuts, warmth, and happier times. She smiled into the soft linen, catching her breath and forgetting for a moment she was sprawled in the middle of the road in the arms of a complete stranger after a near-death experience. A startling sense of safety whooshed over her. After the last two years, safety never went unappreciated, and she lingered for a second longer, her erratic breath slowing to drink in another whiff of pine.
His arms tightened, encasing her in a tender hold and bringing her to her senses.
A cascade of loose hair rained over her vision as she pushed up to a sitting position.
“Are you all right, Miss Ross?” The strained voice sounded curiously familiar. So did the accent.
She shoved back her hair with one palm and met the same clear blue eyes she’d seen in the station. Attraction buzzed fresh as lightning over her skin, thickening the air with unwelcome heat. Even his grin spiked an unwanted curiosity. The heat in her face sizzled to fury. What was wrong with her?
His lips tilted into a curious smile. “I’ve saved you twice in one morning. This proves I’m a good man, yes?”
Jessica swallowed the lump in her throat and embraced the anger with both hands. “Or it proves that trouble precedes you, Mr. Reinhold—a mystery I have no interest to solve.”
His steadying palms slipped down her shoulders again and left an unnerving tingle. She shrugged off his hold and sent him a clear warning in her glare. Instead of being offended, as she’d hoped, his grin broadened and the tenderness of his expression only magnified the rate of her pulse. Men!
A fluff of white appeared at Mr. Reinhold’s side, the nose nuzzling the stranger’s shoulder with a concern Jessica certainly didn’t share. Lightning? Her Lightning? Jessica stumbled to her feet, blinking as if struck. She left for a few years and was replaced by a German?
“That’s my dog.”
Mr. Reinhold squinted up at her against the sun. “He’s a very good dog.” He patted Lightning’s head and stood to join her. “We’ve become friends.”
Jess sent her dog a withering look. Traitor.
As if in answer to her unspoken insult, Lightning tilted his head, examined her, and stepped close. Jess lowered herself back to her knees and Lightning bounded into her arms, giving her cheek a sound lick.
“Ah, now you know me?” She buried her face into the folds of his fur, grappling for the sense of safety she’d known in a real traitor’s arms. “I missed you.”
He whimpered his reply, his nose nuzzling her shoulder. She sighed. Her dog.
Mr. Reinhold’s gaze drilled into her subconscious, needling like a headache... a strange sort of sweet, tingling headache. To prove he couldn’t affect her, she met his stare head-on. His tender grin sent a stutter through her stubborn intentions and defused the edge in her stance a bit. What was it about this man? Jabbing her annoyance at him was like beating a marshmallow.
“What were you doing in the middle of the street, woman?” A harsh voice called from behind and she turned.
Tommy Buchanan jumped from the wagon and punched an accusing finger toward her. “We don’t have time to deal with some half-wit female when we—” His gray gaze widened. “Jessica Ross? You’re back?”
“Only just.”
Her smile stilled as she caught sight of Tom’s wife, Alice, in the wagon bed behind them, her face pale.
Jessica moved toward the wagon. “What’s going on, Tom?”
Tom blinked out of his stare and raced to the wagon bed. “Dad fell off the barn loft into a pile of wood.”
“He’s bleedin’ real bad, Jess.” Alice came into view as Jessica rounded the wagon bed. The woman cradled the older man’s head in her bloodstained lap, her dark eyes holding as much concern as her husband’s.
Jess took in the scene and stifled a wince. Bright red marked the bed sheets Tom and Alice had used to wrap Mr. Buchanan’s abdomen.
“We must get him into the clinic quickly.”
“You might need to give us a hand.” Tom turned his shoulder, his left sleeve empty. “I can do a whole lot of things with one arm, but carryin’ my Dad ain’t one of them.”
Jess tossed a look over her shoulder to Mr. Reinhold, but he didn’t offer to move a step. Of course, why should she expect much else from him? All his flirting was as empty as his chest. Like most of the Germans she’d met—especially the one who nearly killed her and her older brother.
“Of course I’ll help.” Jess moved to take one side of the sheet. “I’ll lift at the feet if Alice will get the head, and Tom, you help with the torso.”
They lumbered forward to the clinic door and Mr. Reinhold was there to open it.
“We don’t need help from a lousy Jerry.” Tom shoved Mr. Reinhold to the sid
e with his body. “If you’d wanted to lend a hand, your people wouldn’t have taken mine.”
Jess cringed at the voice of bitterness so similar to the one she kept inside, but the angry words bounced off the German without one hint of discomfort, solidifying Jess’ previous assumption—heartless. Those periwinkle eyes of August Reinhold, holding such compassion, failed to match the traitor from Jessica’s past, Dr. Cramer. Or Lt. Snyder, she later learned. Spy. Murderer.
She snatched her gaze from the inexplicable draw to his. No, she couldn’t trust appearances.
The smell of alcohol and iodine met Jess upon entrance to the clinic, sheet and wounded still in hand. Though she could walk fine without her cane, her limp became more prominent, placing her wounds on further display.
“What’s this?”
Jess almost stumbled at the sight of her grandpa. Two years hadn’t changed him. His walnut-colored hair, sprinkled with gray, waved away from his prominent forehead, drawing attention to his pale green eyes, the Carter family legacy. All of her grandparents’ letters over the years of her absence from Hot Springs somehow drew them closer, especially after her mother’s death. They’d become a lifeline from the barren wasteland of war to something peaceful and secure. To home.
Despite her best efforts, her vision blurred with a rush of tears.
His brows rose. “Jess? You’re early.”
“I took the first train out of Asheville.”
Relief washed over his features and softened the edges of her frustration at coming home to a warzone. “It’s good to see you, girl.”
Her smile quivered into place. “You too, Grandpa.”
Their eyes held, wordless gratitude passing between them for a few seconds before her grandpa switched back to ‘the doctor’ and turned to Tom and Alice. “Place him here.” He took the sheet from Jessica and guided them into the back room, his attention fastened on her. “What happened?”
Jessica followed, snatching some gauze and other supplies as she passed. “Tom said he fell from the barn into a log pile. He has an extensive gash in his abdomen and a smaller one on the back of his head. Entry point to the abdominal wound appears to be from the back and only bypassed the spine by a few inches, from what I could tell.”
The Thorn Healer Page 2
