“David!” Jessica looked up, smiling through her gray-hued face.
He nodded to her. “Do you have another blanket?”
She was at his side in a moment, covering Catherine who lay still in his arms. “What happened?”
“Too much smoke.” David pushed Catherine’s hair back from her face. It slid through his fingers like cool blades of grass. Soft. Refreshing after the inferno they’d left only minutes before.
“I’ll bring you some water.”
David smoothed off some of the soot from her face and studied her breathing. Shallow but consistent.
Her eyes flickered open, the sweetest smile forming on her face. At that moment, in the middle of such chaos, he knew he wanted to wake up to her smile every morning. “Hello, Kat.”
Her brow pinched a little. “How did I obtain such special treatment?”
His thumb trailed to her chin, his smile expanding with the love and gratitude in his chest. “Special treatment always comes to those who save children’s lives.”
“The baby!” Her sapphire eyes shot wide, and she tried to sit up but dropped back against him.
“Shh.” His fingertip caressed her lips. “The baby is fine. You? Not so much. Stay still until the dizziness is gone.”
She sighed back against him, the soft smile returning, and her eyelids fluttered closed. “Well, I suppose I have the best seat for recuperating.”
He found himself captivated by the vision she made, her dark hair loose and wild across his arms, long dark lashes swooped low over her soft, pale cheeks, and a hint of the smile on her rosy lips. Beauty, bravery, and kindness were all wrapped up in the woman who had stolen his heart.
“It’s quite the hardship, holding you in my arms.”
“Is it?” He liked this taste of her compliance, her giving in to his care without a fight, though the flirty tilt to her lips returned. “I’m tempted to think you don’t like me, Dr. Ross.”
“Like you?” His coarse whisper surprised him. His pulse pounded a drumroll in his ears, leading him to this moment, to her.
Her eyes opened, curious.
“Oh, Catherine, I like you very much.”
Morning sunlight slipped around the curtains into the room. Catherine was in her own room, which came as a surprise because she was certain Roth Hall had burned to the ground. A trace of smoke scented the air, but the room shone clear in the faded light. A fire burned in the fireplace, creating long shadows across the floor.
A movement to her left turned her head. Ashleigh sat in a nearby chair, head lowered over a book.
Catherine smiled. “Look what happens when you leave the country for so long.”
Her sister looked up from her book, her walnut eyes creasing with her smile. “You truly outdid yourself with the welcome party. I think fewer candles next time.”
Catherine groaned as she sat straighter in bed. “I’ve always been a strong proponent of electric lights.” She settled back against the pillows and sighed. “When did you arrive?”
“Last evening.”
“Perfect timing. We’re going to need your innovative ideas to sort out what to do for space.”
Ashleigh moved over to sit on the bed, her dark hair pinned back and an extra glow on her face. Yes, she was doing well. Catherine grimaced. And most certainly a much better figure to gaze upon than herself at the moment. She reached up to touch her hair and found it splayed like a mermaid’s over the pillows.
“As I understand it from a few reliable sources, you’ve been quite innovative in my absence.” Her brow tilted ever so slightly. “Catherine Everill.”
A sweet hum of pleasure pearled in her stomach. “I’m rather in awe of it.”
“And the seamstresses and opening the back wing?” Ashleigh laughed. “David told me of the new surgeon and funds? You’re remarkable.”
“Remarkable?” Catherine shook her head, shame her constant bedfellow. “I’m nowhere close to making amends for all I’ve done.”
“Amends? You’ve already been forgiven.”
“But now I need to show my gratitude for that forgiveness, for God’s love…for yours. I don’t want to lose you again.” She grabbed Ashleigh’s hand. “I don’t want to go back to the strained relationship we had before. I can’t imagine not holding this sweet peace in my heart any longer.”
Ashleigh tilted her head, her eyes pooling with sweet compassion. “Are you trying to earn love?”
“No.” She squeezed Ashleigh’s hand. “I’m trying to keep it.”
“Oh, Catherine,” Ashleigh rubbed her fingers over Catherine’s. “The sacrifice Christ made didn’t only provide for your salvation once, it secures it for always. You don’t have to earn His love. Or mine.”
“But I’ve failed, even since he saved me. Rebelled.” She fisted the eiderdown, a renewed sense of anger burning in her stomach. “If you’d seen my thoughts about Lady Cavanaugh and Dr. Carrier—”
“Don’t you think we all still fail?”
“Not you, and certainly not David.”
“Not me?” Ashleigh laughed. “Of course me. I have feet of clay, just like any human. I have my insecurities, need people to love me too. David struggles with pride over his work. But the amazing thing about our Savior is that he chooses broken people to accomplish his will. Not perfect people. He uses us as we are, where we are.”
Catherine scoffed. “Even me?”
“Even you. God created you the way you are, with your quick mind and your need for justice, because he knew it would take someone like you to step out of our social bonds into the world of the wounded. No one else could have bridged the gap of seamstresses and designers but you.” Her grin quirked. “And from what I’ve heard, no one else could have won a certain doctor’s heart.”
“Oh no, no.” She pulled her hand free of Ashleigh’s. “That’s a mistake. Utterly. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“Catherine Dougall.” Ashleigh’s sharp reply brought Catherine’s arguments to a halt. “David Ross is not a man who makes rash choices. If he has given you any indication that he cares for you, then he means it, and so does God.” She stood, her gaze holding Catherine’s in reprimand. “His love isn’t based on what you’ve done, who you are, or even how much you love him in return. He loves. No strings. And…” Her smile slanted. “He finds pleasure in surprising us with His love. As for now, I need you to rest so you’ll be ready.”
“Ready?”
Ashleigh’s smile brightened. “Oh yes, ready for a few more miracles.”
“Miracles?” Catherine crossed her arms, waiting for the proof.
Ashleigh’s smile never wavered. “Beauty can come from the remnants of the most painful circumstances. Remember that, Catherine.”
Two days! For two days David nearly drowned under the memories of holding Catherine in his arms after the fire, her hair loose and beautiful, her slip of a gown clinging to her body in a way which produced all sorts of thoughts in David’s head. He could have lost her, and it nearly broke him into a panic. Three days ago, he’d danced with her in his arms and teased the idea of kissing her in front of the entire room. Now, he couldn’t seem to find her anywhere.
Of course, everyone had been busy, trying to make the remains of Roth Hall work as a hospital. Staff doubled up on rooms. Mrs. Dougall opened up the servants’ hall for additional space, and, much to Mrs. Dougall’s chagrin, lines of cots filled the Front Hall, crowded with wounded. He’d never been so grateful for Dr. Pike’s influence. The man coddled Mrs. Dougall to such an extent, she gave in to the need without much of a fight.
But this arrangement couldn’t last for long. It was neither safe nor helpful for the patients. Could the funds of which Catherine spoke provide them enough to begin building a new hospital? He groaned. And how long might that take?
He stepped out into the hallway and caught sight of her. She saw him too, because she quickly slipped down the nearest corridor.
Not this time.
He took
off at a run, white jacket flapping behind him as he navigated a few cots before dipping into the same corridor. Her shadow turned the corner up ahead, and he followed. The servants’ stairs. She was heading for the servants’ stairs.
He ducked in through a small study that had been converted into medical storage, jumped a stack of boxes, and ran out the secondary door, cutting her off at the stairs.
“You can keep trying to hide, but spaces since the fire have been considerably reduced.”
“I’m not hiding.” She refused to meet his gaze, proof positive of his claim. “I’m off to speak to cook about the soldiers’ soup for today.”
“Of course you are.” And though she tried to walk around him, he blocked her path.
She side-stepped him, into the medical supplies room, but the tower of boxes hemmed her in on one side and he blocked the doorway on the other. Perfect. Maybe a little privacy would help with this next part of their conversation.
“We really don’t have time for this.” Catherine turned and faced him, hands on her hips.
She probably didn’t realize how appealing she looked when those hands went to her hips, and he’d never noticed how very appealing it could be on the right woman. In fact, he’d always tried to run from conflict, until now. The proper motivation truly worked miracles.
“We’ll make the time.”
Her eyes widened, but she lifted her chin, readied for battle. “We both have work to do, and you have a hospital to save, and renovations from the fire, and —”
“The hospital and all its troubles will still be there, but for now…” He stopped her from sidestepping him with a gentle touch to her shoulder. “I need some clarity, Nurse Dougall. Clarity that only you can provide.”
Her gaze searched for another means of escape. She shrugged her shoulder, slipping free from his touch with a graceful move. “Clarity isn’t my forte, really. That might be a better question for Ashleigh.” Her face brightened. “Yes, Ashleigh. Did you know she had arrived?”
“I don’t need clarity about Ashleigh or the hospital, or anything else except your feelings for me.”
She narrowed her eyes and took another step back, turning slightly away from the boxes toward the gray stone wall, most likely working on another escape. “You’re being ridiculous. This whole thing.” She waved her hand between them. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
He closed the gap between them. “I’m cognizant of my behavior at present. And certain.” His voice dropped to a deep rasp. “Quite certain.”
She focused on something over his shoulder. “I think I heard someone call your name.”
His grin inched crooked. The hall was as silent as a churchyard, and she was running out of excuses.
“Catherine.”
The fight in her stance died at his whispered word, and it gave him an awareness of the power he wielded in his newfound and exciting love for her. Sweet power. Something he’d use to convince her of how beautiful she’d become, inside and out. She was no longer what convicting voices shouted to her or past shadows whispered. No.
She was his.
“Sometimes, the wisest choices appear ridiculous at first, but not when seen with the proper vision.”
She took a step back. He took a step forward. She pinched her lips in response. “And sometimes, emotions cloud a person’s vision so they can’t tell what is wise.” She sighed and looked up at him, pleading. “I’ve tried so hard not to sway your heart, but I must have done so without knowing.”
He gathered her fighting hands into his, certainty growing like the fire in his chest. “That’s exactly it. You never attempted seduction or flirting, and even apart from what I thought I wanted in my future, I’ve found you to be much more than I ever imagined my heart could feel. You’ve become like…like breathing to me.”
She met his gaze again, eyes searching his with so many questions. So much doubt. “What if this is the worst decision you ever make?”
He took another step forward. She responded with another step back. Her heel hit the wall behind her, and her eyes widened again. Beautifully trapped.
“I don’t make decisions lightly.”
“Passions can lead us down unexpected paths,” came her quick response, a declaration carved from regret.
He stepped another pace forward, and her lavender scent invited him closer. In all her previous pursuits, he never imagined she’d run. In her past, she’d been the instigator.
Until now.
Until him.
He couldn’t help but feel a little pride. Drunk with the pure pleasure of knowing exactly what he wanted and how to show her his love. “Not this time. This time they’ve led us directly to our hearts’ desires.”
“How can you be sure?” Her fight resorted to a whimper.
He cupped her cheek. “Trust me, Catherine. Trust me for the both of us.” His grin tipped. “For the three of us.”
His whisper or his touch, he wasn’t sure which one, broke whatever barrier she placed between them. Uncustomary tears welled up in the middle of sapphire hues. “Don’t you understand, if I believe that you could care about me, that you want to be with me, and this little one…truly...?”
He placed his other palm against her cheek, reveling at the softness, the powerful nearness. “Yes?”
Her breath shivered out. “What I feel for you is…”
His palm slipped behind her neck, cupping the back of her head, his mouth tingling with anticipation. “Incredible. Terrifying? Remarkable?”
A small gasp came from those full, inviting lips, drawing him in with sweet promise. Another desperate tinge of uncertainty streamed into her eyes.
“I’m not stopping this time, Catherine. No matter what excuse you make. I am going to kiss you.”
Without one more second for her to protest, he breached the gap between them. Her mouth, soft and tinted with the salt of tears, welcomed him, as if her body accepted much more than her mind. A thrill shot through him with the power in the connection.
He pulled back, her cool lips clinging to his, unwilling to release. Her response shocked his longing into a fury, destroying his control. He drew her deeper into his embrace and after a hitch of reserve, her arms slipped up around his neck. Nothing prepared him for the savage hunger in one taste, quaking his well-honed reserve. He’d expected many things, but not this.
Her hold tightened and they both stumbled back against the wall, sweet, salty and wild warmth mingling with each meeting of their lips. Her hands slid into his hair, her mouth as thirsty as his. The word ‘passion’ took on a whole new meaning and clarified one thing: there was no going back.
Chapter Twenty
His touch rendered her immobile. The way he cupped her face, the familiar and endearing tilt of his smile, and the tenderness in his gaze just before the brush of his lips wiped away all comparisons. She would never forget the look he gave her. One filled with more than desire or lust, but awash with such raw love. She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
He moved with excruciating slowness, careful deliberation, the surgeon’s precision making an exact fit of his lips to her mouth. And oh, what a fit. He poured all of his intensity into the first careful touch, the reigned-in passion sending a dizzying pleasure from his lips downward in trails of delicious rightness. The warmth and gentleness of his caress coaxed her need to respond, so when he began to pull back, her lips lingered, almost pleading to taste a little more.
Her request seemed to release in him the same explosive need stirring inside of her. A tantalizing dream, dangled in front of them for so long, deserved a much lengthier celebration. She pulled him to her and they stumbled back against the cold, stone wall, his hand cupping the back of her head. Peppermint and a warm glow surrounded her, intoxicating and glorious.
His kiss. The man she’d come to not only love, but admire. The friend who teased her and kept her couched within the comfort of his care. The man who caused her heart to ache with such a powerful love, sh
e thought she might explode. A fairytale? Fresh tears blended with the heat on her face. How could she ever deserve such sweet affection?
“Heaven help me, you taste like Christmas!” She breathed between them, keeping her mouth close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. To encourage another sampling.
His palm smoothed against her cheek. “Do you usually cry over Christmas?” His lips tasted the other cheek, warming different places on her face.
“The best tears.” She raised trembling fingers to his face, allowing the tears to flow unhindered. “No one has ever touched my soul with a kiss.”
“I would have done so much earlier, if you hadn’t been so keen to keep me away.”
She rested her forehead against his. “Clearly, I was the only one in her right mind.”
He took her lips again, closing off her argument until she was breathless and needed the wall for support.
His palms slid down each side of her neck as he buried a kiss into her hair. “Now I can see why a man would be driven mad by you.”
She groaned and pushed at his chest to get away, but he brought her fighting hands to his lips and cast her a smile. “I’m quite fond of madness at the moment.”
“At the moment?” She shivered beneath his touch as his thumb moved across her cheek to stop beneath her bottom lip. “And after the moment?”
“I’ll accept madness as a regular part of my life.” His gaze held hers, his smile dashing her doubts. “Every day.”
She pinched her lips together and stared back at him, steady and unswerving. “You can’t want that, David.”
His smile spread as she spoke his name, flickering his dimple. Heat pooled through her at the awareness of his pleasure.
He drew close, lips temptingly close. “Say my name again, Kat.”
She placed her palm against his cheek, accepting this fairytale and all of its promises. “David.”
He captured her fingers and brought them to his lips, breathing kisses over her knuckles. “I shall never tire of the way you whisper it. Something came to life in my heart when we prayed that first time together. My heart knew, much like God must have known all along, that we belonged together.”
The Thorn Keeper Page 21
