Abandoned Memories (17 page)

Gathering her mass of damp curls, she tugged them over her other shoulder. They tumbled to her lap where she attempted to untangle them with her fingers.

Red streaks drew his gaze to blood on her neck. “What are these?” He brushed more of her hair aside and examined what looked like scratches. Deep ones.

She fingered them absently. “Yes, I’d forgotten. Stowy. He hates the water.”

As if on cue, the cat swatted at her from the branch above causing Angeline to giggle. A wonderful, delightful sound that helped loosen the tightness in James’s gut at both her cold demeanor and the sight of fresh blood.

He swallowed, plucked a nearby leaf and pressed it on the wounds. “You may need stitches.”

James’s voice sounded hollow and trembling, as though it came from within a cave—a very cold cave. Though she’d been trying not to look at him, she swerved her gaze to his, noting that his eyes were on anything but her neck and his face bore resemblance to white parchment.

Moving his fingers aside, she held the leaf in place, remembering all the times he had been paralyzed in the presence of blood. At first she’d thought it ludicrous and weak. Especially for a doctor, but now that she knew him—had witnessed his strength and bravery—she knew this was no simple phobia. “It must have been horrible for you on the battlefield,” she mumbled the thoughts filling her mind.

“You would never know it now, but I used to be quite a good surgeon,” James said with a sordid chuckle, still not looking at her neck. “They would send the worst cases my way…the ones with limbs blown off and entrails bubbling from bellies.”

The visual sent a sour taste into her mouth.

“Forgive me, Angeline.” He laid a hand on her arm, but she moved aside. The man had no idea how his every touch played havoc with her insides. And her emotions. When she awoke, cocooned in his arms, she’d felt safe and warm and loved. And she found herself wishing time would stand still and she’d never have to leave his embrace. But that could never be. So, she’d moved as far away from him as she could and watched him sleep—a restless, fitful slumber that tore at her heart to discover what caused him such angst and to put an end to it with her love.

“You were quite accustomed to seeing blood, I imagine,” she said.

A drop of rainwater landed on his forehead from above and he shoved it into his hair—damp, chaotic hair threaded in strings of gold and tawny brown that curled when they reached his collar.

“Is it possible for one person to see too much blood in a lifetime?” His jaw flexed as he gazed into the jungle. “Perhaps there is some limit set by God that man cannot go beyond. Similar to the threshold of pain that thrusts men into the bliss of unconsciousness. I reached my limit is all.” His bronze eyes searched hers, brimming with sorrow and shame, yet sturdy as the metal whose color they favored.

“I cannot imagine what you went through.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. I wouldn’t want anyone to. Yet, it was nothing compared to what our soldiers saw on the battlefield.”

“Yet you saved many lives.”

“A few.”

“How could there be shame in that? Or what happened to you afterward? In fact, you should be proud of your service.” Unlike her. While he was saving lives, Angeline was ruining them. Her own included.

Stowy leapt onto James’s leg, pouncing on a shifting spot of sunlight. They both chuckled, lightening the dour mood. Perhaps lightening it a little too much, for when the laughter died, their eyes met again, and his hand swallowed hers. This time, she allowed it. The rough feel of his skin, the warmth, the way his fingers folded over hers, protecting, caressing. Eternity was made of moments like these, moments when time halted, dangling on the line strung between their gazes. Moments when there were only two and the strength of their love seemed to power the universe. She soaked it in, storing the memory deep in her heart.

For it could never happen again.

She couldn’t have this man. Or Dodd would ruin his chance at happiness, his chance at marriage and children with a true lady. Angeline must be strong. Breaking the trance, she turned and gazed below. “The waters are low enough now. Perhaps we should go. It isn’t proper for us to be here alone.”

“People will understand. Besides, you’re safe with me.” With a touch to her chin, he brought her to face him again. “You know my feelings for you.”

She did. And it threatened to undo her carefully erected shield. But Dodd’s ultimatum rose like a sword beside that shield—one she must use to keep James at bay. For his sake.

Sunlight angled over his jaw, over his dark stubble so at odds with his light hair.

She tugged her hand from his. “You must accept the way things are, James. I’m sorry.”

“And how exactly
are
things?”

That I’d give anything to be loved by you
. “We can be no more than friends.” Moisture blurred her vision.

“I don’t understand. You feel something for me. I see it in your eyes.”

“You are mistaken.” She waved a hand through the air. “I have a terrible fault, you see, of making everyone feel cared for. I’ve been that way since I was a little girl.” She laughed to cover up the sob caught in her throat and turned from him.

“Does this character flaw include crying when rejecting someone you have no feelings for?” Again he moved her chin to face him. She lowered her lashes as two traitorous tears sped down her cheeks. He thumbed one away.

Oh, God if You’re there. Please give me strength
. She closed her eyes beneath his touch. His kissed the other tear away. Before she could jerk back, his lips descended onto hers. His breath filled her mouth.

And she lost herself in his taste, his male scent, the tender touch of his lips, so unlike other men who’d kissed her.

Her skin tingled. Her body grew weightless and drifted toward the sky. If only she could fly away with James, away from everyone, away from her past, away from Dodd.

What am I doing?

Shoving him back, she punched his chest, grabbed Stowy, and inched away with one thought in mind. Get as far from James as she could. The branch bounced, she shrieked, lost her grip, and toppled to the bough beneath her. Landing hard. Squashed between her chest and the bark, Stowy let out a painful howl.

“Don’t move, Angeline. Stay there.” She could hear the creak of wood as James made his way down to her.

No! He would touch her, hold her, rescue her again. She couldn’t allow it. Her heart couldn’t take it. “Stay away!” She struggled to rise. Cradling Stowy, she slid to the branch below. It was too thin, too slick from rain. She slipped. Her feet met air. One arm flailing, she reached for another bough, but her hand scraped over bark. Her leg caught on something. The rip of fabric filled her ears. Along with Stowy’s mournful screech.

Splat!
Angeline landed on her derrière in the mud. Stowy flew from her arms and alighted on a pile of broken branches beside her.

“Angeline! Are you hurt?” James shouted.

Water soaked through her skirts into her petticoat and night-dress. A croak brought her gaze to a toad sitting atop a rock to her left. A giggle burst into her throat, but she forced it back. “You! You made me fall!” She lifted her hands and shook off the mud as James skillfully navigated the tree, swung down on the final branch, and landed on the ground with a splash.

He started toward her. “If you hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away from me—”

“Because you made improper advances!”

Stopping, James cocked a brow. “If I had made improper advances, you would not have fallen, I assure you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She reached for the gun at her waist, but her hand met the empty belt around her skirt. “Are you saying you would restrain a woman against her will?”

“Missing your pistols, your dragonship?” He quirked a grin that made her want to giggle, to toss mud at him, to drag him down with her until they both burst forth with laughter. But instead she forced anger into her tone. “If you wish me to be a dragon, I shall oblige you!” She had no idea what that meant, but it was the only retort she found on her lips.

He chuckled. “Dragon or not, I would never restrain a woman.”

“Why? Because you are so captivating, so virile, so exciting that women swoon in your arms?” Though honestly she couldn’t blame them.

This, however, seemed to hit the mark as the grin faded from his lips and he lowered his chin with a sigh.

Angeline felt like sinking into the mud.

Instead, James extended a hand to assist her up. Refusing it, she struggled to rise, got caught on her skirt, fell down again, growled, then shoved herself up to stand. She wanted to thank him for saving her life, for risking his own for the likes of her, for being so wonderful and charming and honorable…

Reaching up, he wiped mud from her cheek. She stepped back. “We should get going. Come Stowy.” She turned to gather the cat in her arms, but he leapt into James’s instead.

Clutching her skirts, she started sloshing back toward town.
Traitor
.

HAPTER
15

T
he crash and fizzle of ocean waves—normally soothing to Angeline—grated over her like a washboard on skin. Still, she was thankful to see the storm’s retreat on the horizon, waving farewell in robes resplendent in amber, coral, and ruby—a promise for a sunny day on the morrow. Yet no amount of sun could brighten the colonists’ dour mood. Especially after a day of scouring the jungle for castoffs left by the river, hidden booty shoved behind bushes and stuffed up trees in some kind of demonic treasure hunt. And always the trinket disappointed. A shirt here, a hat there, an iron pot over there, but not enough left of the things they really needed.

“Thank God we found some of our clothes scattered about.” Ever the optimist, Eliza plucked a sopping pair of trousers from a bucket and flung them over the line the men had strung between palms.

Angeline finished hanging a petticoat and stretched the aches from her back. She’d given up on the ones in her legs long ago.

“Mercy me, Eliza.” Magnolia stuffed a wayward hair into her bun. “Our entire town is destroyed. We have no homes, no food, no cots, and now we are forced to sleep on the sand like burrowing crabs. I hardly think a few clothes will aid our situation.”

Angeline quite agreed, but she wouldn’t say so. There was already far too much complaining firing about the camp.

“Without proper attire we’d be
naked
crabs burrowing in the sand.” Eliza smiled, an infectious smile that caused all of them to grin, Sarah included, who assisted with the laundry on Angeline’s left.

However, Magnolia’s smile soon faded. “Honestly, what is to become of us? The entire town is washed away. Not a single hut remains.”

Angeline stooped to retrieve a dripping coverlet, her gaze drawn to James chopping wood down the beach. After the colonists had hauled everything they could find of use down to the shore, Blake had organized the men for different tasks. Some chopping wood, others building shelters, a few fishing. He’d asked some of the women to search for fruit, though most of it had been stripped from the trees by the mighty claws of the river. The rest of the colonists scoured the jungle for scattered goods. All except Dodd and Patrick, who insisted their time would be better spent looking for the gold that would—how had Patrick put it?—
rebuild the town into a thriving metropolis
. Angeline had met too many men like Patrick Gale in her life to give credence to a single word he spoke.

As if in defiance of her thoughts, Sarah added, “Towns can be rebuilt, Magnolia.”

“And they can be destroyed again, as well,” came the lady’s retort.

Destroyed was a fitting description of New Hope. Demolished might be better. Every hut, bamboo pole, palm frond, and even the fire pit had been washed away. All that remained as evidence that civilized people had lived there was the stone oven beneath where the meeting shelter had once stood. In fact the ground was still so soggy and littered, there was no place to sleep. And it would take weeks to pick up all the debris in order to build again. Which is why they decided to settle on the beach for now. Though much of the sand near the mouth of the river had been washed away, this northern section of coast remained unscathed, save for mounds of wet sand and downed palm fronds.

So much loss. So much sorrow. As Angeline glanced at the colonists scattered across the beach set to various tasks, she wondered what would become of their attempt at a Southern utopia. Already she’d heard rumblings from some who wanted to quit and go home.

Two of those mumblers headed toward them now. Magnolia’s parents. Mr. Scott, gray hair askew, face red, arms stiff by his sides, marched in front of his wife who scurried along behind him, wringing her hands while the torn fringe of her hem dragged over the sand. Mable, their slave, followed on her heels.

Magnolia released a heavy sigh as they halted before the clothesline.

“Magnolia,” Mr. Scott began, lifting his chin as if addressing an assembly. “We have decided to return to Georgia on the next ship. Brazil is obviously no place for civilized people.”