Loving Linsey (21 page)

A swift and fierce longing gripped him, to watch her grow big with child, to be there at the child's birth, to share in the wonder of creating a miracle.

And who knew? He might get his wish. The child just wouldn't be his.

Linsey braced her hands against the seat and set the swing in motion with her toe. “How did you know what you had to do? I mean, didn't you worry that you'd hurt the baby when you cut Caroline open?”

“No. I've assisted with a cesarean section before, so I've had some experience with the procedure. But there are other risks involved with the operation. A doctor has to weigh
those risks versus trying something a little safer, or doing nothing at all. Most of the time, you follow the feeling in your gut and hope it's the right decision.”

“Well, I don't claim to know anything about surgeons and their skills, but what you did back there was nothing short of incredible.”

Daniel nodded his head. It had been amazing. Ten years ago, he wouldn't have dreamed he'd attempt such a risky operation. But after the progress he'd seen in the field of medicine. . . . “You wouldn't believe some of the life-saving techniques being discovered today. Blood transfusions, tumor removal. The next thing you know, someone will have discovered a cure for cancer.”

“And you want to be a part of that?” she asked with a smile.

Yes, he did. He couldn't remember the last time a procedure had given him such satisfaction. As if his knowledge—and his hands—were worth something.

Once upon a time, he'd arrogantly believed those two things could change the world. That arrogance had fed his ambition, had become the driving force to complete his school and dare the impossible.

When had he lost it?

He squinted at the scattered clouds in the distance. “I don't expect you to understand.”

“I think I do, though. It's as if you are standing on the edge of the frontier. Your heart is thundering and your palms are damp and you've never felt so glorious in your life because you know that there is something
extraordinary out there. Something no one else has seen or experienced before. And if you don't reach for it, don't grasp it in your hands”—she pressed a fist to her middle—“there's an emptiness inside you that never goes away.”

Daniel listened in stunned silence. He'd never heard anyone describe his feelings so accurately.

“I really am sorry for losing you that scholarship, Daniel. I wish you would believe that.”

He didn't want to talk about this with her, hot tonight, not when he'd had his first taste of triumph in such a long, long time. He didn't want to be reminded that underneath the soft, generous, competent woman he'd worked with lay a conniving hellion who had caused his fall. “It's done and over with.”

“Is it?”

“Let's just forget it, all right?”

“I wish I could. But a day hasn't passed since that I haven't felt just terrible about your letter winding up in the creek.”

He couldn't reply even if he wanted to.

“What I
don't
understand is, what's so special about that eastern university? What's there that isn't here?”

“It's more a matter of what
isn't
there that's here.”

“And that is?”

“My father, for one.”

“He can't be all that bad.”

“You've never had to work in his shadow.”

“Maybe instead of clashing with him, you
could find common ground. Perhaps a shared interest.”

“We have no shared interests.”

“You have your passion of medicine.”

Did they?
Daniel scoffed at the thought.

“I just know that if my father were nearby, I wouldn't squander the time we had together on earth with useless quarreling,” Linsey said.

“You could always go West to visit him.”

“If I showed up in Indian Territory, he'd send me back on the next train. He says it's too dangerous for a young woman.”

Daniel had to smile at that. “I can't imagine the dangers would stop you from going to him if that's really where you wanted to be.”

“Maybe you're right. Horseshoe has been my home since I was child and I am happy here—I'm needed here. But sometimes . . . I can't help but wonder what else is out there.”

There it was again. That wistfulness. That hint of sorrow.

Yet it seemed vastly important to Linsey to be needed by people. A human trait, Daniel supposed. And who knew? Maybe that's why he stuck around here. The people of this county needed a physician, and Dad couldn't do it all, though he dared any man to tell him that.

Other than that, though, no one needed him as a man. But he preferred being rootless—as soon as he saved the amount necessary to take his entrance exams, he'd be gone. It was better not to tie himself down. “If being needed is what you crave, maybe you should go into
medicine. You never know what you'll encounter, either.”

“Ha! I don't have the time or the patience.”

They laughed at the pun. And as before, the sound wrapped around Daniel's vitals and gave a gentle tug.

“You really do have a beautiful smile, Daniel. You should try it more often.”

Yeah, maybe he should. It felt . . . good. At least, it felt good smiling with her.

“Well, I'd best get back inside,” she said with a sigh. “I'd hate for Caroline to awaken with no one near.”

Just as she rose, Daniel sprang to his feet and caught her arm above the elbow. “Linsey, wait.” He wasn't sure why he'd stopped her. Maybe because she seemed to want something from him he just couldn't give—forgiveness. Too much had been lost as a result of that coach overturning, and too much muddy water had passed under the bridge since then. Daniel still felt mired in it.

No, he thought with an odd sadness, forgiveness wasn't something he could find it within himself to give her.

But he could give her something else.

He cleared his throat, reached into his coin pocket, then pressed her amulet into her palm.

Linsey glanced at their hands. Her eyes widened. “My Token of Good Fortune!”

Speechless, she took the amulet with excruciating care, as if he were handing her one of the stars she'd been watching. “Where did you find this?”

“In Jarvis's balloon. The basket, actually. It
must have gotten caught when the bottom fell out.”

Right when they'd almost kissed.

Neither said it, but it was there, in her startled eyes, in his treacherous thoughts. Daniel reeled them in, knowing that if he let himself dwell on that moment, he might fall into the dream and never climb out. Linsey had that ability: to make him want to forget everything but her, to lose himself in her provocative touch and capricious grin.

He cleared his throat again and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I heard Bishop Harvey tried forcing his attentions on you.”

“He's been doing it for months.”

“I'm sorry, Linsey. It was stupid of me to send you with him. I know we've had our differences, but I wouldn't want anyone to hurt you.”

She let out a little laugh and hugged herself. “Except you, right?”

He caught her gaze, held it. “I
never
would have sent you with him if I'd have known.”

To his astonishment, tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you for that.” She lifted and lowered the amulet. “And thank you for bringing this back to me.” She smiled.

Daniel forgot how to breathe.

He couldn't remember a single time when a look had been so trusting. A fragrance so inviting. A smile so beguiling.

And in that moment, he wanted her with an intensity that made everything else pale in comparison: the fellowship, his father's respect, his own surgical practice.

Nothing had ever surpassed that dream.

Until now.

Until Linsey.

It didn't make a goddamn bit of sense. She was reckless. She was irresponsible. She was high-strung.

She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his life.

And as his gaze came to rest on that ripe, cupid's-bow mouth that had been taunting him forever, he knew if he didn't kiss her, the not knowing would drive him mad. He had to taste her—just a sample, just once. . . .

Even as his hand reached up to cup her jaw, Daniel knew it was a mistake to touch her. Even as he took a step closer, he knew he was playing with fire. Even as his mouth lowered to hers, he knew he'd regret it. This woman was trouble.

But damn, trouble had never tasted so sweet.

It was a simple kiss, a mere brushing of his lips across hers, but he felt the shock of it clear to the bone. His lungs pumped hot and heavy as, still cupping her jaw in his palm, he pressed his forehead to hers. Her shallow breaths teased the skin at his collar. And he knew then that one taste would never be enough.

A kiss to her forehead led to one to her brows, then to her eyelids, and each eye, the spiky brown lashes still damp with unshed tears. Across to her temple, where copper tendrils of her hair grazed his cheek.

If she'd backed off, if she'd given a token of
a fight, if she'd resisted in any way whatsoever, he might have been able to keep his desire in check.

Instead she started kissing him back. A tentative press of her lips on his shoulder, then his collarbone, then his neck.

A moan rumbled between them, and it awed Daniel that the sound came from him. He tipped her chin up and covered her mouth in hot, hungry need. And still, he wanted more. He swung an arm around her neck, drawing her closer, bringing her flush against his front. His mind rebelled, but his body craved her heat.

Her breasts pressed into his chest, and her fingertips bit into his skin. He deepened the kiss further, sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips. There it was, what he sought—the flavor of high winds and silvery smiles and innocence unearthed.

A sound like the purr of a cat caused the fever in his blood to rise, and scalpel-sharp need sliced through Daniel from heart to heel. The temperature around them spiked. Their kisses became faster, harder, more urgent. Seeking, searching, devouring. With Linsey, there was no coyness, no reserve. Everything about her was open and reckless and uninhibited.

And that made her dangerous as hell.

Even so, his fingers delved through her hair. Silky soft curls wrapped around his wrist like lust itself, teasing his flesh, binding him tighter to her than iron sutures.

He wanted to break free. He wanted to push himself away from her.

He wanted to bury himself so deep inside her that nothing could separate them.

The madness continued to spin around his senses and through his veins, making him aware of nothing but her hands tightening around his back, her fingers clutching his shoulders, and the scent of lavender flirting with his control.

The muscles in his body went taut as a tug-of-war rope. The blood drained from his scalp, rose from his toes, and met smack in his groin, where it went from a slow, swelling simmer to a furious boil.

As if she detected the swift change in his body, in the atmosphere itself, Linsey pushed against his chest. Daniel broke the fusion of their mouths and loosened his hold on her. Then he stepped back and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He couldn't look at her, couldn't trust his own resistance.

“Daniel?” Linsey's confusion reached out, touching him with tentative fingers. “Why?”

Because I was an idiot? Because you were there, and I haven't kissed a woman in months?
A dozen jibes sprang to mind. That she was willing, that she was able, that all women looked the same in the dark.

Instead Daniel found himself confessing, “Hell if I know.” He only knew that Linsey had this ability to make him do things—feel things—that had no rhyme or reason.

A tiny cry from within the cabin brought both of them back to reality.

Linsey cast a glance through the front window. “I need to get inside.”

Daniel nodded. “There isn't much more I can do here. For now, Caroline just needs rest. I'll be by to check on her tomorrow, but send for me if she exhibits any signs of complications.”

“I will.” She headed for the open door, then paused with one hand on the jamb. “If you could stop by Briar House and let Addie and Aunt Louisa know where I am, I'd be grateful.”

He nodded again. Crazy how they could have such an inane exchange after experiencing the most staggering moment of his life.

Once she stepped inside and the door shut behind her, Daniel fell back against the cabin wall. Why
had
he kissed her? Hell, he'd only meant to give her back her stupid amulet. Instead he'd all but ravished her on a neighbor's front porch.

And the most frightening part was, he'd do it again given half a chance.

Inside the cabin, Linsey stood with her back and palms flat against the door, her gaze glued to a soot stain above the stove pipe.

Daniel had kissed her.

And she'd kissed him back.

How could she have betrayed Addie like that?

She pressed her fingertips to her lips, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on hers. So much for keeping her distance. She couldn't have been closer to him than if she'd crawled inside his skin.

And the worst part of it was, for a walking dead woman, she had never felt so alive.

For the first time, Linsey understood what Addie had been going through all these years. When Daniel looked at her, her tongue tied itself into a knot. When he touched her, her heart sighed, and when he kissed her . . . Linsey felt like swooning.

It was more than his extraordinary looks; Linsey couldn't believe herself so shallow as to have her head turned by a pair of sensually brooding eyes and a sullen mouth. It had been more than his touch, too, though that had ignited a wildfire inside her.

Deeper down, Linsey had sensed something more intimate. A loneliness that had spoken to her without words. A neediness that called out to the nurturer in her, beckoned to the woman in her who longed to make him laugh and smile and believe in luck.