Moon Racer (23 page)

Jonah's eyes were closed, but Abby saw him
wince with pain when they carried him up the steps.
She opened the door, noticing how pale he was. He
must love Patricia a great deal if he was so
desperate to get to her. She gathered her courage
and directed the soldiers to Matt's old bedroom,
where Jonah had stayed before. She turned down
the covers and motioned for them to lay him on the
bed.

Abby touched his forehead while Patricia
huddled in the doorway, pale and shaking. "He isn't
feverish, and that's a wonder, considering the bullet
is still in him." Abby turned her attention to
MacDougall-if she'd followed her heart, she
would have gathered Jonah in her arms. "I'll give
you time to take his boots off and undress him
before I return."

"Yes, ma'am."

Abby took Patricia's hand and led her down the
hallway to the bedroom she was occupying. "You
are white as parched paper. You'd better lie down,
or we will have two patients."

"I... never could stand the sight of suffering,
especially not when it's someone I care about." She
placed a delicate hand over her mouth. "And seeing
blood makes me so sick."

Abby spoke more kindly. "Don't worry; just rest.
I'm sure Jonah will be all right."

"Why did he push himself so hard to get here?"
Tears trailed down Patricia's face. "Why didn't he
allow the doctors at the fort to remove the bullet
or even one of his men?"

"I have heard horror stories about army doctors.
He probably didn't want them poking around in
him. As to why he pushed himself, I assume he
wanted to be with you."

Patricia shook her head. "No. He would never
... he...»

Abby opened a window and pulled the covers
back. "Rest for a while. I'll let you know when we
have removed the bullet."

Patricia looked relieved to lie down. But when
Abby would have left the room, she grabbed her
hand. "I wish I could be more like you. You always
know what to do in every situation, and I seem to
flounder at every crisis."

Abby stared at Jonah's bride-to-be. She couldn't
admit to her that she would gladly trade places if she
could have Jonah. "I must go. They might need me."

As Abby stepped into the hall, she wasn't feeling
so steady herself. She heard Quince's voice at the
front door and ran to him. "Christmas told you
about Jonah?"

"Yeah. I got here as fast as I could."

"Since D.Gibbs left town so suddenly, Diablo
doesn't have a doctor. I didn't know what to do but
send for you."

He rolled up his sleeves and entered the bedroom.
"You did right. But I'll need you to help me."

She nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

It was growing dark, so Sergeant MacDougall
held the lamp while Abby held the washbasin for
her brother.

Jonah was so pale, and his dark hair was plastered
to his forehead with sweat. She gritted her teeth
when Quince probed for the bullet, and a tear ran
down her cheek as she watched Jonah groan in pain.

She set the basin aside and went down on her
knees, taking his hand in hers. "Hold on to me,
Jonah. Hold on."

His eyes opened briefly, and she stared into dark
blue pools of pain.

He mouthed her name but made no sound.

"I'm here."

Quince looked at her strangely as he dropped the
spent bullet into the pan. Then he dunked his hands
in the basin to wash the blood off them. "You can
doctor and bandage him now, Abby. I just heard
riders out front. It might be Jonah's father. I'll need
to tell him what happened."

She nodded, afraid to meet Quince's eyes
because he already suspected what her feelings
were for Jonah.

The sergeant looked on as Abby skillfully put
ointment on the wound and rolled the bandage
under Jonah's arm and over his shoulder. As gently
as she could manage, she tied the bandage in place.

"I think he'll sleep now," she said to
MacDougall. "All we can do is hope he doesn't get
a fever."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay here until he
can give me orders to go elsewhere. I can bunk down
anywhere." He smiled. "Quince could tell you that."

"Of course you'll want to stay. First, go into the
kitchen and tell Frances to feed you. I'll have a cot
put in the parlor for you, since the bedrooms are all
taken."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm mighty obliged to you.
Major Tremain is a brave man, ma'am-he was
fighting at our side when he took this bullet. He's a
mighty fine man."

Abby knew enough about army life to appreciate
that if a hard-bitten sergeant gave a man his
approval, it was certainly worth noting.

"I know he is," she said, smiling at him.

She watched him leave the room, then pulled a
chair beside the bed. She should let Patricia know how
Jonah was doing, but she didn't want to leave himnot just yet. She touched her lips to his hand, thinking
how strong those hands had been when they had
swept across her body, and how tenderly they had
touched her. She tried putting a name to her feelings.

Love, that was the name of what she felt for him.
The emotion Jonah admittedly did not believe
existed.

She touched his cheek-he needed a shave.
Patricia would probably do that for him. She had
started to rise when he groaned and clamped her
hand.

Patricia would have him for the rest of her life,
but Abby would have him for only a few more
moments. Jonah was a strong man, and this wound
would not keep him down for long.

For now-for this moment in time-he belonged
to her.

Brushing his dark hair out of his face, she
watched the way his lashes lay against his tan
cheek. She had seen his eyes blaze with desire, and
it was a memory she would keep with her forever.

The hours passed slowly, with no change in
Jonah's condition. Then she heard someone at the
door and MacDougall appeared. "Ma'am, I can sit
with him now and give you a rest."

Abby sighed when she stood to give him the
chair. She was in no position to protest, although
she would have liked to. She said in a whisper so
she wouldn't disturb Jonah, "He's been restless but hasn't awakened. If he feels feverish during the
night, no matter what time it is, knock on my door.
Mine is the room next to this one."

The sergeant whispered back to her, "Yes,
ma'am. I surely will."

She touched Jonah's hand once more and let her
fingers drift away. "Sergeant MacDougall,
whatever happened to that young private who came
here looking for Jonah?"

The big man grinned. "Well, ma'am, it's like
this; Davies was transferred to Fort Leavenworth,
and he'll do some time in the guardhouse for
actions unbecoming a soldier." He glanced up at
her. "I've never seen the major as mad as he was
that day-and I've seen him plenty mad before."

Jonah moaned and opened his eyes, his mind in a
fog. He felt as if he were being swept along by dark
waters, sinking and rising sickeningly. He closed
his eyes briefly, and the world seemed to right itself
a bit.

He turned his head to find Quince bending over
him, pressing against his shoulder. "That hurts like
hell," he mumbled.

"It's supposed to hurt; I'm tightening your
bandage."

Jonah licked his dry lips. "Why am I so thirsty?"

"Because you've ybeen dead to the world for
twelve hours."

Jonah glanced around him, finding everything
comforting and familiar. "I'm in your brother's
bedroom."

"Your men brought you here, apparently at your
insistence. You always were lucky," Quince
drawled. "You never seem to get shot where it
really matters. You got your leg shot up, now your
shoulder-what's left, your foot?"

Jonah tried to smile, but he merely grimaced in
pain. "And every time I get shot, you're there to
remind me I should have ducked."

"Someone had to dig that bullet out of you this
time. But I can't take all the credit; Abby and
MacDougall helped." He placed the slug in
Jonah's hand. "It looks like Victorio and his
Mescalero didn't like you any more than
Geronimo and his warriors did. You might want
to avoid Apache in the future-they seem intent
on killing you."

Jonah struggled to sit up and finally succeeded,
lying back against the three pillows someone had
provided for him. "I don't even remember arriving
here."

"It's no wonder, since MacDougall told us you
had been fading in and out of consciousness."

"Give me a drink, dammit!"

Quince grinned, poured him a glass of water, and
handed it to him. "Are you up to a surprise?"

Jonah took a sip of water and then drank deeply.
"That depends on what it is."

"Your father and Miss Van Dere are here."

Jonah knew that Quince expected him to be
pleased about that bit of information-he wasn't.

"I asked you if you'd meet their stage; I didn't
expect you to bring them home with you."

"It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time.
And, as it turns out"-Quince watched him
closely-"it was lucky. Now you can have Miss
Van Dere here to nurse you back to health."

"Yes" Jonah turned his gaze to the doorway,
wondering where Abby was. "Thank you for everything."

Quince moved across the room. "Just see if you
can stay out of trouble for a while."

MacDougall was waiting for Quince when he
came out of the house. "Thanks for what you and
your family are doing for the major."

Ready to mount up, Quince thrust his boot into
the stirrup and smiled at the sergeant. "When are
you going to retire, MacDougall?"

"Can't. Gotta keep an eye on the major."

Quince squinted against the sun. "Yeah, I guess
somebody has to."

"Can I ask you something?" MacDougall inquired.

"Sure."

"Is there anything between the major and your
sister? I mean, is there some reason he'd try so hard
to get here to her when he was wounded?"

Quince frowned. "Why would you ask that?"

"He... the major asked me flat out to get him
to Abby. Maybe he trusted her nursing more than
the army doctor's."

Quince drew in an intolerant breath, not liking what
he was thinking. "Let's just hope that's all it is."

Jonah stared at his father, who was seated near the
bed, his arms folded across his chest. "It's been a
while, General."

"It looks like you had one hell of a fight. I'll want
to hear all the details. The talk in town is that my
son is a hero."

Jonah shifted his weight and stiffened because of
the pain. "I wasn't a hero. I did what was expected
of me. And I don't want to talk about it with you,
now or later."

His father stood up with a fixed expression on his
face. "You never change. I thought when they sent
you west you would learn some hard lessons, but
you haven't."

"And you will never change. You still think the
true measure of a man is how well he performs in
battle and how many enemies he can kill."

"And it is the true measure, as far as I am
concerned."

"Then I am your man, General. I can command
troops and ride into battle with the best of them. I
have a chestful of medals for deeds you would call
heroic-what does that tell you about me as a man?"

"We'll discuss this later, when you are more
rational. I never can talk to you when you get like
this."

Jonah turned his head away. He heard the heavy
footsteps as his father stomped out of the room,
leaving the door open. The one thing that never
changed was his father's attitude toward his only son.

He closed his eyes, knowing that when he was
well enough to travel he would be leaving.

A short time later he heard Abby's laughter in the
hallway, and it swept through him like a cleansing
wind, leaving him without enough air to breathe.

He heard soft footsteps and watched the door, his
heart pounding. A light knock on the half-open door
brought hope. He pulled his shirt together, although
it could not be buttoned because of the bandage.
"Come in."

Patricia appeared in the doorway. She tried not to be
embarrassed by the sight of the dark hair on his chest.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, inching closer.

He swallowed his disappointment. "Very well."
He held his hand out to her, knowing it was
expected of him. "How was your journey?"

She had hoped he would show joy in seeing her,
but the smile on his lips did not reach those razorblue eyes.

"It was interesting and without incident." Her
hand slid into his, and she sat in the chair beside his
bed.

Patricia wore a rose-colored gown that fit her to
perfection. Her hair was swept upward and held
there by an onyx clasp. "You are lovely, as always."

She blinked, wishing for more from him. She
withdrew her hand. "I was here earlier, but you
were sleeping. Abby was sitting beside you."

There was an urgency in his tone. "Where is she
now?"

The truth of her suspicions was reflected in the
intensity of his eyes when he spoke of Abby. "I
believe she just went into the kitchen to help
Frances with the evening meal. Shall I get her?"

"No." He forced a smile. "I'm sorry for receiving
you in this condition. It isn't the way I intended
your arrival to be."

She touched his forehead with a soft kiss. "Your
father told me that if I am to make a proper officer's
wife, I must be prepared for the unexpected."

He took a deep breath, and she could tell he was
in pain.

"I'll just leave you for now. Perhaps you will feel
stronger tomorrow."

"Yes," he said tersely, "I should be strong enough
tomorrow to get out of this bed."

"But surely that is too soon."

He smiled. "I was far worse off when I arrived,
and I had come a long way to get here."

The house was dark and quiet; everyone seemed to
have gone to bed. Jonah lay in the darkness,
wishing he could take back the cruel words he had
said to his father. It was always the same with them.
They had never agreed on any given subject, and it
was probably his fault as much as his father's.