The True Love Wedding Dress (27 page)

Anything . . . but this.

His lips settled softly on hers, not asking too much, a delicate caress. But what began as gentle and questioning flamed into a kiss that had her pulled hard against him, his hand cupping the back of her head, her fingers gripping his shoulders.

He backed her against the wall, feeling as if he wanted to devour her. He kissed her ear, her neck, the hollow of her throat. She moaned breathlessly as his palm skimmed her waist, then moved higher to explore her breast’s ripe fullness.

His knee pushed between her legs and he could hear his heart hammering above the crash of thunder. Nuzzling her neck, he took a deep breath, doubtful that any perfume could have matched the scent of her warm skin. As he tried to shove the night rail from her shoulder, he felt her body go stiff beneath his.

“Josh,” she whispered, her voice tremulous and uncertain.

Suddenly he realized just how far he had fallen. He was minutes away from taking her right there in the hallway of his house.

“I—” An apology stalled in his throat. How could he apologize when he would have bartered his very soul to finish what they had begun?

“Penny.”

He had hoped to explain himself. Instead, he turned away, strode down the stairs, then through the front door and out into the stormy night.

P
enny did not sleep the remainder of the night, but lay in bed, listening for Josh’s return. After daybreak, Eliza awoke, and they ate sugared toast, then played draughts before the parlor fire. The day stretched on while the storm grew yet more violent, trees bending in the wind and rain pummeling the earth with torrential force. When it came time to sit down for the evening meal and still there was no Josh, Penny quietly took Macgorrie aside.

“I’m worried,” she said. “What should I say to Eliza?”

The older man shrugged. “Ye don’t have to say anything. The girl is used to his comings and goings. He’s more likely than not seeing to business affairs.”

So Penny and Eliza ate their dinner and then read for an hour before Penny tucked the child into bed.

By the following morning, Penny’s concern was enough to send Macgorrie out to check some of Josh’s favorite haunts. Fortunately, the weather had finally begun to turn, the rain reduced to occasional showers and a hint of summer warmth returning to the air.

Macgorrie had been gone less than an hour when a forceful pounding sent Penny racing to open the door, Eliza hard on her heels.

“Oh, sweet Mary.” With one hand, Penny clutched the doorframe to steady herself, while with the other hand she held Eliza back from looking onto the porch.

Two burly men whom Penny recognized from the general store were carrying Josh on a canvas stretcher. Macgorrie, stumping behind as fast as he could, was barking orders like a Union general.

“Take him straight on in,” he told the men, his accent heavier than usual. Then he instructed Penny to “put the kettle on and have Liza pack a rucksack.”

“Pack?” Penny questioned.

As the men approached her with their burden, Penny saw that Josh, muddied and wet, lay unconscious. Blood oozed a thick crimson ribbon along his hairline. Behind her, Eliza strained to look past, but Penny held her back.

“Aye,” Macgorrie explained as he hobbled onto the porch. “He’s runnin’ a fever, and we’d best take no chances with the lass catchin’ it. I already spoke to the widow, who’ll keep her for a couple of days.”

Fever.
Penny remembered that Madeline Cooper had died of fever. Swinging around, she swiftly herded a protesting Eliza out of the room.

“What is it, Penny? Is Papa ill?”

“Yes, he is, and he wouldn’t want you catching whatever he has. So you’ll be going on holiday at Mrs. Murphy’s for a day or two.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

Penny shook her head. She could hear the men grunting as they carried the litter into the bedroom she had been occupying this past month.

“No, but there’s no need to fret,” she told Eliza, helping the child put clean clothes into a carpetbag. “If anyone ought to be worried, it’s me, since the widow will no doubt spoil you rotten and then I’ll have to undo all her handiwork when you come home.”

Despite Penny’s playful tone, a frown still creased Eliza’s forehead.

“He is going to be well again, isn’t he?”

“Heavens, of course. Why, it’s probably just a wee bit of a cold.” Penny made no mention of the frightening head wound.

Eliza snapped the bag shut, her perplexed gaze encircling the pink-and-white room. “I never stopped to think what might become of me if something were to happen to Papa.”

Penny stilled. “Nothing is going to happen to your father,” she assured her, although a shiver rippled down her spine. “Hurry up now, and I’ll walk you over to the widow’s.”

Within thirty minutes, Penny had returned from depositing Eliza at Mrs. Murphy’s house on Jackson Street. She rushed upstairs, knocking softly on the bedroom door before letting herself in. Macgorrie stood at the side of the bed. He waved her back into the hallway, but not before she’d had a long look at Josh. She didn’t like what she saw. Although Macgorrie had cleaned him up and managed to rid him of his sopping-wet clothes, he appeared pale. Pale to the point of gray, his brow bruised and gaping open.

Macgorrie met her in the corridor.

“What happened?”

He scratched at the top of his head, sending a few feathery hairs flapping aimlessly.

“Well, from the looks of it, lightning struck that big oak down there on the other side of the creek. Now, he may have been hit by a fallin’ limb or could be he was tryin’ to dodge the limb or the lightnin’, and then hit his head. Either way, I found him lyin’ in the creek. It’s hard to say how long he’d been there, but long enough. He’s damned lucky he didn’t drown, if ye ask me.”

“Is there a physician to call?”

“No use. With the measles goin’ round, the doc’s been runnin’ ragged. I heard tell he was called over to Port Townsend.”

Penny gnawed at the side of her thumbnail. “I don’t like that gash in his head. I’ve seen a few of those in my day, and I think he needs to be sewn up.”

“Aye, but not by me. The widow is handy with a needle. I’ll go fetch her.”

“No.” Penny stalled him with a hand on his forearm. “I can do it.”

Macgorrie’s bushy white brows lifted. “Ye think so, do ye?”

Swallowing her misgivings, Penny nodded. She’d had to do it only once before, and that patient had been stone-cold drunk. With Macgorrie’s help, she swiftly assembled the supplies.

The wound stretched almost two inches long above Josh’s temple, a ragged tear. No matter how neatly she sewed it up, it was bound to leave a nasty reminder of the accident. But she saw that this scar would hardly be his first.

Macgorrie must have noticed her staring at the white, puckered mark that ran along the top of Josh’s bare shoulder.

“Aye, that one I gave him.”

“You?”

“Aye, ye could say so. We was working at the camp, and a load of logs came loose from their moorings. I lost my leg, but ’twould have been a helluva lot worse if Josh hadn’t come after me.”

Penny glanced again at the large blemish. So that was how Mac had become the Cooper family’s caretaker.

“How long ago was this?” she asked, while threading the needle, glad to see that her hands were steady despite her nerves.

“Oh, ten years ago now, I suppose. Been here in Seattle ever since.”

Penny allowed herself a hint of a smile. She had never heard Mac so talkative. Either the man was finally warming up to her or he was as anxious as she was.

“Do you think he’s going to feel anything?” she asked as she perched on the edge of the mattress.

“I’d say ye’re about to find out.”

With a steadying breath, she pierced the loose flap of skin on one side of the wound. Behind her, she heard Macgorrie sputter a cough.

“I’ll go put on the kettle,” he offered, then bolted from the room.

“I guess,” Penny muttered, listening to the hasty
thump-thump
of Macgorrie’s retreat, “I am on my own.”

One stitch. She sighed with relief. Two. Three neat little stitches.

She had just finished tying up her fourth when she all but leaped from the four-poster bed. A pair of silvery blue eyes was fixed upon her.

“You’re awake.”

He said nothing, only continued to stare up at her.

“Does it hurt?” She held aloft the needle and thread as though to explain the grounds for his discomfort.

He answered in a croaky rasp, “Like hell.”

“I am sorry,” she said, wincing with regret. “But you need at least another two or three, I do believe.”

His lids closed. “Go ahead.”

He did not reopen his eyes while she finished her stitching, his breathing so even that she wondered if he had lost consciousness or fallen asleep.

However, when she reared back to examine her needlework, he was again watching her.

“I’m done,” she told him.

“Good.”

She placed the back of her hand against his stubbled cheek. The skin burned with fever.

“You’re very ill.” She stood up from the side of the bed.

“Eliza?”

“She’s with Mrs. Murphy.” Penny, careful not to jostle his head, adjusted the pillow beneath his neck. “Do you know what happened?”

He did not answer for a few seconds, then said, “I kissed you.”

Heat flowed into her cheeks, and she straightened her skirts to give herself something to do.

“After that,” she prompted, feigning composure.

“Kissing you is all . . .” His voice faded as his eyes again fell closed. “All that . . . I remember.”

Penny stood there, her pulse drumming. Fear crept into her thoughts. Surely Josh was too strong to be done in by a fever and a knock to the head. Surely.

But his unusual pallor worried her. Who knew how long he had lain in the creek, pelted by the cold rain? And hadn’t she seen men healthier than this suddenly succumb to mysterious illness?

When Macgorrie returned, he and Penny argued over who would assume the role of nurse. At first Mac kicked up a fuss, but he eventually conceded the argument when she pointed out that he couldn’t be hobbling up and down the stairs all day, carrying pots of hot water and bowls of broth.

And as Penny pointed out, her limited experience aside, she had learned a few lessons about doctoring over the years. Keep the patient warm and out of drafts. White vinegar worked wonders for almost any ailment. And encourage liquid nourishment such as weak teas and bouillons.

Josh, however, did not wake again until late that evening, after sleeping fourteen hours straight. By that time, a frantic Penny had been ready to pull out her hair, not knowing if she ought to be worried by his lengthy sleep or to be thankful he was resting peacefully.

Earlier she had found, tucked away in the parlor’s library, a dusty copy of
A Compilation of Household Receipts.
She was flipping through the yellowed pages, hoping to find some miraculous remedy, when a low groan drew her out of her chair.

“Josh?”

She touched his forehead. Was it her imagination or was he warmer than he’d been a few hours before?

He stirred awake, his gaze cloudy and unfocused.

“Is the lamp too bright? May I get you some broth? How do you feel?”

He blinked at her battery of questions. Then, slowly drawing out each syllable, he answered, “No. Yes. Utter shit.”

Fighting back a relieved smile, she hurried to fetch a cup of beef broth. Then, with some difficulty, she propped him up with another pillow before pulling her chair closer to the bed.

As she had expected, he tried to grab the spoon from her grasp, but she pushed his hand aside with ease. He was too weak to put up much protest.

She fed him close to half the broth before he croaked, “Enough.”

“A little more,” she coaxed.

“No.” With his jaw set stubbornly, he might have been a boy Eliza’s age, except for his heavily muscled arms and two days’ growth of dark beard.

Acquiescing reluctantly, Penny exchanged the cup for a clean damp towel, which she used to cool his neck and forehead. As she dabbed at his brow, a shock of chestnut hair tumbled forward, and she tenderly smoothed it back.

“Who are you?”

Penny’s hand froze just above his ear. Goodness, did he not remember? Had his memory been damaged? She had heard of that sort of thing happening to soldiers in the war, particularly where a head wound was involved.

“My name is Penelope Martin.”

“Yes, yes, I know your name.” He gave a weary sigh of annoyance. “But who are you? Where did you come from, Penelope Martin?”

“Ah.” She cocked her head to one side, feeling a kink settle in her neck from sitting so long in the chair. “It’s really not a very interesting story.”

“Indulge me.”

Penny feared that she had already indulged him too much the other night, when she had allowed him to kiss her senseless. Indeed, she had allowed him more liberties than she had ever allowed any other man.

“If you insist,” she said, shrugging. “Though don’t say I didn’t warn you. Let’s see . . . I was born outside Hampton, Virginia, where my father was a sharecropper. A pretty poor one. My mom ran off when I was still in swaddling, so it was just Pa, Lewis, and me. When my pa died, Lewis took me with him to Boston. And that’s where I grew up. End of tale.”

“Who was Lewis?”

Penny’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “He was either a slave or a servant—I don’t rightly know. But he was my closest, dearest friend.”

“And what did you do in Boston?”

Penny rose from the chair. “I learned when it was time to stop answering questions,” she said, moving the pillow so that Josh was in a reclining position.