The True Love Wedding Dress (28 page)

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she ignored him.

“You need your rest.”

He grumbled beneath his breath, but before Penny had settled back into her chair and drawn her shawl across her lap, he had fallen back to sleep.

Throughout the night, his condition grew worse, his feverish mutterings hoarse as he tossed and turned, mangling the bedclothes. His flesh was so hot that Penny would have sworn her fingers blistered when she touched him. Up and down the stairs she raced nearly every hour, fetching ice so that the towels she used to bathe him remained cold.

Just as the first rosy glimmers of dawn appeared in the east, his fever broke. Perspiration beaded his skin, and he suddenly seemed to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Penny had never known such relief. During the night, she had been tormented by the question Eliza had posed. What would become of the child if something befell Josh? Would Eliza remain here in this house, to be raised by Macgorrie? Had Josh made arrangements for the girl? Did he have family to whom she could go? Penny could not bear the thought of Eliza growing up orphaned and alone. She knew too well how difficult such a life could be.

And as much as she worried about Eliza’s fate, Penny couldn’t pretend that she didn’t harbor her own private, selfish concerns. What she had felt the other evening in Josh’s arms had been indescribable, unlike anything she had felt before. To be truthful, the depth of her feelings had frightened her, the way she had responded to him without reservation. As if she were meant to be held by him, meant to be touched by him, meant to be with him.

It wasn’t as if she were some green girl who had no familiarity with the opposite sex. She had worked beside men her entire life and had rebuffed a few bold characters who had succeeded in stealing a kiss in a corner. Some of the bolder ones, like young Thomas Bailey, had tried to steal more than a kiss, and he had been half the reason she’d had to flee Boston. He’d not taken kindly to the black eye she’d given him last spring.

Yet her experiences had not all been wrestling matches. Since becoming a woman, she had doled out one or two kisses of her own free will. But those encounters had been basically meaningless, particularly when compared to the emotional and physical response she had known with Josh.

A wiser woman would have made herself forget the incident in the dark hallway. In fact, throughout the night as she had tended him, she had warned herself not to make too much of it. A kiss was not a declaration of undying devotion, and she had no reason to believe that Josh Cooper was interested in anything more than a stolen moment in the moonlight. But couldn’t she hope that perhaps he had felt as she had felt, that what they had shared had been something unique? Something special?

“Y
ou’re not as good-looking as my other nurse, you know.”

“Aye, and you don’t smell as good as she does neither,” Macgorrie pointed out with a disdainful sniff.

“That may be,” Josh admitted, warily eyeing the bowl and cloth in Macgorrie’s gnarled fingers. “But there is no way in hell that I’m letting you bathe me like I’m some kind of invalid.”

“Well, what else are ye, man? Ye’ve not left this bloody bed for three days.”

Josh pointed to the closed bedroom door, pleased to discover that he had the strength to lift his arm. Yesterday, when he had finally regained consciousness, he’d been too weak to even blow his own nose.

“It’s that redheaded tyrant who’s to blame. She’s keeping me prisoner.”

Macgorrie nodded knowingly. “She’s a strong-willed one, she is.”

“Do you see how she refuses to bring me even a scrap of clothing? It’s unseemly, I tell you .”

“That’s because yer clothes
are
in scraps. I had to cut them off ye. And she knows it’s the only way to keep ye from gettin’ outta bed.”

Josh’s glare could have singed the white whiskers from Macgorrie’s chin. “You could bring me something else to wear.”

“Oh, no, ye’re not getting me into trouble. I’m scared of what the lass might do. She made it perfectly clear—ye’re not to get up until she gives the word.”

“Well, hear these words, Seamus Macgorrie: You’re not bathing me,” Josh repeated, snatching the wet cloth from the man as he approached the bed.

Macgorrie waved his hand in front of his hooked nose. “Well, someone is going to have to see to it.”

“I can do it myself.” And Josh proved the point by wiping his bare chest with the damp towel.

“Fine. And while ye’re taking care of yer stench, I’ll bring in fresh linens.”

“Might I at least have a pair of drawers?” Josh demanded.

“Faith, I never knew ye to be such a prude,” was the Irishman’s parting shot as he left the room.

Although he had to pause more than once to catch his breath, Josh did succeed in bathing himself. Afterward, despite his exertion, he actually felt better, well enough to think about food.

In timely answer to his prayers, a soft knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” he called, sitting up in anticipation. He wanted to believe he was eager for a meal, but the sudden stirring of his stomach had little to do with conventional hunger.

In came Penny, her hair piled in charming disarray, her eyes a brilliant leaf green, albeit shadowed from evident lack of sleep. On a tray, she carried the ever-present cup of broth.

“What’s that?”

“Beef broth,” she cheerily replied.

His brows drew together, causing him to flinch slightly as his stitches pulled. “Thanks very much, but I’m ready for some real food. Ask Macgorrie to rustle up a lamb chop, will you?”

“No solid food yet. According to the medical handbooks, you are to remain on liquids until tomorrow.”

“Medical—” Josh sputtered. “Why the hell are you reading medical handbooks?”

Her smile brimmed over with unruffled tolerance. “Because I can.”

Silenced for the moment, Josh could only scowl as she took a seat beside him.

“I don’t want broth.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“I’m starving, for God’s sake. I need food.”

“Well, then.” She lifted the spoon in invitation. “Here you go.”

“I told you. I don’t want that.” He knew he was behaving like a peevish child, but he hated being so damned helpless.

“I don’t think you realize just how sick you have been. A lamb chop might sound appealing, but I doubt you’re ready.”

“I’ve recovered much faster than
you
realize,” he retorted, adjusting the bed linens to better disguise his body’s very healthy reaction to her thigh near his. Then, wrinkling his nose, he peered into the unappetizing broth. “I’ll tell you what . . . I’ll make you a bargain.”

One auburn brow rose speculatively.

“I’ll drink that god-awful stuff if you finish your story.”

“You must truly be bored.”

He reached for the steaming cup.

She hesitated before handing it to him. “What do you want to know?”

“What did you do once you arrived in Boston?”

She took a long, deep breath, as though she were dusting off her memories. “Lewis found work cooking in a saloon, the Pig and Whistle. Unlike me, he knew his way around a kitchen. I washed dishes, mopped floors, ran errands. He and I shared a little room abovestairs—”

“You shared a room?” Josh interrupted.

“For heaven’s sake, I was just a scrawny little thing—about eleven, I guess—so what did anyone care? At least, no one in that part of town gave it much mind. Anyway, by the time Lewis died, I was working as a serving girl, so Mr. Bailey, the owner, kept me on.”

Josh sipped from the cup, his expression reflective. “I still don’t see how a serving girl from the Pig and Whistle became my daughter’s governess.”

“Ah, that was simply good fortune. You see, Mr. Shakely, a regular customer, had at one time or another worked for the Boston Primary School Committee. He also happened to be a distant cousin of Seattle’s famous widow Murphy. So when Eliza decided to advertise for a schoolteacher, Mrs. Murphy sent the letter of inquiry to Mr. Shakely.”

“And he passed it on to you?”

Penny glanced to her lap. “He knew how desperately I wanted to get out of Boston.”

“Why were you so desperate?” Josh asked, as she slid from the side of the bed.

“Have you been to Boston?”

Her flippant tone didn’t fool Josh for an instant, but he chose not to press her. It was easy enough to imagine what challenges a young, pretty girl working and living alone above a tavern might have faced.

“Where are you going?”

She had collected the empty cup and was headed for the door.

“Well,” she said slowly, casting him a teasing, sideways smile, “since you’ve been such an obedient patient, I thought I’d see if I might find that lamb chop for your dinner.”

Josh wanted to ask her to stay, but bit his tongue as the words surfaced. What the heck was the matter with him? He was acting like a needy child . . . or a lovesick swain.

 

Penny was still smiling when, through the window, she saw a figure briskly approaching the house. With her hand on the knob, she opened the door as a gentleman, fortyish and heavily bearded, raised his knuckles to knock.

“Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon, ma’am. Mr. Swensen here to see Mr. Cooper.” He doffed his straw hat, his demeanor businesslike yet friendly. To Penny’s eyes, he looked like a barrister or an accountant. Not like the typical man one found working in Seattle.

“I am sorry, Mr. Swensen, but Mr. Cooper is not able to receive guests today. May I help you?”

The man handed her an envelope. “If you’d be kind enough to see that he gets this right away. Mr. Cooper had asked me to take care of booking a passage on the
Mary Woodruff
and she’s pulling out tomorrow. I meant to get this to him days ago, but my courier boy was down with the measles and I plumb forgot about it.”

Penny felt her smile grow stiff as she accepted the proffered envelope. “Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and have yourself a nice day.”

Penny murmured a faint good-bye as she shut the door. A chill raced through her. The
Mary Woodruff
.

With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope, certain what she would find there, but praying that she might be wrong. That the papers were meant for someone else. Her heart sank, and she felt as if she had taken a punch to her middle.

She was going back to Boston.

 

Although Josh got his lamb chop for dinner that night, he couldn’t enjoy it. Macgorrie delivered the meal without volunteering information as to Penny’s whereabouts, which forced an exasperated Josh to inquire outright, since he’d not seen her since midday.

“Where’s my jailkeeper?” he finally asked, cutting into the juicy chop.

“She’s gone over to the widow’s to visit with Eliza.”

“So I guess she believes I’m going to live?”

“I guess so,” Macgorrie agreed, with an unconcerned shrug of his stooped shoulders.

By late evening, Josh was wondering if he was strong enough to fetch her from Mrs. Murphy’s himself. Unfortunately, however, he had to discard the idea when even threats of dismemberment failed to persuade Mac to bring him clothing.

“All right, Macgorrie, I can see the woman has put the fear of God in you, but let me tell you this: If I don’t have a pair of trousers waiting for me when I wake up in the morning, there’s a certain son of Ireland who’s going to have hell to pay.”

The other man merely rolled his eyes, muttered something about “bullyin’ an old cripple,” and then shuffled out of the room.

Josh woke with a start. He had been dreaming about Penny, and in the dream he had felt ridiculously happy. They had been standing together in an open field. Penny had been wearing the ivory dress and had been smiling. For him. Then, beneath the bright summer sky, she had begun to remove the ivory dress. Slowly. For him.

And suddenly he had come awake, disoriented and aroused, to the heavy blackness of a cloudless night. The dream had seemed so real to him that he would have sworn he could smell the lavender water that she wore. He lay in bed for two heartbeats before he realized that it was not merely his imagination.

His hand snaked out and grabbed hold of a wrist. She gasped.

“What are you doing?” he asked huskily.

“I-I was checking on you.”

“In the dark?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” She gave a tentative tug, but he did not release her.

They both remained silent in the thick darkness as she stood stock-still, no doubt questioning why he insisted on holding her there. He was asking himself the same question.

“What time is it?” He could feel her pulse fluttering like the wings of a bird.

“It’s after midnight.”

As his eyes adjusted, he saw her turn her head away from him, although there was nothing for her to see in the impenetrable shadows.

“Mac said you saw Eliza today?”

“Yes. She’s eager to come home.”

“Then let her.”

Beneath his fingers, Josh felt Penny tense. What was wrong? Was she worried about Eliza? Worried he might be contagious?

Or . . . could it be that she was frightened? Could she sense what he wanted from her?

After a long moment, she asked, “Are you well enough for her to come home?”

“I’m fine.”

To prove his point, he sat up, pulling her closer until she stood right against the bed. She deliberately kept her gaze averted from his bare chest.

Josh, wishing he could read her thoughts, let go of her hand.

“Well, as long as you’re feeling better . . .” She turned to walk away.

“Don’t go.”

“Do you need something?”

He almost laughed. He needed something, all right. The question was whether or not he should take it.