Yesterday's Roses (17 page)

Hallie frowned as her gaze traced the thick, vicious-looking scar twisting up his left thigh. Curiously, she followed its undulating path, pausing to stare at the inner curve where the tissue had healed into a star-shaped depression. When she looked up to ask him about it, a squeak of surprise escaped her lips. For there, nestled in a thatch of inky curls, was his manhood.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it, mesmerized. It certainly didn't bear any resemblance to those tiny, thimblelike affairs she had seen on baby boys. Nor was it like the wrinkled-up scrape of flesh between the legs on that dissection cadaver.

“Making one of your famous
intimate examinations
, Doctor?” Jake drawled.

Hectic color infused Hallie's cheeks as she realized just how immodestly she had been staring at his most personal parts. At that moment she would have sacrificed anything to have melted into the ground like a snowman during a spring thaw. Turning an even deeper shade of red, she grabbed a towel from the bedside table and quickly draped it over his loins.

As she made to rise, Jake caught her arm, stopping her. “Hallie, look at me,” he commanded softly.

Miserably, she did. His expression wasn't angry, or even mocking, as she had expected. It was almost tender.

“It's all right if you want to treat me to your
intimate examinations
. I like it. You're even welcome to touch the part you seemed to find so fascinating a moment ago.” His voice faded into softness until it caressed her senses.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look away from his warm gaze and mumbled, “That part of you looked healthy enough to me. Unless it's paining you, I don't think it will be necessary to examine it closer.”

“Believe me, Mission Lady, there are times when it aches. Badly.” Jake grinned as Hallie turned away in embarrassed confusion and began to wash her hands.

Over and over again she scrubbed, cleansing her hands with the strong lye soap until her skin glowed a fiery red. Then she removed her instruments from the now cooling water and arranged them on a clean towel. She paused to study him for a moment, a frown creasing her forehead.

“It would be best if you were to lie stretched out on your left side. Do you think you can hold still in that position?”

He nodded his assent. “Whatever you think is best.”

She helped him ease onto his side, nearly groaning when the towel slipped off and he lay exposed again. With great aplomb, she repositioned the cloth.

After firmly wedging one pillow at the small of his back and another against his belly to steady him, Hallie reached for a wickedly sharp-looking probe and a long, narrow pair of forceps. She could see the fear in his eyes as he stared at the instruments in her hands.

“You tell me when you're ready for me to begin,” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile.

Shuddering violently, he pulled his pillow against his chest and braced himself. “Just do it.”

And Jake Parrish proved himself to be a man of his word. As she eased the probe into the core of his wound, he gasped softly and buried his face in the pillow but made no other sound. Hallie could feel his muscles twitch convulsively every time she moved to explore deeper, and she could hear his breath growing ragged as she inserted the forceps to remove the scraps of clothing. When she was forced to use her scalpel to cut away the powder-charred flap of flesh, he arched his head back with a strangled sob, one tear escaping from the corner of his eye as he stared at her in agonized shock. Yet he never cried out.

“There.” Hallie pressed a clean cloth against the wound to stanch the bleeding. “I think I got it all.” Closing her eyes, she caught a deep, sobbing breath, thankful that she was almost done with the awful task. Hurting Jake was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life.

After dropping her instruments back into the bowl of water, Hallie knelt beside the bed to stroke Jake's sweat-dampened hair. Though his face was still hidden in the pillow, his trembling had begun to still.

“Darling—” The endearment slipped out before she could stop it, but at that moment she was so overcome with tenderness that she didn't care.

When Jake raised his head to look at her, Hallie saw that his eyes were rimmed with red, and she could see the dampness streaking the linen where his face had rested.

“My poor, brave Jake,” she whispered, softly pressing her lips to his colorless cheek. Her heart sickened with remorse when she tasted the salt from his tears, and she hated herself for having caused them to fall.

Jake slowly turned his head until his mouth was almost touching hers. Darling. How long had it been since anyone had called him that? Or said the word with such genuine emotion? It sounded wonderful—
Hallie Gardiner was wonderful.

As the sweet warmth of her breath fanned across his face, Jake lowered his gaze to stare at the trembling fullness of her lips. Then he tipped his face nearer and kissed her.

Before Hallie could react, or do more than just stare at him in dazed wonder, Jake sighed and sank back against his pillow.

“What else needs to be done?” he asked quietly.

Hallie stared at his handsome face, groping for an answer. “Uh—” she watched his lips tug into a slight smile at her confusion and found herself mesmerized by their provocative shape. How wonderful their texture had felt against hers.

“You were going to turn me into one of your needlework masterpieces if I remember correctly,” he prompted.

One little kiss and you're acting like a blushing schoolgirl, she scolded herself. Get your mind off Jake Parrish's lips and back on his wound, where it belongs.

Somehow she managed to quip, “Impatient man! Eager to be my sewing canvas, are you?” And his answering grimace was enough to break the sensual spell of his kiss completely.

Jake watched as Hallie lifted a small black case from her bag and then, after a moment's deliberation, produced a bottle of dark liquid. When she removed a thick, curved needle from its box and began to thread it with a length of ligature, he turned his head away. He lay tensely, waiting for the part of his ordeal he had been most dreading. He could feel the bed sag beneath Hallie's weight as she sat beside him and a soft splash as she uncorked the bottle. When he felt her lay a cool hand on his rib cage, he braced himself for the inevitable.

And the howl that exploded from his lips was deafening in its volume.

“Jesus Christ, Hallie!” he spat through gritted teeth, tossing his head back to fix her with a resentful glare. “What the hell is that stuff? It burns!”

“Tincture of iodine. I saw it used while I was studying in England. The findings were impressive, with hardly any infections resulting in those wounds treated like this.” She furrowed her forehead and peered at his injury thoughtfully. “Of course, this is the first time I've had a chance to try it for myself.”

“Oh, great!” he groaned. “Not only am I your embroidery sampler—I'm your scientific experiment as well.”

Hallie laughed at the indignant look on his face. “Ah, well, just think of it as doing your part toward the glorious advancement of medical science.”

Replying with one of his snorts, Jake plopped his head to his pillow and lay in long-suffering silence while she finished treating the area.

As she recorked the bottle and reached for the needle, Hallie heard him murmur, “One.”

She paused, needle hovering over the laceration, to glance down at him. “What?”

“One,” he repeated, meeting her gaze seriously. “I've only hollered once. I have two more left on account.” He stared at the needle poised in her hand. “I intend to use them both.”

And he did. Loudly. But only twice, as promised.

Hallie sloshed her hands through the soapy water in the basin, one by one, removing her now clean surgical instruments. As she slowly dried each one, the indistinct murmur of Jake's voice caressed her ears, tempting her, for the fifteenth time in the last quarter hour, to glance at him. Just looking at him gave her a surge of pleasure.

So what if he was far too pale, or if his face was tight with strain? He was still the most magnificent man she'd ever seen. Even lying propped up on a mound of pillows, clad only in a burgundy velvet dressing gown, Jake Parrish managed to look commanding.

Hallie stared as he took another sip of the “No Mean-Head, No-Pain” potion Hop had mulishly insisted he needed, and she smiled at his grimace. God only knew what was in the nasty concoction. Or in the poultice Celine had insisted that Hallie apply to Jake's side. Hallie had said as much to Jake when the pair had appeared at his bedside, arguing loudly between themselves. But he merely smiled at the bickering servants, listening seriously as each presented the superior virtues of his or her particular medicine.

At one point the debate between the duo became so heated that it looked as if it might come to fisticuffs. Like wise King Solomon, Jake settled the dispute, diplomatically agreeing to try both remedies. It was obvious to Hallie that the servants cared a great deal for their employer, and in that she was in complete accord.

Suddenly Jake smiled at her over the rim of his cup. Hallie looked away quickly, flustered at being caught staring. Lord! This was getting ridiculous. It seemed as if watching Jake Parrish had become quite a preoccupation with her of late.

So, she was staring again, was she? thought Jake, as Hallie glanced away, her color deepening to a darker shade of red. Her face seemed to have become permanently stained with crimson, one blush deepening into the next before the previous one had had a chance to fade. What was she thinking that made her look so uncomfortable?

Was she, perhaps, remembering the way she had bathed him earlier? That particular thought flamed Jake hotter than the fire blazing in Hallie Gardiner's cheeks. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her rough little hands as she sponged his torso clean of all traces of blood. Especially the part where she pushed aside the towel to cleanse low on his belly.

Pointedly, she had tried to ignore the concealing cloth, pretending not to see the bulge of his arousal. Yet, for all her nonchalance, Jake had caught her casting furtive glances at his cloaked hardness, her interest obvious. If only the blood had splattered a bit lower—

“Mr. Parrish?” Mr. Folsom, the incongruously cheerful-looking undertaker, peered into his client's face. He'd seen corpses with better color.

“Excuse me?” Jake turned his attention back to the rosy-cheeked man next to him, who was studying him with a professional interest that made Jake want to laugh. He might look to be on his deathbed, but parts of him were definitely stirring in a lively manner.

Mr. Folsom inclined his head courteously and cleared his throat. “We were discussing the casket. Might I suggest one of our new airtight metallic burial cases? I have a lovely model covered with the finest French silk and trimmed with fringe. It has a new, improved sealing flange, which, of course, makes it quite airtight. Always an important consideration.”

“Very important, I'm sure.” Jake swallowed the last of Hop's nasty concoction and set the cup aside. “Is it your best?”

The man nodded vigorously, sending a lock of his thick gray hair tumbling over his forehead. “Oh, it's quite the most fashionable and expensive unit we carry,” he replied, his smile broadening. “Of course, if you want the optional white satin lining, it will cost an additional twenty-one dollars.”

“We'll take the satin. I want only the best for my wife.” Jake had promised Serena the best, and it was a vow he intended to keep, even now. “Are there any more arrangements to be made?”

The undertaker mulled over his list for a moment and then shook his head. “No.” He smiled kindly as the ill-looking young man yawned. “You've made very fine choices, Mr. Parrish. This is going to be the grandest funeral San Francisco has ever seen. Such a touching tribute to your wife! I can tell you loved her a great deal.”

Jake stared into Mr. Folsom's face, suddenly shamed by the man's expression of genuine compassion. Shouldn't he be feeling grief, or at least some subtle shading of that emotion? Shouldn't he be feeling something besides an eagerness to dispense with the distasteful business at hand?

After a moment's hesitation, Mr. Folsom squeezed Jake Parrish's arm in a soothing manner. Poor Mr. Parrish looked absolutely bereaved, lying there with that lost look on his face. “With your permission, sir, I'll attend to Mrs. Parrish now. I promise to give her my utmost attention.”

“Of course. One of the servants will show you to the parlor where my wife is to be laid out. We will be receiving callers this evening.”

The undertaker nodded and then shook Jake's proffered hand. “Everything will be ready.”

“Thank you.” Jake leaned his head back into his pillows, closing his eyes as he heard the door click behind the man.

“Jake?”

“I'm all right.” He didn't need to open his eyes to know Hallie was standing over him, her face a study of concern. “Just tired. Would you let the police in now?”

“Are you sure you're up to it?” She laid her hand on his forehead. It was slightly warm, but that was to be expected after all he had been through. Gently, she moved her fingers down to touch his cheek, letting them linger longer than necessary. She loved the feel of his skin, especially the smooth contours of his face. Hallie looked at his still features and frowned. What would happen if he couldn't prove his innocence? How could she bear it if he were to be locked away where she couldn't see—or touch—him? What if they really did hang him?

“Jake, I'm afraid for you. What if the police think you're guilty?”

Jake turned his head and kissed her palm. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then ask them to come in now.”

Hallie obeyed, but she allowed only the officer in charge to enter the room. The rest of the policemen grumbled among themselves at being left out of the investigation, though no one actually voiced any objections.