A Most Inconvenient Marriage (17 page)

Alarms sounded in her heart. He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t hers.

But he must have heard the warnings, too.

Jeremiah turned toward the house. Abigail followed his gaze to the moonlit rock structure. The crazy-quilt stonework gleamed in the light of a lone lantern that had been left on the porch for them.

“I’ve got a promise to keep, as well.” He dropped her hand and straightened his shoulders. “Tomorrow I’m having dinner with the Wallaces. I’m beholden to more than just my own family.”

Laurel. It was only right he should think of her. They both needed the reminder of what they were working to accomplish. “You’re leaving for the noon meal? Then we need to get our chores done early.”

“And the most important chore is to work on this leg. Once I can walk, I’ll be better able to keep my promises . . . all of them.”

And not one of those promises had been made to her.

Ground taken in war had to be held, guarded, protected. Advance, retreat, regroup, and advance again. Sometimes blood was spilt over the same few feet repeatedly, but here he could make progress. Here, Jeremiah would hold on like the snapping turtles that wouldn’t let go until lightning struck.

These were his thoughts as he bore down on the sack of feed, shoving it before him. Sweat trickled down his brow until it soaked into his collarless shirt. Finally his foot moved with purpose. His leg still wobbled like a newborn colt’s when he put weight on it, but he’d taken it prisoner. It would serve him and he wouldn’t let it go again.

If only he could tame his desires with the same force of will. He thought he knew himself. He thought he could share his time with Abigail and leave his emotions and attraction for Laurel. Evidently he was wrong, and
why
had him flummoxed. He knew everything about Laurel—barring the few years they’d been separated. On the other hand, Abigail’s past was blurry. No one could verify her story. No one could bridge her vague descriptions of her past with where she was now. Yet the unknown only whetted his curiosity and made him want to know everything.

He jumped when the door swung open.

“It’s only me.” Abigail’s cheeks pinked from the July morning’s heat. With thick kitchen rags, she carried the copper kettle from the stove.

Jeremiah’s heart sank as he once again noticed her slender form. Why’d she have to be so beautiful? Why couldn’t she be built like a Shorthorn cow?

“What’s the kettle for?” he asked.

“Thought we’d try something new.” Loose straw on the barn floor stirred as she passed. With her forearm she swept bits of straw and dust off the table to make room for the kettle and a bowl she carried beneath her arm.

Jeremiah rolled to his knees and stood. With a half hop he reached the table and pulled himself up.

“I reckon you want me here?”

“Yes, sir. Let’s see how far we can get that leg today.” Gathering her skirt, she climbed up next to him.

Jeremiah’s chest tightened. He knew what to expect. He knew that her attentions meant no more than when she brushed Josephine’s growing belly. Less even. When she cared for Josephine, she sang a sweet little lullaby. No singing occurred while she had her hands on him. Her actions were kind, her intentions
generous, but whether he was man, woman, or beast made no matter to her.

And that’s how he preferred it.

So when she slid her hand beneath his knee and found the knot of muscle, he could honestly say that her nearness had no bearing on his feelings for Laurel. The smell of lavender water in her hair only reminded him that he needed a wife like a fiddle needed strings. Nothing personal in the attraction at all.

“You’re not breathing.” She caught her bottom lip between white teeth. “Am I hurting you?”

He swallowed. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Jeremiah looked away.

She straightened and tented his knee to release the pressure. “Should I stop?” Her warm hand scuffed against his chin as she gripped it and turned his face to her. “Cat got your tongue?”

No, it was definitely in there and about to make him choke. He cleared his throat. “You caught me woolgathering.”

She nodded. All business. “Going to Laurel’s today, aren’t you? No wonder you’re diverted. We can quit. I’m sure you’re anxious—”

“No. This is the most important part of my day. I mean . . . only because I want to walk. Not because, well, time with my mother and sister are more important, of course.” He was jabbering like a fool.

“Of course.” Her eyebrow cocked. “Well, I brought a warm compress. I thought I’d apply it to your injury and see if we could get it to loosen any further today. You’ll need a dry pair of pants when we’re finished.”

“I think I can manage.” This conversation must end before any recollection of his long drawers occurred.

“Then roll over.” She took the thick folded rag and dropped it into the ceramic bowl. Jeremiah lay on his stomach and watched
the steam curl up as she tipped the kettle over the bowl. He swung his heels toward his backside and back again, noticing how far he had to go before he’d have the full range of motion. She wrung the rag out, then slapped it heavily against his leg. The heat soaked through his pant leg, easing the tension he’d worked up. He expelled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“That feels good and I don’t mind saying it.”

She took his boot heel and drew it further toward him. The stretch was satisfying. She hummed as she eased his foot down to the table and let his own weight pull it straighter. Jeremiah wrapped his palms around the legs of the table. He must’ve lain like this when the Quaker farmer checked for the bullet fragments and packed his wound. Mercifully, he didn’t remember it. Someday when he looked back on this injury he’d much rather remember lying here with the warmth soaking through layers of flesh that hadn’t felt anything but pain for months now. He’d rather remember the anticipation of seeing Laurel again, of the beautiful summer morning . . .

And the singing.

By thunder, she was singing. Wasn’t that supposed to be reserved for the horses? Even his pain couldn’t cover his growing awareness of her. He turned his head the other way while she changed out the rag for a hotter one. What was he going to do? How could he live with her under his roof without going mad? How many months before that colt was born?

But as he groused he felt his toe brush the table. He lifted his head. “Was that my foot?”

Her song stopped. “It sure was.”

“My toe touched the table?” He dropped his head down, relief making him dizzy. “Do it again.”

With a last kneading motion on his hamstring she eased his
heel forward. He willed his body to relax. His toe tapped the wooden plank, and he smiled. Almost straight. Almost healed. Almost free. “Not much longer before we can quit, and I won’t have to come in here with you again.”

Her hands stilled. Wordlessly, she released him and the rag disappeared.

Jeremiah sat up. When had he grown so rude? “I don’t mean that I’m not grateful.” How could he explain what their time alone was doing to him? He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. “I’m excited that I might walk again. That’s what I mean. The sooner I can leave this crutch—”

“The sooner you can get everything back like it was before the war.” Her light lashes fluttered against her cheek. “I know. No use explaining.”

Water sloshed as she poured the remains into a trough. Her normally crisp movements lagged. “Do you want me to bring you out some dry laundry?”

“Naw. I’m headed to the field. It’ll dry soon enough.” And the sooner he could get out of this awkward situation, the better. He held the barn door open for Abigail and heard snickering. The perpetrators were easily spotted. Young Josiah and Betsy peeked around the well at him.

Wonderful. Another opportunity for him to be misunderstood. “What are you laughing at?” Jeremiah shot a quick look at Abigail, but her face was as impassive as a mask.

“You.” Betsy twisted the dirty hem of her short dress. “We wondered what Miss Abigail was giving you a spanking for.”

“A spanking?” Abigail’s eyes stretched wide. “No, Betsy. I was not spanking Captain Calhoun.”

“You had him laid out like to take a switching,” Josiah said, “and then we figured he deserved it if’n he done wet his pants.”

The breeze chilled Jeremiah’s legs. “You are lucky I can’t
catch you. Once Miss Abigail has me fixed up, I’m going to chase you down and—”

But with squeals of laughter they flew down the drive, their dirty feet flashing, and disappeared into the forest.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at their orneriness, but Abigail moped like she’d lost her best friend. He chicken-winged her with his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so worried. Your work with me is almost done. Then you can spend some time teaching those two some manners.”

Abigail’s brow furrowed. “It’s dangerous out here. Their Ma should keep a better eye on them.”

“They certainly are keeping a good eye on us.” Her cheeks went rosy at his remark. Well, dandy. Maybe she understood his discomfort after all.

C
HAPTER 12

Jeremiah couldn’t take his eyes off Laurel as she flitted around the kitchen, a flurry of skirts, a shimmer of ebony hair, a flash of a strawberry-sweet smile. With the smell of fresh-baked bread and Laurel’s musical voice, he’d finally found a place where he could keep thoughts of Abigail at bay. If only Dr. Hopkins’s frog-ugly face didn’t get in the way. With every pass Laurel made from the stove to the table, Hopkins’s pointy chin and enraged eyes interrupted Jeremiah’s view. He might be unhappy, but they needed to reach an understanding about where things were headed. The good doctor was fixing to be replaced.

“I think that’s all.” Laurel slid a plate of biscuits on the table between the two men and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Jeremiah stood to pull her stool out for her, but no sooner than he reached, Hopkins lurched for it. The table moved, causing Jeremiah to question his balance. He steadied himself against it.

Laurel looked at his hand gripping the table and bit her lip as she sank into her seat, sadness tinting her eyes. Jeremiah’s
chest burned as he glared at Hopkins. His crutch might come in handy when he decided to beat some manners into the doctor.

“I’m sorry your pa isn’t here.” Hopkins passed Laurel a bowl of pinto beans. “We were getting on so well last night. He’s really difficult to get to know, but now that he’s warmed up to me, I don’t think I’ve ever had a closer friend.”

Jeremiah dipped a spoon of sorghum onto his biscuit. The golden threads stretched and thinned. “Is that so? I’ve known Hiram since I was a boy, so I don’t guess I’ve ever thought of him like a stranger would. He’s always been a second pa to me.”

Laurel smiled. His heart skipped a beat. “Ever since your pa died, he’s tried to look out for you, Jeremiah.”

“What an unwelcome burden.” The doctor tore a piece of chicken off the bone.

Laurel’s eyes sparkled. Like a falling leaf, her hand landed on Hopkins’s arm. “Oh, Newton, you tickle me something fierce.” He ducked his head toward her and winked. Jeremiah stabbed his piece of chicken with his knife. What he needed was a diversion. Something to drag the doctor’s thoughts away from Laurel.

“How’s your doctoring going?”

“I . . . uh, it’s going well. Quite well, actually.”

“I’d imagine. What with the lack of food and medicine, you probably stay busy looking after sick folk. Then if the bushwhackers would shoot someone now and then, you might be able buy yourself another pair of shoes.”

Hopkins lowered his tin cup. “How’s your sister, Jeremiah? Your ma was right grateful for my help before you came home.”

Jeremiah’s neck twitched. Why’d he have to drag Rachel into the conversation? Thinking about Rachel took the spark out of Jeremiah’s sparking.

“She’s no better. That’s a fact. But nobody gave us any hope that she ever would be.”

Now Laurel leaned toward his end of the table. “Poor Jeremiah. How hard it must be to see her suffer.”

This wasn’t the place. He shrugged. “You know how it is. She can’t forgive me for not letting her marry Alan. She’ll go to her grave hating me.”

A few minutes passed in silence before anyone felt compelled to speak again.

“That nurse has been living with you for quite a while.” Hopkins sipped water from his tin cup.

“Oh yes. Abigail!” Laurel clapped her hands. “She is such a dear. The second I met her I knew she was the kind of person I could share my deepest, darkest secrets with. I’ve been meaning to show her the best places to gather berries and nuts. Do tell her to come any time.”

“She stays so busy upstairs with Rachel and visiting other folks, I don’t see much of her. It’s like she’s hardly there.” Sometimes he could go a whole hour without seeing her.

Hopkins scratched his chin. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we talking about your wife, Jeremiah? The beautiful woman who claims to be married to you?”

“You think she’s beautiful?” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say so.”

Laurel shook her head. She snatched the empty biscuit plate and pulled the heavy crock of beans to her. “Why don’t you two go outside and see who can spit watermelon seeds the farthest? That’s all the good you’re worth today, the both of you.”