Kissing in the Dark (44 page)

“Stop sleeping in the hall.” Duke gave him a man-to-man wink. “Sleep with Cora, so she won’t be so afraid, and help Faith take care of things while I’m healing this shoulder.”

“Yes, sir.” Adam slid off the bed. “Your brother, Mr. Grayson, I mean, Rebecca’s father, asked me to help out at the mill while you’re healing. But don’t worry, I’ll chop our firewood and take care of everything here, too.”

Surprise crossed Duke’s face, and he looked at Faith.

She shrugged. “Radford was persuasive.” And kind.

“Good.” Duke’s jaw clamped, and Faith nodded for Adam to leave the room. She sensed they were all at peace now, that whatever weight Adam had been carrying on his shoulders was relieved by Duke’s hug.

After Adam left, the doctor moved to the bed where Duke lay with his jaw clenched and his eyes closed. “How about that laudanum now?” he suggested.

“Make it a double,” Duke said without opening his eyes. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and a deep scowl drew his dark eyebrows low.

Dr. Milton gave Duke the laudanum, then went home to get some rest after a long afternoon and evening of doctoring.

And Faith’s fear mounted. For all her early complaints about the doctor’s arrogance, he knew far more about surgery and infection than Faith did, and she longed for his steadying presence.

Duke’s mother was a pillar of strength—and also fear and doubt. She helped Faith straighten the room and carry in fresh water, then she sat on the bed and wiped a cold cloth over Duke’s hot forehead. Her hand shook and her jaw trembled, and she crumbled like a mud wall in a rainstorm. “Oh, honey . . . I can’t lose you.” She buried her face against her son’s chest and wept, clutching his blood-speckled nightshirt in her fist.

Faith clamped her hand over her mouth to hold back her emphatic sob. She couldn’t bear to lose him either. After all the true and honest things she’d failed to do, Duke had given her and her family everything.

Possibly his life.

And if he died, dear God, how could she live without him, without his love and passion that illuminated her life? She would live in darkness. But she would owe it to him to go on.

She choked back her tears and tightened her resolve. She would nurse him back to health. She would apply everything she’d ever learned in those books she’d read. She would not give up.

She spent frantic hours mixing herbal remedies to keep Duke’s temperature down. Her aunts helped and offered advice, but his body grew warmer through the night and was burning by morning.

“What does the fever mean?” Boyd asked, his voice hoarse from talking all night. He’d sat at Duke’s side, rambling about their childhood, and the mill, and anything that might allow Duke to hear his voice.

“I don’t know,” Faith said. It could mean anything, including the onset of infection, but it was too soon to tell.

Radford came later that morning to take his turn at Duke’s bedside, and Faith learned about the brothers and their lives as mischievous boys and struggling young men. She saw them as Duke’s friends and his strength. And she saw that without him they were incomplete.

Duke’s mother pulled herself together and stayed at Faith’s side, lending her strength as they nursed Duke through another day and night of a fever that wasn’t breaking.

Another night passed, and this time Kyle kept Duke and Faith company, his low voice soothing and reassuring as he talked into the wee hours of the morning.

And Faith lost track of time.

Evelyn and Claire and Amelia took turns stopping to see Duke and to offer Faith and their mother-in-law a helping hand. Even Anna and Millie stopped to offer their help. The house was full of people cleaning and cooking and lending a hand when needed, but there was nothing they could do for Duke but add their prayers to Faith’s.

Cora had settled down and was sleeping in her own bed now that Adam was staying with her. It allowed Faith more time with Duke, but nothing seemed to be helping him. Dr. Milton stayed nearly around the clock, wearing a worried scowl that filled her stomach with dread. They cleaned Duke’s wound and sponged his body and did everything possible to give him comfort and help him survive. His brothers pushed him to fight, cajoling then demanding, then one by one they would break down and bury their face in their hands and beg him to wake up.

As the days turned into a week then stretched toward two, an ominous hush filled the house. The only sounds were whispered prayers and the unceasing murmur of his brothers’ hoarse, exhausted voices as they sat at his bedside.

Duke mumbled and groaned and thrashed in restless fits, his big brawny body struggling against the fevers but shrinking with their heat. Then he would lie so still that Faith’s heart would stop and she would check to see if he was still breathing. By the end of the twelfth night, the whole family was hollow-eyed and exhausted.

Faith sat in a chair with her head and arms resting on the bed beside Duke. Radford sat on the other side of him talking to Duke about some sort of dungeon they had dug in the field when they were boys.

“Boyd was our robber-prisoner, and you were the guard,” he said.

Faith smiled. Of course Duke was the lawman. He would never be the bad guy.

She fell asleep to the sound of Radford’s hoarse voice, and woke to the feel of someone’s hand stroking her hair. Thinking it was one of her aunts, Faith wearily lifted her head and found herself looking into Duke’s dark eyes.

“I’m starving,” he said.

She blinked, thinking her sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on her, but it really was Duke stroking her hair.

“I want a dozen eggs. A loaf of toasted bread . . .” He paused, out of breath, his poor body ravaged and weak.

Shock silenced her, but Radford laughed with relief and shot to his feet. “It’s about damned time you woke up. I was running out of stories.”

“The hell with stories. I want food.”

“I’ll go raid the kitchen for you,” Radford said, wearing a wide smile as he left the room.

Stunned, almost afraid to move for fear she’d wake up and find she’d been dreaming, Faith clasped her husband’s hand, her gaze roving his face, looking into the dark eyes that she’d feared she would never see again. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He glanced at the window where weak winter daylight touched the pane. “How long have I been in bed?”

“Nearly two weeks.”

He closed his eyes. “I thought I would do better.”

She laughed at his absurd comment. “Only a man would say something so foolish.” She sat beside him and cradled his drawn, whisker-covered face in her palms. “I missed you.”

He slid his right hand up her forearm, his eyes dark and questioning. “Did I dream that you said you love me?”

“I said it, and I mean it.” She kissed his forehead, thankful it was only warm and not burning hot. “I love you for treating Adam with fairness. I love you for being kind to Cora, and giving her the daddy she needs. I love you for showing me a world I’ve never known. I love you for forgiving my lies, for defending my family, and for surviving that nasty gunshot.”

Her throat jammed with emotion, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled of balm and the herbs she’d used to ease his discomfort and bring his fever down.

“I was afraid I dreamed that,” he said hoarsely.

“You weren’t dreaming. I love you.”

“Then feed me. My belly button is touching my spine.”

She smiled and sat up. “I’m afraid you’ll have to start with chicken broth instead of eggs.”

He made a face. “Skip it then. Lock our door, and climb in beside me.”

She didn’t lock the door, and she didn’t climb into bed beside him, but she did lean down and kiss him. His lips were chapped, but their light, warm touch against her mouth comforted her. He was alive. Their nightmare was over. And he knew she loved him.

He turned his face away. “I must stink.”

“Not at all. We’ve taken good care of you.” She sat back. “You’ve had a sponge bath every day.”

“Not from Iris, I hope.”

“Only twice. We all took turns. Even Patrick and Cyrus helped.”

His laugh was weak but so encouraging. “I can imagine the rumors going around the mill.”

“Your reputation is shot.”

“I don’t mind. Trying to be faultless doesn’t . . . leave much time for living . . . and loving.”

“Then get better so we can do that.” She linked her fingers with his. “Our house is full of people waiting to see you.”

“Let ‘em wait.” He tugged her hand, and in the sweetness of his chaste, tender kiss, her heart turned over with love and gratitude that he had held on. For Cora and Adam, for his family, and most of all, for her.

Chapter 41

Duke was standing up gripping the bedpost when Faith walked into the room carrying a steaming bowl of God-knew-what in her arms. She stopped and gaped at him.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m escaping.”

She arched her shapely eyebrow. “You’re going to fall and undo all my hard work.”

“I can’t take any more of your torture,” he said, only half-joking. “I’ll do anything if you’ll let me out of here.”

She smiled and set the bowl on the bedstand. “Get back in bed, darling, or I’ll send for your brothers.”

“They’re traitors. They’ve deserted me.”

“They come to see you every evening after they finish work.”

“I’m going mad lying in bed around the clock. I need to get back on my feet.”

“You will. When you’ve healed a little more and your strength returns. Now get in bed.”

He eyed the green and brown stuff floating in the bowl with suspicion. “I’m not drinking that.”

Her laugh rang through the room and she embraced him. “You don’t have to. I’m making a poultice from birch leaves and bark to put on your shoulder.”

“I don’t need it. You’re my best medicine.” He kissed her, liking the way her eyes sparkled with concern.

“Please get in bed.”

Her soft plea, and his quaking legs, drove him back to the bed he’d been living in for three weeks. Faith sat beside him and dunked a cheesecloth in the bowl of steaming water.

“Adam and your brothers are taking care of all the chores, so you can relax.” She unbuttoned the nightshirt he’d come to loathe, and pulled it over his shoulder. “This might hurt a bit.”

It all hurt. The concoctions she put on him; shuffling to the water closet; hell, it even hurt to breathe.

She gently wrung the cloth, filled it with leaves, and folded it into a dripping square pad. “Your wound is turning a nice healthy pink,” she said, laying the warm cloth over his shoulder.

He sucked in his breath, knowing her concoctions were helping, but hating the constant assault on his shoulder. The damned thing would never heal. Exhausted, he flopped his head back against the pillow, as annoyed as he was reassured by her constant tending. “You’re turning me into an invalid.”

“The gunshot to your shoulder did that.” She dried her hands on her apron. “If you don’t stay in bed and rest, who will Cora play with?”

While Duke had seen little of Adam, because the boy was happily filling in as the man of the house, little Cora had been his constant companion, sitting on his bed “reading” to him from her favorite books.

“Just promise me you’ll share our bed again soon,” he said.

“I will.” She kissed him, killing him with tenderness. “As soon as you’re well enough.”

o0o

Duke was so relieved to be out of the bedroom, he wasn’t about to tell Faith how weak he felt, or how the wrenching pain in his shoulder drove him half mad, or how the constant stream of callers exhausted him. Family and friends came and went, helping his wife with chores, bringing meals, and teasing Duke that he was purposely loafing to avoid work. Faith seemed reassured by their presence, but she kept a watchful eye on him, feeding him herbal teas he hated, and coaching him to move his arm a little farther each day to keep his shoulder muscles from growing stiff.

Her strength and her love had drawn him like a magnet from death. During his twelve days of oblivion, she’d sat with him, nursed him with her balms and herbs, fought for him as hard as his brothers had, and their combined love and will and skill had brought him back.

And now that he was back, she was guarding him with the protective instinct of a mother. Even his own mother was willing to let him step onto the porch for fresh air, but Faith wouldn’t hear of it. She was worried he’d slip on the ice and fall.

But as the days wore on, Duke worried he’d lose his mind if he didn’t get out of the damned house.

Her boisterous aunts and their outrageous stories saved his sanity. They made him laugh so hard it drove spikes of pain through his shoulder, but the crazy women lifted his spirits. Between them and his own family, they eased the load on Faith’s shoulders. Tansy even painted Cora’s room with a speckled pony and a knight in armor to watch over her, which convinced Cora to try sleeping alone again like a big girl.

Sheriff Phelps stopped by, to reassure Duke that no charges would be brought against Radford for killing Stone. The
Censure
hailed Radford as a hero who’d saved a former sheriff’s life. The article went on to name Stone as a corrupt judge whose involvement with a theater project in Syracuse was being investigated.

Cuvier had made sure no one would look for a connection between Duke and Stone, and possibly uncover Faith’s tie to the brothel, by claiming the judge had come after him for discovering the man’s criminal dealings. Then Cuvier had returned to Syracuse to dig up the truth on Stone. He was coming back today.

Duke was going to get his father-in-law’s help in making his escape. After four weeks on his back and two more of being housebound, he was staging a revolt. Faith had him settled him on the sofa and gussied up with a footstool and an afghan, for Pete’s sake!

When Cuvier strolled into the parlor and caught him bundled up like an infant, Duke flung off the afghan then ground his teeth from pain. His shoulder was healing, but was still extremely tender.

“Glad to see you up and about,” Cuvier said, tossing a copy of a Syracuse newspaper on the coffee table. “It appears Stone worked alone, I suspect to guard his reputation.”