Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Page 13

  He tried not to watch her as she settled beside him and grabbed her shoes and stockings. Then her hand stilled.

  “You won’t mind if I don’t put my stockings back on, will you? I feel so...well, exposed.”

  He laughed. She eyed him slantwise and that just made it worse.

  “Well,” she huffed. “I’ll just wring out my—”

  “Don’t,” he managed to choke out. “I’ll spread them out on the bushes and they’ll be dry in ten minutes.”

  Another mistake. He picked up her soft lacy drawers and camisole and squeezed the water out, trying to keep himself from squashing them into his hands and burying his face in them to inhale her scent. With a cavalier gesture he flung each small piece of erotic temptation over the huckleberry bush. He found he was breathing much too hard.

  When he returned to her side, she was digging in the wicker picnic basket. She looked up at him and smiled.

  “Breast or thigh?”

  “Winifred,” he said in a strangled voice. He’d had all he could take. He dropped to her side, lifted the basket away and pulled her into his arms.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zane tipped her face up and covered her mouth with his. “Don’t tease me like this, Winifred,” he said against her lips. “You’re not Darla Bledsoe.”

  She opened her eyes. “Does she tease you?”

  He pressed his mouth to her forehead. “Not like this, dammit. Winifred, are you even aware of what you’re doing?”

  “No. Yes,” she amended. “I didn’t know this was teasing,” she murmured.

  “What the hell did you think it was?”

  She didn’t answer, just held on to him. He could feel her heart beating against his bare chest.

  “What?” he repeated.

  “I guess I just like getting under your skin, Zane,” she said with a soft laugh. “You can be so bossy sometimes.”

  He resisted the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled. “You’re under my skin, all right. You’re under my skin day and night, especially at night. I’ve started putting in more time at the hospital to get through your visits.”

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t know.”

  He groaned. “How can you not know?”

  “Well, yes, I did know,” she admitted after a moment. “I just didn’t want to think about it.”

  He said nothing. The scent of her hair was driving him crazy. She didn’t move for a long time, and then she pulled away, gave him a wobbly smile, and met his gaze. Her eyes looked a little dazed.

  “Are you hungry?”

  He jerked. “What?”

  “I mean, should we eat our lunch now?”

  “No,” he retorted sharply. “Yes. Don’t ask any more suggestive questions like that.”

  “Very well,” she breathed. “I promise.” She didn’t sound the least bit chastened, but she offered the picnic basket as if nothing was the least bit out of the ordinary.

  Exasperated, he lifted it out of her hand, set it on the ground and forced her chin up to look straight into her eyes. “Winifred, I can’t go on like this.”

  Her smile faded. “I am sorry, Zane. I don’t know much...actually I don’t know anything about...about...”

  “About a man and a woman,” he supplied. That much was obvious. From what Celeste had told him, neither of the Von Dannen sisters had had any experience with the opposite sex.

  Especially not Winifred. She was so dedicated, Celeste had said. She worked so hard and she never let herself have any fun.

  That explained why his wife had been stiff and frightened on their wedding night. And maybe it explained Winifred, too. While he knew Winifred liked him, it was clear she had no idea of his deepening feelings for her.

  His breath stopped. If she did know, would she bolt?

  He rocked her in his arms and tried to think. Tell her. No, he couldn’t risk it.

  Maybe she has already guessed? He didn’t think so, at least after he’d kissed her at the train station at the end of her second visit, her attitude toward him hadn’t seemed to change.

  “Winifred, you know that I like you. I like you quite a bit, in fact.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I know.”

  “Does it...offend you?”

  “You mean because you are my brother-in-law? To be truthful, I no longer think of you that way. You kissed me after the Christmas dance, remember? You said it was premature. Not wise. But not wrong.”

  “And?” He held his breath waiting for her answer.

  “And I believed you. It is not wrong for you to kiss me.”

  Zane gritted his teeth. “What about ‘premature’ and ‘not wise’?”

  “Well, yes, I think perhaps it is still not wise.”

  “Because of what people might say?” Again, he held his breath.

  “Oh, heavens no. I’ve never paid any attention to what people think about what I do. Kissing me is not wise because you live here in Smoke River and I live in St. Louis.

  “Your career as a physician is here. Mine is at the conservatory in the East.”

  “Oh,” he said, his voice flat.

  “I raise a lot of eyebrows in St. Louis because I have no wish to marry. Because I have dedicated my life to music, to my students and to performing as a pianist.”

  “Dammit, Winifred, you make it sound so logical, and it isn’t.”

  She looked up and he saw tears shimmering on her lashes. “Zane, perhaps it is not logical, but that is the way it is. Still,” she added, her voice throaty, “that does not mean...that I do not care for you. That I do not want, well, more.”

  He groaned. “What does that mean, ‘more’?”

  “Well...more. I like it when you talk to me. And I, um, I like it when you kiss me.”

  “Thank God,” he murmured.

  “Zane, I think we should finish our picnic and return to town.”

  That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he forced himself to drop his arms and get his breathing under control.

  Later, when he had pulled on his trousers and shirt, Winifred set out the fried chicken and lemonade and napkins Sam had packed. Her fingers were shaking.

  Zane found he couldn’t take his eyes off her hands. And he couldn’t stop smiling.

  * * *

  They drove back in the buggy to the road in a silence so complete Winifred fancied she could hear her heart beating. She did like Zane’s kisses, more than Professor Beher’s or even Pierre de Fulet’s on the terrace after the reception following her Boston debut. Zane had kissed her before today; twice, in fact. Both times were startling, not because he had been Cissy’s husband, but more because she liked him, liked feeling his lips touch hers. Last Christmas at the train station she had wanted to kiss him back, but the train was leaving and there was no time.

  And now? Her pulse skipped. Today when he kissed her she’d wanted it to go on and on. When his mouth found hers she felt as if her skin would split wide open and she would fly away.

  She watched his hands on the reins. His skin was tanned, his fingers long and capable-looking, skilled at probing with surgical instruments or smoothing witch hazel over a sunburn. She was in awe of this man. And she liked sitting close to him and not talking.

  She edged toward him a few inches and laid her head against his shoulder. No one would see them; they had not yet reached the road back to town.

  Zane made a sound in his throat, pulled the horse to a stop and wound the reins around the brake handle. He turned to her, his gray eyes dark and smoky. He caught her mouth under his, moving his lips over hers slowly, purposefully. She wanted it to go on forever.

  He deepened the kiss and she opened her lips. He tasted of lemons and something sweet, and all at once she wante
d to weep.

  She touched his arms, felt the muscles bunch and tremble. She ached for something more, something...closer.

  “Zane,” she murmured against his mouth. “Touch me.”

  His hands at her back stilled, then he slowly moved his fingers to the top mother-of-pearl button of her shirtwaist. He slipped it free, then moved to the next. Her skin felt as if it were spangled with stars.

  He spread her bodice and kissed her collarbone, pressed his mouth along her neck, her throat. Her breasts began to swell. Dear God, this was heaven.

  She arched toward him, desperate to feel his hands on her skin. He stroked one finger over her nipple and she gasped. A tingly, hungry sensation shot straight to a place below her belly.

  His breathing grew rough, and the sound flooded her with a sense of power. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced, not even during a piano concerto when she felt the orchestra soaring with her and she knew she held the audience in the palm of her hand. This was so strong and beautiful she wanted to scream.

  He slipped her shirtwaist off her shoulders, bent his head and drew his tongue over her breast. Heat danced along her veins and up her spine. Her nipples throbbed. She felt as if a slow fire were melting her bones.

  Suddenly she wanted to be naked, wanted to feel his hard body pressed against hers. She moaned, and he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

  “I thank God we are sitting up,” he murmured.

  Winifred laughed softly. “And on a hard buggy seat at that.”

  This time he laughed, then his smile faded. “I hear someone coming.” He began to rebutton her shirtwaist, then freed the reins and flapped them at the horse. His hands shook.

  When they reached the road back to town they met Teddy MacAllister and another boy on horseback, fishing rods clutched in their hands. Zane let them pass and turned to Winifred with a wistful smile. “They almost got a lesson in lovemaking,” he quipped.

  “Aren’t they too young?”

  Zane gave her a long look. “They’re male, aren’t they? Boys notice girls early. By the time they’re my age, they don’t care anymore.”

  “Zane, you cannot be serious.”

  He sucked in a long breath. “Of course I’m not serious. Look at you and me and what is happening between us.”

  Oh, my. Winifred knew her face was turning scarlet.

  * * *

  Sam met them at the door. “Boss needed at hospital, quick!”

  Zane swung the picnic basket into Sam’s arms and headed to his office for his medical bag. On his way back to the front door, he stopped Winifred in the hallway.

  “Wait for me.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dr. Samuel Graham met Zane in the hospital entryway, his face haggard. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve got one helluva problem.”

  Zane dropped his black leather bag on the floor and ran one hand through his unruly still-damp hair. “What’s happened?”

  “Cholera.”

  His heart sank. He could still taste Winifred’s lips, her skin; the last place he wanted to spend the night was at the hospital.

  “You’ve set up an isolation ward?”

  “Yes. Ten beds and it’s almost full.”

  “Identify the source?”

  “Contaminated stream serving eight families between here and Gillette Springs.”

  “Okay. Let’s go to work.”

  They labored through the night and well into the morning forcing saline solutions down throats and wrapping shuddering bodies in warm blankets. At four in the morning Zane insisted Samuel go home to rest. By noon, his nurse, Elvira Sorensen, pushed him out of the ward and pressed his medical bag into his hand.

  “Go home, Zane. We can manage until Dr. Sam gets back.”

  He nodded. He was out on his feet, but he hated leaving when patients were so ill. At least they hadn’t lost any.

  “I’ll be back at midnight. Send a note if you need me before then.”

  The house was quiet when Zane quietly entered the front door. But before he could drop his bag on his desk, the doorbell jangled.

  “Sam,” he called. “Send whoever it is down to the hospital. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  His houseboy nodded, but before Zane reached the staircase he heard a shrill female voice. “I know he’s here. I just saw him walk up the hill from the hospital.”

  “Doctor very tired, missy. Need sleep.”

  “I’ll just be a minute, so don’t try to stop me.”

  “But missy—”

  Zane turned his weary body back toward his office and watched Darla Bledsoe push her pink muslin-clad frame past Sam.

  “Zane! You’re just the man I need to—”

  “Good morning, Darla. Or is it afternoon? I’ve just spent all night at the hospital and I’m a bit fuzzy.”

  “It’s lunchtime. I thought we might—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Well, supper, maybe? After you—”

  “Not interested,” he repeated.

  “Zane,” she wheedled. “Please. Don’t you—?”

  Purposefully he took her elbow and steered her toward the front door. “Darla, this house is not only my medical office, it is my private residence as well. I would appreciate your not coming here unless you need medical help.”

  When the door closed, Zane expelled an angry breath and turned to find Sam watching him, his arms folded over his midriff. “Good ridding,” he said with a sniff.

  “Riddance, you mean. Yes. In future, you have my permission to shut the door in Mrs. Bledsoe’s face.”

  Sam grinned. “Happy to do, Boss.”

  “Now, where is Winifred?”

  “With baby Rose in bedroom. Both take nap after lunch.”

  Zane nodded and started again for the stairs. “Wake me for supper, Sam.”

  “Will do, boss. Missy, too. Make special.”

  Zane sighed wearily. Special, huh? It would be special to sit at the table across from Winifred and just look at her.

  * * *

  Zane slept until Sam tapped on his bedroom door to announce supper, and then he sat at the dining table bouncing a spoon impatiently against the tablecloth until Winifred appeared with Rosemarie in her arms.

  He took the baby from her and while Sam and Yan Li set out the supper plates and a platter of cold meat and cheese, he cuddled his daughter, letting her pat her small hands over his neck and chin and play with his unbuttoned shirt collar. She smelled faintly of Winifred’s spicy lavender soap.

  “You gave her a bath?”

  “We took a bath together.”

  He wished he hadn’t asked. The vision of Winifred naked in the bathtub set his senses humming.

  Yan Li brought two salad plates loaded with sliced cucumbers and tomatoes and lifted Rosemarie out of his arms. “I feed baby now. You eat.” The slim, dark-haired girl disappeared into the kitchen with Rosemarie balanced on her hip.

  Winifred shook out her napkin and lifted her salad fork. “Did I hear Darla Bledsoe’s voice this afternoon when you came back from the hospital?”

  “You did. Where were you?”

  “Sitting on the top step of the stairs.” She dropped her gaze. “Eavesdropping,” she added.

  “Then you already know what she wanted.”

  “Yes, I do. She wants you, Zane.”

  “I—Yes, she does.”

  Winifred looked straight into his eyes. “She’s all wrong for you.”

  “I know. She’s too self-centered to be a doctor’s wife.”

  She glanced up, her face oddly strained. “At least she is not career-cent
ered,” she murmured.

  “Maybe,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. He crunched up a crisp slice of cucumber. “Maybe not.”

  “Zane?”

  “I heard you,” he said. “It changes nothing.”

  Winifred continued to fork bites of tomato into her mouth. The silence stretched until he could hear Rosemarie’s happy chatter and Yan Li’s soft voice from the kitchen. He was truly blessed with his beautiful baby daughter and two loyal servants. Friends, really. And a growing medical practice. He had a good life in a town he loved.

  But he wanted more. He wanted Winifred.

  “Sam said something about an epidemic. Is it very bad?”

  “Cholera. And yes, it’s bad.”

  Sam stepped in to retrieve the salad plates. “Okay I go play fan-tan with Ming Cha tonight?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t, Sam. I’m sorry, but cholera is highly contagious.”

  Sam sent him a frightened look. “You mean, Yan Li can catch?”

  “Yan Li can catch it if she drinks contaminated water or touches anything that is contaminated. Keep her inside and scrub any vegetables you buy at the market. And boil all the water you drink.”

  “All from own garden,” Sam said happily. “Yan Li grow.”

  “Eggs?”

  “We have many chickens, Boss. And even milk cow.”

  Zane relaxed somewhat. Those he cared about were safe for the moment. Sheriff Jericho Silver had ridden from ranch to ranch along the polluted stream, warning everyone of the danger. Another thirty-six hours and they’d have the outbreak under control.

  “Don’t go out, Winifred. Even down to the hotel restaurant. Don’t drink any water that Sam hasn’t boiled first. Even Rosemarie’s bathwater should be boiled.”

  “Strawberries for dessert,” Sam announced from the doorway.

  Zane laid his fork aside and pushed back his dining chair. “Save mine, Sam. I have to go down to the hospital after supper.”

  “Will put in cooler with roast chicken chests.”

  Winifred stifled a burst of laughter.

  “Good man,” Zane said under his breath. He stood and moved to the front hall. Winifred met him at the door and handed over his leather medical bag. Then she touched his arm.