Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 Page 14

  “I know it’s not necessary to warn a physician to be careful, but you will be, won’t you?”

  He smoothed his free hand over her cheek. “I will be. There are things I want to do before I die.”

  She shivered. “Don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”

  “Ah. How about this, then. There’s something I want to do before another day goes by.”

  “Intriguing,” she allowed.

  He gave her a long look. “It will be.”

  She closed the door after him, then carefully opened it again and stood watching his tall, well-knit form stride down the hill to the hospital. Oh, dear Lord, please keep this man safe.

  “Missy?”

  “Yes, Sam, what is it?”

  “Yan Li put baby Rose in crib. Which bedroom?”

  Winifred shut the door a second time. “Put her in my room, please. When the doctor comes home, he will be very tired and won’t want to be disturbed.”

  * * *

  At half past two in the morning, Zane stumbled into the house, dropped his bag in the hallway and washed his hands at the kitchen sink. Then he dragged his aching body up the stairs. A lamp stood on the hall table, turned down low. With a tired sigh, he blew it out and headed into his bedroom. He felt so heartsick he wanted to grind his teeth and weep.

  The moon had risen and pale silvery light flooded the room. He kicked off his shoes, but just as he was about to shed the rest of his clothes, a glint of something caught his eye. A china bowl heaped with strawberries sat on his pillow.

  Winifred. He’d never been able to resist strawberries. He knew she had brought them up and left them for him. Oh, God. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry for strawberries; he was hungry for her.

  He padded down to her room, tapped softly on the door and walked in. “Winifred?”

  “I am awake, Zane. I couldn’t sleep.”

  He tiptoed past the baby’s crib to her bed and bent to touch her cheek.

  “Something has happened,” he said.

  She sat upright, peering into his face. “Your voice sounds so odd. What is it?”

  “I lost a patient tonight,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “The Madsen boy. He was only three years old.”

  “Oh, Zane. I am so very sorry.”

  “There’s more,” he said. “I—I need to be with you.”

  She made no answer, just looked up at him. Then she spoke a single word. “Yes.”

  He drew back the sheet covering her and bent to slip one hand around her shoulders and the other under her knees, then lifted her into his arms. He stepped quietly around the crib where Rosemarie slept, propping the door ajar so he could hear her if she cried, and made his way down the hall to his own room. He moved to the bed and gently lowered Winifred on top of the quilt.

  She wore some kind of soft, almost sheer gown. His fingers hesitated at the top button, then moved instead to his own garments, shucking off everything, his shirt, trousers, drawers. When he was naked, he moved to his bedroom door, cracked it slightly, then lay full length beside her and gathered her close.

  “I’m too tired tonight to do what I’ve been thinking about for months, but I want you to know it’s still on my mind.” He leaned away from her, retrieved the bowl of strawberries from the floor beside the bed and poked one into his mouth. The sweetness brought tears to his eyes.

  “Thank you for these.” He offered her a berry. “This means a great deal to me. More than you know. And I’m not talking about these strawberries.”

  They ate them all, without talking, and when the bowl was empty Zane once more set it on the floor and without a word unbuttoned her nightgown, drew it over her head and tossed it away. Then he pulled her into his arms and tangled his fingers in her hair.

  Winifred listened to the night sounds around her, the crickets in the garden below, a frog croaking somewhere, Zane’s slow breathing. Her heart swelled into rhythm with his.

  His hand on her back fell away and when his breathing slowed, then deepened, she realized he had fallen into an exhausted sleep. It didn’t matter. She would still be here when he woke up.

  * * *

  She opened her eyes when the sky was just turning pink. Zane was already awake, propped up on one elbow, looking down at her.

  “I regret that I was too worn out to do last night justice,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “I was relieved, to be honest. I—”

  He stopped her words with his mouth. “Don’t talk, Winifred.” He pushed the sheet covering her down to her waist.

  “My God, you are beautiful.”

  “R-really? I always felt plain next to Cissy.”

  “You are anything but plain. Winifred, I—”

  “Don’t you talk, either,” she said quickly. “Don’t say anything except that you are pleased.”

  “Pleased! ‘Pleased’ is eating strawberries in bed. What I am at this moment is overwhelmed.”

  “Good.” She sighed the word. “I want you to be overwhelmed.”

  “Not yet. There is something I want you to know.” He tipped her chin up so their eyes met. “Winifred, I am in love with you. Surely you have guessed this?”

  “No. And yes. I did not guess until two days ago when we went swimming. And then what I guessed was that...” She blushed and bit her lower lip. “...That I wanted you to touch me, to kiss me all over. And I could not but think it was because I have come to...” Her voice trailed away.

  “To?” he prompted.

  “To love you. Oh, Zane, that day I felt something I’d never felt before. It was heavenly.”

  “Good. I want to be the first. You will never know how much I want it.”

  He drew her close and began to circle his hand on her bare back.

  “Where did you get this scar?”

  “Cissy,” she whispered. “She hit me with an ice skate.”

  “Why?” He continued to move his fingers on her skin.

  “She wanted to go skating. I wanted to practice the piano. She was impulsive that way.”

  His hand stopped. “I always suspected in some way that Celeste ran away with me as an act of rebellion.”

  “Oh, no, Zane. She was wildly in love with you.”

  He resumed making lazy circles on her skin. “She thought she was in love with me. Later, I realized I’d simply turned her head.”

  “But you loved her.”

  “I did. Very much. She gave me the greatest gift a woman can give a man.”

  “I would never have come to Smoke River if it had not been for Cissy’s child,” Winifred said quietly. “We would never have met.”

  “Are you glad we did?”

  “Yes.”

  “When a Klamath or Nez Perce Indian loses a wife, he takes the sister. Did you know that?”

  “No, I did not know.”

  “That, however, is not why you are here with me now.” He bent to kiss her and she turned into his embrace.

  “I want to be with you,” she murmured.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure.”

  He propped himself on one elbow and smoothed his hand over her breasts, her soft nipples, then moved to her belly. When he reached the dark hair between her thighs, she sucked in a breath.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Not of you, no.”

  “Of what, then?”

  “I do not want to conceive.”

  His fingers stilled. “Ah. When was your last monthly course?”

  “It ended two days ago.”

  “Then do not be concerned. It is extremely unlikely that you will conceive.”

  He moved his hand again, lower, touching her with his fingers to ease his entry. Her mouth opened in a moan soft as a breath and s
he moved convulsively under his touch. He couldn’t help smiling. She was responsive beyond his imagining. He wanted her first time to be wondrous for her.

  She moved again, stretching toward him, opening her thighs. He put his mouth there and heard her breath catch. He stroked her soft folds with his tongue until she cried out. God, she was wonderful. Wonderful.

  She grew wet under his mouth, wet and hot and...female. It was the only word that seemed right, and at this moment it seemed very, very right.

  He brought his lips to her temple. “Winifred,” he whispered. “I want you very much. And I want you now.”

  He rose over her and caught his breath when she reached her arms around his body and pulled him down to her. He placed her legs farther apart and positioned himself at her entrance.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he breathed. “Keep looking into mine.”

  He pressed into her. She was moist and tight and he could tell by her breathing that she was waiting for more. He took it slow, moving deeper a scant inch at a time, feeling her flesh stretch to take him.

  Her eyes held his. “Do it now,” she murmured. “All of it.”

  He drew a breath without moving, blew it out and drew another. Then he thrust hard. She caught her breath on a cry and then she was smiling up into his eyes and arching toward him.

  He withdrew partway and thrust again, slowly, heard her whispered “yes,” and lost himself. Her sheath closed around him in spasms and with surprise he realized that she was climaxing. He moved inside her until he stopped thinking and let himself tumble over the edge into the sweetest oblivion he had ever known.

  When he came to himself he could not speak. God, he prayed it had been half as good for her.

  He rolled away from her, then pulled her into his arms.

  “Winifred, what is between us is serious. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know,” she said. Her voice was soft and sleepy and he wanted her all over again.

  She ran her fingers down his cheek to his chin. “I think loving someone is beautiful,” she murmured.

  He caught her hand and pressed his mouth into her palm, then kissed her lips. “I want you to marry me.”

  Her face changed. “I can’t, Zane. I have a career. My teaching. Concerts. Obligations. I’ve worked hard to establish myself. I can’t give that up.”

  “Why not? Celeste did. She gave it all up when she married me.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I am not Cissy. She was my piano duet partner. She did not teach at the conservatory.”

  He swiped the moisture off her cheeks. “I thought it was different for a woman.”

  “Perhaps it is for some women,” she said. “But...” Her voice hitched. “But not for me. Could you simply move your medical practice to some other town?”

  He blinked at the suggestion. “No, of course I could not. I have a partner, Samuel Graham. He and I built the hospital together. And Smoke River is my home.”

  “But it is not my home. My home is in St. Louis. I am a professor of music at the conservatory there, and I cannot just leave that behind. It matters to me.”

  “How much does it matter?”

  “It matters a lot.”

  “Winifred, I’m offering you everything I have, everything I am.”

  “I know, Zane. And it still matters.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Winifred heard the crash of the front door and a thump as Zane dropped his medical bag in the hallway. He strode through the dining room and into the kitchen, and the splash of water told her he was scrubbing his hands. When he reappeared, he sank into his place at the dining table with a ragged sigh and dropped his head in his hands.

  She stared at him as if he’d dropped from the moon. “Zane? Are you all right?”

  “I know I must look awful,” he grated. “Haven’t slept, haven’t shaved in twenty-four hours and my sanity is hanging by a thread.”

  His face looked gray with fatigue. “Whatever is wrong?”

  He groaned. “Two new cases of cholera and an accident at the sawmill. Man lost the fingers of one hand. Damned dangerous blades on those belt saws.”

  Sam set a large bowl of hearty stew in front of him and a smaller bowl for Winifred. The warm bread that accompanied it she had made herself that morning. She opened her mouth to mention it, then changed her mind. A man this tired hardly cared who baked the bread, or who made the stew or the apple pie they would have for dessert.

  He polished off his bowl of stew and Sam instantly refilled it. Zane smiled wearily. “Where is Rosemarie?”

  “She’s asleep upstairs in my room,” Winifred said. “She’s fine, Zane. We are all fine. You need not worry about us.”

  “I worry anyway.” His eyes were red-rimmed but his gaze was steady. “Dr. Graham thinks we’ve got the cholera outbreak under control. We’ll know for sure in the next twelve hours if no new cases come in.”

  “Can you rest before you go back tonight?”

  “No. Samuel’s there alone and it’s too much for one doctor.”

  To take his mind off the hospital and the grim battle against the cholera epidemic, she told him about Rosemarie’s day, how she had gobbled down some cooked carrots and smeared bread dough in her hair—little things that might distract him. He ate while she talked, smiling every now and then.

  “Good stew,” he said when he finished his second bowl. He looked up at her. “Good bread, too. You make it?”

  Winifred nodded. “Sam says my baking is almost as good as Uncle Charlie’s.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s much you can’t do, if you put your mind to it.”

  “We’ll see. I’m in charge of the conservatory’s summer concerts in the park this August. I’ve only performed in them, but I’ve never been in charge before.”

  His face changed subtly, the warm light fading from his gray eyes. “August,” he repeated. “That’s in two weeks.”

  “One week. I must return early to chair the planning meetings.”

  He said nothing else, but she knew he was disappointed, that he wanted her to stay until...well, for Zane there was no “until.”

  He ate four bites of her apple pie and left for the hospital again.

  * * *

  At three in the morning, Zane dragged himself up the stairs and stumbled into his bedroom. Without lighting the lamp he shed his clothes down to his drawers, but when he turned toward the bed he realized he wasn’t alone.

  “Winifred! What on earth? I didn’t expect—”

  “I know you didn’t. But you looked so tired at supper it decimated my resolve to stay away.”

  He sank down on the bed beside her. She had on that soft silky gown again, the one with seventeen buttons up the front, and he had to smile. “Oh, my dearest girl,” he breathed. He was so exhausted he doubted he could undo a single one.

  She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t talk, Zane. You need to sleep.”

  With a groan he shucked his drawers and crawled in beside her. She smelled so good, like violets or roses, or both. He didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t hospital soap and carbolic.

  She reached for him, pulled his head down onto her breast and stroked her fingers through his hair. He hadn’t had a chance to shave; maybe it didn’t matter.

  “Winifred.” He murmured her name again and again until he let sleep take him.

  Lying close beside him, Winifred felt tears sting behind her eyelids. She loved him. And she couldn’t stay in Smoke River.

  But she could give him this.

  * * *

  The train back to St. Louis left at four the next afternoon. Winifred laid the last item in her valise and resolutely snapped the lock closed, but she couldn’t bring herself to move any faster. She felt as if both legs were
weighted down with lead-soled boots.

  Slowly she made her way down the staircase to the front hallway to wait for Zane to bring the buggy around.

  Sam went up after her luggage and when he returned Yan Li appeared with Rosemarie toddling right behind her. The Chinese girl threw her arms around Winifred.

  “You come back, missy. You promise?”

  “I promise.” She hugged the young woman and turned away as Sam thrust a small wicker hamper into her hands.

  “Supper,” he announced.

  But by far the worst part about leaving was saying goodbye to Rosemarie. Winifred swung her up into her arms and held her tight, burying her nose against the baby’s sweet-smelling neck.

  “Oh, my darling child, how I will miss you.”

  Rosemarie clung to her. “’Infred.” Winifred pried her tiny hands from around her neck and the baby began to cry. Winifred handed her to Yan Li and the wailing swelled. “’Infred. ’Infred.”

  Her own tears clogged her throat.

  Sam marched through the front door with her valise, set it in the buggy at Zane’s feet and then turned, as Winifred came down the porch steps clutching the wicker hamper and her reticule.

  “Goodbye, Sam.”

  “I take good care of Boss. You take good care of you, missy. Come back soon.”

  Unable to speak over the tightness in her throat, Winifred could only nod. She patted the houseboy’s arm, then climbed up beside a somber-faced Zane.

  “I hate this,” he muttered.

  She nodded again and swallowed hard against the sob that rose.

  The station platform looked deserted and for one dizzying moment Winifred thought perhaps she had missed the eastbound train. But no, people were crowded into the station house to escape the blazing afternoon sun.

  Zane handed her down and motioned to the shaded bench next to the building. They sat side by side without talking while Winifred steeled herself to leave Smoke River.

  When the locomotive steamed in, neither of them moved.

  Finally Zane stood, picked up her valise and offered his other hand to her. He shoved the leather portmanteau onto the boarding step and only then did he release her fingers.