Vanessa’s face turned white when she heard how he’d tackled the man about to attack Trevor, earning him the sharp blow to the head. She remembered the doctor’s words on the effects of such blows and shivered. The entire affair created a feeling of unresolved terror within her breast. Incidents as had befallen Mr. Danielson and Mr. Talverton occurred at the dark of night in alleys and in rough sectors, not at dusk along normally well-traveled roads. Something wasn’t right, but she despaired of figuring out what that elusive something was.
Shaking her head in confusion, she poured herself a cup of strong coffee and carried it upstairs.
This time when Leila opened the door to her knock, the older woman met her with a good heart. “Come in, chile,” she said, smiling broadly. “You come in good time. I think he’s nigh near wak’n.” She took Vanessa’s cup and saucer from her and set them on a table. “See, his color’s much better, he don’t look like no advertisement for an undertaker no more.”
“Leila!”
“I calls it as I sees it,” the woman warned her.
Vanessa laughed. “That’s all right. I suppose he was a pretty sorry case last night. Dr. Kirby said he doesn’t know how he made it this far before collapsing, yet Mr. Danielson says he chatted with their would-be rescuers quite naturally.”
Leila nodded sagely. “His type be hard to fell. They keep fight’n until the danger’s gone or they’re dead. Then sometimes they fight on, Miss Vanessa, like the undead,” she finished in a hushed voice. Rocking back on her heels, she clasped her hands primly over her starched white apron.
Vanessa’s merry laugh dispelled Leila’s words of doom. She squeezed the woman’s shoulder, silently thanking her for her vigilant care of their patient, then firmly escorted her from the room. Alone with Hugh, she shyly crossed the room to stand by the head of the bed. She lifted a guinea-gold lock of hair off his forehead and pushed it back among the deep waves of his hair. He stirred slightly at her touch. She froze, uncertain what to do. Hesitantly she removed her hand until it lay by his head on the pillow.
He stirred again restlessly, his head turning to rest on her hand. A soft sigh of peace escaped his lips; for a moment, his struggles to pull himself out of the deep well of sleep subsided.
Slowly she pulled her hand out from underneath his face, biting her soft inner lip in anxiety as she did so. Her reckless urges had nearly pitched her into trouble. She pulled her chair up closer to the bed and retrieved her coffee, sitting down next to her patient while she drank. Her mind wandered for a moment as she considered her feelings for Hugh Talverton. What she told Russell Wilmot was distressingly true. She was in love. Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely that her love would be returned. Her eyes teared slightly. Now she was learning about some of the negative aspects of love, the aspects that twisted one’s insides into Gordian knots.
She looked up to find Hugh’s clear, tawny eyes on her. She flushed slightly. “You’re awake. Good,” she said, smiling down at him.
It was the same voice, the same blurred angelic image from his chaotic dreams. He blinked his eyes, willing his sight to clear. Slowly, the flesh-tone image took shape.
“Vanessa,” he murmured.
She smiled down at him. He might have been mistaken, for his sight was still none too clear, but he could have sworn her eyes were misted with unshed tears.
She placed the cup she held on the bedside table. “Well,” she said crisply, rising and pushing the Windsor chair away from the bed, “how do you feel?” With brisk efficiency, she laid her fingers on his wrist.
Her light touch was cool, but a faint trembling of her hand revealed a tumult of feeling at odds with her efficient, reserved manner.
“For a while, I thought I was back in the field hospital in Spain.”
“Oh, is that how you received that scar on your shoulder?”
“Yes,” he answered, grinning.
She blushed bright red, remembering how she’d had difficulty attending the doctor’s words while her eyes roved hungrily over Hugh’s broad chest with its fine mat of golden hair. It had taken all her fortitude to wind the cloth around his chest in the manner the doctor prescribed while he held him upright. She’d tried to ignore how low the sheet rested on his hips, for she knew Jonas and Mr. Danielson had stripped the soiled, bloody clothes from his body, and Leila, with Jonas’s help, had sponged the sweat and blood away. The woman of color had come out of the room clucking her tongue and declaring what a fine figure of a man he was. It was then Vanessa decided she would assist the doctor and assume the role of nurse, for she was suddenly possessed by the snake of jealousy winding itself around her heart!
“I assisted Dr. Kirby in the binding of your chest—” she said primly, casting a glance in his direction. His smile was broader. “I could not help but notice . . . .” she foundered, her blushes increasing though Hugh made no response other than to continue to smile. “After all, I did do service as a nurse during the war. Dr. Kirby took advantage of that fact,” she finally declared, with more force than her words warranted.
“Naturally,” he responded neutrally.
Vanessa looked at him suspiciously.
“But you asked me how I felt. In truth, my ribs feel as if an ordinance wagon has run over them, and my head feels like a cannonade is going off inside.”
Vanessa nodded brusquely. “Dr. Kirby feared as much. He left some medicine for you. Let me prepare it.”
He grabbed her wrist as she turned to leave the bedside. “Wait, please. The medicine will put me to sleep again.”
She did not refute his statement. She stared down at the spot where his hand clasped hers. “Sleep is what you need right now,” she managed huskily, all her nerve endings tingling at his touch.
“I know,Nurse,"he said. He squeezed her hand, delighting in how her cheeks pinked. He dropped her hand. “What time is it?’
“About eight-thirty, I believe. Why?”
He looked up at the covered windows, discerning slivers of sunlight through the shutters. He frowned his expression one of serious contemplation. “It is just the day after our melee, is it not? I mean, I haven’t slept for thirty-six hours, have I?”
