Breathe Again, page 4
Ashfield chuckled and nodded, "Glad to see we have an understanding." He sighed and said, "You know, when I moved here a year ago, I thought I'd be able to relax in relative quiet. I'd spent countless hours in the chaos of war and felt I had aged twenty years by the end of it..." he removed the bandages from around both her hands before turning her palms upward. "Do you know how my quiet and peaceful morning started?"
Dottie couldn't keep from smiling as she shook her head and waited for his answer.
"I was sleeping, dreaming some of the sweetest dreams a person could dream—when suddenly a gunshot, right outside my front door, ripped me out of my euphoria."
Dottie started in surprise. Of all the things she thought he might say, that was not one of them.
Ashfield pressed gently against her palms. "Are they still causing you pain?"
Blinking against his sudden change of topic, she replied, "It's manageable. There are many days I forget they were even burned."
He manipulated her pointer and index finger joints of her right hand to test the range of motion. Noticeable scarring trailed from the base of the palm up to the second joint of each finger. "Well, that's a good sign." Pressing lightly against the scar tissue, he asked, "Is this still tender?"
She shook her head, "Not especially, no."
Continuing his examination, he grunted in approval. "The burns have healed rather well, and from what I see, you have a good range of motion even with that thick scar there." He touched the scar in question on her index finger. "There's no need to keep wearing the bandages, but you may want to wear some light gloves to keep them protected. I would also like you to continue using the ointment I gave you. The skin is going to feel sensitive for a bit, and it'll help."
She nodded and folded her hands on her lap. "You were saying you woke up this morning because of a gunshot?"
His eyes twinkled when he said with a dramatic flair, "Well, to make a long story short, I opened my door with my trusty shotgun in hand, and prepared to defend my life if need be. But instead of an angry band of renegades at my door, I found a bloody Sterling Hawkins tied to his saddle and fighting to stay alive."
Dottie stifled a gasp, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. A loud ringing in her ears drowned out everything else Ashfield said. Her heart raced, making her lightheaded. She couldn't possibly have heard him correctly—had she?
Was this why Sterling hadn't shown up today? He was wounded, bleeding, and near-death—what if he had already died? Her stomach lurched in revolt at the idea of losing him before she had been able to beg his forgiveness. Despair gripped her heart tight. She had waited too long.
A calming hand clasped her shoulder and snapped her attention back to Ashfield. He watched her with worried eyes, "Something I've said has upset you; I'm sorry."
Dottie tried to speak but failed. It took several attempts before her numb lips and tongue obeyed her command. "No, no, it's just..." she swallowed and took a breath before whispering, "Is he alive?"
'Please let him be alive, please let him be alive,' her heart and mind chanted in a panicked loop.
Her ears rang so loudly that Ashfield's answer sounded muffled, as though he spoke across a great distance. "Yes, although I had to strap him to the bed when I found him passed out on the floor before I headed out here this afternoon. I specifically told him he would be staying the next few days with me so I could keep an eye on him." He shook his head in wry dismay, "He is one of the most stubborn men I have met."
Ashfield studied her pale face and the freckles standing out in stark relief scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones.
Meeting his concerned eyes, Dottie stammered, "I...w-we were childhood friends." She rubbed her forehead to ease the headache setting in, and clarified, "Before the war."
Ashfield grunted. Judging by her reaction, he wouldn't be surprised to learn there was a lot more to their relationship than simple childhood friendship. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he cleared his throat. "I apologize. I wasn't aware—had I known I would have handled this more delicately."
Chewing her bottom lip, Dottie stood and retrieved a large cooking spoon. "It just caught me by surprise." She lifted the lid on the stew and stirred, trying—and failing miserably—to tamp down the panic threatening to overtake her.
Sterling was alive. He was wounded, but he was alive. What would she have done had she learned of his death instead? The heartache and regret would be unbearable.
She fought to keep her voice steady and asked, "What happened to him?"
Trying to be as delicate as possible and not cause any more distress, Ashfield said, "Sterling told me he had a run-in with a mountain lion yesterday." He watched Dottie for a few moments, then stood, "I'm sure he'd enjoy a visit from an old friend, so please feel free to drop in when you have a chance."
He usually prided himself on his ability to notice the subtle, emotional undercurrents of those he treated. The fact he hadn't done so with these two was rather vexing. It should have been obvious that entanglement between the two existed the instant Sterling disappeared so abruptly the day of the fire.
Sewing him up this morning, Ashfield had observed the extent of the damage scarring Sterling's body. Without a doubt, the large burn on his chest came from that day. He'd cleaned it up and drained a pocket of infection before rubbing salve on, confident that if it had remained untreated Sterling would have soon been dead.
The fact the obstinate man had forgone medical attention spoke volumes. Sterling's sole intent, when he flagged Ashfield over, had been to see to the welfare of Dottie and her small family. He'd never mentioned or drawn attention to his burns that had to have been unbearably painful.
If Ashfield hadn't been distracted by the disappointment at not being able to see Louisa just now, perhaps he would have put it all together before he opened his big mouth. His mother, if she were still alive and had witnessed such a scene, would have cuffed him behind his ear.
He cringed at the awkward situation he'd created and wracked his brain for a way out of it. A few uncomfortable moments later, he decided a hasty escape before he had the chance to say anything else to upset her further, was the best solution.
Offering a self-conscious smile, he tipped his hat. "I'll take my leave and let you get back to your activities, Mrs—er, Dottie."
Dottie attempted and failed at a smile. "Thank you; I'll tell Mama you stopped by."
"And let me know if you have any other problems with your hands—or if you need anything at all." He gripped her hand, hoping she could sense his sincerity in the offer, then marched to his buggy and drove away.
Dottie watched him leave in detachment. Her mind was in a complete whirl of chaos, flooded by memories she'd thought long since buried.
Heartaches of years past swirled around her, tormenting her until she could no longer deny them. Her surroundings vanished, and the first time she'd told Sterling she loved him two days before her sixteenth birthday filled her mind.
Ten
They sat at their favorite spot in the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers, their sweet smell perfuming the air around them.
Dottie fidgeted with her skirts, more nervous than she could ever remember being in her whole life. "Hawk, what would you say...if I told you—" she swallowed, hesitating before admitting, "I-I love you?"
Not a breeze stirred, as though it too held its breath while she waited for Sterling's reply.
Slowly, she looked up and met his gaze.
Sterling's heart thumped erratically in his chest and sweat broke out on his skin. Had it not been for Martin admitting he was desperately in love with Dottie a month ago, he wouldn't be in this torturous situation now.
He'd be free to admit that his feelings mirrored hers. He could allow himself to soak up the joy that filled his heart just moments ago before dropping like a leaded weight in his stomach. However, he could never tell her the truth.
All because of Martin, and that stupid promise, he had to lie to Dottie. Sterling cursed that day because it had opened his eyes to his feelings for her.
Plucking a blade of grass, he shredded it with his fingers and gritted his teeth. He kept his eyes averted and mumbled, "I love you too, Dot."
Her eyes widened and filled with sparkling joy as she smiled and exclaimed, "You do?"
Sterling forced a swallow down his throat tight with emotion and tried to tease, "Yeah, like I loved my dog Lenny. That's how I love you."
Tears welled up in her pretty eyes, and the blood drained in her face. He wanted to cry too. The joyful light that had shined from her just moments ago dimmed until all that remained was a sadness that made his heartache.
He forced himself to look at her and swallowed past a lump of emotion, praying his voice would remain steady and continued, "You're my friend, Dot." Snapping his mouth shut, he grimaced. He couldn't do it. He could not bear the pain in her eyes. But neither could he break his word to Martin. Hoping to ease her distress and his own, he whispered, "And I do love you...like a sister—if I had a sister, I guess."
Her mouth bent into a sad smile when she turned her face away and stared across the meadow — the day that had been bright and hopeful only seconds before now felt cold and desolate.
She pressed a hand against the ache in her chest, surprised at how badly his rejection hurt. "I guess that's a little better than being compared to your dog." She glanced at him and whispered brokenly, "Lenny was a good dog, so I guess even that's a bit of a compliment."
Sterling clenched his jaw tight and nodded, hating how wrong it felt. If Martin were here, Sterling would drive his fist into his face before saying anything more to hurt Dottie.
His heart screamed for him to speak the truth. But, he'd made a promise. Swallowing the bile that rose to his throat and choked him, he murmured, "And you don't have fleas."
Dottie sniffled and stumbled to her feet, but not before Sterling saw her wipe at her cheeks and knew there were tears.
After a few quiet moments, she turned to him with a falsely bright smile, "I need to be getting on home. Mama will be worried, and I-I promised her I'd help with..." she swallowed and blinked. Her chin wobbled, and a tear rolled down her cheek when she shook her head, "I better go."
Even now, fourteen years later, the heartache and embarrassment of Sterling's rejection haunted her. Dottie stared at the bubbling stew hanging from the trivet over the cooking fire, forgetting she held the spoon in her hand.
It was as though she opened a vault within her mind, determined to find the most painful memories relating to Sterling. Nothing remained in place any longer to prohibit her from dredging up another.
The months that followed that awful day in their meadow passed with some awkwardness between her and Sterling; but Martin soon made his feelings toward her known, restoring a new balance in their friendship.
There was no point in pining after someone who didn't want her. So, with dogged determination, she ignored her lingering attachment to Sterling and focused on her growing affection for Martin, until she'd believed the bothersome feelings had left entirely.
But then six years ago, the war threatened their happy existence. They were all twenty-three, their birthdays only a few months apart from one another.
Martin with his dark good looks, piercing blue eyes, and ability to charm even the hardest of individuals had quickly captivated her broken heart; so it became a bittersweet moment when he asked if she would marry him before he left to join the war.
At the time, for the barest of moments, Dottie believed her dreams of finding a man who could love her had, at last, come true. But, a rather large part of her heart grieved that it wasn't Sterling she would be marrying.
The following day, before she could talk herself out of it, she went to tell Sterling of the happy news. At least that was the reason she gave herself while walking the mile to the lumber-mill.
Sterling was finishing the remainder of the load he'd been working on when he glanced up in time to see Dottie walking through the gate. Catching her eye, he grinned wide as she walked toward him.
Seeing her face for the first time that week, released a knot of anxiety in his chest. He was finally able to breathe again.
After lifting the last board in place, he secured it on the load then jogged over to meet her where she waited in the yard. "Hey there stranger," he greeted, taking his gloves off and shoving them in his back pocket.
He let his eyes roam over her beautiful face and savored the familiar skip of his heart at having her near. Her wavy light brown hair, pulled back in a low ponytail at the base of her neck, draped over her right shoulder. She wore a deep blue dress that made him want to pull her close and kiss her.
He'd always thought she looked pretty in blue because the color usually made her eyes sparkle. But, they weren't today. He frowned. Why did she look nervous and pale?
Her eyes darted to his, then away. "Can I talk to you, Hawk?" She kept her arms behind her back and held her body at a noticeable distance from him. He hated the habit.
Ever since that day in the meadow seven years ago, she made a point of keeping Martin close by any time Sterling was near, and she never singled Sterling out to talk to him.
A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach; he could have sworn his heart slowed to a heavy, dull thump. Nodding, he directed her over to a shaded clearing away from the screech of the sawmill.
She ignored the men working nearby casting curious looks at them before returning to their work. Butterflies swarmed in her belly, making her worry she might throw up.
Taking a deep breath, Dottie licked her lips and pressed her hands to her stomach in a futile attempt to still her nerves. "Martin talked with my father and me last night."
"Oh?" Sterling took a deep fortifying breath, dreading what she would say next, then asked, "What did you talk about?"
Dottie studied his face. "He asked for permission...to marry me."
Sterling tried to smile but settled with a small lift of the corner of his mouth. It was all he could do at that moment. "I see." He met her eyes and murmured, "What'd you tell him?" He watched her in silence; noticed her failed attempt to smile and the tears that gathered in her eyes and knew what her reply had been.
He clenched his teeth. What had he been expecting? Dottie would never be his. All because he'd made that stupid promise to Martin. It didn't matter how many other girls he tried to make his heart fall for. They remained nothing more than simple diversions—failed attempts at keeping himself away from her as Martin had requested.
He'd orchestrated every miserable minute spent with Melissa Packard to prod Dottie in Martin's direction. But, not a moment went by where Sterling wished he'd been brave enough to proclaim his affections for her that day in the meadow.
Clamping his lips together, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He scratched his head and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't betray the tumultuous emotions roiling through his gut with such sickening force. "When are you getting married?"
She took a step back as though he'd struck her, "When am I getting married? That's all you have to say?"
Why had she thought seeking him out would be a good idea? How many times was she going to hold her heart out for him to reject? He didn't love her; she knew that as well as she knew the sun would rise in the morning. But some small part of her ached to have him love her in return and wanted to see if he'd those developed feelings.
It was a foolish desire; one that was resurrecting all the old hurt and rejection she thought she'd long since buried.
He stared at her, fighting against the anger rushing to his defense against the pain caused by her words. "What were you hoping I would say?" He crossed his arms over his chest.
All the resentment at the situation rose inside of him like a vengeful wraith. "Did you want me to make a declaration of love? You want me to say, don't marry him because I love you, I can't stand the thought of him being with you, let alone marrying you. Is that it?"
He snapped his mouth shut before he confessed more of the painful truth. His heart was breaking, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Dottie's lips trembled, and tears fell down her cheeks, "NO, that's not-" She turned away from him, brushing furiously at her wet cheeks. "I didn't come here to-" Choking back a sob, she fought for composure. "I shouldn't have..."
Sterling muttered a curse. He'd promised Martin he would not stand in his way where Dottie was concerned, even after confessing he was in love with her himself. Martin had been furious of course, positive Sterling was only trying to steal her away.
Lashing out at the pain she unknowingly caused, he fumed, "What happened to you saying you loved me? What kind of love is that if it allows you to go and marry another man?" He stopped speaking for a moment and looked at her until the pain and jealousy swirling like a tornado in his gut compelled him to ask, "Or is it you'll settle for him since I won't have you?"
She spun on her heel and slapped him.
And he had to agree that he deserved it. Dottie ought to horsewhip him for the words he had just flung at her.
Rubbing his hands over his face to alleviate the sting, he turned away and tried to gain control of his emotions. But it was no use. Dottie didn't even know she was wounding him—or did she? She told him she loved him all those years ago, and as far as he knew love didn't just shrivel up and die.
Maybe she didn't love him anymore. Maybe, once she found out she couldn't have him, she decided to love Martin instead. How else was he supposed to make sense of her saying yes?
He squared his shoulders and growled, "You're just like every other fickle hearted woman, Dot. Saying you love one man, then chasing after another when the first one says he doesn't want you."
Dottie slapped his other cheek and cried, "What does it matter, Hawk? You don't love me! Why does it make me a bad person to accept a proposal from someone I care for? Martin is a good man." She pressed her lips together when her voice broke. Wiping at the tears on her face, she shoved him away, then hit her fists against his chest to punctuate her ire, "Why can't you be happy for me? Martin wants me; he loves me."
