The Beholding, page 11
The images faded in and out as Luke tried to recall the moments after the Conestoga rolled into view. The sense of being carried invaded the haze. Someone’s hand had touched his brow. A soft, gentle hand. Burning pressure at his thigh. Pain against his teeth but batted away. All fleeting images. Half dream, half nightmare.
Only one vision took substance. Tess’s lovely face etched in worry and caring. Not once or twice, but time and time again. Always followed by the touch of a gentle hand. Her hand. Willing himself to delve through the fever-ridden memories, Luke recalled every press of her palm against his forehead, every nudge of her fingertip against his lip to feed him the liquid which cooled the raging fire within. Even when the pain at his thigh became unbearable, her gentle touch soon eased the anguish, leaving something fight and binding and blessedly soothing in its wake.
Luke’s nostrils flared as lavender invaded his senses. She had been close enough for him to smell the scented soap she used to wash her hair. But this was real. The fragrance was too pleasant to be the remnant of a dream.
Raising his head with painful effort, Luke discovered he was naked from head to waist with a mass of sun-golden hair lying against his left side and blocking the full view of his lower half. Tess’s body stretched out next to his. Her head rested on his stomach while one hand lay across his hip. She slept!
Admiring the golden harvest of hair that curled almost to her waist, his gaze lingered at the slight curve of her shoulders and the enticing way her waist flared into a becoming span of hips. Though the pain he suffered made her weight seem heavier than he knew it to be, Luke wanted to satisfy his curiosity. Trying not to waken her, he managed to lift his left leg enough to reveal a thin sheet draped over him. The sight of his bare feet made him wonder how she had been able to dislodge his boots.
The sudden realization he was completely naked beneath the sheet contracted Luke’s muscles. The stiffening twisted pain through him, and he uttered an oath. Tess stirred against his abdomen, and he instantly shut his eyes, opening them only enough to enjoy the pleasure of watching her awaken. If she knew he no longer slept, she would be all business and fuss. He wanted these few moments to admire her.
“Ohh, such a long night,” she sighed, her arms rising to bracket her head as she yawned and arched the stiffness from her body.
The stretching defined the generous swell of her bosom, kindling a new kind of heat through Luke. God, whether or not she looked at his eyes, she would know soon enough that he had roused. The awakening of his manhood beneath the sheet would be difficult to miss.
“Sweet baby,” she crooned, “sleep while you can.”
Luke thought for a moment that the endearment was meant for him but then noted the direction of her gaze. Tommie was curled up in one corner of the schooner and dozed fitfully. The tone of her endearment spread through Luke like warm honey, and he was reminded of the kiss they had shared. Pain and pleasure fought to seize him, but the memory was too powerful to concede its hold on his senses.
“You’re awake!”
Tess’s declaration made his lashes open despite an effort to feign sleep. He had wanted to watch her forever, imprinting the morning sight of her in his memory to ease the loneliness of his nights.
Crimson stained her cheeks, and her eyes loomed large and luminous. The palm that had reached out to check the bandage hovered inches below the considerable swell of his manhood. She was frozen in surprise.
Luke attempted to sit up, but Tess instantly forgot her embarrassment and pressed her cool hands on his chest to stay him.
“Don’t move, Luke,” she insisted. “You’re in no condition yet.”
He reveled in the closeness afforded him. It had been some time since he’d been able to gaze at her completely. Even when he kissed her, it had been during the first rays of dawn. Usually shielded by a bonnet, now her stark beauty nearly took his breath away. Haloed with hair the color of sunshine, her feathered brows winged into golden arches. Harvest gold lashes forested the deepest sea-green eyes he had ever seen. Though her almond-shaped eyes could darken to emerald when angered, they looked a bit smoky and utterly innocent above her high cheekbones. But it was the moist swell of her lips that intrigued him most. With half-heart shaped crescents forming the upper portion of her mouth, he couldn’t decide which he would enjoy tasting first—top or bottom.
Licking his lips, Luke’s tongue ran over his teeth in anticipation and stopped suddenly. A frown wrinkled his brow as a memory darted across his mind’s eye. “Did somebody hit me?” He could barely talk, his voice sounding like someone grating a rock over a rub board.
“No,” Tess assured him and helped Luke lie back. “I tried to give you water and it wouldn’t go down.” She nodded toward Tommie. “He tapped your teeth to make them open and it worked. But I’m afraid, because of your fever, you thought someone was hurting you. You backhanded him.”
“Is he hurt?” Luke attempted to raise his head again to take a closer look at the child.
She pressed her hands firmly against Luke’s shoulders to offer resistance. “Physically he’s fine. But he thought you were being mean. I assured him you were ill and didn’t know what you’d done. You might want to explain it to him when he wakes up. He’s grown to care about you, Luke, and his feelings are terribly hurt.”
“I would never intentionally harm him,” Luke vowed, but the words sounded jumbled even to himself.
Tess nodded. “Don’t try to talk. I know you’d hurt yourself before you ever injured Tommie. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now—”
“Days? Where?”
“Don’t worry. Jim’s driving the team. He’s doing a fine job. We haven’t had any trouble since you got shot. After you’ve rested, we’ll talk more. All I’ve been able to do is get water and a bit of mint tea down your throat. We’ll be stopping in an hour or two. I’ll make you some broth and you’ll feel better.”
With as much effort as he could muster, Luke lifted his hand and touched one finger to his forehead. “H-hot,” he whispered and licked his lips. “Will you wipe?”
“Of course.” Tess grabbed the cloth soaking in the fresh bowl of water she had scooped just before falling asleep. After ringing it out, she mopped his forehead and face, gently cleansing the sleep from his lashes. Ringing it out again, she dabbed the moisture from the top of his lips and chin.
Her hand smelled like soap and lavender and Tess. Luke didn’t want the touching to end. He pressed her hand to the dark thatch of hair covering the muscles of his chest. When she hesitated, his brows triangled into a plea. She bit back a smile, but did as he asked. Closing his eyes to the pleasure of the small circular swipes of the cloth, he let the coolness of her touch sink in and ease the last remnants of fever.
When she moistened the cloth again and began to cleanse one sweat-dampened arm, then the other, Luke braced himself for the pleasurable experience. Another rinse and she traced his ribs. Luke thought he had surely died and gone to Heaven. Yet he had a thing or two to teach the preachers who said Heaven was made of white clouds and pearly gates. Heaven offered a fire fiercer than ten purgatories.
Wings of desire ascended from the tips of his toes, flew over the hell of his injury and peaked again in his most private place. Luke’s eyes flashed open. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts seemed born of more than just effort, for it matched his own in rhythm. He knew she felt the beat of his heart, for her hand instantly jerked away.
“More?” he whispered, his gaze slanting to the sheet and that part of him hidden below its thin shelter.
Transfixed, she followed his gaze, then slowly turned back to discover he insisted upon an answer. Her head shook slowly as she sighed, “Noooo.”
But Luke would not accept her decree. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Not now, for he would be of little good. But later. When they made love, he wanted it to be memorable. Better than good. The best either of them would ever experience.
Reaching for her hand, his fingertips touched her own, Though he had told her she would beg for him to make love to her, he knew now he had become the beggar. “I need your touch.”
Tess’s eyes closed. When she reopened them, Luke noted with satisfaction the passion she failed to conceal. From the moment she had touched his cheek in Fort Smith and forgiven him for doing his duty, he wanted to know every fiber and bone that crafted this special lady. Wanted to feel the beat of such a generous heart against his chest and touch every curve and swell that made her woman. Didn’t she sense what he already knew as fact? One day their passion would break the bonds of duty which held him in check and would cut the web of respectability she thought necessary since Hot Springs.
With a large intake of breath, Tess looked as if she were steeling herself against the inevitable. For one disappointing moment, Luke feared that her will would be equally as strong in fighting her desire as it was in ignoring commands. But this had been a plea, not a demand. And as he vowed, he would never force her.
Tess wrung the cloth out again, this time wiping the moisture from her own neck. “Perhaps later,” she whispered and dropped the cloth into the bowl.
Like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline, his fingers thrust out to test her resolve. The moment her fingers threaded and clung, Luke sensed he was about to live as never before.
Chapter Ten
Tess awakened and shivered as a cool breeze buffeted the canvas. She stretched her neck and yawned, wondering how long ago Jim had called a halt and made camp. A quick glance at Tommie bundled up inside two woolen blankets assured her he slept soundly and seemed warm enough. The silence of deep night enveloped Tess, and she was grateful for the reprieve from the jangle of reins and the protest of wheels against sod. Still, something other than the chill had roused her.
“Tess…”
The hoarse whisper of her name crossed the small space that divided her and Tom’s sleeping mats from Luke’s.
“Tessa?” Luke whispered again.
Hearing need in his tone, she hurried to his side.
“Are you awake, Tess?” he rasped weakly.
“Yes. I’m here, Luke.”
“My leg. It feels like it’s on fire. Can you do something?”
“Let me have a look.” Something told her to be quick. She groped for the lamp and attempted to light it, but the wind kept blowing out the flame. With each attempt, a moment of flickering light revealed that his eyes were closed and clenched in pain. Another flicker highlighted a fresh stain of blood where the sheet touched the bandage over his thigh.
Sheltering the wick with her hand, Tess whispered a fervent prayer as the flame caught, then held. She replaced the glass cover and held the lamp high to get a better look.
“Dear Heavens,” Tess objected as the stench of infection nearly knocked her off her knees. She set the lamp nearby and made quick work of removing the bindings and poultice. Though she forced herself not to turn away from the foul odor, the layer of skin bordering the open wound had turned ashen and oozed a yellow pus. Tess forced back the urge to gag. Worry sprouted and gripped her insides with tension. “You need a doctor.”
She jolted to her feet and called loudly for the gambler. When he didn’t answer, she jerked open the flap at the front of the tarpaulin and discovered that he had chosen somewhere other than the driver’s box to sleep.
Ignoring her bare feet, Tess gathered her skirts and leapt from the back of the wagon. Midnight surrounded her as she peered into the shadows and attempted to define Jim’s sleeping form.
Trees and bushes crouched together in sharp-edged shapes that made Tess’s pulse quicken and her ears attune themselves to even the most minute sound. Get hold of yourself, she silently scolded and purposely strode away from the safety of the wagon. Jim had to be here somewhere. The man was exhausted from three days without sleep; he wouldn’t have gone very far.
As if in answer to the calming influence of her common sense, a deep sigh sliced through the shadows and revealed the gambler’s resting place. Tess turned toward the sound and retraced her steps. She waited and was awarded with a second sigh that made her stoop and peer beneath the Conestoga.
Resting his head against his saddle, Jim turned in his sleep and muttered something incoherent.
Heedless of the dew-covered dirt, Tess sank to her knees and crawled beneath the wagon. “Jim. Wake up, Jim!” she whispered, then realized the tone might not rouse him in his state of exhaustion. And if it did, would he draw his gun? The gambler might think she was someone trying to ambush him. Cautiously, she raised her voice. “It’s me, Jim. Contessa. You must get up. Luke’s leg is worse. We’ve got to get him to a real doctor.”
Jim wouldn’t rouse. It was a good thing the Indians no longer posed a threat, for he’d be of little help. Anger speared through Tess. Though he’d signed on without expecting pay, the man knew there was Tommie to consider. But her anger quickly subsided into a nagging fear. Where were they, and how close to the next settlement? What if they couldn’t get help?
You’ve got to do something… now, Tess demanded of herself. Don’t waste time. She backed out from under the wagon and rubbed her hands to rid herself of the dirt. Spurred by worry, she climbed back into the wagon and sank to her knees at Luke’s side.
For one terrifying moment, Tess didn’t see his chest rise. Panic whipped through her, forcing her to lean one ear against his nose and mouth. Her fingers spread across his chest to touch and reassure herself that he still breathed. His breath came shallow, uneven.
Images of Fort Smith and the many times she had doctored the soldiers darted across her mind. The list of herbs and medicines she had packed away in the trunk seemed suddenly useless. Calm down, she told herself. Think about what you know. Surely there was something that could help. If only she had brought more alum.
“Gotta get some salve,” Luke whispered hoarsely, moaning as he attempted to sit.
“Lie down,” she demanded, her tone harsh with frustration. Casting her trunk a doubtful glance, she willed herself to mentally inventory the meager household medicines. Camomile and yeast! The combination shouted through the fog of concern. Or was it charcoal and yeast? Uncertainty taunted Tess until she began to recite the facts aloud: “Charcoal for inflammation. Camomile for gangrene. Yeast to make the infection rise to the surface.” She had saved camomile for her favorite tea. She would just have to take a chance … a chance that could very well mean Luke’s death.
Luke’s eyes closed, and she hoped that perhaps he had lost consciousness for a short while. At least it would give him some relief from pain until she could prepare the new poultice. Opening a tin, she pinched a corner off the yeast cake, then added camomile and water to it. When the mixture softened into a gooey substance, she patted it into an oblong shape.
Tess quickly ripped the remainder of her petticoats into strips and dipped the makeshift bandages into the water and rinsed. With the gentlest of pressure, she attempted to clean the wound.
“Ouch!” Luke complained.
“You must be still,” she insisted, “or it will hurt worse.”
He reached down to swat her hand away.
“Don’t do that.” Tess used her forearm to block the blow while she continued to work. “You’re only making this more difficult.”
He groaned, bunching the sheets in both fists to keep himself in control.
Swallowing back the bile erupting in her throat, Tess carefully removed the dead flesh that peeled away in damp, gray shreds. The wound gaped. It would have to be sewn together, but the thread in her trunk would need to be sterilized first.
The tallow! She’d read once that a lady had used wax to seal a poultice; perhaps it was the truth and not merely the work of a good storyteller. Tess fetched the lamp and removed the glass shelter. A quick touch of one fingertip informed her the melted tallow along the candle’s base would not be hot enough to blister but was warm enough to seal.
“Now this may burn a little,” she warned as she smeared the wax along one edge of the bandage. Tess placed the poultice over the wound and pressed down the waxed edge.
“Damn!” The curse rushed through gritted teeth.
“I know it’s hot but it won’t scald you. This will hold in the medicine until your leg’s better, and I can take time to sterilize everything and stitch it closed.” She pushed on both sides of his thigh and closed the gap of flesh by several inches. A few more drops of tallow on the opposite edge completed the seal.
“Almost done.” Her eyes began to burn as she studied her handiwork intensely. Tears formed but she wiped them away.
His hand reached up and groped for her face. For a moment, in his pain, Tess thought Luke might attempt to hit her again. Instead, his rough palm caressed her cheek.
“You’re crying.”
She gently pushed his hand away. “From staring so long.”
“Oh.”
Why did he sound so disappointed?
“My leg … smells better. Feels better.”
“Camomile and yeast.” She sighed, exhaling some of the tension keeping her body coiled like a taut spring.
“Are you planning to cure me or roast me?”
Despite the pain, he smiled before drifting into an oblivion she knew they both welcomed. His touch slackened as his lips straightened and stilled.
Tess vowed to make him well. If only she really knew the secret to eternal life her father had boasted about in his schemes… maybe then she could save Luke’s leg. For the remainder of the night she bathed his face, checked the wound for seepage, gauged the healthiness of his breathing, and changed the poultice as often as the discoloration seeped through the bandages. Each time he stirred beneath her administrations, she offered encouragement.
“Come on, Luke,” she urged fiercely, “you have a job to finish … remember? You’ve got to get us to Colorado. You can’t do it lying here on your back.”
Wild with delirium, he fought, but she struggled equally as hard to keep him flat on his back. “Don’t you die on me, Luke Reeves,” she insisted, praying his will to live was stronger than the pain he suffered. “You beat those Indians, and that little boy over there thinks you’re a fighter. You can’t let him down.” You can’t let me down. “Fight with me, Luke!”
