Wild Innocence (12 page)

“I may have misled you with that—our—kiss,” she whispered, embarrassed by the exchange.

He stared at her, his expression somber. “I understand that you were not inviting me to your sleeping mat.”

She gasped. “No.”

He smiled then. “You cared for me when I needed you. This has not been easy for me, but you helped to cheer me.
Miigwech.”

She understood that he'd just thanked her. “You are welcome.” She felt her throat tighten. “Good-bye, Black-Hawk-Who-Hunts-at-Dawn.”

He bent and kissed her mouth. She closed her eyes and responded.
“Giga-waabamin,”
he murmured. And then he released her.

When Rachel opened her eyes, Black Hawk was gone.

The infirmary seemed empty to Rachel without Black Hawk. She missed his quiet but commanding presence whenever she entered the sickroom. That morning as she came in to clean, she gazed for a long moment at the bed where he slept. She recalled how he'd looked lying there ... his dark hair against the pillow ... his onyx eyes glistening as his gaze followed her about the room. He was the most intriguing individual she'd ever met.

His appearance had been much improved when he'd taken his leave of them. His gunshot wound had formed a scab, the swelling in his face had long since gone down, and the colorful bruises on his body had faded to a dull shade of purplish yellow. For someone who had been injured so badly, he had healed quickly without any serious lasting damage. Eventually, he'd have only the scar near his shoulder left as evidence of his ordeal.

Thoughts of the Ojibwa brave ultimately brought back memories of his kiss. She'd been shocked at her response to him. If she closed her eyes, she knew she could recall every single detail about him. She'd never felt this way when she and Jordan had kissed, but then Black Hawk was nothing like the suave, sophisticated man who'd once asked her to marry him. Black Hawk's looks were compelling ... savage. And he made her heart race as Jordan never had nor ever could.

Why did Black Hawk kiss her?

Because he was grateful, nothing more,
she told herself over and over again. Her heart began to beat faster. His gratitude certainly stirred her blood!

“Rachel.”

She spun to find her father at the doorway. Fortunately, she'd brought a broom to sweep the floor, so John Dempsey wouldn't guess that she was mooning over Black Hawk.

Her father was frowning.

She was immediately concerned. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“We've a new patient. He's sliced himself and needs stitches. Would you please assist me?”

Rachel nodded and set down her broom to lean in the corner of the room.

“Is it serious?” she asked as she followed her father closely.

“I'm afraid so.”

“Who is it? Anyone I know.”

“Young Will Thornton.”

“Oh, no,” she gasped. Will Thornton was a nice young man who had been helpful to Rachel when she'd first come to the mission. He'd carried in her clothes trunk for her and helped her to rearrange the furniture in her room.

As she entered the surgery, Rachel saw Will immediately where he sat on the examining table. He looked pale as he held a cloth bandage to his injured hand. Already, blood seeped through to stain the white fabric red.

She hurried forward. “Oh, Will, what did you do to yourself?”

He looked ghastly as he glanced at her apologetically. “I was sharpening a knife for Mrs. Jenkins.”

“I told him to be careful,” a woman's voice said from the other side of the room.

Rachel turned and spied Freda Jenkins standing at the door to the waiting area. “I'm sure you did,” Rachel said. She frowned as she centered her attention on Will again. “Will, you'd best lie down. Let me help you.”

She helped him to lie back, while the doctor repositioned his supplies. When she was done, she looked at her father and asked him a silent question. At his nod, she hurriedly left the room to put water on the stove to warm. Then she rummaged through the kitchen cupboard for her father's unopened bottle of whiskey. She returned to the surgery with the whiskey bottle and placed it on the doctor's instrument table.

“What's that for?” John Dempsey asked.

Rachel was momentarily flustered. “I thought you might need it for Will.”

Her father frowned. “We've got laudanum for the pain.”

“I know, Father. I thought that you may need it to clean the wound.”

“I'll need it after I finish with my patient,” he said with a chuckle.

Will groaned at the joke, and Rachel patted his shoulder. “Don't you worry, Will. My father is only teasing me.”

The young man winced as the doctor probed the area of the wound, but he managed a slight smile when John Dempsey announced that the injury wasn't as serious as he'd first thought.

“A few stitches, Will, and you'll be as good as new,” the doctor said.

The patient didn't seem bothered by the prospect of being stitched up; then Rachel remembered that Will had been injured once in an Indian attack that nearly cost him his life. This cut must be nothing compared to those injuries he'd sustained at the hands of the Sioux.

Watching her father work, she shivered, recalling that her father had been kidnapped in the same Sioux attack in which Will had been hurt. If things had turned out differently, then her father would be dead or still missing. The thought of losing her father gave Rachel a chill.

There had been no talk of trouble with the Indians since she'd arrived. Did that mean that they were at peace?

Rachel frowned. What about Black Hawk? He said it was soldiers who had injured him. Why? Were there white men who hated the Indians that much?

Of course there are, silly,
Rachel thought.
Stop being ridiculous. Remember how afraid you were of Indians before getting to know Black Hawk? Fear can drive a person to do strange things.

As she was thinking, she automatically responded to her father's instructions. She gave Will some laudanum for the pain, and John Dempsey cleaned the cut, then closed it with neat, even little stitches. When he was done, the doctor left it to Rachel to bandage the wound.

Rachel collected the bloodstained cloth and placed it in a basin. Then she gathered fresh bandages and returned to Will.

“How does it feel?” she asked gently as she unrolled a cloth strip.

“All right,” Will said.

“Does it throb much?” She held the bandage up in readiness to apply it.

“Some.” He looked at her. “Your father's a good doctor.”

“The best,” Rachel agreed. “Now, I'll try not to hurt you.”

“You won't hurt me,” he said with such emphasis and confidence that Rachel stopped and stared at him. His expression made her uncomfortable. She had seen that look on the faces of many interested men.

“Will—”

“Have dinner with me this evening.”

She frowned as she carefully placed the fabric over the injury. “I don't think that would be wise.”

“Why not?”

She paused in what she was doing and glanced at him. “Because I'm afraid you'll take my acceptance the wrong way.”

He scowled at her. “And what way is that?”

“That there could be something more than friendship between us, but there can't be.”

“You're not married. Are you betrothed?”

She felt a painful pang as she carefully, gently wound the bandage about the palm of Will's hand. “No,” she said.
I was.

“Then why won't you look twice at me?”

“It's not you, Will,” she said as she continued to work. “It's all men. I'm just not interested in courtship or marriage.”

“You, a woman”—he mocked hurtfully—“have no interest in marriage?”

Rachel, who had just finished, paled as she stepped back. “Will, I think this conversation is over.”

“Rachel—”

But Rachel was wrapped up in her own painful thoughts. She had been interested in marriage to the one she'd thought was the right man. But that man had betrayed her, proving to her that no man was trustworthy. Yes, she'd had a lot of admirers back in Baltimore, but every one of them had had their own best interests at heart. None of them, especially Jordan, had cared enough for her to worry about her happiness.

Will's pleading voice finally caught her attention. She had moved to the medicine cabinet and was replacing the unused bandages. She faced him. “Yes?”

“I apologize. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Cry?
Rachel touched her cheek and realized that it was wet. She had, in fact, shed a tear.
I've shed enough tears over Jordan Sinclair!
she thought.

“Do you see why I will not have dinner with you? You would expect more than I can give you.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking glum. “I don't want to lose your friendship. Can we forget this conversation?”

Rachel forced a bright smile. “Of course.” She approached him with a small book—her father's book of notes. She flipped through pages until she found what she needed. “I'm going to give you some instructions on how to care for that cut. You'll follow them carefully?” She met his gaze. He nodded. “Good.”

Rachel's attention was drawn to the waiting room doorway, through which she could see Mrs. Jenkins seated in a chair.

“Is she here to walk you home?”

“You mean you don't think I should stay?” Will teased.

She couldn't control the heat that warmed her skin. She quickly averted her glance. “I'm afraid not. Now if you'd like someone to shoot you—”

“No, thank you,” he said emphatically. She looked back and chuckled as he raised his good hand as if to ward off evil.

“William?” Freda Jenkins had moved to the open door. “Are you all right, William?”

The younger woman suddenly appeared behind Freda. “Mother told me that you'd gotten hurt,” the lovely vision in blue said.

Rachel was amazed to see Will blush. “I'm fine, Ariana,” he said. Ariana Jenkins was a lovely young woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes. Her blue gown complemented her coloring and fit her beautifully.

“I'll be waiting to walk you home.”

“Ah, thank you.”

Rachel hid her amusement as the young man gawked at Ariana Jenkins. When the two women had taken a seat again, Rachel bent closer to Will and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps Ariana will invite you to supper.”

Will looked at her, then grinned. “Perhaps.” His expression became solemn. “Friends again?” He hesitated, as if he wanted to offer her his good hand but good manners forbade him from doing so without a lady extending her hand first.

Rachel held out her hand. “Friends,” she said.

With a smile of relief, Will captured her fingers, then left shortly afterward with the Jenkins women fussing over him.

A few moments later, John Dempsey stood at the doorway to their back rooms. Rachel was tidying up the surgery. “Rachel—”

She looked up from the instrument table, where she'd been collecting the tools that had been used. “Yes, Father?”

“I heard your conversation with young Will,” he began, his brow furrowing.

She blushed. “Oh,” she said, and turned away.

John entered the room and walked to where she stood and rummaged through the cabinet. “Will is a nice young man. Why don't you think you should have dinner with him? In fact, I've noticed that there have been a few men at the mission who have tried to catch your eye, but you won't have anything to do with them.”

She spun to face him. “I don't want a beau, Father,” she said.

“Good heavens, child, why not? You used to have lots of beaux and they seemed to make you happy.”

“That was before I learned the risk of getting involved with one of them,” she admitted softly.

Her father scowled with displeasure. “Just because one man made a persistent nuisance of himself is no reason to reject all men.”

“I'm not ready for courtship, Father.” This was a painful topic for her.

“Well, girl, husbands don't grow on trees around here, you know!”

“I'm not looking to marry,” she replied stiffly. “I've decided that I am happy enough being who I am. I've done well as your assistant, haven't I?” The last was said with concern.

John's expression softened. “Of course you have.” He smiled. “You've adjusted quite well. Learned faster than your sister, in fact, but don't tell her I told you so.”

Rachel managed a smile. The subject of marriage was still a painful one, one she hadn't thought to consider again. Jordan was the only man who'd stirred her in any way ... unless you counted the strange stirrings she'd experienced in Black Hawk's presence. Feelings, she thought, that had been prompted by curiosity and fear.

Liar,
she thought.
I can't fool myself.
The feelings she felt for Black Hawk weren't rooted in fear, but in basic, elemental physical attraction.

“Father, are you in such a hurry for me to leave?” she asked.

“No!” John exclaimed. He seemed genuinely appalled that she could possibly think that way.

“Then can't you accept that I'm happy living here with you, helping you?”

“It isn't right that a beautiful young woman not find herself a young man. Look how happy your sister has been.”

The comment stung. “I know she is happy,” Rachel said, “but I'm not Amelia, and I don't love Daniel.”
The man makes no secret of his dislike for me.

“I just want you to be happy, too,” her father grumbled.

Rachel smiled and hugged him. “I know you do. But let me decide what makes me happy.”

John nodded.

She touched his cheek. “Thank you, Father.” She could only hope that this particular topic for discussion was permanently closed.