Oh God, she thought, dropping her head. Was there no end to her disloyalty to Payton? First the crutch, and now an attraction to another man. What kind of terrible person was she?
Pressed by guilt, she fetched the spike and bag and shoved herself toward the open range and away from John McCallister. She knew how awkward and unappealing she looked, hunched forward, her arms akimbo and flapping when she pushed the wheels of her chair. This was her punishment, to sweat and grow red-faced from exertion, to look foolish and clumsy to a man whose gaze had made her feel beautiful again. To roll away when she wanted to rush forward.
She had traveled farther from camp than she usually did before she turned and saw him walking past the chuck wagon, heading toward her. Resisting an urge to pat her hair and smooth her skirt, she gripped the sack of cow pies in her lap and watched him approach.
She loved the lean tall look of him, the way he strode forward with easy grace as if the ground were not as rough as she knew it to be. She loved the strong square line of his jaw and his steady grey eyes and the elegance of his hands. Doctor’s hands, according to Dal.
Now she knew how John could touch the stump left by another doctor and not be repelled. A hundred times she had visualized him near death in a Union prison and tried to imagine the terrible things he had witnessed. It was no wonder that he didn’t speak. Somewhere she had read about hills of amputated limbs growing outside the medical tents. Surgeons had worked while standing in lakes of blood. What would such horrors do to a sensitive man’s mind? Now she understood that John was as crippled in mind as she was in body.
When he reached her, he knelt beside her chair, smiled into her eyes, and raised a hand to her face. Surprise lifted his eyebrows as he brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“Oh, John,” she whispered. “I’m so confused. I’m glad to see you, but I shouldn’t be.” Lowering her head, she gently pushed his hand away, then pressed her fingertips to her damp eyelids. “I know that doesn’t make sense to you.” He had returned because of her, she knew that as surely as she knew her joy in seeing him. “I can’t… you and I, we can’t…”
Leaning forward, he touched her tears, then he put his arms around her and guided her head to his shoulder. And she wept as she had not wept since Payton’s funeral. She couldn’t have explained why except she felt the same deep aching loss.
Finally the storm passed and she wiped her face with her handkerchief then placed a trembling hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry for losing control, but you can’t stay with us, John. It would be too hard on me.” She drew a breath and let her shoulders collapse, fighting a fresh onslaught of tears. “I know you don’t understand,” she repeated helplessly.
She knew so little about this man, and yet she knew him utterly. How that was possible, she couldn’t imagine. It simply was. She knew his compassion and gentle touch. She knew the shape and texture of his skin and body. She knew the man he must be to have devoted his life to healing. And she guessed the horrors he must have observed and experienced during the war, horrors so painful and appalling that he had walked away from life and humanity.
He stroked her hands, then took the sack from her lap and the spike and walked away from her, hooking up cow pies. Watching him, she felt like crying again.
When the sack was filled, he pushed her back to the chuck wagon and would have kindled the fire but she reminded him of the rules. And she had to remind him not to help her up when she tried to stand with her crutch but instead fell at his feet. Knots rose along his jawline and his hands opened and closed at his sides, but he respected her wishes and stood clear as she struggled to rise. Mercifully, he left her to prepare supper and walked over to Grady’s remuda. Grady, she noticed, displayed no compunction about accepting John’s help with the injured horse. Remarkably she managed to cook an entire meal without giving it two complete thoughts.
When Dal rode in, he shook hands with John, and Alex saw him look from John to her with a knowing smile. Pink blazed across her throat. Was there anyone in this camp who hadn’t noticed the peculiar bond between herself and John McCallister?
Apparently not, she decided when Freddy came to the wagon to drop her plate into the wreck pan. Freddy slipped the vial of rose perfume into Alex’s apron pocket and smiled. “It appears you might be needing this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped, bearing down on the rag she rubbed briskly over her work space.
“It means I’m grateful that you didn’t judge and you haven’t asked any questions about Dal and me. It means that I want to repay your thoughtfulness by doing the same for you.”