Chapter Three
Bowie hadn’t foreseen this turn of events.
The stage was so full that when he and Elise went to board, there was only one spot left. He had no choice but to take the seat and hold Elise on his lap. Stonewall took up most of the floor space between the passengers’ feet, and Bowie anchored his rifle between his leg and the side of the coach.
Elise perched on his knee, and he put his arms around her waist as the stage jolted and moved forward. She jerked against his chest and then sat up, stiff as ironwood, her cheeks rosy.
“It’s a long ride. You should try to relax.” He whispered against her ear, marveling at the glossy texture of her hair, her delicate profile, and how smooth and fine her skin was.
She kept her eyes down, studying her hands. The five other men in the stage stared at her, and Bowie gave them each a hard look, reminding them of their manners. They looked out the windows and at the floor, and slowly Elise softened against him.
Before too many miles had passed, she laid her head on his shoulder, all but melting into him as she fell asleep. All those nights on the train when he’d waited until she was asleep before entering their compartment and taking up his spot on the bench to watch over her hadn’t prepared him for this. Bowie savored the feel of her in his arms. He’d never held a woman like this, never been this close to one. He’d watched his brothers as one after another they met their wives, fell in love, and became a world of two.
And he’d never thought it would happen to him.
That brought him to his senses. He wasn’t in love, and he and Elise would never have that kind of relationship. They were married, yes, but only on paper. Theirs was a mutually-beneficial arrangement, nothing more. She had married him because she wanted a way out of her dead-end life, and he’d married her to get his inheritance. Love didn’t come into the equation.
He couldn’t resist rubbing his bewhiskered chin against the top of her head, inhaling her scent. Jasmine.
She must’ve purchased some jasmine soap at the emporium. Along with some mighty pretty clothes. He hadn’t thought to wonder what she’d bought specifically, merely settling the bill when she was done and toting the packages back to the hotel. When Bowie had come to her room this morning, she’d about taken his breath away, she looked so beautiful. He breathed in the jasmine once more, feeling sleep tugging at his eyes. He would be glad to get home…
The pain had been unbearable. White-hot, searing agony from his collarbone to his hairline. He remembered nothing from the moment the caisson he’d been crouching behind as he reloaded his pistol had exploded, throwing him down the hill toward the enemy lines, until the hospital orderlies dropped his litter on the floor of the makeshift prisoner’s hospital at Fort Slocum.
For days he’d been in and out of consciousness, lying first on the battlefield, and then transported with the other wounded prisoners to area hospitals. He gripped the litter poles, gritting his teeth against the agony in his face and neck.
The scent of jasmine drifted toward him, delicate and elusive. After months of smoke and blood and horses and men, it was the first pleasant aroma, and he drew it in like a hungry man.
“Shhh, easy there, Captain.” A woman’s voice. He opened his eyes … at least he tried to … but he could see nothing. Panic clawed through his chest, making him gasp.
“My eyes!” Moving his lips at all sent another cascade of pain through him.
“Shhh.” Her hand rested on his right shoulder, pressing gently. “You’re safe in a hospital, soldier. I’ll take care of you. Your eyes are bandaged for now. Just rest.”
Her voice sounded low and sweet, the nicest thing he’d heard in months. A spoon pressed to his mouth, and he swallowed the laudanum.
“Who are you?” his voice rasped.
“My name is Miss Rivers. Elise. Sleep now. I’ll watch over you.”
When next he awoke, the pain was more bearable, that is, until she began to remove the bandages. As much as he wanted that, wanted to be able to see her face, to see anything, the pulling of the encrusted bandages awoke the searing agony once more.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Cool water touched his skin, soaking through the wrappings. “I brought you a salve that my mama used to make up for burns. It will help, I promise.”
Then she removed the last bandage, and he could see her face. Blurry at first, then coming into focus.
Lots of curly, brown hair, and light brown eyes, sweetly curving cheeks, and a pink mouth. As beautiful as she was kind. She wore an encouraging smile, and he decided his wounds couldn’t look as bad as they felt, not if she wasn’t shocked and repulsed.