But what was wrong with his left eye? Was it still bandaged? He lifted his hand, but she grasped it and pressed it down. “Don’t touch your wound. You risk infection.”
A man in a stained white coat blundered over, banging into the cot, sending a jolt of pain through Bowie. “Ah, he’s awake, is he? Move aside, nurse.”
A doctor. Bowie hurt so badly he could barely concentrate on the man’s words.
Lost the eye. Black powder burns. Lucky to be alive, but you’ll be disfigured.
Blinded, scarred, mutilated.
A scream bottled in his throat, anger, fear, panic. Sweat formed on his face and neck as he strained to come to grips with the doctor’s diagnosis.
No! Why hadn’t God just let him die there on the battlefield at Gettysburg? Cannons roared, men shouted, horses screamed, and bullets whistled as men fell all around him.
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t escape the pain ravaging his body.
Then her touch was there, cool and soothing.
“Bowie.”
The hospital receded, the sounds of battle growing faint.
“Bowie, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
He opened his eye. Elise cupped his cheek, her fingers brushing the hair away from his face. He gulped in a huge breath of jasmine and fresh air.
Her hand lowered to rest against his chest, his heart hammering as if trying to get out. The stage rocked and swayed.
“Are you all right?” Concern clouded her gentle brown eyes, just as it had in the Fort Slocum Hospital.
No one had touched him in years. He never allowed anyone to get that close.
“I am now.” He took another steadying breath, and for the first time in a decade felt comforted.
Elise followed Bowie up the steps of the house he called El Regalo, butterflies bombarding her stomach. The place looked like a castle, big, stone, with ironwork railings and many, many windows. She began to get a new perspective on the change in her circumstances.
Horses and buggies stood tied up out front.
“Did you tell your family we were coming home today?”
Bowie shook his head. “It’s Sunday. We all eat together on Sundays.”
Elise gripped her gloves, trying to hold on to her nerve. She had known she would have to meet Bowie’s family, but she hadn’t anticipated she would meet them all at once.
Opening the massive oak door, Bowie ushered her inside, dropping his saddlebags and her valise onto a bench in the foyer. The livery driver brought her new trunk up the steps and set it just inside the door.
She tried to take it all in, the high ceilings, the plaster medallions, the papered walls and shining woodwork.
And the sound of voices.
“This way.” Her husband held out his hand, and she swallowed hard as she placed her fingers in his. “They won’t eat you. They’re going to be glad, once they get over their surprise.”
She nodded and let him lead her into the dining room—the most sumptuous dining room she’d ever seen, with ornate carved wood and a coffered ceiling, and what surely had to be the longest table in Texas.
“Afternoon.”
Bowie’s voice made every head turn and every conversation stop. Elise gripped his hand as if holding on to a lifeline. He drew her into the circle of his arm, snugging her up against his side, and she looked up at him in surprise. Public displays of affection were not something he’d done before. Then she remembered how he’d asked her not to let anyone know theirs was a marriage of convenience.
The gray-haired man stood from the end of the table. “Bowie. Good to see you. Who’s that with you?”
“Pa, everyone, I’d like you to meet my wife. Elise, this is my family.”
For a long moment nobody moved or spoke. Mouths hung open, and forks remained half raised.
Then all at once, the room burst into action. Chairs scooted back, laughter rang out, and Elise and Bowie were surrounded. The men pounded Bowie on the back, and the ladies held out their hands in greeting. The knot in Elise’s middle eased some, even as Bowie’s grip on her waist tightened.
“Where have you been hiding her?” Hays—she thought it was Hays—asked Bowie.
“We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Aren’t you a sly one, keeping her under wraps?” Was that Chisholm?
“Welcome to the family.” A pretty young woman—Emma? It must be Emma since she was obviously in the family way—leaned in and kissed Elise on the cheek. “I’m sure you must be tired from your trip, and then to meet all of us all at once…” She didn’t have a Texas twang to her voice, but Elise couldn’t place the accent. Definitely a northerner, though, which made Elise feel better. At least she wasn’t the only Yankee in the family.
“Let me meet this young lady.” The gray-haired man parted the group, his mustache twitching. This must be GW, Bowie’s father. Elise found herself engulfed in his embrace and then stood away while he studied her. She held her breath, waiting for his verdict.