Wild Innocence (11 page)

Rachel's mouth fell open in shock. “I'm not keeping you a prisoner!”

Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw spoke. Black Hawk answered from his bed.

“What?” Rachel said with a hint of panic, as her gaze searched for a weapon on the old man. “What did he say?”

“He asks why you treat me like
abinoojiinh.”

Black Hawk nodded soberly. “A child.”

“I—” She felt tongue-tied. What could she say? Was it true? Was that how it seemed to him? “Do I treat you like a child?” she asked him, meeting his gaze.

He stared at her without answering.

“Do I?”

His eyes lit with laughter. “Black Hawk, eat your food. It is good for you. Black Hawk, it is time for bed. How will you get strong if you do not get your rest?”

She could feel herself flush. Then she saw his amusement. “He didn't say that, did he. You are having fun at my expense.”

Black Hawk frowned. “Do you not say these things to me? Did you not bathe me as a mother would bathe her child?”

“I—I'm trying to help you get well!” she exclaimed. Heat burned all the way down her neck.

“That is good to hear, Black Hawk. This woman cares for you to help you,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said in perfect, if accented, English.

Rachel gaped at him. “You speak English!” She glanced at Black Hawk. “He—”

Black Hawk nodded. “Yes,” he said. “My chief speaks your language. He has understood everything you said.”

Her jaw tightened with anger. “That's a mean trick!” she exclaimed.

The chief had the good grace to look uncomfortable, but not Black Hawk. He apparently had found the previous exchange vastly entertaining.

“You should not anger the one who feeds and bathes you, Black Hawk,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said.

Rachel narrowed her gaze and eyed him thoughtfully. “Your chief is right, Black Hawk. You shouldn't be mean to the one who cares for you nicely.”

Black Hawk stared at the woman, uncomfortable with the look that had suddenly entered her green eyes. “Have I not thanked you for my food? Do I not listen to you when you speak?”

She nodded, but her expression promised retribution. She spun on her heels and headed toward the door. “Supper will be in an hour,” she said breezily, as if their conversation and her anger had never occurred.

Watching her leave the room, Black Hawk got an uneasy feeling.

“You had best watch where you place your moccasins with that one,” Big-Cat-with-Broken-Paw said. “She didn't enjoy your little joke.”

“No,” Black Hawk said. He still stared at the doorway where she'd disappeared. “I do not think she did.”

“Ah, but she will soon forget her anger,” the chief said.

Black Hawk looked at him with surprise. “Why do you say this?”

The older man shrugged. “Women soon forget these things.”

As if Rachel Dempsey were an ordinary woman,
Black Hawk thought,
which she isn't.

“Now,” the chief said, “tell me how you are feeling, and if this white woman is treating you well.”

Black Hawk glared at the older man, and laughter erupted from the chief's throat.

The Ojibwa brave was kind, and he was patient—except with himself. Although Black Hawk was healing remarkably well, Rachel could sense frustration in him. She knew he was anxious to be gone. The inactivity of his recovery bothered him. Each day her father came into Black Hawk's room, checked the brave's injuries, and pronounced him healing. But John Dempsey still wasn't ready to discharge his patient.

Black Hawk was eating well again. Rachel was in the kitchen preparing the midday meal. She thought she would make the Ojibwa something special to cheer him up. She'd spent part of the morning baking finger-cakes. The mouth-watering scent of baking cake filled the entire infirmary building. She had made sandwiches from the bread she'd baked yesterday and some homemade jam that Amelia had given her. She set the sandwiches and a cup of tea along with two finger-cakes on a tray and carried it toward Black Hawk's room.

She heard a thump followed by a groan as she approached the doorway. Concerned, she hurried inside and saw that Black Hawk had fallen beside his bed. She hastened to put down the tray so she could help him.

“Black Hawk! Are you all right?”

He was struggling to get up as she hunkered beside him and slipped her arm around his waist. Her spine tingled as her arm brushed against his skin.

“Black Hawk?” she asked when he didn't answer.

He looked at her. His breathing was labored; his effort to get up had exhausted him. “I am all right.”

“What happened?”

“I tried to get up and felt weak.”

“You should have called me.”

“I needed to relieve myself.”

She blushed. Her father had handled that matter with Black Hawk. He must have felt uncomfortable asking her for help.

“Shall I get you the chamber pot?” she queried. Warmth filled her cheeks.

“I wish to use the outhouse.”

She helped him into the bed, conscious of his nearness, his weight, and his scent, and studied him. “You'll never make it. I'm sorry.” She stood awkwardly, wondering what to do. “Shall I call my father?”

Scowling with frustration, he nodded.

“I'll be right back.” With the sharp image of his expression firmly implanted in her mind, she escaped gratefully to find her father. She searched several places, and finally found him with Allen Whitely in the good Reverend's kitchen. After asking to speak with her father alone, she explained the situation. John Dempsey excused himself to Reverend Whitely and returned with Rachel to the infirmary.

“I'll wait in the kitchen,” she said. “When you're done, I've made some sandwiches for us.”

The doctor nodded and went to help his patient.

A short time later, John Dempsey appeared in the kitchen, looking for a sandwich.

“Did he eat?” Rachel asked her father.

“He was eating when I left,” he said.

“He wants to go home, Father.”

John frowned. “I know. I've asked him to stay for two more days.”

Two more days?
It would seem strange when Black Hawk left. He'd been with them a week. She thought she might actually miss him.

“There's cake when you're done,” she said.

Her father's eyes lit up.

“I'll see if our patient wants anything else to eat,” Rachel added. Then, she headed back to the room, and saw that Black Hawk had eaten and now slept. She took the empty plate and tray, and silently left the room.

 

 

She dreamt of Jordan, then woke up in the middle of the night and started to cry. It had been some time since she'd wept for him. She thought she had gotten over him completely, but then when she least expected it the memory of him would surface, making her long for him all over again.

The dream had been wonderful. It had mirrored some of their happiest times together. They had picnicked in the country, away from their family and friends, just the two of them with a basket of wonderful food, a blanket, and their love for one another. In her dream they had eaten, and then Jordan had stretched out on the blanket with his head in her lap. Gazing up at her with hungry eyes, he had talked of their future together, the house they would live in, and the children they would have. Then, they were silent for a time, while Rachel played with Jordan's hair and listened to the hum of insects while enjoying the warm, spring sunshine. After a while, Jordan opened his eyes, looked at her, and then drew her head downward for a kiss.

Rachel's heart raced just to remember that dream and the effect of his kiss. She had been so happy ... until she had awoken to reality.

It had taken her a while to go back to sleep after that. She had trouble rising that morning, and had to force herself from her bed to tend her patient. Fortunately, Black Hawk no longer needed all-night care. Rachel tugged on her chemise and gown, then dragged herself wearily into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

“Good morning.” John Dempsey entered the kitchen with a cheerful smile.

“Morning, Father,” she murmured as she measured the ingredients for porridge.

“You look tired, daughter,” he said. “Didn't you sleep well?”

Glancing at him, she shook her head. “I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep.”

He didn't comment as he went to the pantry and pulled out a loaf of bread. He sliced off a large crusty piece and reached for Amelia's jam.

“Maybe you should go back to bed for a spell,” her father suggested.

Rachel looked at him with surprise. “What about Black Hawk?”

John brushed her concern aside. “I'm going to release him today.”

And Rachel's spirits plummeted lower.

When she carried in the Ojibwa brave's breakfast, Black Hawk was sitting up in bed. His chest was bare. The bedcover draped his lower half; the contrast of white against his darker skin drew Rachel's attention briefly to his waist. She flushed and met his gaze.

“Good morning,” she said without much cheer.

She could feel his eyes on her as she set the tray across his lap. The warmth of him reached out to her as she adjusted the tray, then straightened.

Uncomfortable with his gaze, she began to babble. “I made porridge. I hope you like it. I tried something new. I sweetened it with Amelia's jam. And I made you tea as well. You seemed to like tea so I thought you'd enjoy it for breakfast. If there is anything else you'd rather have, just let me know and I'll be happy to get it for you—”

She paused when he touched her arm. “What is wrong?” he asked softly.

She quickly turned away to hide her tears. “Nothing.”

He was silent for so long that she finally looked back. She expected to find him eating his breakfast, but he hadn't touched a bite of food. He sat, staring at her, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Rachel wanted to escape from the room. “I have some chores to do,” she said, and was relieved when he didn't try to stop her. Black Hawk affected her in a way she didn't want to be affected. Jordan had hurt her; the pain of his betrayal was still raw. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to this Indian.

She went into the surgery and began the task of checking her father's instruments. She made a list of supplies that were needed. Since Black Hawk had come to stay, her father had seen only a dozen patients, all for minor cuts, scrapes, and burns. Rachel wanted to ensure that all would be ready for the seriously injured patient like Black Hawk.

She worked hard to scrub down her father's work area. Time passed quickly as her thoughts returned to her dream. She scrubbed more briskly as she fought self-pity. Tears blurred her eyes, so that every so often she had to stop and dash them away with her hand to see.

Rachel didn't pause in her work when she heard someone enter the surgery from the back rooms. It would be her father come in to get his notes, which he would take back to their small parlor to review. There, he would jot down information about yesterday's patients. Later, after he was done, he would leave the infirmary to visit and check on some of his recovering patients.

Rachel didn't glance at her father as she continued to clean the room. John Dempsey didn't immediately go to his cabinet, as he usually did. She didn't give it any thought, for sometimes the doctor checked on the contents of his medical bag first.

She wiped down the table by the examining bed, then moved to the medicine cabinet and unlocked each compartment. As she looked into the hutch door glass, she stared at her reflection and wondered why Jordan had abandoned her for an older woman. Had it just been for the money? If so, why had Jordan pursued her so persistently in the first place?

She sniffed as she pulled out a new length of white linen fabric and began to cut it into approximately six-inch strips.

A hand settled on her shoulder. Rachel gasped and spun.

“Black Hawk!”

He gazed at her with obsidian eyes filled with compassion.

She blinked as she looked back at him. The warmth and concern in his expression were her undoing. With a soft sob, she flowed into his embrace and began to weep quietly against his breast. She felt his arms close and tighten around her, his hand on her hair. Then she heard his soothing voice murmuring to her in Ojibwa. And she was comforted by him.

Several minutes passed; Rachel didn't know how many. She liked being in Black Hawk's arms, but she wondered what her father would think if he saw them together. Her parent didn't know about Jordan. He would see the Indian and assume the wrong thing. She knew she should pull away from Black Hawk, but she didn't have the desire to leave him.

He seemed in no hurry to let her go either. She had spent little time in his room that morning. How had he sensed the depth of her pain?

As thoughts of Jordan left her, she became conscious of everything about the man who held her ... the warm, smoothness of his bare, muscled chest ... the strength of his embrace and the gentleness of his hand in her hair. He had put on his loincloth, and she was aware of the heat of his maleness against her lower abdomen.

She closed her eyes, enjoying his scent, the nearness of him. She knew she should step away, but it just felt too good to be held in this man's arms.

“Rach-el,” he whispered.

She looked up, and the gleam in his eyes warmed her.

“You are all right now?”

She nodded, unable to glance away. Her gaze fell to his mouth, and she had the strongest desire to kiss him. When their gazes locked, passion flared in his dark eyes, the sight of it making Rachel weak in the knees.

Black Hawk studied the woman he held in his arms, and he wanted her with an intensity that surprised him. He had come to say good-bye. The doctor had finally released him. Suddenly, he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay here with Rachel. He wanted to lie with her and show her the pleasures of the sleeping mat. His mouth went dry as he gazed at her. The look in her green eyes heated his blood, and he tightened his hold on her.

“Rach-el,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her. To his pleasant surprise, she gave herself up to his kiss. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted sweet. He felt her hands slip to his shoulders and cling.

His heart pounded within his chest as he trailed a path of moist kisses to her ear, then back to her wonderful mouth. He released her waist to cup her face with his hands; then he deepened the kiss, delving past her lips to taste her tongue.

He heard her gasp, felt her stiffen; then she shivered with desire as her tongue dueled and mated with his own.

“Black Hawk,” she moaned when he lifted his head to study her. Her eyes remained closed, her lashes forming dark feathery crescents against her smooth, white cheeks. He slid his fingers into her hair, gently cupping her behind her ears. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him with green orbs hazy with passion.

With a groan, Black Hawk kissed her again, before he released her and stepped back. “I have come to say good-bye,” he said huskily.

Rachel felt a wave of pain. “My father released you.” She turned away. “You must be happy that you'll be reunited with your people.”

He stepped closer to her and settled his hand on her shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. “There is no one there like you,” he admitted, then silently scolded himself for those words when she spun to gaze up at him. He felt himself mesmerized by the vivid green of her eyes. He didn't want to feel anything for her, but he was helpless to fight it when she looked at him that way. “You are good with your patients,” he said.

Disappointment clouded her forest-green eyes. “Yes, well, I am learning,” she said, averting her gaze once again. “My sister helped Father in Baltimore. I never wanted to help.”

“You must come to visit my village. You will like Spring Blossom.”

“Spring Blossom?”

“My sister.”

Rachel was relieved. She was afraid that Spring Blossom was Black Hawk's woman. Did he have one? she wondered. Not that it was any of her concern. They were from different cultures, and she had vowed not to have anything to do with men.

“There is no one,” he said, as if reading her mind.

She released a shaky breath. “I didn't ask.”

His eyes gleamed. “There is no one,” he repeated. “I have no time for a mate.”

Rachel blushed. “I'm sorry.” What else could she say? That she was glad that he had no wife? How could she say anything without giving him the wrong idea?