Daniel's Desire (6 page)

He tried to avoid touching Rosemarie as much as possible. Amelia had been designated to fetch and carry for her, but Daniel still found himself drawn to her room, even for just conversation. And a few times a day, he gathered her warm body into his arms and carried her to the kitchen for meals, or to the parlor for a change of scenery.

“I don’t understand why you have to carry me everywhere. Can’t you find a sturdy stick outside that I can use to walk with?”

Daniel smiled at the half-hearted attempt to keep her distance. The three children all asleep, he settled Rosemarie on the sofa, and then sat in the chair across from her. “Maybe in a day or so.”

“Tell me what the South is like.” Rosemarie shifted her bottom to settle in.

He tried not to think too much about how he’d like her wiggling that plump bottom like that on his lap. “In some ways very different from here, in other ways much the same.”

Her eyebrows rose. “A very confusing answer.”

He chuckled. “But a true one. We talk differently,” he grinned, “as I’m sure you’ve noticed. But both sides want the same things. Enough work to put food on the table. A comfortable home to come back to each evening — ,” he hesitated, “ — a wife, family, friends. All the pleasures of life.”

“They why are the North and South bent on killing each other?”

“If you ask me, downright foolishness. Washington wants to tell the states how to live and the Southern states rebelled. Oh sure, slavery was one of the issues, but not everyone in the South has, or wants, slaves.”

“Did you?”

Daniel shook his head. “My family owned a horse farm in Virginia. No need for the cheap labor slaves provide, and none of us could stomach ‘owning’ another human being.”

“So why are you toting a gun and shooting at my neighbors?”

“Times I wonder about that myself.”

Daniel gazed off into the distance, the sound of Rosemarie’s soft breaths in his ears. What if he just walked away from the war? He’d given four years to the Cause, and every instinct in him said the war was coming to an end. The South couldn’t hold out much longer. Low on supplies, no food, troops deserting. It didn’t look good.

He could stay here, take on a ready-made family. His gaze wandered to Rosemarie, also deep in thought. He took in her no-longer gaunt features, full lips, creamy skin. Aside from his physical attraction to her, he admired her strength, courage and convictions. Instead of sitting down and crying at the blow life had dealt her, she worked to keep her family fed and safe. He could do much worse with a life partner.

• • •

Late the next afternoon, after gathering onions, potatoes, and green beans from the storage cellar, Daniel dumped them onto the kitchen table. The chicken he’d killed lay alongside the vegetables, everything ready for someone to fix the meal. Daniel leaned against the sink, studying the items. Cooking for a family had never been one of his better skills. He’d managed to put together beans and rice for supper, as well as a potato and onion soup. The rabbit stew had been passable, but the kids clamored for fried chicken, and that was beyond him.

His head snapped up at the sound of a thud coming from the bedroom.

“What was that?” Chandler frowned from where he worked on sums his mother had assigned him.

“I don’t know,” Daniel shot over his shoulder as he strode down the hallway to Rosemarie’s bedroom.

She sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, her face stark white, eyes pinched closed in pain.

“What are you doing?” Daniel hunkered down alongside her.

“I have to get up and get some work done. I’m sick to death of lying in this bed.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

He sat back on his heels. “So you were attempting to climb out of bed and stroll down the hallway to the kitchen? Or maybe to the mudroom to do some washing? Or perhaps — ”

“Stop.” She opened her eyes, dark with anger. “I’m not stupid. I merely tried to sit on the edge of the bed and I slipped.” She blew out a puff of air, fluttering the silky curls resting on her forehead.

Daniel stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down at her. “If you really want to get up and help, maybe I can carry you to the kitchen, and you can do something with that food sitting on the table. They all mentioned fried chicken.”

She nodded and shifted. “Yes, their favorite. I can do that.”

He bent and scooped her in his arms, noting the wince as he settled her. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Her body slid against his, warm and smooth. Daniel broke into a sweat as the soft pillows of her breasts once again pressed against his chest. The female scent of her drifted to his nostrils, causing his stomach muscles to clench.

Obviously, he’d been without a woman too long. The problem was the woman he wanted could not be his.

He glanced down to see Rosemarie staring at him, chewing her lip. Her cheeks flushed, she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

Daniel settled her on a chair in front of the mound of vegetables. She clamped her lips and paled as she adjusted her leg.

After taking a deep breath, she turned to Chandler. “Can you bring my dressing gown from the bottom of my bed?”

“I’ll build up a fire in the stove. That will help to warm you.” Daniel headed to the back door.

“There isn’t much wood left.”

“There’s plenty,” he answered as the back door slammed.

He chided himself as he strode to the pile of wood he’d cut earlier. He didn’t like where his thoughts headed. In no time at all, the three Wilson children had crawled into his heart. Those feelings he could deal with, but his growing awareness of Rosemarie, and she of him, disturbed him. He had a duty to the Confederacy. He had a regiment to return to, a war to fight.

And in case you forgot, the Union Army is looking for you, too. You’d better ignore that sassy woman who smells so good, and whose body is so soft and warm. Do what you can to help, then leave.

Rosemarie blew out the breath she held. Why in heaven’s name did her heart pound when the Reb carried her to the kitchen just now? A man’s touch had never affected her that way before. Hans had taken her in the dark, pushing her nightgown up, groping for a bit, then shoving himself inside her. Never tender in his dealings with her or anyone else, she’d assumed his behavior to be true of all men.

Curtness had been her experience with her father, too. Franz Bergmann had barely tolerated his seven children. He’d sent Rosemarie off to work in Oliver P. Morton’s house when she was barely thirteen. Now governor of Indiana, Morton was then a well-known lawyer and former circuit judge. She’d spent two years there, doing laundry and cleaning until her father arrived one day to announce she was to be married. Two days later, he’d handed her to Hans. In payment of a debt. Papa got two horses and Hans got a wife less than half his age.

But the Reb’s touch had shaken her. The way he ran the cool cloth over her skin with gentle strokes to reduce her fever, how he ruffled Chandler’s hair, and looked Amelia in the eye when he dealt with her. He used his large hands to soothe and comfort.

She stopped her thoughts. No point in getting attached to him. The door slammed and Daniel carried in a stack of wood. She smiled. Apparently, he’d been busy with more than scrambling eggs for Amelia.

After stirring the embers of the stove, he shoved smaller pieces of wood in, then added two large logs. “This will warm things up for you.”

“If you will wash the beans, and then hand me the small knife from the top drawer, I’ll start fixing supper.” She shrugged into her dressing gown, wrapping it around her chilled body, and tied the belt securely.

Daniel quickly ran the vegetables under the water pump and set it before her. “Do you want me to remove the feathers from the chicken?”

Rosemarie looked at him in surprise. “I know how to pluck a bird.”

He pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “I’m sure you do. But I figure if we work together, it will go faster.” He shot her a bright smile and her blood heated.

Irritated by her reaction to Daniel, she took herself to task. Best to continue with her chores and remember he was a wanted man only passing through.

They worked side by side in silence for several minutes. His strong hands, dusted with brown hairs, drew her gaze as his fingers tugged on the feathers. What would those fingers feel like, running through her hair, sliding down her cheek? She shivered.

He frowned as he regarded her. “Are you still cold?”

“No. I’m fine.” She lowered her head and concentrated on her work.

What in heaven’s name was wrong with her, anyway? She laughed to herself at these wayward thoughts. Hadn’t she had enough of men?

Despite how hard life had been since Hans passed, the thought of marrying again, handing her life over to another husband, strengthened her resolve. In a few years, Chandler would be able to help her as much as any man could. No. She’d put up with gruffness from men all her life. Her father had sold her, her husband had used her, and men from the Confederate army stole just about everything she owned, and left her alone with three small children.

But this one’s different.

The front door banged shut, and Chandler stood before her, his eyes wide. “Ma, there’s a bunch of soldiers riding up.”

“Rebs?” she asked, her heart speeding up.

“No, ma’am. Yankees.”

Her gaze slid to Daniel, whose lips had tightened into a thin, white line.

Rosemarie chewed her lip, looked from her son to the Reb, then took a deep breath. “You must hide.”

With those three words, she sealed her fate. Despite her earlier decision, she would not turn Daniel in.

Not giving herself time to over-think her decision, she spoke to Chandler. “Go to the porch and tell the soldiers your mama is ill. Perhaps they’ll leave.” Rosemarie turned to Daniel. “In the mudroom is a small rug. Underneath is a trap door leading to a tunnel my husband dug years ago when Indian problems plagued the area. Hide in there.”

Daniel headed to the back of the house and Chandler raced for the front door.

“Wait,” Rosemarie shouted at Chandler. “Come back here for a minute.”

Her son returned to her side.

“Go cover the trapdoor with the rug once Mr. McCoy is down there. If the soldiers insist on coming into the house, go to the back bedroom, and stay there with Jace and Amelia. If they awake, keep them quiet, so as not to attract attention. Should they search the house, don’t let your brother and sister say anything about Mr. McCoy.”

Chandler nodded and hurried to the door.

Rosemarie placed her hand on her chest to still her thumping heart. Most likely the soldiers were hunting Daniel, but they could also be scouring the land for provisions for the army. She couldn’t afford to lose any more food.

She attempted to continue with the chicken, but the knife in her shaky hands nicked one of her fingers, dripping blood on the table. Quickly, she wrapped the wound in her apron just as a loud male voice drifted from the porch.

“Tell your ma to come to the door.”

Her flesh broke into goose bumps. The deep raspy voice sounded close enough to be in the next room. Had they already entered the house?

“Ma’s sick. She can’t walk real good.”

“It’s okay, Chandler. Let the soldier in.” No point in hiding in the kitchen. The soldiers would do whatever they wanted anyway.

A large man, dressed in a dusty Yankee uniform, removed his cap as he ducked his head and stepped into the kitchen. His full red beard and mustache made it appear as if his face was on fire. Icy blue eyes without a drop of softness stared at her. He slowly ran his gaze from her face to her leg, wrapped in pieces of petticoat and resting on a small stool.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am.” He moved closer, causing Rosemarie’s breathing to accelerate. Behind him the clatter of boot heels preceded the arrival of several soldiers who crowded in behind their leader. “I’d like to speak with your husband.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “My husband is dead.”

“Sorry to hear that.” He gave her a curt nod.

“What can I do for you, Sergeant?” She didn’t know his rank, but had to address him in some manner.

“It’s Captain, ma’am. Captain Nelson.” He stretched his lips — it could hardly be called a smile — and rested his hands on his hips.

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “What can I do for you, Captain Nelson?”

Without receiving an invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat. One soldier wandered around the kitchen, opening drawers, then pushed the curtain aside on the small window above the sink. Another stood behind the captain, leering at her.

Rosemarie tensed, and gulped at the bile that rose to the back of her throat. Her sweaty palm smoothed the loose hair from her face.

Dear God. Please keep Amelia and Jace asleep in their beds. If they awake, the sight of the soldiers will terrify them, and keeping them quiet will be difficult for Chandler.

“We’re looking for an escaped Rebel. Left Camp Morton ’bout a week ago. We have reason to believe he’s in the area, and dangerous.”

She stiffened her spine and sniffed. “Why are you bothering my family with this?”

“Well, ma’am, we’re thinkin’ for him to stay so well hidden, someone must be helpin’ him.”

“Someone could be helping him, if he were indeed in this area. Maybe you’re wrong and he’s long gone.”

Captain Nelson removed his hat, ran dirty fingers through his wiry hair, and replaced the cap. “We traced him this far, but it doesn’t appear he left the region.”

“Maybe he’s dead.”

“Maybe. And maybe not. Either way, nobody escapes when I’m in charge. I take it as a personal affront.” He stared in her eyes, not flinching, until she broke contact and picked up a vegetable. Noticing her shaking hands, she dropped it back onto the table.

“What happened to your leg?”

“I cut it while chopping wood.” She raised her chin. “The Rebs came through here and took everything we had, and shot my husband. He died of his injury a few days later.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am.” The captain tugged on the brim of his hat. “How you gettin’ around, and takin’ care of things with a cut leg?”