Healing Hearts (Easton Series #2) (6 page)

Chapter 6

  
H
e
cried out in the night.

  
Hannah bolted up in the bed.
Was it an animal howling outside her window?

  
Then a deep voice shouted out a
slurring, rapid-fire bark. The words weren’t decipherable, but the tone was
clearly fearful. A warning.

  
Oh my God
, she thought,
the house
must be on fire!
Struggling to force the past back into the recesses of her
mind, Hannah threw off the covers, shoved her bare feet into her shoes, and
flew down the stairs, guided by the light of a half-moon shining through the
windows.

  
She made her way to the kitchen.
Thank goodness she didn’t smell smoke or see anything ablaze. Yet, as one
apprehension melted away, another, nearly as terrifying, reached out to assault
her. Rutherford was shaking and coughing atop the small cot, his night terror
permeating the air. Hannah mustered every muscle and bone she possessed to
suppress the instinct to flee from a wild man in the dark.

  
His arms had thrown off the
blankets, and now they flailed like two windmills. “Get down! Sharpshooters!” He
struck her soundly across the cheek as she leaned down to calm him.

  
The blow threw Hannah to the hard floor.
Shuddering, she pulled herself up and pressed her hands into fists. Next time
he smacked her she’d fight back.

  
“Doctor, you’re having a
nightmare,” she shouted over his ranting. Bent over the cot once more, she
ignored the pain stabbing the left side of her face.

  
Jed seized her before she could
jump away from the bedside. He wrapped his sure fingers round her upper arms
and pulled her close, into his tight embrace. “Play dead,” he choked.

  
His words churned in her gut. She
had to lead him away from his demons. “Yes, I understand, sir. They’re gone
now. The enemy is retreating.”

  
“Don’t take the grays lightly,
corporal! Skirmishers will get you easy from a hundred yards.”

 
  
His grip on her arms was solid,
determined. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

  
“True enough, sir, but we’re safe
behind this rock.
 
Oh look, sir! Our
scout is here with a report. They’ve retreated. This area is clearing!”

  
“Good, good. Morphine,” he
mumbled.

  
“We have enough, sir.”

  
Jed’s grasp on her arms eased, and
Hannah pulled away from hiss madness. He was whispering, and she could no
longer make out his words, only the tone of his voice. He was soaked in sweat,
and his breathing was labored.

  
“Calm yourself, sir. You’re safe
here.” She ran her fingers through his hair, touching his scalp. Her nervous
hands searched out a dishtowel on the table, and she wiped his brow.

  
Jed extended a clammy arm. “Hold
my hand.”

  
She wrapped her fingers firmly,
trying not to think about how the warmth of his hand travelled up her arm and
settled in a place dangerously close to her heart.

  
He needed distraction. She hummed
a soft lullaby from her childhood, one she sang to sick children.

  
Jed calmed, and she felt him
peering at her in the dark. After a few minutes he spoke.

  
“I’m fine. Go back to bed, Hannah.”
He slipped his hand from hers and rolled to face the wall.

  
“You sure?”

  
“Yes.” His voice was a dull thud.

  
“All right. Good night, sir.”

  
Hannah slipped from him, climbed
the stairs, and tried to sleep. After frustrating minutes of fitful tossing and
turning she rose and dressed. Her face hurt and her mind was spinning as she
processed what she’d seen and heard. Lighting a lantern, she crossed to the
large bureau and opened the bottom drawer. She’d seen the journal many times, while
arranging her clothes in the drawers, but she’d let it lie.

 
 
Until now. Now, she needed to know. Knowledge was the key to treating
the whole patient, wasn’t it?

  
Her lithe fingers opened his
medical journal, and her eyes filled with somber notes about cases he’d seen
during the war. Symptoms, treatments, and results were listed under patient
names. Fascinating and informative, Hannah couldn’t put the book down. Reading
between the lines of his observations, she found Jed’s fear and frustration.
Scurvy. We have not fresh vegetables,
read one shaky entry. Another day’s account was so terrible and shattering she
had to skip over details. A man Jed had treated survived the amputation of his
legs, only to die two weeks later of pneumonia, and within sight of his
childhood home.

  
Hannah skimmed, reading between
the lines, to find what she was seeking: hints of Jed’s own illness, his
depression and experimentation with drugs. He was there, listed as “Patient X”,
along with a history of night terrors, sweats, and his pursuit of a remedy. He
used whiskey, ether, opiates. Hannah rushed through the pages to find further
references to “X”. It seemed he’d treated the symptoms, but the disease wore on
in spite of his best efforts
. Not sure
I’ll make it back to Mariah
, he scrawled in a margin,
I’m living in hell on earth.

  
The scribbles ripped at
Hannah’s heart.

  
She put the journal away when
tears began to blur the anguished words. She understood the horrors that never
leave a person. It would take a long time for him to heal, as it had for her.

 
  
In this strange new place one
thing was now clear: Dr. Cole had neglected to tell her about her most
challenging case.

Chapter 7

  
M
orning brought the
bitterness of harsh reality, and J
ed felt like he’d walked fifty miles between dusk and dawn. Clouds
of melancholy floated in his coffee cup, and his despair brewed. Another man
would have disappeared into the darkness, but he reckoned he’d be rid of this
woman soon enough.

  
Not
a word passed between them until Hannah settled the stack of pancakes on the
table. “More coffee?”

  
“I’m
fine, thanks.”

  
He
glanced up and swallowed. A purple bruise spread across her ivory cheekbone.
Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she’d been crying.

  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Now you understand why I needed a male
partner?” He thrust a hand through his dark hair. He wanted her to leave him to
his personal hell, as he had no right to claim the affection and companionship of
a woman. Not Hannah, not anyone. The last thing he needed was a female to
arouse his lust and rekindle dreams long since set aside. God hadn’t made a
woman strong enough to bond with a broken soldier. Yet here she was, pretty and
intelligent and useful, and she worked without complaint. Making matters worse,
he’d just received a letter from his mother, in which she described Mariah’s
recent marriage. Pain had slashed through him upon reading the news. Somewhere
back east, Mariah was lying in the arms of another man.
Damnation.

  
Hannah’s
mouth tightened into a hard line as she scurried to take her place in the chair
across from him.

 
 
“Sir, you needn’t worry about my discretion. And, as a doctor I judge
none for the infirmities of war or nature.”

  
“Of course, of course. You took an
oath.”

  
“As did you, sir.”

  
She slid butter across the cakes
she’d forked onto her plate. “And I’m not prone to pity, as I never wanted it
for myself.”

  
He arched one dark eyebrow. “Why
would you invoke pity in anyone?”

  
“Um, well, being a woman doctor
isn’t easy, for one thing.” She pushed a stray wisp of her soft, thick hair
behind an ear.

  
“Have you gotten anything but
respect here?”

  
She shrugged one shoulder and
dodged his question. “Have you ever had a sweetheart?”

  
He was taken aback. “That’s no
concern of yours.”

  
“If you had a special someone or
something, and then lost her, well, you’d understand me.” She bit off the end
of a sausage. “I think you loved someone once.” Her gray eyes misted and rolled
over his face like satin as she chewed.

  
His neck felt hot. He didn’t know
what possessed him, but he reached across the table and touched her hand. “I’m
sorry. You lost your man in the war?”

  
Her eyes fell down to her food.
She set down her knife and fork and wiped her eyes.

  
“No.” She paused. “I lost my beau
to my younger sister. My parents said she was better suited for marriage. They
were right, of course, but --”

  
“What?” Jed’s jaw dropped, and he
wondered, what kind of parents dismissed a sweet daughter’s dreams like so much
chaff blown into the wind?
 
He
clenched his hands and fumed.

   
She stared over his shoulder.
“I still have the chance to share a dream. Don’t you see?
 
I can’t be a wife, but this life is about
doing good work. It’s about clobbering disease and suffering. We have our
flaws, but we save lives. We bring life. We give people dignity in death.”

  
Jed was finding it difficult to
speak past the lump forming in his throat. “You can do this work elsewhere.”

  
“True enough, and I expect I will
after Nelda Rose has her baby.” She frowned and pushed the edge of her fork
through the cakes. “I like the people here. Very much.” She stabbed her food.
“But my father wants me to go back home. He has a position for me there.”

  
“Good. It will all work out.”

  
“No, it won’t. I can’t go back. My
sister lives there . . . with him.”

  
“Ah.” So she still had feelings for
her lost sweetheart. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it didn’t sit well. Truth
to tell, Jed’s breakfast felt like raw dough rising in his stomach.

  
“There are always other posts.”

  
“I suppose.”

  
Jed’s stare lingered at her
tempting lips for a moment, and he pushed away from the table. “I’m making
rounds, starting at the Mineral Creek Ranch today,” he said in a rough voice he
barely recognized as his own. “Of course, you’re welcome to come along to
assist.”

  
She didn’t disappoint. “Oh, I’d
like that very much.”

  
Jed rose, his shoulders relaxed.
“I’ll hitch up the buggy.”

*
             
*
             
*

  
The morning sun caressed, and a
light breeze blew under the carriage top as they rode to the Easton ranch. Jed
moved the reins from his right hand to his left, and he glanced sideways at
Hannah. The tip of her nose rode in front of her bonnet. He wished he could see
her eyes.

  
Jed settled back against the bench
seat, resisting the urge to prod conversation. He’d avoided her gaze as they’d
climbed into the worn rig, but now he longed to hear her sweet voice. It
wouldn’t be right to seek solace from her direction, but he couldn’t stop
thinking about the peace a man might find in her arms.

  
Aw, hell.

  
“Stop here, please.”

  
Her sudden request startled from
his reverie.

  
Jed halted the horses, and before
he could step around to give her a hand down, she was out of the buggy and
running into a sea of grass.

  
“Look out for snakes!”

  
She didn’t hear him. Stopping in a
small clearing, she scoured the ground with her eyes. Jed strode across the
hardpan and stood at her side. Refusing to acknowledge his presence, she turned
away from him and glared at an old barn foundation just a few feet away.

  
“You seem angry,” Jed tried, “you
don’t have to talk to me, but it might help,” he added. “You know this place?”

  
“Yes.” Her shoulders were shaking.
She sniffed and pulled a hand across her eyes.

  
“Ah.”

  
Jed wracked his brain. They were
on the edge of the Easton spread, but he knew little of the property’s history.
Chandler had mentioned a fire when they’d driven by once, but that was long
before he’d come to town. He made a mental note to ask one of the Easton
brothers about it.

  
Hannah turned around, but not
before he took his fill of her gray eyes. Within those depths he read anger and
grief.

  
“I’m sorry for your pain,” he bit
off hoarsely.

  
“It’s just a ghost,” she whispered.
“It looks like a place I knew once.”

  
Jed pushed back his duster as he
set his hands on his hips. “Memories are powerful drugs.”

  
She lowered her eyes and
impulsively rushed back toward the carriage.

  
“Oh!”

  
He saw her dip into a rut and
stumble.

  
Jed hurried to catch her as she
fell, and, despite her protests, he carried her to the safety of the carriage.
She was light in his arms, and she smelled unexpectedly sweet, like a bouquet
of wildflowers. “What happened?”

  
“My foot hit something and tripped
me up.” She smiled through her pain.

  
Gingerly he set her on the seat
and leaned over her.

  
“I’ll take a look at it,” he
stated as he tore off his duster and hat.

  
She froze like a frightened deer.
“I think it’s ok. I didn’t hurt myself, just threw a shoe is all.”

  
“It’s not ok, and in case you
hadn’t noticed, I’m a doctor.”

  
Before she could protest any further
Jed leaned down and removed her boot. He rolled down the sock and examined her
slender foot and toes.

  
“You didn’t break any,” he
observed, running his hand along smooth, white skin. “Nothing’s bleeding. Let’s
check your ankle and leg.” His mouth was pulled taut.

  
She jerked away and pulled at her
skirt, working against his movements. “No, no I’m fine. It’s fine. It was only the
foot.” Color crept up her high cheekbones.

  
“You sure? I’m a doctor. You don’t
have to hide anything from me. I’ve seen female parts before,” he chided. Her
chestnut tresses had loosened from their pins, and now they fell across her
face. He felt a strong urge to touch the soft hair, to brush it back. She was a
typical doctor, he thought, used to helping others but not accepting it.

  
“Let’s move on. I’m not going to
die today. I promise.” She forced a smile.

  
“You know I’d look bad if you did
that.”

  
She drew her brows together. “Please,
put my boot on.”

  
He slipped a finger under her chin
and tilted her head back until her gaze met his. “You could teach stubborn to
Roy Easton’s mules, Doctor Sutton. They’ve got nothing on you.”

 
 
The grim lines around his mouth tightened as he gently slid her foot
back into the leather and hooked the buttons. He brushed a hand across her
cheek before settling himself beside her on the seat. He wasn’t sure why he’d
touched her, but the thought of her suffering from a childhood trauma caused a
hard, worrisome knot to settle deep in his chest. He had questions he wanted to
ask, and yet he couldn’t give himself the luxury of knowing her further. Discovering
her inner self was a pleasure reserved for another man.
 
Getting close to a woman, any woman, was
wrong for him.