Kary, Elizabeth (28 page)

"I'll
see to Miss Pennington," Hayes offered quickly, and Forman had turned to
follow the others before Leigh had a chance to object.

"I
don't want you 'seeing to Miss Pennington,' " she stated furiously as she
watched the rest depart. "I didn't ever want to see you again!"

"Hush,
Leigh, we have things to discuss," Hayes whispered, "and besides,
when I met your father the other day in the street, he gave me permission to
escort you home this evening.'

"You
seem to have this entire venture very well planned," she accused angrily.

"I
won't deny that I wanted to see you, and I was pleased by the way things fell
together." His voice was calm and even.

"Well,
I don't appreciate your ordering my life for me, Hayes Banister. I told you
before I no longer welcomed your company, and I meant it! How you have the
unmitigated gall to force yourself on me, to request that I be included in this
project simply because—"

"Simply
because these ideas were originally yours? Because you've nursed long enough to
understand what's needed to make a venture like this succeed?"

"Simply
because you wanted me here for your own nefarious purposes!" Leigh
accused.

Hayes
seemed determined to remain unruffled by her accusations and to see beyond her
anger. Taking in the disillusionment in her eyes, he realized that her tension
was based in something deeper than he had supposed. "What's really
bothering you, Leigh?" he asked softly.

His
perceptiveness unnerved Leigh, and color rose in her cheeks. "Whatever do
you mean?"

"You're
more upset by this than you should be. What's really the matter? Is it your
parents?"

A
spasm of misery twisted through Leigh. For months Hayes had been her confidant
and friend, and she missed the closeness they had shared. He had been the only
one who understood how the hostility in the house on Locust Street affected
her. He had shared the joys and sorrows of her days at the hospital and kept
her safe from Aaron Crawford's advances. For so long she had accepted his
friendship and strength, offering in return companionship and laughter to
banish his loneliness.

For
both their sakes, she longed to resume the warm relationship that had developed
between them. She needed a friend so much right now, and she knew Hayes would
not have gone to such trouble to approach her if he was happy as things were.
But she could not help but wonder at his reasons for seeking her out. Was he
merely concerned about the ramifications of what had happened that afternoon on
the
Barbara Dean,
or did he miss her as much as she did him? With all
her heart she wished that her friendship with Hayes was still intact, but it
was not. In the depths of her grief for Lucas, she had asked Hayes to make love
to her, and that had ruined everything.

"Leigh,
please tell me why you're angry?" Hayes's voice was soft, gentle, and
beguiling, playing on weaknesses he knew she possessed.

With
a frown of resignation, she gave him her answer, masking her regret and
disappointment with difficulty. "I thought I was being asked to help with
this project because of the good I've been able to do at the hospital, because
someone valued my opinion as a nurse. But as it turns out, I'm only here
because you wanted me to be."

Hayes
nodded in understanding, and with a finger beneath her chin, turned her face to
his. "You're here because you deserve to be," he told her.
"Months ago you had the inspiration for a ship like this, and it only
seemed right that you should see your idea come to fruition. I admit I asked
that you be included in the committee, but it was because you have been a part
of this from the start, not for any other reason."

Standing
in the graying twilight with the last apricot rays of the setting sun playing
across his features, Hayes seemed so honest and sincere. Was he telling the
truth? Could she afford to believe him?

Before
she could make up her mind, Leigh became intensely aware of Hayes: of the
strength of his hand beneath her chin, of the clean citrus scent that was so
much a part of him, of the warmth that emanated from his body in the unheated
salon. He was the man who had made her a woman, and, standing only inches from
him now, she remembered everything that had passed between them in the name of
passion. Sensations stirred across her palms, and she clenched her fingers into
fists in mute denial of her desire to touch him.

"I
thought you wanted to see me home," she whispered, determined to ignore
the feelings sweeping through her.

"I
do"—he spoke slowly, as if he did not want this moment to pass—"but
first I need the answer to one question."

It
was obvious what he wanted to know. Leigh turned away to stare out across the
levee, determined that he would not sense her thoughts. "Yes, what is
it?"

She
heard him draw a long breath before he put his question into words. "Is
there any reason for you to change your mind about marrying me?"

She
tried to analyze his voice, to read the feelings reflected by the inflection
and timbre. There was concern and tenderness overlaid with something she could
not identify. "No, I'm not going to have your child, so you won't be bound
to me on that account."

Hayes
drew another long breath, and she turned her
head to look up at him. His pale,
blue-gray eyes were stark and impenetrable, and she was surprised by his
expression. He should be relieved that he wasn't going to be forced to take her
to the altar. He should be as glad as she that there was no reason to spend
their lives together. Surely he hadn't wanted to marry her, had he? For an
instant it seemed that another question was poised on his lips, but with a
frown he quelled whatever it was he had been about to say.

They
stood for an eon without speaking: Leigh with her heart beating high in her
throat, totally aware of the danger of being alone with him, and Hayes seeking
God knew what in her face.

Finally,
Leigh forced herself to break the silence. "Isn't it time you took me
home?"

Hayes
shrugged and turned away. "I only need to gather up my drawings," he
mumbled.

Leigh
watched him roll the papers into cylinders, then slide them into narrow tubes.
"The plans for the hospital ship were wonderful," she admitted softly
after a minute. "They were just as I had pictured it myself."

At
her words of praise, Hayes glanced up with surprise and pleasure. Light shone
in his eyes and warmth softened his hard features.

"Leigh,
I—" he began, but Leigh cut him short. She wanted so much more from this
man than her conscience would let her accept.

"Please
take me home, Hayes, just as you promised. Please take me home and let that be
an end to it." With a clatter of shoes on the decking, Leigh hurried
toward the door.

Hayes
was too powerful, too determined, too tempting, too close to being
irresistible, Leigh acknowledged as she fled the intimacy of the deserted
salon. Already she had betrayed Lucas with him once, and she could not let that
happen again. The night she had learned of Lucas's death she had made three vows
to appease her conscience: to devote herself exclusively to the care of the
wounded, to show compassion to Rebel and Yankee alike, and never again to give
herself to Hayes Banister. She had made the promises in the depths of grief and
guilt, knowing they were the only way to atone for what she'd done. She had
betrayed Lucas with another man, betrayed his loyalty and his love, and never
could she forgive herself that transgression.

But
in the days since then she had discovered another reason for keeping her
distance: she missed Hayes with a compelling physical ache that had nothing to
do with her love for Lucas Hale. She had liked Hayes's touch and the sensations
of his hands and mouth upon her body, reveled in the intense, intimate pleasure
of his long-limbed form against her own. Her awareness of these new, unexpected
sensations set off a whole series of doubts within her. She knew far better
than most the price that could be extracted for succumbing to the lure of
insidious sensation, and for both their sakes it was imperative that she
maintain her distance from the man who had awakened her desire.

Leigh
had reached the gangway when Hayes caught up to her. "Is that really the
way you want it?" he demanded, hauling her roughly to a stop. "Do you
really want me out of your life for good?" In the dusk his face seemed
stern and remote, but once again there was something piercing and unfathomable
in the depths of his eyes. "Don't you ever want to see me again?"

Leigh
stared at him a moment, realizing what an affirmative answer might mean. It
meant that she was ending a friendship that had offered her warmth and
security, denying a bond that had been between them from the start. It meant
that she was turning from a man who had taught her all she knew of passion. As
difficult as it was, in her heart Leigh knew what she must say.

"Please
find me a carriage, Hayes." Her voice was soft and low. "And then
let's say good-bye."

***

March 26, 1862—Near Corinth, Mississippi

Hayes
Banister lay in the gully at the edge of the road, sighting down the barrel of
his pistol at the four Confederate cavalrymen talking with Nathan Travis. Even
from the distance their butternut uniforms looked torn and
faded, and he
could see the boots they wore were Union, not Confederate, Army issue.

Travis,
dressed in farmer's garb, gestured down the road, and by his tone Banister
could tell he was asking questions. From where he was concealed in the
underbrush, Hayes could hear the men's voices but not their words, and with
difficulty stifled the urge to move a little closer so he could make out what
the Rebs had to say. Still, he dared not succumb to curiosity and make his
presence known. Nathan's only safeguard in approaching the Confederate patrol
was that Banister lay hidden, ready to come to his aid if need be.

He
had not wanted to be a part of this scouting mission, Hayes reflected as he
watched the men before him, but Albert Pincheon had insisted. For reasons
Banister did not fully understand, the other man had been delighted by the
reports he and Travis had made on the battles at Forts Henry and Donelson, and
Pincheon had been adamant that they scout the next phase of the campaign, the
move on Corinth, Mississippi. The town of Corinth was vitally important to both
armies in that the Memphis and Charleston Railroad passed directly through it,
linking the eastern and western parts of the Confederacy. In order that the
flow of supplies and fresh men from the agricultural West continue, it was
vital for the Southerners to retain control of the railroad. Conversely, the
Federal forces would gain a great advantage if that flow could be disrupted.

The
hand clamped tight around the butt of his pistol grew clammy as Hayes waited
for Nathan Travis to conclude his conversation. Would they learn anything of
value from these rough, unkempt Southerners? To his mind, it was courting
danger to expose yourself to the enemy, but Hayes had learned to trust the
other man's judgment, and Travis had welcomed the chance to approach them.

As
Banister watched, the Confederates reached for the slender, dark cigars Travis
had taken from his pocket. Pausing in the conversation to strike a match and
light his own smoke, Travis cupped his hands around the flame and was offering
it to the leader of the patrol when a deer broke cover directly behind where
Hayes lay concealed in the underbrush. All the Confederates' heads snapped up
at the sound, their cigars still clamped between their teeth. The tangle of
brambles at the roadside that had seemed to offer such good camouflage a moment
before was suddenly useless as cover, and Hayes lay exposed and vulnerable
before the Rebels' narrowed eyes. For a moment the troopers seemed frozen, then
their hands flashed toward their guns as what had seemed like a friendly
conversation suddenly became a confrontation.

As
the leader trained his rifle on the spot where Hayes lay, Travis pulled the
pistol from his belt and fired. The Confederate's weapon discharged as he fell
from his horse, sending a minie ball whizzing past where Banister lay. Almost
without volition the gun in Hayes's hand answered the challenge, catching the
man to the leader's left full in the chest. The horses were spooked by the
sound of the erupting fire, and it was a moment before either of the remaining
Rebels could get off a shot. One of them sighted on Travis at point-blank range
while the other man's ball embedded itself in the ground just beyond Hayes's
elbow. As the troopers adjusted their aim, Hayes burst from the underbrush,
firing as he ran. The first shot felled one of the two men, and though the
other fired at him, Hayes's marksmanship was better. A moment later the last
Rebel crashed to the ground to lie motionless between his horse's feet.

Hayes
froze where he stood, tensed and alert for any sign of movement, his smoking
gun hot in hand. A sulfurous cloud of spent powder hovered over the woodland
clearing, the late-afternoon sunlight trapped in the drifting, smoky haze.
Reacting slowly, Banister moved to where Travis lay.

"Damn
it, Hayes, check to be sure those Rebs are dead before you see to me!"
Nathan said fiercely between clenched teeth, clutching at his shoulder.
"Don't you have any sense at all?"