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Sam brought coffee, filled their cups and disappeared into the kitchen. They drank in silence, listening to the baby’s stream of unintelligible syllables.
“Oh, Zane, it is so good to hear you laugh.”
“It’s good to be able to laugh without my head feeling like a rocket’s gone off inside. I’ve never been more aware of the blessings in my life.”
“It is unfortunate one has to get himself almost killed to gain such a perspective,” she said drily. “Now that you are well, or almost well, I can allow myself to feel all the anger and fear I’ve stuffed down over the past seven days.”
Zane set his coffee cup carefully onto the matching saucer. “Anger about what, Winifred? I am well aware the new term must have started at your conservatory.”
“Yes, it has. A week ago.”
“And you are missing it.” He couldn’t look at her, afraid of what he would see in her face.
“I...I sent the director a telegram.”
Zane lifted his cup, cradled it in both hands and waited. He didn’t think he could stand letting her go back to St. Louis, at least not until he was stronger.
Maybe never. What the hell kind of life was this with Winifred in St. Louis and him here in Smoke River?
No life at all.
“I can’t ask you what you said in that telegram. Don’t tell me now. Let me have just a bit more time with you without knowing when it has to—”
Winifred sent him an oddly naked look and his breath stopped.
“Rooney Cloudman mentioned the Jensens’ harvest dance, this Saturday, Zane. Do you think you will feel up to going?”
“What day is today?”
“Tuesday.”
Four days. He’d give anything to dance with Winifred again, hold her close in his arms and feel her warmth against his body. “I’ll be there.”
A deeper, unspoken question lay between them and Zane knew she wondered about that, too. He wondered about it, as well. But by God if he could dance in four days, he might be able to...
There was no way to practice for what he had in mind, he acknowledged with a wry smile. He’d just have to wait and see.
* * *
Winifred watched Zane stagger in with a double load of firewood and dump it in the kitchen wood box with a thump. She tried to tamp down her fury at his pushing himself. At this rate he would be back in the hospital by Saturday, not at the Jensens’ barn social.
The man was maddening. He refused to listen when she urged him to rest, avoided any mention of the headaches she knew still plagued him and resolutely shut his ears at her cautionary remarks.
Sam took her aside after breakfast, his face worried.
“Boss do too much, missy.”
“I know, Sam. But just try and stop him. Zane is more stubborn than...than...”
“Bull ox,” the Chinese man supplied.
“Two bull oxen,” she added in exasperation.
Sam lifted his hands in a gesture of resignation and headed back to the kitchen. Winifred stepped into the library, opened the volume of Sir Walter Scott and pretended to read.
Rosemarie was napping. Zane, too, should be resting, but instead he plopped down in his favorite wingback chair opposite her and waited until she glanced up.
“I’m going swimming.”
“Whaaat?”
“I said I’m going swimming. Alone.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“Why am I going swimming or why am I going alone?”
She clapped the book closed. “Both,” she retorted.
“Because I need to swim laps to build up my strength and because I won’t want you nagging at me to stop.”
“When have I ever nagged at you?” Her voice, she noted, had gone up an octave.
“It’s true you don’t nag, Winifred. But you would this time, and I don’t have the energy to both swim and argue with you.”
Fury swamped her reason. “You are the most unreasonable, difficult, pigheaded—”
He stood up suddenly, seized her by the shoulders and pulled her out of her chair. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I intend to dance with you. All night.” He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, hard.
“At least take the buggy, Zane,” she said when she could breathe again.
“Nope. I’m taking the horse. Need the exercise.” He kissed her again, more slowly. “Go ahead and nag, Winifred. I’m getting to like it.”
Out at the swimming hole he swam twenty laps, rested an hour, then swam another twenty. He was dead tired afterward, but he wasn’t sorry. If Winifred had come with him he would have spent all his time looking at her and forgotten why he needed to do this.
