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Nathaniel shook his head and mumbled under his breath. Stepping to the cot, he pointed with an impatient flick of a finger. “Help me.”
Hannah moved her head against the pillow, a petite moan escaping the small part in her lips.
Never had his legs felt so heavy, the short distance from where he stood to where she lay as dangerous to traverse as a lake of fire.
“Hannah…” Nathaniel lowered to his haunches beside her head, the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “I should like you to have something warm to drink. We’ll have broth for you to take later as well. Can you sit up?”
Still shivering, a small hum of reply was the only response she could give, and Joseph’s insides turned to liquid. She strained to rise, eyes still closed, but her shaking refused to abate. In a heated rush, all the strength returned to Joseph’s limbs, and he lunged for her. Heedless of the danger to his heart—to his past, which had only just begun to heal—he scooped her legs to the ground and sat beside her, cupping her petite shoulders as he helped her to sit upright. Eyes only half open, she leaned against him, her quivering frame unsettling the dry foundation of his spirit.
A stream of murky questions filled his mind. What had happened? Why was she here? Most, had a harm come to her they did not yet know?
He breathed in slow, deliberate breaths and looked to the canvas ceiling. This closeness was deadly ground. Ten years, and she still felt
the same in his arms, still smelled of honey and sweet cream. How could he not close his eyes and rest his lips on her hair? How could he not brush his fingers against her cheek?
But he must not. He would not.
Her father’s parting words those many rocky memories ago still rang loud in his ears. You’ve damaged her beyond repair. She hates you for what you’ve done.
She shook harder, dislodging him from the grasp of the wicked past, though in truth, reality was not much kinder.
Nathaniel, still kneeling, offered the cup. “Here, Hannah. I shall help you hold it while you take a sip.”
She reached out, her slender fingers so unsteady she couldn’t hold on. Nathaniel wrapped his hands around hers, helping her to bring the cup to her lips as Joseph silently blessed and cursed the tender sight.
I should not be here. Though in truth, he wanted nothing more, a dichotomy that ripped him down the middle.
The tent door flung open, and Henry entered, another steaming mug in his hands. “Strong broth.”
“Excellent.” Nathaniel stood and went to the small table at the opposite side of the tent. He set the coffee down when Henry placed a hand on his arm.
“You are needed elsewhere, Doctor.” He looked to Hannah, then back. “She seems in good enough hands here. You must come.”
Unfathomed panic sprang to life in Joseph’s chest like a sword-wielding beast. He glared across the room, but his unspoken warning of the mortal danger his friend should face if he were left alone with her went unheeded.
“Sit with her until she is able to remain upright. Then assist her with the broth.” He followed Henry to the door. “At the first available chance, see that she gives you a full report of what happened.”
Then, they were alone.
Her shivering increased, and she rested her full weight against him. “Thank you.”
Those two whispered words, so soft and light, floated in the air like a gossamer thread. They all but killed him. If she had known to whom she spoke, he knew she would not have spoken at all.
* * *
Aw the bliss of such warmth. Though her ears and cheeks still pricked, only a slight stammering plagued her muscles, and her eyes could remain open, but she chose to keep them only partly peeled, for the light, however faint, still pained her head.
Unspeaking, the kind soul beside her stood, but not until he was sure she could remain upright. He paced to the other side of the tent and busied himself at the table.
Bracing herself with one hand, she rubbed her eyes with the other when the phantoms of two days past moaned to life from their shallow graves. She grit her teeth to keep the sudden burst of emotion from welling. Dearest Uncle. A clink of tin brought her head up, a blessed distraction from that which pained too deep.
With a shuddered inhale, Hannah blinked—and blinked again, slowing every movement, every thought as she stared at the tall, broad frame across the tent. Nay. Her eyes lied. Gripping the cot with both hands, she squinted, then blinked several times more, shaking her head to clear her fog-laden mind. Lord! She clenched the smooth wood harder, her heart already accepting that which the rest of her refused. It could not be.
The shivering halted, and her heart raced at a speed she could hardly endure. ’Twas him. Ten years could not mar the imprint of him that still lingered so deep within. The impossible breadth of his shoulders, the sunny-blond hue of his hair. ’Twas then he turned and stopped hard, his mouth fixed and blue eyes as question filled as her own.
A sparked silence popped in the frigid air between them. Even as he stared, the reality of what she saw could hardly breach the bulwark of disbelief that rose ever higher. His face had not changed. Matured, aye—grown more handsome even—but naught else. The sharp cut of his jaw ticked, as if he struggled as hard as she to find any fragment of thought in a mind crazed with questions.
She swallowed, and unbidden, his name formed not only on her lips but in her voice. “Joseph?”
