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For a fleeting moment he’d imagined she was his wife. But no, Miranda had been blond with blue eyes and a face like a china doll’s. This woman was dark, with a fierceness that recalled the sculpted goddesses he’d seen in Europe’s museums.
Strange that he could remember that, and nothing about where he was or why he felt so weak. He raised his head and struggled to sit up but fell back onto the pillow.
“Lie still,” she said. “In case you don’t remember, you were shot. You lost a lot of blood. That’s why you’re weak.”
“You’re the doctor.” The memory was coming back, like bits of a torn poster blown by the wind.
“That’s right. I gave you some laudanum to help you rest. And after we put you in bed, I took the tourniquet off and replaced it with a dressing. How does your shoulder feel now?”
He shifted his arm, which was supported by a sling. He was rewarded by a jab of pain. Someone had put a clean flannel shirt on him, leaving it unbuttoned to expose the dressing. “It hurts,” he said. “But I’ll pass on more laudanum, thanks. I’d rather stay awake.”
“What about your hand? Can you move it?”
He flexed and extended his fingers, but still couldn’t raise the hand above his splinted wrist.
“Here. Drink this.” She poured water from a porcelain pitcher into a glass. Raising his head, she tilted the glass to let him take careful sips. “Since we don’t have any way to give you intravenous fluids, you’ll need to drink a lot. But only a little at a time for now. We need to make sure it stays down.”
Logan lay back on the pillow. His eyes scanned the shadowy room from the damask-papered walls to the brass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The place looked vaguely familiar. “Where am I?” he asked again.
“You’re in the Calder house. Webb insisted that you be brought here in my brother’s buggy. Otherwise, you’d have gone home with me.”
“But you’re a Dollarhide. Your family hates him—and me.”
“I’m a doctor first and a Dollarhide second. I agreed to stay until you were out of danger.”
“And Webb?”
“Let’s just say he invited me to be his guest. He looked in on you earlier. But I think he’s gone to bed.”
Logan’s memory was clearing. He recognized the room as the one he’d stayed in as Webb’s guest. Now he felt more like a prisoner, too weak to even get out of bed. Damn, but he hated being so helpless. “And you still don’t know how I got shot?” he asked.
“Nobody seems to know. I can’t help thinking it was an accident. Somebody hunting, maybe. Webb has different ideas, but you can ask him tomorrow.” She set the glass on the table. “You need nourishment. There’s soup in the kitchen. I’ll warm a little and bring it to you.” She gave him a stern look. “Don’t you dare try to get up.”
“Lady, I couldn’t get up if I had to.”
“I’m a doctor, not a lady. You may call me Kristin. But I meant what I said. Rest. Don’t move until I get back.”
She walked out through the open doorway. Logan lay still, listening to the swift cadence of her footsteps, retreating down the hall to the landing. As silence fell around him once more, he closed his eyes.
* * *
Downstairs in the kitchen, Kristin turned on the light and found the vegetable beef soup in a covered saucepan, sitting on the counter. It had cooled enough for the fat to congeal and form a layer on top. The soup would need to be heated.
The massive iron stove was barely warm to the touch. Kristin lifted away a lid on the cooktop and laid a few sticks of kindling on the coals beneath. As the kindling began to crackle and blaze, she replaced the lid and set the pan of soup on top.
Now she’d need a spoon to stir it and a bowl to take it upstairs. She was rummaging through the cabinets when she heard a deep voice behind her.
“Can I help you find something, Kristin?”
Her nerves jumped. Webb stood behind her, a brown woolen robe wrapped over his pajamas. He gave her a smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I heard a noise in the kitchen and thought it might be you. How is Logan?”
“Awake and talking, but weak. I’m heating some soup for him. But I need a bowl and a spoon.”
“That’s an easy request.” He opened a drawer and a cupboard and handed her what she needed. “There you are. Can I get you anything else? You must be hungry, too. There’s plenty of soup. I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
“Thanks, but that can wait. I’ll need to take the soup upstairs to Logan as soon as it gets warm enough.” She used the spoon to stir the soup. It was thick and still cool.
Webb had made no move to leave her side. “I’ll tell you what, then,” he said. “How about sharing a drink with me. I’ve got a bottle of good single malt Scotch in the cupboard. There should be just enough time to enjoy a few sips while the soup gets warm.”
