you should know. I fear the end is near. I have sent Andy for the reverend.'
Chapter Five
Tears of exhaustion burned behind her eyes, yet Tessa refused to stop working. The cold night wind burned her face, chilled her through to the bone, but she clutched the large washbasin in both hands and plunged it into the snow bank.
Beside her, Jonah did the same, a silent giant of a man who lifted a bucket of frozen snow and headed toward the house. He didn't look at her, but she would not wipe away the memory of his scorching kiss.
Heart hardened, Tessa followed Jonah's shadow in the moonless night, as afraid of his silence as what he may be thinking. Aye, she knew what he thought No man would want her. He even feared she was holding hopes that he would chose her for his bride.
She tried her best to ignore him. To concentrate on her work-a man's life was at stake-yet when she least expected it, there it was. Her gaze followed the sight of Jonah's strong shoulders or lingered on his hard-set mouth.
The old man's fever soared as minutes ticked by, his heart beating weak and far too fast. Sweat dripped off her own brow as she struggled up the narrow stairs and down the hall, following Jonah into the bedchamber.
The sight of his hands holding the snow-filled bucket made her heart stop, made her shamefully wonder what his touch, capable and sure and powerful, would feel like on other parts of her body.
She bowed her head, thankful Jonah refused to meet her gaze, and together they tucked snow around his father's frail body. The man murmured in his sleep, crying out in terror. The bucket tumbled from Jonah's grip and he dropped onto the stool close to the bedside, cradling the old man's hands within his.
Tessa's chest squeezed at the sight. A single candle brushed pulsing light across the back wall, leaving Jonah's profile in dark silhouette. Unafraid and solemn, he leaned close enough to his father to whisper low, comforting words. There was no mistaking the love in his voice, so rich and full.
Who knew Jonah Hunter could be so tender? So uncommon and good? She saw the tears shimmer where they fell against the quilt and knew he was grieving his father's suffering. She thought of the man in the tales, the warrior, the soldier, the leader of men, and knew that all his accomplishments paled next to this great act of loving and comforting his father.
For the first time she saw with her eyes the hero inside the man.
She left them, washbasin in hand, and hurried down the stairs, feeling insignificant next to the love Jonah had for his father. Such was a love she'd had for her mother, tending the poor ailing woman all those years when she should have been courting a man's interest, planning her wedding, and later, making babies.
Jonah Hunter was not so bad of a man. Nay, he was excellent. Arrogant and handsome and sly enough to charm the devil, but underneath his brashness, he was a man capable of loving.
The night wind burned her cheeks and hands, drafted through her skirts, and she shivered. Tessa knelt and scooped the basin full of frozen snow and dashed back to the house, scurrying through the unlit rooms and up the dark stairs.
When she burst into the room, Jonah glanced up. He looked to be nothing but shadow, but he was so much more. Substantial. Courageous. Her heart ached as she tucked the snow around the old man's side. Wordless, she turned and dashed away, fear driving her steps.
Had she done enough for Jonah's father? She did not know. Exhaustion slowed her movements and she fought it, pushed herself harder. Down the stairs, out into the snow, back up and into the room.
Up again and down again until tears filled her eyes. As the old man inched closer to death, she feared his breathing would halt entirely and she would be left with Jonah's grieving tears and the terrible sense she should have done more.
She laid her hand on the colonel's forehead. So damn hot. His breath came in rattling whispers. What more could she do? Tessa set down the basin, refused to meet Jonah's eyes, and hurried back downstairs. Perhaps another onion poultice would break apart the congestion in the old man's lungs. She would need a hot fire. Yet the kitchen was dark, and she tried twice to light a lamp in the corner. Pain burned in her back and coiled in her neck.
She thought of Jonah's quiet courage and pushed herself harder. How many bedsides had she sat beside, comforting a dying loved one when others would not? Death frightened a lot of people, but not Jonah. He sat vigil beside his father so that the old man would not die alone.
Admiration burned in her heart. Or maybe it was something greater. There was no fooling herself. She felt a deep attraction to the man. His touches, his kisses filled her dreams.
Yet one needed a worthy man to love. Like Jonah Hunter. What a lucky woman his bride would be.
The back door flew open, banging against the wall, startling her. She dropped the stick of maple, and it clattered to the floor.
'I have brought the doctor,' Thomas announced as he charged into the room, tearing off his wet, ice-ridden cloak. 'Is Father-'
'Still alive,' Tessa finished, rising from the floor, the fledging fire forgotten.
She blushed as the surgeon entered the room, a young man come from so far. What must he think? His smart blue gaze studied her fallen hair and her worn and stained garments. Tessa felt heat creep across her face.
Aye, she was no beauty, but what a sight she must look. And deep in her heart she dared to hope Jonah found her attractive? Ashamed, she lowered her gaze.
The men stormed through the room, leaving boot tracks of mud and snow to melt in their hurry. Her work was done now. Sadness filled her. She liked to be needed, yet the doctor would know how best to help the dying man.
Alone in the silent room, Tessa lifted her shawl from the back of the kitchen chair where she'd left it. She prayed the old Colonel Hunter would live. Now, there was nothing more to do but wait.
Should she leave? Ice fell from the black sky as she glanced out the small window, clinging to scratchy limbed trees. The world looked so desolate, as if already mourning this night. Nay, she would stay, as she would with any patient, Jonah Hunter and his effect on her be damned.
Tessa returned to the fireplace and added plenty of wood. She would heat water for tea. Thomas and the surgeon looked frozen through. Then she would wait with the family for the end. Perhaps she could somehow help ease the suffering for the old man.
And in the quiet hours, until they needed her again, Tessa vowed not to think of her future. By this time next week she would be married to Horace Walling, that is, if her grandfather had his way.
Swallowing tears, Tessa reached for the water bucket. Empty, of course. Jonah's cloak hung from a peg by the back door. She slid the fabric over her shoulders, so heavy and finely woven. The wool smelled clean and faintly of a midnight forest, the way he did.
She closed the door with a click. Light glowed from the upstairs window through the sheen of the ice storm. Cold wind whipped through her skirts, and inside she felt as bleak as that breeze.
Jonah's kiss still tingled on her lips, spellbinding. How he'd tasted of passion and teased her with a glimpse of what she could not have. There would be no passionate, tender love in her future. The pain in her heart broke in two and she stepped into the yard.
Ice battered her. She didn't feel it. She could not feel anything at all. She'd lost her dreams, the hopes that kept her alive. It was not an easy situation living with a family who begrudged her presence. At night, so tired she could not sleep, she would wish on the closest star for the one thing that mattered: a family of her own to love and care for. And who would love her in return.
Horace Walling's face blurred in her mind, haggard and narrow-eyed and frightening. Tessa shuddered, her dreams dying one by one.
She knelt before the well, vowing not to cry. But the tears came anyway.
