“I guess that would be hard-knowing it was over and not being able to get home. They were probably glad you were with them.”
Adam stood directly in front of her. He pulled off his coat and turned up his sleeves, more from habit than any need to do so. “How about you? Have you and Wolf been home?”
“We had a place along the Cumberland River right about where Kentucky and Tennessee collide. When your troops, under Bragg, came dancing through in ’62 there wasn’t much left of our place. I guess all the locals thought us dead because our land was taken over. So we came home to a mess of worry.”
Nichole watched him closely. The starched shirt made his waist slim and his shoulders wider.
“I know.” His brown eyes were full of understanding. His voice low. “Corydon was hit in a Southern campaign. When you’re away, you think about home being the same when you come back.”
“But it isn’t,” she whispered, not wanting to say more. “Here’s fine,” she added, forcing herself to look around, “much better than where you had to operate.”
Adam agreed as his hands touched her waist and lifted her atop the counter. Standing, she’d been shorter than him by a few inches, now she sat slightly above him.
“Would you unbutton your blouse?” he asked in what he hoped was a professional tone. “I’ll take a look at the wound.”
Nichole smiled. He’d called her shirt a blouse, no one had used that word around her in years. “Sure,” she mumbled as she began fumbling with the buttons.
“Have you had any pain? Fever? Infection?” His voice was so professional, but not cold, never cold.
Swallowing, Nichole fought the urge to tell him that she felt like she had a fever right now. He was looking in his bag, touching all the bottles and instruments she’d examined dozens of times.
She pulled her shirttail out of her pants and shook her head in answer to his question about fever. Gripping the counter on either side of her legs, she waited.
He slowly slid the left side of her shirt open, letting it fall off her shoulder.
Nichole drew in a sharp breath as his hands moved to her waist and lifted her cotton undershirt. She could feel his breath only inches from her throat.
“Are you all right?” he asked as he paused. “Comfortable?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m fine.” The lie almost blocked her throat to the point of cutting off her air. She wasn’t fine. He was touching her again with that gentle touch she remembered. Her face felt afire. She had to turn her knuckles white to keep her hands from shaking, and he asked again if she were all right.
He leaned slightly toward her as his fingers moved the cotton a few inches more to reveal the scar. The clean smell of him filled her senses as she fought to remain still. His abdomen brushed her knee and she moved her legs out of the way.
“It’s healed nicely.” He touched the thin scar. “Who took the stitches out?”
“I did,” she answered.
His hand slid over the wound. His palm warmed her flesh. “I wish I’d been there. I could have made it less painful.” His other hand moved to her right side and pulled her an inch toward him. As his body leaned against the counter space between her legs, his voice lowered. “I thought about you in those days after the war. Wondered if you were safe. If you were in pain.”
“I was fine,” she whispered, completely aware of his nearness and unwilling to lean away. “We headed home almost at once. But folks at home didn’t want the war to end. We thought the fighting was over, but we ran into trouble several times. Some thought the Shadows should be tried as spies against the Union.”
His hands gently moved along her rib cage. “The war is over, Nichole. It will take a while, but it will come to an end. Eventually, all the hatred and anger will die.”
Suddenly, her grip broke from the counter and her arms moved around his neck. She pulled him close. She’d never cried, not even when her mother died. Everyone in her family saw it as a weakness. But now tears rolled down her cheeks, and she felt his hands spread across her back in comfort. She didn’t have to tell him she hadn’t believed the fighting would ever end, he seemed to know.
“It’s over,” he whispered against her hair as he pulled her closer. “The hell we’ve both lived has finally ended. All that’s left is the scar.”
Nichole moved her damp cheek against his jaw. She lifted her hands and let her fingers glide into the thick warmth of his hair. There had been so few hugs in her life, so little caring. Her movements were jerky with need and fear that he might turn away.
Adam was lost with her wrapped around him. Her arms held him tightly, her cheek against his, her legs on either side of his hips. It didn’t matter that he was a doctor and she was his patient, nor that he was in his fiancee’s house, or that he knew nothing about Nichole. All that mattered was that she held him the way he wanted and needed to be held.
He pulled her closer, feeling her breasts press against his chest, feeling her breath on his neck, feeling her heart pounding next to his. He was alive for the first time in years. This was the homecoming he’d longed for, and it hadn’t come from Bergette but from a stranger he barely knew but hadn’t been able to forget.
For a long while, they held one another, afraid to ease their hold lest the feeling end. Slowly their breathing grew in rhythm.
“The examination is over,” he whispered against her ear. “You’re free to leave.” His arms didn’t loosen.
“And if I don’t?” Her hands spread over the starched crispness of his shirt.
“Then I’ll have to finish that kiss we started,” he answered.
She didn’t give him time to advance. Her lips moved to his. Her mouth was slightly open and willing. This time she was kissing him.
For a moment, he let her lead, making sure that she was a willing partner. Before, he’d surprised her with his kiss. Now her advance surprised him.
She melted against him, wanting to be closer. His kiss was like before, tender. Only now there was a hunger in it that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t kissing some woman he’d held one night and called beautiful. He was kissing her. Just her. He was silently telling her that he’d thought of this moment, dreamed of it, wished for it.
Though the kiss ended all too soon for Nichole, she wasn’t sure how to ask him to repeat it. She was glad he didn’t pull away, but remained close, holding her in his arms as her head rested on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her hair.
“For what?” she answered.
“For making me feel alive again.” He lightly kissed her cheek. “I was starting to think the memory of you was a dream I had. Thank you for making it real again.” He moved his hand along her back, pressing her closer to him.
“Anytime, Yank.”
A light tapping sounded at the door and Adam stepped away a moment before Wes looked in. “Sorry to interrupt the exam.” Wes raised an eyebrow at Nichole’s open shirt. “But Bergette’s on her way as soon as she finishes yelling at Wolf for tracking in mud.”
Adam reached for his jacket, and Nichole did the same. She’d just buttoned the top button on her shirt, when Bergette stormed through the door. The tiny woman wore more lace and ribbons than Nichole had ever seen in one place before. She looked like an angel, but Nichole didn’t miss the devil in her eyes as she stared at the doctor.
“Adam, aren’t these people gone yet?” Bergette didn’t bother to look Nichole in the face. If she had, she wouldn’t have missed the red cheeks and slightly swollen lips.
“We were just leaving,” Nichole mumbled with her head low as she’d been taught to disguise her identity. “Thanks for seeing me, Doc.”
“You don’t have to leave.” Adam ignored Bergette. “Stay and have supper at least. You’ve come a long way.”
“What!” Ignoring Bergette was not a safe move. “I believe this is
Wes stepped from behind the little lady. With one swift movement, he lifted her off the floor and set her down out of Adam’s path. “She’s right. This is, and will probably always be ‘her’ house.” Wes smiled as he watched Bergette boil. “Ready to head home, little brother? May will have leftovers and guests have always been welcome in the McLain house.”
Adam nodded. Glancing at Nichole, he offered his arm. “Will you join me, Miss Hayward?”
Wes took the battle charge Bergette issued as Adam and Nichole left the room. Smooth as a dance move, Wes
