She peered at him and wanted to snort. “You’ll get me a replacement? I was unaware the Confederate army paid so well. No wonder you all won’t stop fighting.” She paused. The damage was done. She’d worry about it tomorrow. “Let’s get it off you and see how you look.”
It took a bit of finagling to get the leather shoe off, with him spouting off in French—she’d bet two to one it was a swear word. The bare limb was exposed and with care, she moved it slightly, quickly examining it.
“I am surprised, sir. It’s a little warm to the touch and only slightly swollen. Tender, still?”
With a rigid jawline, her patient nodded. It was more than tender, she decided, since he was silent verbally. She grabbed the pillow off the bed and put it under his foot to elevate it.
“Whatever made you do this, again?”
He settled down a bit. “I noticed it didn’t hurt if I put more on the ball of my foot, so figured if my heel was off the ground, I might be able to move.”
Pretty good assessment, she nodded. She pulled a long strip of linen out of her medical bag and doused it in the water in the basin, soaking it thoroughly, then put it close to the window, which she propped open. The cold air whipped in, and she shivered. Stepping back, she stoked the fire in the fireplace, thankful it had been lit and used its heat to warm up.
Ada was also aware he was watching her.
“I’m sorry I ruined your medical equipment. I didn’t do so with malice in mind.”
On that, she laughed lightly. “No, on that, I believe you.” She walked back to grab the now ice cold linen and went to him, wrapping his ankle in it.
He flinched at the first touch, even moving the injured foot, which caused a deeper groan. “Ouch! I said I was sorry!”
“Apology accepted, but I’m still wrapping your ankle.” She drew the linen around and continued. “I want to bring the swelling down. There, see, it’s not that bad.”
“Then bind your own!” he snapped back.
She ignored him. “You may have a point, that is, on using that small heel on your boot. Though, you’ve destroyed the shoe overall.”
“I’ll replace it.”
“That’d mean returning you to your side. Last I recall, you are a prisoner in Yankeeland.” She giggled at her twist on the word Yankee.
“You goin’ shoot me if I leave?”
Now she harrumphed and rolled back on her heels, crossing her arms. “Go ahead. You wouldn’t make it out the door.”
He grimaced with a snarl.
Knock, knock.
Ada jumped. Gathering her wits, she went to the door, slightly opening it. “Yes?”
Mrs. Turner laughed. “Had the boys bring up a tub and water. Looked like your husband was right, missy. You look plum tired. Nothing like a hot bath to make ya new again.” She glanced past Ada and winked at Francois. “Evenin’, Mr. Fontaine. Brought it up, just liked you asked.”
“Merci, Mademoiselle Turner. Greatly appreciated.”
Ada watched the older woman blush. “You be needin’ anything else, you let Mary know, now.”
The ‘boys’ were strapping young lads, one carrying a tin tub, the other two buckets of hot water. After they set their goods down near the fireplace, they darted out for three more buckets, dumping each in the tub.
“Thank you, Mrs. Turner. We thank you. Now, good night.” She shushed the landlady out the doorway and shut it fast. The steam of the hot water was inviting, she did have to admit that. The desire to crawl in it elevated, until her patient spoke.
“See now, perhaps to make up for the knife?”
Mesmerized by the tub and the longing to take advantage of it, she almost didn’t hear him. But when it registered in her mind, all thoughts of a bath fled.
“Not likely,” she said, walking around the room, picking up her cloak and gloves to put away.
“You need to take a bath.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Doc, you look close to death. You’re pale as a ghost, which is whiter than most consider acceptable. Far from porcelain,” he argued. “Your eyes have dark pockets, you’re skinnier than a whippet and look close to falling down. You work all day at that hospital, only to come here and nurse me. No, you need to take a bath.”
She ran her fingertips across the top of the water. It was warm and so inviting…then it hit her, not only was he right, but the other issue was him. He was here. In the bed in the room where the tub was. Despite her longing to climb in, there was no way to block him from watching her. He was too attractive, even injured, even as the enemy, even as a slaveholder. The last made up her mind.
“Perhaps, but you are here and that forgoes the bath.”
“Stubborn woman!”
That made her smile. “My father said the same thing when I told him I wanted to be a doctor.”
“I promise not to look.”
She shot him a shocked glance. He held a straight face, except for the twinkle in his eyes. Her will was being torn between wanting to soak to wanting to thrown a book at him. She toyed with the idea of taking the partition that stood to the side and putting it between him and the bath but…
“Oh, for all the saints!” He leapt off the bed, scooped her up and dropped her in the tub.
Probably not the wisest of moves on his part, Francois admitted immediately. First, his doctor screamed in surprise, the water splashing up everywhere, soaking her and his front. Second, the impulsiveness wasn’t the best, as he put weight on the healing foot and nearly caused him to collapse. But he couldn’t take her whimpering glance at the tub any longer. Things had gotten way too out of hand when the war touched immediate moments like this, over desiring to bath or not. He’d pay the price for this, in more ways than one, as he
