"Smells good," he finally answered.
Hesitantly he walked to the table and sat down. As she took her place opposite him, she stopped abruptly.
"What happened to your hand?"
"Huh?" His gaze followed hers, and he remembered slicing his finger. "Nothin' much. Just a scratch."
"Let me see it." She stepped around the table and held out her hand.
He looked at her and recognized the steely look of determination on her features. Sighing, he laid his palm across hers.
Gingerly Abby unwound the dirty rag he'd tied on. Samuel tried to ignore the touch of her fingers and concentrate instead on the pain shooting up from his hand.
"Great heavens, Samuel!"
He looked up.
Her eyes wide, mouth opened in shock, she went on. "This looks very deep."
"It'll be fine." "Perhaps." He tried to tug his hand away, but she held firm.
"Come over here." She moved toward her trunk, now sitting on the floor against the far wall.
"Abby," he began.
She turned on him. Hands on hips, she said, "No nonsense about this, Samuel. That hand needs sewing up."
"Sewin'? It's just a scratch."
She ignored him and opened her trunk.
Leaning into the half-empty trunk, she reached for a small box. As she threw back the lid, Samuel saw rows of needles, all different sizes, and spool after spool of various colors of thread. He took a step back when she selected a needle and pulled off a long length of black thread.
"Abby, you ain't gonna sew up my hand like you would a new dress!"
She frowned up at him and moved to the stove. She grabbed up a pan of still-boiling water and poured off some of it into a bowl. Carefully Abby then dipped first the needle then the thread into the water.
"What're you doin'?" Samuel asked cautiously.
"Something Dr. Talbot back home taught me." She threw him a quick glance and noticed that he'd backed up another pace or two. Shaking her head, she threaded the needle. "He believed that everything that touched a wound should be clean. Said it cut down on infections and fevers and the like." She looked up at him and smiled. "It always seemed to work."
He nodded but didn't look convinced.
Abby pointed to the bed. "Sit down, Samuel."
He shook his head.
"For heaven's sake." She held up her hands.
"It's just a needle and thread, Samuel."
"I can see that."
Maverick and Harry lay on the floor, their heads turning first one way then the other, as though following the conversation closely.
"Then come sit down and let me take care of your wound."
"You ever done this before, Abby?"
She met his gaze squarely. Her face calm, mouth curved in a gentle smile, she looked up into his worried eyes and lied like a drunk politician. "Many times, Samuel."
He relaxed and moved reluctantly toward the bed. As he dropped slowly to the edge of the mattress, Abby reached for a chair and told herself that it was for his own good that she lied. After all, she'd seen Doc Talbot do the same thing to any number of people. And she was the best seamstress in Maryland. How much more difficult could it be stitching together jagged flesh rather than torn fabric?
Before she began, she took more of the hot water, and with a fresh cloth she cleaned the area carefully. It really was quite a gash, she thought worriedly. Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed convulsively and inhaled deeply.
Samuel held his hand rock steady, and she gave him one more smile before starting. "This will probably hurt, Samuel. I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about that."
"I been hurt before." He nodded. "Like you said. It's just a needle."
She nodded back, then bent her head to her task. When the needle pierced his flesh for the first time, Abby sensed his discomfort. He hadn't moved an inch. He'd said nothing. But just the same, she knew. And she shared his feelings. Constantly her mind reminded her that she'd seen blood before. She'd seen other wounds, some far more severe. That what she was doing was necessary. But just as often she remembered that this was Samuel she was working on. And she found it hard to ignore that. Quickly, neatly, she aligned small black stitches along the length of his finger. Every time she made a knot though, she couldn't help wishing it were the last.
His hand lay in her lap, and as she worked, she couldn't help noticing the other scars and the old calluses that marked his skin. She wondered briefly who had tended to him before her.
It seemed to take forever. She heard his regular breathing, felt the strength in the hand she held. His nearness brought an uneasy warmth that she tried to push aside. Time and again Abby pulled air deeply into her lungs as she fought the faint-headedness creeping up on her.
The room was so quiet, she could hear the snapping of the fire and the dogs' rapid breathing. As she made the last knot, she even heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She sighed with relief when her task was finished at last. But when she moved to look up at Samuel, Abby saw instead columns of black ness closing in on her from each side.
Samuel's face seemed to move farther away. She thought she saw his lips moving, but whatever he said was lost in the rushing sound that suddenly filled the cabin. Instinctively she reached out for him, hoping to reach him before the blackness swallowed her up. But it was too late, and she fell forward into the dark.
"Abby? Abby? … Dammit, Abby! Wake up!"
She turned toward the voice calling her and tried to open her eyes. Someone kissed her cheek, and Abby smiled.
"Cut that out, now! You get on out of here."
The voice again. Samuel.
"C'mon, Abby. You're commencin' to worry me some, Abby. Wake up, now."
She stirred and for the first time felt a rhythmic patting on her right hand. She pulled away, but the patting continued. Her eyes opened then, and the first thing she saw was Samuel's worried face.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
"What happened? You fainted clean away… that's what happened." Relief crashed over Samuel with the force of a hurricane. She was making sense, anyway.
"I never faint," she countered as she pushed herself up to a sitting position.
"Then how come you're on the floor?" His bushy blond brows quirked up.
She looked around quickly, her surprise evident.
"I tried to catch you," he went on, "but you went over too damn fast."
"For heaven's sake," she mumbled as she struggled to her feet.
"Now, hold on, Abby."
She wobbled and he reached out to steady her.
"No need to rush about, now. Go slow, will ya?"
"I'm perfectly well, Samuel."
"Yeah, well… " He studied her carefully. She was still a little too pale to suit him. But stubborn as she was, she wouldn't be staying on the floor, he knew. So he scooped her up in his arms. One part of his mind marveled at how light she was…how tiny… while another part was fully aware of the soft curves of her woman's body pressed so close to him. Reluctantly he placed her gently on the nearest chair.
Samuel immediately poured her a cup of coffee and threw in plenty of white sugar. He set it in front of her and ordered her to drink every drop.
One sip and her face screwed up. "Too sweet."
"Drink it," he said again, "or I'll let Maverick get back to washin' your face to bring you around."
The dog sat on his haunches at her feet, his head tilted curiously. "Maverick?" She looked back at Samuel. "Oh. I thought… “
"Thought what?"
"Nothing. Nothing." She lowered her head and took another sip.
Samuel watched her for a moment, then, satisfied that she wasn't going to keel over again, allowed his gaze to wander over what used to be his home.
Curtains. A rag rug. Flowers in an old pot. Everything so damn clean it hurt to look at it. He shook his head. She'd stuck more damned froo-froo around the place than he'd seen in most bawdy houses. It amazed him to realize that in less than a day, she'd managed to make his house look like he'd never lived there at all.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Huh? What? Oh… the cabin. What you've… done to it."
"Yes. Isn't it lovely?"
He wanted to tell her what he really thought of it, but looking into those gold-colored eyes of hers... eyes so full of hope... he couldn't. No matter how badly he wanted to have his home to himself again. She'd worked so hard. "Yeah, Abby," he said finally, "it looks real nice."
She rewarded him with a smile that was lit from within. Her color was better, too. That pleased him. Samuel wasn't quite sure what he would do if she fainted again. Without an other word he got up, filled two plates with the beef stew she'd made, and sat back down. He waited for her to begin, then he, too, started eating.
After the first bite it was all he could do not to wolf the food down. He had no idea what she'd done to it, but that stew was the best he'd ever eaten. In minutes he'd finished his plate and had gone back for a second helping. In between bites Samuel asked, "Why'd you tell me you'd done that stitchin' up before, Abby? That was the first time, wasn't it?"
She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "You seemed so nervous, I didn't want you to be scared."
"Scared? Me?" He dropped his spoon onto the plate with a clatter. "You thought I was scared of the pain?"
"Well…"
He chuckled deep in his throat. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had been concerned about him. Hell, if she only knew how many times he'd set his own bones or stitched up a tear in his skin by himself.
If he hadn't, he'd have died. There was never anyone around him to help. Until now. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he only asked quietly, "Why did you want to do it, if the sight of blood makes you faint?"
"Oh," she said lightly, "blood doesn't bother me at all. Why, I've probably seen oceans of it."
His eyebrows shot up.
"It was the stitching, Samuel. Knowing it was your flesh that I was sewing up like a quilt…" She shook her head as if to clear the vision away.
"Well… " Samuel's voice was thick, and he cleared his throat nervously. "It's done now." He tried to change the subject then. To get them both thinking of something else. He couldn't allow himself even to think her concern might have been for his pain. That was far too dangerous. "With all the work you've done around here, Abby," he said, forcing a smile, "you still didn't solve one problem."
Her brow furrowed as she tried to think what she'd missed.
"We still only got one bed… "
"Oh!" Abby grinned and jumped up. She grabbed the edge of the table as dizziness struck again. In moments her vision cleared, and she smiled at his worried frown. "I'm all right. But you have to close your eyes, Samuel."
"Close my… what for?"
"It's a surprise. Now, close them."
He did as he was told, though he hated surprises. Generally they weren't good ones. Be sides, he couldn't imagine what there was left to surprise him with, anyway. She'd taken over his house, claimed his land, refused to leave… what else was there?
"All right. You can look now." He opened his eyes and knew that he would never doubt her ability to "surprise" him again.
She was standing beside the big bed, a proud smile on her face as she looked at her latest addition to the cabin. A plank of wood two feet high was set length wise down the middle of the mattress. Somehow, she'd found a way to attach it over the head and footboards with hooks at either end of the board.
His mouth open, his eyes wide, Samuel managed to croak out, "What the hell is that?"
"A bundling board."
"A what?"
"A bundling board. They were used quite a bit in New England years ago."
"Used for what?"
"Why, to separate an unmarried couple when they were forced to share the same bed, of course." She patted the plank. "It was actually used by courting couples, mainly. And naturally, the couple didn't remove their clothing."
"Uh-huh."
Abby kept going. "Well, Samuel, I know you can't sleep on the floor every night. And I don't want to, either. And since neither one of us is willing to move out… " She glanced at him hopefully.
Samuel shook his head.
She sighed and nodded. "This seemed like the perfect solution. After all… it's such a big bed."
Samuel clamped his jaw shut, rubbed his hand over his eyes, and looked again at the bundling board. No. It hadn't disappeared. It was real. She meant what she said. He couldn't believe this was happening.
"Of course it's a big bed," he said, managing through sheer will to keep his voice down. "I'm a big man! And it's my bed!"
"Well, I know it's your bed. And because you're such a big man, I divided the bed accordingly." She grinned and pointed. "See? Your side is much bigger."
"Abby," Samuel said, pausing to mutter his ABCs under his breath, "it's bad enough, you stayin' here with me… alone. But dammit, we can't share a bed!"
"Whyever not? I trust you." She smoothed her skirt down and clasped her hands firmly in front of her. "And I assure you, Samuel, the proprieties will be observed."
He was all the way up to M before she stopped talking. The proprieties. There seemed to be no arguing with her. And he'd be damned if he was gonna sleep on the floor in his own house while she took over his bed.
She trusted him. How long had it been since anyone had said that?
See, he told himself firmly. This is what happens when you get soft. When you start worryin' over folks' feelin's. You should have just told her flat out that she couldn't stay. You should have made her leave.
But somewhere deep inside him, he knew he hadn't wanted her to leave. At least not yet. And now he'd have to answer for that.
Racing through the rest of the alphabet, Samuel reached Z, looked at the bed and her beside it, and knew that it would take far more than the alphabet to keep his mind off o fwhat lay on the other side of that damn board!
Chapter Four
The dark cabin seemed to close in around her. Abby lay on her side of the bundling board, stiff as a poker. She couldn't hear Samuel, so she guessed that he was still caring for the caged animals she'd seen earlier that day.