of medicine for you to take. Just don’t expect too much from me the next time you collapse, wherever that is.”
Tricia stared at Dr. Wesley openmouthed for long seconds before saying, “You can’t mean that, Doctor.” Ignoring the sick man’s glance, she continued, “You can’t be agreeing to allow this man to leave yet. You know how badly infected his leg is.”
“I don’t see as how I can stop him if that’s what he intends to do. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, Tricia. I learned the truth in that adage a long time ago. Some people have to learn the hard way. Like I said, the packets are on thenightstand, and I’m on my way to another patient.” Hesitating at Tricia’s stunned expression, Dr. Wesley said more softly, “You know where to find me if you need me.”
The door had barely closed behind Dr. Wesley when a deep voice from the bed behind her ordered, “Bring me my pants.”
Her name was Tricia.
Drew watched as the beautiful blond woman walked back into his room with her jaw tight. As strange as it seemed, she hadn’t introduced herself to him or even asked his name. In fact, she had said very little to him after Dr. Wesley left. He knew she was angry, but he wasn’t sure of the reason.
Admittedly, his own reaction to her was somewhat confused. She had obviously spent a considerable part of the night tending to his wound, but she had done the same for Yankee soldiers during the war. The image of the consolation she had afforded men who might have taken the lives of his friends infuriated him. Yet the sight of her evoked a yearning inside him that gained strength with every moment.
Drew attempted to ignore the throbbing in his leg as Tricia placed his laundered pants on the bed beside him and stood there without saying a word. He realized that she didn’t intend to move in order to allow him privacy in dressing.
Drew was almost amused at his own foolishness. Of course . . . he should have realized. He was in a bordello, wasn’t he? No matter how angelic-looking thisTricia was, she was not new to the sight of a man in the altogether or in short clothes.
Refusing to admit how much that thought disturbed him, Drew reached for his pants. Whatever the case, he needed to get out of there. Too many Yankees walked the streets of Galveston and perhaps frequented this establishment. Despite the fact that he’d had the presence of mind to lie about his name when asked, he was a wanted man, and he had learned the hard way that Yankees were not fools. They would discover who he was sooner or later.
Aware that Tricia was still staring at him, Drew threw back the coverlet and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. More light-headed than he had expected, he sat there for a few moments, his expression darkening with his mood. Then he stood up to reach for his shirt. He slid his arms into the sleeves with every bone in his body aching, and clumsily fastened the buttons. He stepped into his pants and was perspiring profusely when he finally managed to pull the garment up to his waist. Seeing that Tricia made no attempt to look away, he boldly buttoned his fly as he held her gaze. He noted the flush that colored her face, and he felt a familiar heat unrelated to fever.
Drew attempted to deny his stomach’s churning when he finished pulling on his boots. He ignored the flash of vertigo as he buckled on his gunbelt. He was hot and sweaty, his fingers refusing to cooperate as he tied his neckerchief and then reached for his hat.
Speaking for the first time when he turned toward the door, Tricia said, “You’re making a mistake.”
He wanted to tell her he knew that was true, but notfor the reason she thought. He wanted to say that he didn’t want to leave—not yet. He wanted to admit to her that despite her sympathy for the men who were his enemies, despite whatever reason she had for coming South and putting a price on her beauty, he would have spent his last penny to
Tricia stared at Dr. Wesley openmouthed for long seconds before saying, “You can’t mean that, Doctor.” Ignoring the sick man’s glance, she continued, “You can’t be agreeing to allow this man to leave yet. You know how badly infected his leg is.”
“I don’t see as how I can stop him if that’s what he intends to do. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, Tricia. I learned the truth in that adage a long time ago. Some people have to learn the hard way. Like I said, the packets are on thenightstand, and I’m on my way to another patient.” Hesitating at Tricia’s stunned expression, Dr. Wesley said more softly, “You know where to find me if you need me.”
The door had barely closed behind Dr. Wesley when a deep voice from the bed behind her ordered, “Bring me my pants.”
Her name was Tricia.
Drew watched as the beautiful blond woman walked back into his room with her jaw tight. As strange as it seemed, she hadn’t introduced herself to him or even asked his name. In fact, she had said very little to him after Dr. Wesley left. He knew she was angry, but he wasn’t sure of the reason.
Admittedly, his own reaction to her was somewhat confused. She had obviously spent a considerable part of the night tending to his wound, but she had done the same for Yankee soldiers during the war. The image of the consolation she had afforded men who might have taken the lives of his friends infuriated him. Yet the sight of her evoked a yearning inside him that gained strength with every moment.
Drew attempted to ignore the throbbing in his leg as Tricia placed his laundered pants on the bed beside him and stood there without saying a word. He realized that she didn’t intend to move in order to allow him privacy in dressing.
Drew was almost amused at his own foolishness. Of course . . . he should have realized. He was in a bordello, wasn’t he? No matter how angelic-looking thisTricia was, she was not new to the sight of a man in the altogether or in short clothes.
Refusing to admit how much that thought disturbed him, Drew reached for his pants. Whatever the case, he needed to get out of there. Too many Yankees walked the streets of Galveston and perhaps frequented this establishment. Despite the fact that he’d had the presence of mind to lie about his name when asked, he was a wanted man, and he had learned the hard way that Yankees were not fools. They would discover who he was sooner or later.
Aware that Tricia was still staring at him, Drew threw back the coverlet and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. More light-headed than he had expected, he sat there for a few moments, his expression darkening with his mood. Then he stood up to reach for his shirt. He slid his arms into the sleeves with every bone in his body aching, and clumsily fastened the buttons. He stepped into his pants and was perspiring profusely when he finally managed to pull the garment up to his waist. Seeing that Tricia made no attempt to look away, he boldly buttoned his fly as he held her gaze. He noted the flush that colored her face, and he felt a familiar heat unrelated to fever.
Drew attempted to deny his stomach’s churning when he finished pulling on his boots. He ignored the flash of vertigo as he buckled on his gunbelt. He was hot and sweaty, his fingers refusing to cooperate as he tied his neckerchief and then reached for his hat.
Speaking for the first time when he turned toward the door, Tricia said, “You’re making a mistake.”
He wanted to tell her he knew that was true, but notfor the reason she thought. He wanted to say that he didn’t want to leave—not yet. He wanted to admit to her that despite her sympathy for the men who were his enemies, despite whatever reason she had for coming South and putting a price on her beauty, he would have spent his last penny to
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