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many of the wrapped parcels she could carry, and received Dinkle’s proud assurance that he would have Samuel deliver the remainder later in the day.
    * * *
    Catherine returned to her home, listening to strains of Mozart played over the piano. She moved beside John watching his long fingers perform magic on the keys. “Your talents never cease to amaze me, General Rourke. Besides holding a gun and mounting cannons against Yankees you can engage in the classics?” Her eyes dipped with disapproval to the sheet wrapped around his midsection.
    “I’ll remedy the situation as soon as you tell me the whereabouts of my uniform.” He drawled, and then ceremoniously stood as if he were in truth a king, given divine right.
    Catherine gaped, staring at the heavy musculature of his chest and torso. Had he no shame? Lifting her chin in a bold attempt to end his intimidation, she squeaked, “I had it burned.”
    “What!”
    His roar rocked the beams of the tiny house. She nodded. Even when he was flat on his back, John was the most formidable foe she’d ever confronted. And when he was angry, towering over her, like he was now, he was terrifying.
    “Without my uniform, I’ll be hung as a spy!”
    She bit her lip. Never had he been so incensed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve made a few purchases for you.” She presented a blue shirt, pants and black boots.
    “That will do me real good when I’m swinging from the nearest tree.”
    “It’s better than your current attire. You should be grateful.”
    “What for? To be fashionable at my execution.”
    “They didn’t exactly have a sale on Reb uniforms at the dry goods.” She shot him a withering glance, turned on her heel, and walked into the kitchen.
    His footsteps thundered behind her. Predictable. She unpacked the jars of peaches and held one up. The delectable fruit glowed amber in the light. Did she hear his stomach rumble?
    “Miss Callahan, you have brought me gold.”
    He made a grab for the jars, but she lunged, withholding them. “Not until you shave and get dressed. I doubt you array yourself at home in such a state. I’m sure your mother would have something to say about it.”
    “You wound me, Miss Callahan.” He took the proffered clothes and shaving materials.
    Did he growl beneath his breath? Catherine smiled. She would command him through his stomach.
    When he finished shaving, he returned to the kitchen and seated her. “Thank you,” she said, and then stared, startled from his transformation. She handed him a bowl of peaches.
    Without a shadow of a beard, the clear-cut lines and angles of his face revealed much more of his character. He had a face in which dwelled a great coolness, inspired confidence, and when relaxed like he was now, an accompaniment of merriment.
    “Pardon me, Miss Callahan.” He smiled an easy devastating smile, disarming her. “If you are not going to eat your peaches, I’d—”
    “Of course,” Catherine said, her mortification burning in her cheeks, caught staring again. What was the matter with her? She pushed the bowl toward him. He looked marvelous. The blue shirt clung to his wide shoulders and the pants fit snugly, outlining his long, lean frame.
    “I suppose it would be good for you to take some fresh air.” She offered. The kitchen was getting a little too warm.
    “I’m unsteady and not sure of my endurance.”
    Catherine reached for her fringed shawl. He was still as weak as a kitten.
    * * *
    John took a deeper view of her home than he had on his prior jaunts. Columbine, clematis, and early daisies scattered around, and far off the porch was a white picket fence with rhubarb growing wild. Hardwoods followed up the mountains, a family of robins chattered away in a nest in a nearby oak and fresh springtime air, scented with sweet honeysuckle, cooled the sunlight pouring down on them.
    Everything at peace.
    Once past the barn, John without invitation, commandeered the use of Catherine’s arm, and with