Read Online Surrender the Wind by Elizabeth St. Michel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth St. Michel
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance, Historical, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, War & Military, alpha male romance, female protagonist, mystery and suspense, action and adventure, Women of the Civil War, Wartime Love Story, America Civil War Battles
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shrewd resourcefulness, exaggerated his injury. “What shall we discuss today, Miss Callahan?”
“Tell me about the other commanders with whom you have served.”
He did nothing to hide his surprise. “Such a delicate topic. Most ladies—”
“I’m beyond petticoats and parasols. Do continue—”
How attractive she looked in her blue dress and—how he loved to fence with the charming, Miss Callahan. Lilacs and sunshine, her warm feminine scent spiraled around him.
“Let’s start with your General Lee. Surely you think he is a model to which our Union officers fail. Meanwhile, he recruits and furnishes himself in the farmlands of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania.”
“Our General Lee is a mighty commander. The South’s finest and most revered.” John enjoyed the advantage of his height that offered him an alluring display of smooth flesh, exposed by the neckline of her gown. “The South has had the edge because we use West Pointers as our military leaders. Lincoln, for political reasons, has not picked West Pointers, and the generals he chooses have no more military sense than an old woman. Your General Burnside at Fredericksburg? What folly. Ranks and ranks of Yankees went down like snow, melting as they hit the ground. The entire Irish brigade mowed down against the heights, thirteen thousand men, slaughtered. Your General McClellan or Young Napoleon? How about his disaster at Bull Run? Mr. Lincoln would be well-advised to leave McClellan in charge with his apparent unwillingness to engage in battle—would make the security and fortunes of the South absolute.”
“Tell me, was it foolish of General Lee to invade the North when he was outgunned and outmanned…and knowing the Union would come looking for you? Tell me, General Rourke, did Lee learn a lesson at Gettysburg?” Her eyes flashed. “How about General Ulysses Grant?”
“General Grant?” John grew pensive. Grant had thrown Yankee forces at the Confederates in the Wilderness. Since his capture, he had no news of the outcome. Grant was new. He had not figured him out yet. Frowning, he said, “You Yanks call him, “Unconditional Surrender” Grant. He’s an enigma although his western campaigns show he is a fighter and that surprises me. Lowest in rank in his class at West Point, and rumors abound he favors the fermented flavor of wheat and barley too much.”
“We shall see, General Rourke. The mongrel dog is always stronger than the thoroughbred.”
“But Grant hasn’t met Bobby Lee.” He touched his forehead in a mock salute.
“Your Bobby Lee is as useful as a milk pail under a bull,” she snapped.
“I see you’ve been sharpening your sword early today. However, time will tell on your General Grant, your supposed hero of the North.” He caressed her cheek with the knuckle of his forehand. He wanted to touch her and keep on touching her.
“What about Jackson? Pickett? Longstreet? Hill?”
“Slow down, Miss Callahan, my mind’s dizzy with all you require. Are you asking for yourself—or for Mr. Lincoln?” He quirked a speculative brow.
“I doubt very much if you are ever addled, General Rourke.”
His breath whistled out. When she looked up and offered him a beguiling smile that lit the heavens, his knees went weak. “Another compliment? How can I refuse such a delightful woman on a picturesque day? General Jackson—Stonewall that is, now deceased, God rest his soul. Now there was a man who knew how to fight. Did you know he was superstitious? Wouldn’t eat pepper. Felt it made his left leg stiff.”
“Eccentric,” she huffed.
With her cheeks rosy from the sun, her hair curling in thick golden waves about her shoulders, and that bare dip between her breasts—was there any defense? “A little eccentricity isn’t bad in a general. It helps with newspapers and women. Southern women are crazy over our generals who are both pious and a little crazy themselves.”
“Spare me.”
He laughed at her.
“Tell me about the other commanders with whom you have served.”
He did nothing to hide his surprise. “Such a delicate topic. Most ladies—”
“I’m beyond petticoats and parasols. Do continue—”
How attractive she looked in her blue dress and—how he loved to fence with the charming, Miss Callahan. Lilacs and sunshine, her warm feminine scent spiraled around him.
“Let’s start with your General Lee. Surely you think he is a model to which our Union officers fail. Meanwhile, he recruits and furnishes himself in the farmlands of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania.”
“Our General Lee is a mighty commander. The South’s finest and most revered.” John enjoyed the advantage of his height that offered him an alluring display of smooth flesh, exposed by the neckline of her gown. “The South has had the edge because we use West Pointers as our military leaders. Lincoln, for political reasons, has not picked West Pointers, and the generals he chooses have no more military sense than an old woman. Your General Burnside at Fredericksburg? What folly. Ranks and ranks of Yankees went down like snow, melting as they hit the ground. The entire Irish brigade mowed down against the heights, thirteen thousand men, slaughtered. Your General McClellan or Young Napoleon? How about his disaster at Bull Run? Mr. Lincoln would be well-advised to leave McClellan in charge with his apparent unwillingness to engage in battle—would make the security and fortunes of the South absolute.”
“Tell me, was it foolish of General Lee to invade the North when he was outgunned and outmanned…and knowing the Union would come looking for you? Tell me, General Rourke, did Lee learn a lesson at Gettysburg?” Her eyes flashed. “How about General Ulysses Grant?”
“General Grant?” John grew pensive. Grant had thrown Yankee forces at the Confederates in the Wilderness. Since his capture, he had no news of the outcome. Grant was new. He had not figured him out yet. Frowning, he said, “You Yanks call him, “Unconditional Surrender” Grant. He’s an enigma although his western campaigns show he is a fighter and that surprises me. Lowest in rank in his class at West Point, and rumors abound he favors the fermented flavor of wheat and barley too much.”
“We shall see, General Rourke. The mongrel dog is always stronger than the thoroughbred.”
“But Grant hasn’t met Bobby Lee.” He touched his forehead in a mock salute.
“Your Bobby Lee is as useful as a milk pail under a bull,” she snapped.
“I see you’ve been sharpening your sword early today. However, time will tell on your General Grant, your supposed hero of the North.” He caressed her cheek with the knuckle of his forehand. He wanted to touch her and keep on touching her.
“What about Jackson? Pickett? Longstreet? Hill?”
“Slow down, Miss Callahan, my mind’s dizzy with all you require. Are you asking for yourself—or for Mr. Lincoln?” He quirked a speculative brow.
“I doubt very much if you are ever addled, General Rourke.”
His breath whistled out. When she looked up and offered him a beguiling smile that lit the heavens, his knees went weak. “Another compliment? How can I refuse such a delightful woman on a picturesque day? General Jackson—Stonewall that is, now deceased, God rest his soul. Now there was a man who knew how to fight. Did you know he was superstitious? Wouldn’t eat pepper. Felt it made his left leg stiff.”
“Eccentric,” she huffed.
With her cheeks rosy from the sun, her hair curling in thick golden waves about her shoulders, and that bare dip between her breasts—was there any defense? “A little eccentricity isn’t bad in a general. It helps with newspapers and women. Southern women are crazy over our generals who are both pious and a little crazy themselves.”
“Spare me.”
He laughed at her.
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