Choices of the Heart (33 page)

“News travels.” Docherty’s smile was warm, encouraging. “But my wife would like to know about your midwife healer. She’s one herself.”

The gut tightness returned. “I don’t know what to tell you,” Griff hedged.

“Let’s make this easy,” Mrs. Docherty suggested. “Start with her name. I may know her.”

“She’s not from around here.” Griff set his knife down and curled his hands around the edge of the table. The gazes upon him were too intense, the faces too set for something not to be wrong. “Her name is Cherrett. Esther Cherrett.”

The younger daughter gasped. The other three exchanged glances.

Griff gave up thinking he could eat. “You know her.” It was a statement stemming from a suspicion he’d carried from the doctor’s office.

“Aye,” Dr. Docherty affirmed, “we ken who she is. She’s the missing daughter of our dear friends.”

28

Esther turned the page and began to read yet one more of Shakespeare’s sonnets. These and several of the playwright’s dramas, all appearing old enough to have belonged to the bard himself, were the only reading materials in the Brooks household other than the Bible. She’d been reading that to Zach. It kept him awake. Shakespeare sent him to sleep. And he needed his sleep, as much of it as he could get. He needed broth and milk and eggs, and she, his mother, or his sister spooned those down him in small portions several times a day. He was far too thin and weak to do much for himself, but his recovery seemed more likely each day.

“I said you’re an angel,” he had told her when he woke after his fever broke.

“You can thank your brother-in-law for carrying you up to the pool, not me. I’d run out of ideas on what to do.”

And sent Mattie to Rafe Docherty for no reason. By now Rafe and Phoebe and at least their daughters and son-in-law, if not their sons too, would know where to find her. No doubt a message was on its way to her parents even as she read one more sonnet in the heat of the summer afternoon. No doubt they would arrive in as little as four and no more than six weeks. She had that long before she had to make up her mind whether to stay or keep running.

“Esther?” Zach’s voice was as weak as he.

She raised her gaze from the book. “Yes?”

“You stopped reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Thirsty. Please.” He reached toward the cup of water beside his bed, his hand trembling.

“I’ll get it.” She set the book aside and crossed the room to kneel beside him.

He’d lost so much muscle she could lift him. She held him with one arm beneath his shoulders and her other hand holding the cup.

He smiled at her from half a foot away. “I feel like a child.”

“You won’t for long.”

“I hope not.” He curled his fingers around her wrist holding the cup to his lips. “I love you now more than ever.”

“No, Zach, you do not.” She tried to ease herself away from him, but he held on. Her heart began to pound, her stomach clench. “You’re confusing love with gratitude. Now let me go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Zach—” She couldn’t breathe.

A commotion sounded in the yard, horses’ hooves, men shouting.

“Let me go, Zach.” Esther’s voice rose on a note of panic. “You have callers.”

“Not for me.” He leaned closer to her. His breath brushed her cheek, stirring the hair she no longer owned pins enough to keep bundled into its knot, and bile burned in her throat. “Just kiss me so I can truly feel alive.”

“I c-can’t kiss—”

The parlor door burst open and Griff Tolliver strode in—tall, broad, vigorously strong and healthy with his wind-tossed hair and sun-bronzed skin. The very air in the room seemed to crackle and swirl.

Then it settled to unnatural stillness. “I beg your pardon for interrupting.” Griff closed the door behind him. “I crossed paths with your brother on the trail and brought him home, Zach.”

“You didn’t need to come in and tell me that.” Zach’s voice, though weak, held enough ice to fill a barn.

Esther’s face and neck burned as though she had caught Zach’s fever, but the panic slipped away. She tried to pull away from him again. He held her with more strength than he should possess. If she struggled, she would likely spill the water all over him. If she didn’t get away, Griff would think the worst of her.

She sent him a pleading glance. “Welcome back, Griff. I trust you had a safe journey?”

“Safe enough.” He plucked the cup from her hand. “I think she wants to get up, Zach.”

“Only because you walked in.” Zach sank back against his pillows, and Esther scrambled to her feet, smoothing back her hair.

“I think,” she said with her own hint of frost, “you can get your own water now, Zachary Brooks.”

“Aw, Esther, you can’t blame a man who’s been a-dyin’ for trying.”

“You . . . can if she’s not wi-willing.”

“But was she unwilling?” Griff murmured.

A tremor raced through Esther, and she backed to the door. “Excuse me. I need some air.” She jerked up the latch.

Zach grinned at Griff. “She saved my life, now I’m going to marry her.”

“I didn’t . . . I’m not going to . . .” She ran out of the house and into the yard.

No one was there now, and she dropped onto the lowest porch step, her face buried in her hands. She was shaking for no good reason. That was Zach, weak-as-a-new-calf Zach, not some healthy male. She could have gotten away even if it had made a bit of a scene. He wouldn’t have hurt her. He wanted nothing more than what Griff had taken.

No, what Griff had given and she’d taken before giving back.

A low moan escaped her.

“What’s amiss?” Griff was there beside her, silent as ever in his approach, his hand light on her hair. “Are you ill? Mattie said you’ve been at Zach’s side constantly.”

“I’m not ill. Worn to a thread, is all, and not much liking the way Zach thinks he has a claim on me.”

“Miss Esther Cherrett . . .” Griff crouched before her, coaxed her chin up, and met her gaze. “I’m only an ignorant mountain boy compared to the fancy, educated friends you have, but I know fear when I see it, and you was—were scared in there.” He tapped her chin. “Since when have you been afraid of Zach?”

Esther sank her teeth into her lower lip.

Griff rubbed it with his thumb. “Your eyes are about twice their usual size, and that’s right big. Now tell me what’s happened this week.”

“Nothing. That is—since his fever broke, he’s gotten too insistent.”

“Then slap his face.”

“I can’t slap a patient.”

“You sure can if he’s bothering you.”

“If it’s my fault, though . . .”

Griff’s face tightened. “You been petting him like you did me?”

“No, I never—I wouldn’t. But I’m certain it must be something.”

“You should have your hair pinned up.” He lifted a handful of the loose strands and allowed them to flow through his fingers. “It gives a man notions about seeing it spread out on his pillow.”

She swung her palm toward his cheek.

He caught her wrist, laughed, and kissed her palm. “That’s right. I shouldn’ta said it. Even if it’s true, it’s the sorta thing a man keeps to himself until he’s married to a girl. Just like his hands if she says no.”

She didn’t say no to him, not before, not then. He pressed her palm against his cheek, and she remained still, a two-day growth of his beard prickling her palm, his skin warm and smooth beneath. If they’d been anywhere but on the Brookses’ front steps, she would have brought her other hand to his face and kissed him. For being understanding, for being kind, for being there.

She’d missed him. Now that he was there, she felt where he’d been lacking, the empty place in her heart now filled.

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. She. Did. Not. Love. Him.

But of course she did. Why else had she let him kiss her? Why else had she so desperately needed him to let her down when she knew she couldn’t walk on her injured foot, needed to get away from her own wish to have him hold her closer?

She couldn’t love anyone. He was a good man who deserved a respectable wife. He was a Christian man who deserved a wife who still believed God cared.

Yet had God not shown He cared with Zach?

Zach was good and kind and hardworking. He too deserved a wife who wasn’t sullied by scandal.

Scandal. Her parents. The Dochertys.

She jumped back from Griff. “Did you meet Dr. Docherty?”

“I sure did.” He smiled. “And his wife and daughters.”

Esther narrowed her eyes. “Both of them?”

“Both of them.” Griff winked. “Miss Janet is a right pretty girl.”

“She’s a minx.” Esther tossed her hair back over her shoulders and rose. “Let me guess. She looked you up and down like you were her luncheon, and all the while her fiancé is off seeking his fortune at sea.”

“Not anymore. She was right happy to tell me that he’s on his way home.” He took her elbow and started her toward his tethered horse by the gate. “After she finished looking me up and down like I was her luncheon.”

Esther kept her gaze on the roan gelding and its bulging saddlebags. “And her parents? What did they tell you?”

“That you’re their dearest friends’ runaway daughter.”

“Like I’m a child.”

“You shouldn’t have come without telling them where you are, you know. Mommas worry about their young’uns.”

“And so do fathers, but mine are better off—” She drew her lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. She couldn’t stop the tears from springing to her lashes. “Are they coming here to drag me away?”

“Naw, they don’t want to drag you away.”

“What?” She flashed a glance up at him. The unshed tears scattered.

He caught one on the pad of his thumb. “They said it ain’t—” He let out a sigh of exasperation. “It isn’t their place to do anything of the kind to a woman grown. And it sounds like we need you here.”

Esther’s knees wobbled with her relief. She didn’t need to run after all. Not yet. Not unless she couldn’t manage her feelings for Griff.

“But they will write to your parents and send it by special courier,” Griff concluded.

“Of course they will.” Esther rubbed her eyes.

“And they’ll come to get you?”

Esther nodded. “Not that they can make me do anything, but my father can be . . . persuasive.”

“Esther.” Griff laid his hand on the small of her back.

She wasn’t wearing her corset and jumped at the heat through only her gown and petticoat.

“Dr. Docherty said you didn’t need to run off,” Griff continued softly.

“Did you tell him about the letters?”

“No, of course I didn’t. What kind of man do you think I am?”

Honorable, kind, generous, loyal, and far, far too good to look at.

They reached the gelding, and she stroked his neck as though he were her long-lost pet. “He must be weary. Will you take him home now?”

“I want to take you home now. After what I saw in the sickroom there, I think it’s time.”

“I think it’s time too. He won’t believe me. Perhaps if I go.”

“Then go fetch your things, and we’ll be gone.”

Esther hesitated, not wanting to enter the house, hear Mrs. Brooks or Hannah pleading with her about how much Zach needed her still. He didn’t. They were fine nurses. All he needed now was nourishment and strength. If she wasn’t around, perhaps he would come to his senses.

She laid her hand on Griff’s arm and gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. “Will you go fetch them for me? There isn’t much, and—”

Griff snatched her hand from his arm and stalked toward the house, his long legs eating up the ground, his back stiff.

Esther stared at her hand, still curved as though gripping Griff’s muscled forearm, and a verse from the fifth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel kept running through her head.
And if thy right
hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from
thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of
thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body
should be cast into hell.

Why did she think she needed to cajole and flirt and tease to get someone to do something for her? She never used to be so bold. Before January, she simply smiled and asked, and half a dozen men appeared to do her bidding. Then Alfred Oglevie ruined her reputation, and if she needed help with a parcel, with finding something, with mounting a horse—anything—men expected a reward from the pastor’s wanton daughter.

Like the kiss she had given Griff after he rescued her. Could it truly have been nothing more than her believing she needed to reward him for his aid? No, surely not, not when she felt about him the way she did.

And she knew how deeply those feelings ran for certain the instant he reappeared, her satchel in one hand, a small bundle of her things in the other. Unkempt and dusty from the journey, he was still a fine sight to her. Her ears ached to hear his gentle, deep voice. Her whole being yearned to be close to him, feeling his strength of mind, spirit, and body.

But she dared not. She was ruined, not good enough for him.

Choking down a sob, she turned on her heel and headed out of the compound.

29

Griff stowed Esther’s gear onto the saddle and swung onto the back of the horse. He needn’t hurry. She couldn’t get far walking. She still limped. He noticed that as she turned and headed out the gate as though a mountain lion pursued her.

Aunt Tamar pursued him. “Griff, why are you leaving so quick? Where’s Esther?”

“She left.” He hesitated, then decided he may as well tell the truth. “Zach is making her uncomfortable with his courting talk.”

“That boy.” Aunt Tamar shook her head. “I told him not to, but can you blame him for falling in love with her?”

“No,” Griff said. Raising his hand in farewell, he wheeled the gelding around and set out after Esther.

He reached her in less than a mile. She had slowed her pace and her limp was more pronounced, but her head was high, her long waves of hair lifting and drifting in the afternoon breeze.

He didn’t give her a choice about riding with him. She’d say no, the stubborn woman. He simply rode up beside her, leaned down to grasp her around the waist, and swung her onto the saddle in front of him. She shrieked and managed to deal his knee a painful kick. Her skirt billowed, showing a bit of lace on the edge of a petticoat ruffle and trim ankles in white stockings, but she sank into place at once, shoving down petticoat and gown as far as she could manage. A bit more of her lower limbs showed than was decent. Griff tried not to look.