Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series) (34 page)

“I’m not leaving.”

“No,” h
e acquiesced, “but perhaps
we could wait just over here.”

With a stilted nod she let the man lead her to a settee a few feet away. She heard Hodges tell Mrs. Potts to bring tea, hot and sweet.

Marissa sat on the edge of her chair, staring at the wall James and Major Bernstein made.
It was impossible to see
the surgeons work,
though she had to admit James may have been right. Maybe she shouldn’t see
this.
Time was lost to her as she sat nervously pleating the thick blue skirt of her dress. Occasionally she could discern a word spoken by the two physicians, but for the most part the
ir
murmuring was undistinguishable and she was entirely in the dark. Part of her wanted to cry but the tears were stuck. She was beyond tears. This hurt too much to cry.

After an eternity the doctors stepped back, looking exhausted. Marissa flew to her husband’s side. He was breathing. Turning to James and Major Bernstein her eyes spoke her questions for her.

It was James who spoke. “The bullet passed through and as far as we can tell it missed any major organs. His guts are intact, but he’s lost a lot of blood. God knows how long he lay before someone found him.” He paused. “I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, but he’s young, he has a good heart, and if infection doesn’t set in I think he’ll make it.”

Tears of relief rushed to her eyes and
she threw her arms around James.
“Than
k you.
”

James returned her embrace and then turned to Major Bernstein.
“I know we’re sh
ort-handed at the hospital, sir,
but with your leave, I’ll stay a while to make sure everything is going well.”

“If we need you, I’ll send word.” Bernstein glanced at Marissa who had dragged a chair close to sit beside her husband. “But I think he’s in the best hands possible right now.”

*     *     *

Craig’s lids felt leaden. He couldn’t force his eyes open. Voices surrounded him and words occasionally penetrated the haze of his mind. It was difficult to tell if any of
it was real or
just a dream. He remembered hearing shouts, the sound of a gunshot, and oh God, how his head hurt! He tried to move, and a worse pain stole his
breath. His side was on fire, hi
s back
as well…
What the hell had happened?

He moaned, prying one lid up a sliver.
Soft fingers curled around his and he tried to speak but only succeeded in moaning again.

“Craig,” a distant
voice murmured, t
he sound so distant it felt an impossibility to reach out and grab hold of it.

“James,” Marissa said
, her voice coming through more sharply
.

“Yeah?”

“I think he’s waking
up.”

“Good.”

The voices
grew stronge.
The words seemed closer, clearer, and he finally managed to
open both eyes
. A light pierced the cloud wrapped around his brain a
nd his head began to throb even worse
.
Am
I hung over again?
He didn’t remember drinking. The desire to sink back into oblivion was strong but
… “Ma
rissa,”
he croaked, dragging his tongue over
parched lips.

“Craig,” she clasped his hand. “I’m here. We’re looking after you
.” H
e squeezed
her hand
back. She moistened his lips with a damp cloth.

“What happened?” His eyes were open now and the sight of his wife and friend hovering as though on death vigil left him further bewildered.

“You were shot,” James said and Marissa squeezed his hand until it hurt.

“No wonder I feel like death warmed over.”

“Do you know who did this?”

Craig closed his eyes and a furrow of concentration formed between his brows, “I don’t remember anything. I was almost home and then
—
” He stopped, there was something on the tip of his consciousness, a memory obscured by a hazy shroud, an almost familiar worry. “I just don’t remember.”

“Marissa,” James said, “would you get some water and that rich broth Mrs. Potts left?”

“You go,” she said, her eyes never leaving Craig’s.

“I’d rather you did. I’m not familiar with your kitchen.”

When she’d left the room James folded his arms across his chest. “You really don’t remember what happened?”

Craig shifted, wanting to sit up, but unable. “Someone shot me? Why? Because they think I’m a Yankee spy?” A vague memory of those very words swam into his mind. He blinked, and slowly, his head began to clear.

“The major told me you’d been relieved of duty,” James said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe for one minute you and Marissa are Yankees, and neither does he.”

“Thank you for that.” Craig looked towards the door Marissa had left open. “And thank you for coming when we needed you.

“James,” Craig went on, wanting to get this out before Marissa returned. He didn’t want her to hear the woman’s name on his lips ever again. “I think Kirsten Jamison is the mastermind behind all of this. The spy rumors, this shooting, everything.”

James gaped slightly, then stepped back, his expression guarded. “Kirsten? Why do you think that?”

“I’ve been avoiding her sharp claws for years. All she and her family want is my family’s money. I can’t prove it, but I know they set me up, James. The morning after my bachelor party I woke up feeling as though I’d drunk an entire bottle of Laudanum.”

The color drained from James’s face. He raked a hand through his short red locks and plopped back onto the wooden chair. “If... if Kirsten was trying to trap you I should hardly think she’d have you shot!”

“No,” Craig agreed. “I don’t think that was part of the plan. I was just supposed to be roughed up. I heard... I think I heard...” His voice weakened again. What was it he’d heard? His mind fought to remember, but the pain... It was bad.

“That night of the bachelor’s party. How much did you have to drink?”

“I remember having... two.” A stabbing of pain made Craig pause.
“After that I don’t remember anything…
And then
I woke
up in
—
”

“Kirsten’s bed. Yes. I know. Craig, her father
caught
you there.” There was more than a hint of concern in Rowe’s tone. “Do you really mean to tell me you haven’t been with her? You can tell me the truth, Craig. I won’t tell your wife.”

“I never touched her.
”

“But she said
—
”

“I know
damn well what she
has been saying.” Again he tried to push himself up, but his body screamed in protest.
Oh God!
H
e wanted to curse but simply lacked the strength to do so.

“Easy.” James lowered him back down to the pillows. “You’ll undo all my good work.”

With a shuddering breath Craig swallowed, feeling incredibly… tired. “Don’t you see it?” he closed his eyes. The faraway haze beginning to close back in around him. He struggled to keep his head above the surface. “Kirsten is nothing but a conniving bi
tch. And she is ruining my life.
”

James
’s voice seemed to come from far away. “I think I can shed some light on at least part of this,” he said, “but later. Rest now.”

Marissa led the way into the room followed by the Hodges carrying
a tray. At the sight of her
, Craig
fought off the sleep threatening to take him
.

“Oh good you’re still awake.” She lay gentle fingers across his brow. “Do you think you can take a few sips of water or broth?”

“Yes,” he said, though
the tempting oblivion of sleep taunted him.

*
             
*
             
*

Marissa cradled Craig’
s head in her arm and dribbled sips of broth and water into his mouth between his spells of dozing. What she wouldn’t have given for IV fluids and antibiotics. When the two cups were empty, she lay atop the covers on his good side, watching over him in the fli
ckering light of a candle. W
hen the first rays of dawn peeked through the curt
ains, his color looked better, s
he was sure of it.

James climbed stiffly from a chair where he, too, had been dozing, and stretched. Ambling over to the window, he parted the draperies before approaching his patient. “He looks better.”

Marissa just nodded, stifling a yawn, and lay her head on Craig’s arm.

As if on cue, his eyes opened and he turned his head to his wife, curled at his side. “Does this mean I’m forgiven.”

James rescued her from the nee
d to make an immediate response.
“I
have an errand to run in town,” he interrupted. “
I’m not sure how long it will take, but I’ll check in a little later.”

“What do you think, Doc, am I going to make it?” Craig managed a wan smile.

“I think you’re going to be fine. The gunshot wound itself isn’t all that bad, but you lost a lot of blood.” To Marissa, he said, “I don’t have to tell you to keep giving him fluids, do I?”

“No, doctor, you do not.”

Craig attempted to sit.
He grimaced,
but
managed without assistance.
After stuffing pillows behind his back, Marissa scooted off the other side of the bed and stood while she escorted Dr. Rowe to the door, thanked him, and watched him leave.

She returned to her husband’s side, and tentatively
touched the wide white bandage
contrasting with
his bronzed skin. “Craig... Oh, Craig,” she said
, climbing back onto the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck
. “I was so afraid. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“No
t to worry
, love, it will take more than this to get rid of me.”
He curled an arm around her middle, the scent of rosewater swirling
through his senses. She always smelled so good. He would never smell a rose again without thinking of her.