Page 69 of Ordered Home for the Holidays
Deirdre slipped into the room, and watched avidly as Dr. Hampton held a stethoscope to Cass’s chest and then his back.
He straightened and turned to them. “We’re lucky. The bullet didn’t hit any major arteries and it exited through his shoulder. The bleeding has stopped and he’ll heal. From the looks of some of the scars he already has, he won’t be a stranger to the pain. I’m going to clean it and bind it.” He flicked his gaze toward Deirdre. “Mrs. O’Shaugnessy, I’ll leave you instructions for changing his dressing.”
***
Deirdre fell asleep in the chair in front of the fireplace in his bedroom. When her eyes fluttered open, moonlight was streaming in the window and the hearth was nothing but embers. Cass was moaning softly.
She sat on the bed near his waist and turned up the lamp so she could pour some water into the tin mug on the bedside table.
He groaned again when she held it to his lips, and wrapped his hand lightly around her wrist to hold it there.
His eyes were still closed, and it made her feel braver. “I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you.”
He grinned wryly, his eyes still closed. “You mean besides getting shot? If I hadn’t taken that bullet it would have hit Seamus. Better me - a scoundrel who keeps disappointing the people he loves, than your brother.”
“I was scared out of my wits when they brought you here.”
“What happened after I got shot?”
“Both sides took a step back. And I realized something,” she set her hand on his cheek. “I could have lost you and all of the parts of us that are tangled up in here,” Deirdre placed her other hand over her heart.
He propped himself up on the pillows and pulled her hand away to place it against his chest. “You’re tangled up here too.”
“Let me check your bandage,” she nudged him on his side and brushed her hand over his back above the strips of cotton.
There was a round scar high on his shoulder that hadn’t been there seven years ago.
She wondered how many other scars there were. Scars that counted the moments and miles of the seven years they’d been apart.
There was a slashing one across his hip too.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve been shot.”
“No. They call it the Wild West for a reason. For the most part, it’s pretty lawless.”
“What happens now?”
He turned carefully and propped his head on his left arm. “Well, there are all sorts of things I’ve been wanting to do. But I don’t know if you want them too.”
“Like what?”
He tangled his fingers in one of the curls that had escaped her tidy chignon. “Like kiss you until you can’t walk straight and you forgive me for ever leaving you. Or for shaming you about the choices I forced you to make.”
She climbed onto the bed and spooned her body around his. “What else?”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and then lower, until he’d skimmed her entire body. When he raised his eyes to hers again,they were full of fire. “Like making love to you again. I’ve learned things, Wildflower.”
She reared back. “I thought you said you didn’t frequent those sorts of establishments,” she said half teasingly, half indignantly.
He slid his arm around her waist and hauled her closer, until their legs were tangled together. “A man can read.”
“So you’ve moved beyond Tacitus and Shakespeare.”
He lay on his back and pulled her over him. “I have. And I’m more than willing to demonstrate my vast well of learning.”
Deirdre dropped her head and giggled into his shoulder. When she’d finished laughing she pecked him on the cheek. “I’m more than willing to benefit from all your learning.”
“They stripped me of everything but my drawers.”
