smug.
“I’m just fine, Mrs. Michaelson. If anything, I’m surprised that a gentlewoman such as yourself would show such mercy as to strip down a Rebel soldier. I am amazed. How alarming it must have been for you! Such danger you cast yourself into!”
Her lashes swept her cheeks again, but he failed to draw a blush.
“Colonel, it seems to me that beneath the fabric, be it blue or gray, men do seem to be very much alike. I found nothing alarming about the act at all, and my dear Colonel, I must say, I hardly found you … dangerous.”
With that she spun around and started toward the stairs.
Daniel’s smile deepened. He closed his eyes. He had lost two full days. He didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t know where he needed to get to rejoin his men or Stuart.
For the first time since the war had begun, he decided that he had to allow himself a certain period of convalescence. He had to get through the lines to get home. The cavalry would be awaiting him somewhere in Virginia.
But for the moment, he determined there was something else equally important.
He wanted Mrs. Callie Michaelson to know that he could be dangerous when he chose. Damned dangerous.
He rose, pulling the sheet with him and wrapping it around his waist. He paused for several minutes, finding the strength to stand. Life and energy slowly eased back into his limbs. He flexed his fingers and then his arms. He became certain that, weak as he was, he was not going to keel over with his first step.
With the white tail of sheet following him like a bridal train, he left the room and walked carefully down the stairs.
It was time to confront his enemy angel once again.
So there was no difference between men, was there?
She wanted battle? Well, battle was thus engaged.
She was about to discover that, indeed, there were very real differences between men.
————
Five
————
Callie wasn’t at all sure she had managed to appear calm and completely unruffled in front of her uninvited guest. By the time she reached the kitchen, her palms were very damp and her heart seemed to be thundering at a thousand pulses a minute. She nearly splashed the stew she had been cooking all over her fingers when she went to stir the large pot over the stove.
She was so much more comfortable with him when he was unconscious!
No, God forgive her, she hadn’t just been comfortable. She had actually enjoyed caring for him.
It hadn’t been easy at first. He had been on fire, his flesh simply burning, and she had been powerless, bound as she was to him. No matter how he had kicked and thrashed and turned, no matter how hotly he had burned, he had maintained a fierce strength. She hadn’t been able to free herself from the binds he had created between them and she hadn’t been able to get through to him. Alone in the darkness she had imagined his dying, and herself bound to him day after day while his body decayed.
But she had known it had been more than the fear of being tied to a dead man that had so frightened her. She didn’t want him to die. Cocky, arrogant Rebel thathe might be, he had put something of challenge and vitality back into her own life.
And he was, in his masculine way, beautiful.
That was what she had enjoyed.
She’d not thought this at all at first. Once she had convinced him to free her, she had cut away his clothing because of the mud and the blood that matted his chest and his abdomen. And then she had been so busy soaking his flesh that she had paid it little heed. Tirelessly, she had run up and down the steps, fetching more and more water from the pump. She had opened all of the windows to cool the room, and then she had soaked him again and again.
It had been well into the day when she had known that she had succeeded, that he was going to live. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t speak—he gave her very little sign of life. But the awful heat began to cool, and his flesh was no longer so horribly dry to
“I’m just fine, Mrs. Michaelson. If anything, I’m surprised that a gentlewoman such as yourself would show such mercy as to strip down a Rebel soldier. I am amazed. How alarming it must have been for you! Such danger you cast yourself into!”
Her lashes swept her cheeks again, but he failed to draw a blush.
“Colonel, it seems to me that beneath the fabric, be it blue or gray, men do seem to be very much alike. I found nothing alarming about the act at all, and my dear Colonel, I must say, I hardly found you … dangerous.”
With that she spun around and started toward the stairs.
Daniel’s smile deepened. He closed his eyes. He had lost two full days. He didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t know where he needed to get to rejoin his men or Stuart.
For the first time since the war had begun, he decided that he had to allow himself a certain period of convalescence. He had to get through the lines to get home. The cavalry would be awaiting him somewhere in Virginia.
But for the moment, he determined there was something else equally important.
He wanted Mrs. Callie Michaelson to know that he could be dangerous when he chose. Damned dangerous.
He rose, pulling the sheet with him and wrapping it around his waist. He paused for several minutes, finding the strength to stand. Life and energy slowly eased back into his limbs. He flexed his fingers and then his arms. He became certain that, weak as he was, he was not going to keel over with his first step.
With the white tail of sheet following him like a bridal train, he left the room and walked carefully down the stairs.
It was time to confront his enemy angel once again.
So there was no difference between men, was there?
She wanted battle? Well, battle was thus engaged.
She was about to discover that, indeed, there were very real differences between men.
————
Five
————
Callie wasn’t at all sure she had managed to appear calm and completely unruffled in front of her uninvited guest. By the time she reached the kitchen, her palms were very damp and her heart seemed to be thundering at a thousand pulses a minute. She nearly splashed the stew she had been cooking all over her fingers when she went to stir the large pot over the stove.
She was so much more comfortable with him when he was unconscious!
No, God forgive her, she hadn’t just been comfortable. She had actually enjoyed caring for him.
It hadn’t been easy at first. He had been on fire, his flesh simply burning, and she had been powerless, bound as she was to him. No matter how he had kicked and thrashed and turned, no matter how hotly he had burned, he had maintained a fierce strength. She hadn’t been able to free herself from the binds he had created between them and she hadn’t been able to get through to him. Alone in the darkness she had imagined his dying, and herself bound to him day after day while his body decayed.
But she had known it had been more than the fear of being tied to a dead man that had so frightened her. She didn’t want him to die. Cocky, arrogant Rebel thathe might be, he had put something of challenge and vitality back into her own life.
And he was, in his masculine way, beautiful.
That was what she had enjoyed.
She’d not thought this at all at first. Once she had convinced him to free her, she had cut away his clothing because of the mud and the blood that matted his chest and his abdomen. And then she had been so busy soaking his flesh that she had paid it little heed. Tirelessly, she had run up and down the steps, fetching more and more water from the pump. She had opened all of the windows to cool the room, and then she had soaked him again and again.
It had been well into the day when she had known that she had succeeded, that he was going to live. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t speak—he gave her very little sign of life. But the awful heat began to cool, and his flesh was no longer so horribly dry to
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