Flora's Wish (56 page)

Green eyes fluttered open to capture her gaze and hold it. “You love me?” he breathed. “I was…” He paused to gasp for breath. “Was going to tell you…first. When I stopped the wagon. Only…”

“And you shall,” she said as she once again swiped away her tears. She traced the scar where lightning had touched him then returned her attention to his eyes. “Properly and while standing upright. I must warn you I intend to hold you to it.”

“You can count on…” He gasped and his eyes fluttered shut. “On that,” he said with what Flora feared was his last breath.

“Do something,” she demanded of the doctor.

Before the man could answer, Lucas began breathing normally, though his eyes remained shut tight. They stayed closed through the haze of activities that followed. Somehow Father appeared at her side to take her home, though she refused to leave until the three hours had passed. When the clock struck one and Lucas's breath was still shallow but even, Flora finally relaxed.
Thank You, Lord.

Once at Brimmfield, Father had a bed installed in the parlor so as to avoid the question of whether Flora's reputation would somehow be compromised by her insistence at remaining at Lucas's side in his bedchamber.

She pulled Father's favorite chair closer so that she could lean back against the cushions and allow herself a quick few minutes of rest. When her eyes opened again, some hours later, the lamps had been lit and Lucas was watching her.

Flora almost fell out of her chair as she went to him. “Oh, Lucas,” she said. “I thought I'd lost you and then the doctor said you must live through the first three hours and you did, and then he said…well, I'm just very glad you're alive.”

“Apparently so,” he managed as he struggled to sit up.

“Be careful. You've been shot—”

Lucas gave up and then reached up to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger. “While you were sleeping the doctor came. It looks as if I'm going to live.”

“Well, of course you are.” She grinned. “I had no doubt.”

“Lennart. Is he dead or alive?”

Her smile faded. “Lennart was found. Dead. Apparently he was already mortally wounded when he managed to fire off that last shot.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he nodded. “I'd hoped he might live to stand trial. His wife and daughters will be…” His eyes closed and then slowly fluttered open again. “I didn't want it to end like this.”

“I know.” A pause. “You saved my life, Lucas. Thank you.”

“Just part of the service, ma'am.” He reached for the table beside him and then touched his chest. “My father's watch,” he said. “It's missing.”

She pulled it out of her pocket and placed it in his hand. “It's right here.”

He began to cough, and pain contorted his expression. Flora soothed him as best she could until he breathed easy again. “In my jacket pocket,” he said, once again looking around. “A box. From Tucker. Did it contain your missing earrings?”

She recalled the empty box the valet had brought her upon laundering Lucas's stained clothing. “No, it was empty.” At his distressed look, she hurried to continue, “Rest now, Lucas. There will be plenty of time to talk later.”

“Not yet,” he said. “There's still one more thing.” He paused to draw her near. “Flora Brimm,” he said softly, “I know I'm not exactly upright yet, and I couldn't tell you what that doctor's put in the vile medication your butler keeps insisting I drink, but I can't wait any longer. I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

Lucas beckoned her to come even closer and then managed a soft kiss. “I want to marry you someday.” He gestured to the bandages. “I had a different outfit in mind, so you might have to wait a while.”

“I'll wait for you, Lucas.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as a prayer of thanks went heavenward. Even if the medication kept him from remembering, at least he had spoken from his heart. “Now promise me you'll get some proper rest. It's almost midnight.”

“I will if you will.”

Flora softly kissed his cheek and then stepped out of the parlor. In the pale lamplight of the hall, she found Violet waiting for her in her wheelchair. Daisy stood in the shadows near the door, her face beaming.

“How is he?” her sister asked, as if her presence there was not out of the ordinary.

“He is improving.”

“Good.” Violet smiled.

“What are you doing here?” Flora asked, and then she wished immediately she could take back the words. “Never mind.” She knelt at her sister's side. “I'm so glad you are.”

“This is my home, and it's time I returned to it.” Violet reached to wipe away Flora's tears. “We have much to talk about, don't we?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. I have it on good authority that chocolate cake is in the kitchen.”

“Chocolate cake?” Flora began to giggle. “Oh, Violet, we do have much to talk about!”

“Son, do you understand what I'm telling you?”

Lucas blinked hard, as much to adjust his eyes as to give him a minute to compose himself. The doctor stared back at him, his face kind and his eyes wearing the concerned look a man gets when he's delivered bad news.

And the fact that Lucas would likely never use his right arm again definitely qualified as news of the worst kind. What would a man who made his living with a sidearm do when he stopped being able to shoot? And how would he diagram his inventions when he couldn't even sign his name?

“Yeah, Doc, I got it. I'm washed up as a Pink and not much use to anyone who needs an able-bodied man. I wouldn't make much of a husband right now either.”

The doctor adjusted his spectacles. “Now look here. I've seen worse than this and fellows managed just fine. The bullet zagged around a bit, so we can't know what other damage has been done just yet. That'll take some time and—”

“All due respect, Doc,” Lucas said as he settled back against the pillows and prayed for the pain medication to take hold, “but what you've seen and where I'm lying right now are two different matters altogether.”

The doctor reached for his bag. “I suppose you're right.”

“Can you promise I'll make a full recovery? That I'll be the man I was before Lennart shot me?”

The older man rose and set his hat atop his head. “There's nothing else I can do here, but the Lord… He's only just started to work. Let Him do His job, won't you?”

“So what you're saying is that even if Miss Brim would take me as a husband, it's likely she'd get a cripple in the bargain.” He let out a long breath and paid for it with a searing pain in his chest. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Son, I'm sorry. But you're alive. Give it some time.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucas turned away to bite back a response he knew he would regret. Only when the door closed on the doctor and his bad news did he allow himself to form the complaint he wished to lodge against God. The trouble with that, however, was the fact that he knew the doctor was right. Things could have been worse.

The next morning Flora slipped in to see Lucas after the doctor left, hoping to be the first to break the news of her sister's victory over the fear that had kept her hidden away. Instead, she stalled at the expression on his face that greeted her.

Tilting his head toward his right arm, now bandaged and immobile, he let out a long breath. “I've no use of this arm.”

A by-product of the shooting, the doctor had told her on his way out. While there was no limit to what the human body might do to repair itself, the likelihood that he might regain use of that arm was slim at best.

“Good morning, Lucas,” she said brightly. “I have such great news—”

“Did you hear me, Flora? My arm. It's…”

“I heard,” she whispered.

“This makes me useless as a Pinkerton agent.” His Irish eyes met hers. “What good is an agent who cannot shoot his weapon or even sign his name?”

“You'll manage. Or learn. Or, who knows? Things may improve, and there's always your inventions to keep you busy. Surely you'll find something—”

“No, Flora. There's nothing.”

“Nothing?” She shook her head. “But I thought…”

“Leave me.” He paused to pull in a shuddering breath. Be it physical or emotional, pain obviously wracked him. “Just please go.”

“But I brought a book, and I thought that perhaps we might—”

He looked away. “Not today.”

She did as he asked and left, too proud to show her tears and too hurt to remain and fight. When her next several attempts at conversation were met with the same reluctance to speak, she finally gave up. Whatever battle Lucas McMinn was now fighting, he chose to fight it alone.

Like it or not, they were no longer a team.

Worse, the niggling fear that his feelings for her were only a passing medicated moment kept Flora worried. Four days after the shooting, he announced he would no longer keep to the makeshift sickroom and began to take his meals in the dining room with Flora, Father, and Grandmama.

Conversation at mealtimes was lively, mostly owing to the fact that Grandmama loved to reminisce about the old days before and during the war. And though Flora and Father had heard the stories a multitude of times, Lucas proved to be an interested audience. Refusing help, he fumbled his way through learning to feed himself with his left hand as he studiously maintained only the most distant demeanors toward Flora.

Through it all, nothing further was said about the feelings they expressed on the day of the shooting. Nor did he hold much interest in keeping company with her at all. She began to believe she'd dreamed the whole thing. Or that his profession of love had indeed been the medication speaking.

About this time Father insisted Lucas take over the first floor library. A much more fitting space for a man, he'd declared as he left on yet another of his trips to buy seed or make purchases for the farm. Cleverly, he had also requested Lucas look over his buisness records in his absence.

Indeed, Father had never taken to the business side of things. Yet even then, he'd never shrugged from his duties. Though Flora suspected ulterior motives in her Father's request, Lucas obviously did not. The man who swore he could never return to the Pinkertons now took to his new responsibilities with great gusto.

Such was his fervor with the project Father had left him that Lucas took to having his meals in the library. Any attempt for company was rebuffed.

In short, Flora had become a stranger. Or, rather, the man in Father's library had become one. She certainly did not expect this when he asked her to wait.

A week after the shooting, she wandered into the library to find him poring over something that looked suspiciously like blueprints. Though he had lost some weight, the maids had seen to tailoring his shirts so they still fit him quite well. From the width of his shoulders to the arm he'd taken to wearing bound in a sling, he was still quite a handsome and formidable man.