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  “Not too much,” he said after she’d taken a few sips.

  She handed the glass back to Chandler. “You taking care of your brother and sister?” Rosemarie’s voice had eased with the water.

  “Yeah. And me and Mr. McCoy shot a rabbit.” Chandler’s chest puffed out, his mouth in a wide grin.

  Rosemarie’s gaze swung to Daniel. “Where’s the rifle now?”

  Before Daniel could answer, Chandler jumped in. “Mr. McCoy put it away−up high over the fireplace, so’s the little ones can’t reach it.”

  Rosemarie closed her eyes and nodded.

  “All right, son, why don’t you leave that water there, on the dresser, and check on Jace and Amelia while I cool your ma off.”

  Daniel slid the sheet down, then dipped the cloth into the water. With great care, he bathed her heated body with the water, trying to ignore her full curves.

  “I hate Rebels.” She spoke with her eyes still closed.

  “I know. And ma’am, for what it’s worth, I hate what they did to you, too.”

  She moved her head and opened her deep blue eyes. “You’re one of them.”

  He shook his head and wrung out the cloth. “No, ma’am. I’m a Confederate soldier, but not one of the men who stole everything from you.”

  The clock ticked in the background for a minute before she spoke. “Not yet, anyway.”

  He smiled at the slight tilt of her lips.

  

  The next morning, Daniel carried his cup of chicory-laced coffee to the front porch and settled on the top step. He took a sip, grateful it wasn’t plain chicory, which was all he’d had to drink practically since the war had started. He and Rosemarie had declared a truce for as long as she needed his help. He grinned at her sassy attitude, despite being bedridden. She continued to call him “Reb,” but some of the disdain had gone from her voice.

  The sun crept over the hill in the distance, slowly removing any trace of the dusky dawn−his favorite time of day. He inhaled deeply, but the cold winter air of Indiana didn’t soothe him. Before the war had taken over his life, he’d sat on his front porch just about every morning in Virginia, coffee in hand, readying himself for the day.

  Days spent training horses and caring for them. Working on his own land where he’d been born and had expected to die. He’d thought to spend the rest of his life repeating those days, eventually marrying one of the young ladies from the county, having a passel of kids. The horse farm had been his life, his legacy, in his family since his great grandfather, Sean McCoy, had stepped off the ship from Ireland and earned enough money to buy his first few horses.

  Then the war came, and after days of heated arguments over the dinner table, his brother decided to honor their mother’s people, who were from nearby West Virginia, by signing on with the Union Army. Maggie had been proud, Daniel disgusted. What he’d seen as Stephen’s betrayal had caused a break in their lifelong friendship that might never be healed. He took another sip of the warming beverage and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Where was his younger brother now? Had he been killed in battle? Wounded? He might never know. Once the ire had subsided at what he’d considered his brother’s betrayal, a gnawing fear for the younger man’s life took the anger’s place, never to diminish during all the years of the war. Even fighting against each other wouldn’t break the brothers’ bond.

  “Mr. a’Coy, whatcha doing out here?” Amelia’s soft baby voice interrupted his musings.

  He turned to smile at the little girl, face flushed from sleep, dragging a rag doll behind her.

  “Just enjoying the sunrise, darlin’.”

  She settled alongside him, snuggling into the warmth of his body.

  He placed his arm around her thin shoulders and pulled her close. “You shouldn’t be out here without your coat.”

  “I forgot.” She tucked her fingers into her mouth, and regarded him wide-eyed. “Are we goin’ to have oatmeal for breakfast again?”

  “No, ma’am. Chandler brought in some more eggs yesterday, and we’ll scramble ‘em up for you.”

  She nodded. “Good. I like scrambled eggs.”

  Daniel stood, scooping Amelia into his arms. “It’s time to start breakfast, and I need to check on your ma.”

  Amelia yawned, tiny tears forming in her eyes. “She’s sleeping. ‘Cause I just looked.”

  He deposited her on the chair as Chandler entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Why were you outside?”

  “Looking at the beautiful sunrise,” Daniel said as he ruffled Chandler’s hair. “Why don’t you fetch those eggs you collected yesterday and scramble ‘em up while I see to your ma?”

  “And don’t make oatmeal, Chandler.” Amelia’s voice drifted down the hall as he headed to Rosemarie’s bedroom.

  She lay on her side, the sore leg balanced on a pillow, just as he’d left her the night before.

  “Good morning.” He approached the bed as her eyes opened. “How do you feel?”

  “The leg pains me, but I don’t think I have a temperature anymore.” Her eyes, no longer glazed with fever, watched him as he felt her forehead.

  “Nice and cool. You’re right.”

  Rosemarie shifted, and winced. “Can you help me sit? I’m sore from lying in the same position all night.”

  Daniel fluffed pillows behind her, and then reached his arm around to pull her up to a sitting position, carefully leaning her against the headboard.

  Her face paled, and she bit her lip.

  “I’m sorry, I tried not to move your leg too much.”

  She took in a deep breath. “It’s all right. I have to get up today anyway.”

  Daniel rested his hands on his hips. “I don’t think so.”

  “Excuse me?” Her chin rose, and her eyes flashed in defiance.

  “I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but it’s really not a good idea to get out of bed yet.”

  “Look, Reb, I have work to do, children to take care of.”

  “That’s why I’m here, ma’am. I can stay for a few days until you’re on your feet again.” He pointed at her leg. “You could rip those stitches out, and you’d be back where you started.”

  “Won’t the army be looking for you?”

  Daniel nodded. “Most likely both sides. But I won’t leave until I know you can handle things.”

  She closed her eyes. “Why?”

  Even though she couldn’t see, he shrugged. “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I left you in this condition, with three little ones to care for.”

  “We’re not your concern.” She raised her eyelids and peered at him.

  His jaw tightened. “You are now.”

  “Mama, Jace wet the bed again, and Chandler’s mad. He said he’s gonna make me eat oatmeal, even though Mr. a’Coy said he would cook me scrambled eggs. He’s being mean.” Amelia climbed on the bed, and Daniel grabbed her when he saw Rosemarie’s face pale.

  “Best to stay off your mama’s bed until her leg is better.” He shifted Amelia in his arms, and glanced at Rosemarie . “Can you wait until I settle the kids with breakfast before I tend to you?”

  “Take care of them, I’ll be fine.”

  

  Rosemarie studied the large man as he left the room carrying her little girl, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

  He’s a Reb.

  It would do her well to remember that. The southern scoundrels took all their food, shot her husband, and left him for dead. Even with the best nursing she’d ever done, Hans had succumbed within days. And she’d been left alone with three young children.

  Since then, not a day passed that she didn’t feel the burning of hatred in her stomach. At one time, she’d been a contented—if not happy—wife and mother, and within days she stood alone, struggling to keep her children from starving.

  The Rebs had taken her animals, including the horses. With winter upon them, and no way to visit any of the surrounding farms to solicit help, she and her eight-
year-old son had dug her husband’s grave while the two little ones watched in confused silence. She’d conducted the burial service herself, praying from the worn Bible Hans had brought with him from Germany.

  After a supper of soup and bread, she had put the children to bed. Then she sat in the rocking chair Hans had made, and rocked, a blanket wrapped around her shaking body. Her eyes were still wide open and dry when the sun peeked over the horizon and flooded the bedroom she’d shared with her husband for nine years. A man she hadn’t really known.

  Now another large man had entered her life. One as unwanted and unwelcomed as Hans had been. Only this large man had gentle hands when he wiped her down with cool water. He carried Amelia in his arms and made her scrambled eggs because she didn’t like oatmeal. He took Chandler hunting, and didn’t push the boy aside and tell him he was too young.

  She winced as she moved again, trying to ease her sore bottom. Despite what the Reb said, she would be up today, and back to her work in a day or so. The children were already too attached to him. A man who smiled at them, rather than frowned.

  But a Confederate escaped prisoner.

  It also annoyed her at how her heart sped up when he looked at her with those piercing hazel eyes. And the tilt of his lips when he began to smile. Just her luck to be attracted to a southern Rebel wanted by the Union Army. Thank God he’d be gone soon.

  “Careful you don’t drop it.” The Reb’s deep voice rolled over her as he and Amelia entered the bedroom. Jace toddled behind them, then raced for her bed when he spotted her. McCoy scooped him up before he landed on her leg, and tossed him over his shoulder, causing the child to giggle and shriek.

  Amelia carried a tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal. She never looked up as she approached the bed, keeping her eyes on the tray. “Mama, I brought you breakfast.”

  “I see that, Amelia. How nice of you.” Rosemarie’s heart melted at the sight of her little girl carefully walking across the room.

  The child’s face broke into a smile as she reached her mama’s side. “Whew,” she sighed as she placed the tray on the table next to Rosemarie’s bed.

  “Good job, Amelia. You remembered to not place the tray on your mama’s bed.”

  Amelia puffed her chest out. “I remembered.” Then she slid her fingers into her mouth.

  Jace reached his arms out. “Mama.”

  “Let me eat my breakfast, and then you can sit on my lap.” Rosemarie reached for the cup of tea and sipped as the Reb juggled a red-faced Jace. The baby was having none of it, and let out a wail.

  Rosemarie returned the teacup to the table and stretched her arms out. “I can eat while he sits on my lap.”

  Daniel handed over Jace, who cuddled up to her, burrowing his nose into her generous breasts. She glanced up at Daniel, her face heated at the look in his eyes.

  

  Lucky kid.

  Daniel smiled to himself as he watched Jace nuzzling Rosemarie. The clarity in her eyes denied the flush on her face came from fever. The little guy had embarrassed her. He bit his lip to keep from smiling. Somehow he didn’t think she would appreciate knowing his thoughts. “When you’re finished with your breakfast, ma’am, I’ll want to take a look at your injury, be sure it’s still healing.”

  She nodded and reached for the bowl of oatmeal.

  He turned to leave when she called him. “Reb?”

  “The name’s Daniel, ma’am.”

  “If you want to change, there are clean clothes you can use, hanging on the nails in the mudroom. They were my husband’s and might fit you.”

  Daniel nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it. Is there a creek nearby where I can wash up?”

  “About half a mile east of the house, but it’ll be mighty cold this time of year.”

  “No matter. I’ll take those clothes you offered and head to the creek.” He nodded and left the room.

  Daniel plucked a soft flannel shirt and worn wool pants from the nail, grabbed a linen cloth from a small pile on the table underneath, and headed to the kitchen. There he took a small brown jug containing lye soap and left the house.

  Although different from his homestead, this section of Indiana had an appeal all its own. Consisting mostly of rolling forests and prairie, the area provided good, rich farmland. It appeared the Wilson farm provided plenty of food to sustain the family, along with several acres of corn, which most likely brought in cash.

  Hans had built the house to withstand the heat of summer and the cold winds of winter. The structure sat nestled between several large oaks, which would provide plenty of cooling protection from strong summer sunlight.

  Sturdy shutters framed each window, which boasted much coveted panes of glass. All in all, the farm looked solid and productive−a place that could easily add horse breeding to its design.

  Get your mind off that subject. This is all temporary for you.

  Had it not been for the war, he would certainly stick around to see if this attraction he felt for Rosemarie was something permanent. And discover if she felt it, too. Running his palms over her soft, curvy body as he cooled her down, had transferred the heat from her body to his. But he needed to put those thoughts aside.

  Daniel whistled as he surveyed the area, and made his way to the creek. After scrubbing his body and hair, then rubbing the goose bumps on his skin dry, he tugged on the pants, which were a bit loose in the waist. He switched his suspenders from his worn uniform to the wool pants. The flannel shirt stretched across his chest, straining the buttons. The cuffs were a bit short, so he rolled them to his elbows. Hans Wilson had been a large man, but not quite as large as Daniel.

  After gathering his filthy uniform, he bundled the pieces, strode off into the woods, and buried them under a log. Checking the pocket of the borrowed pants to assure himself the ring was there, Daniel headed back to the house, feeling and smelling a whole lot better than when he’d left.

  Daniel spent the next couple of days working on the chicken coop that had fallen into disrepair since Hans’ passing. Then he and the three children scoured the woods, rounding up the escaped chickens and returning them to their proper home. He fixed part of a fence that had blown down during a winter storm.

  He tried to avoid touching Rosemarie as much as possible. Amelia had been designated to fetch and carry for her, but Daniel still found himself drawn to her room, even for just conversation. And a few times a day, he gathered her warm body into his arms and carried her to the kitchen for meals, or to the parlor for a change of scenery.

  It was these times that he knew he had to rein in his feelings, and remember who he was, and where he was. Nothing could come of this attraction they both felt. He’d see it in her eyes when he glanced at her while her face flushed an enticing pink.

  Late one afternoon, after gathering onions, potatoes, and carrots from the storage cellar, he dumped them onto the kitchen table. The chicken he’d killed lay alongside the vegetables, everything ready for someone to fix the meal. Daniel stood, hands on his hips, studying the items. Cooking for a family had never been one of his better skills. He’d managed to put together beans and rice for supper, as well as a potato and onion soup. But this was beyond him.

  His head snapped up at the sound of a thud coming from the bedroom.

  “What was that?” Chandler frowned from where he worked on sums Rosemarie had assigned him.

  “I don’t know,” Daniel shot over his shoulder as he strode down the hallway to Rosemarie’s bedroom.

  She sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, her face stark white, eyes pinched closed in pain.

  “What are you doing?” Daniel hunkered down alongside her.

  “I have to get up and get some work done. I’m sick to death of lying in this bed.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

  He sat back on his heels. “So you were attempting to climb out of bed and stroll down the hallway to the kitchen? Or maybe to the mudroom to do some washing? Or perhaps−“

  “Stop.�
� She opened her eyes, dark with anger. “I’m not stupid. I merely tried to sit on the edge of the bed, and I slipped.” She blew out a puff of air, fluttering the curls resting on her forehead.

  He’d spent a good hour yesterday washing her hair in the kitchen sink, then combing it and re-braiding the silky locks. She’d thanked him, blushing furiously when she told him no one had ever done that for her before. She was such a sweet woman, and deserved so much more than she’d gotten in life. Had things been different, he would like to be the man who would give her what she’d missed.

  Daniel stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down at her. “If you really want to get up and help, maybe I can carry you to the kitchen, and you can do something with that food sitting on the table.”

  She nodded and shifted. “I can do that.”

  He bent and swept her into his arms, noting the wince as he settled her. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Her body slid against his, warm and smooth. Daniel broke into a sweat as the soft pillows of her breasts pressed against his chest. The female scent of her drifted to his nostrils, causing his stomach muscles to clench. What the devil was wrong with him?

  A mother of three, on her deathbed only a few days ago, and I’m constantly riddled with lusty thoughts?

  Obviously, he’d been without a woman too long.

  He settled her on a chair in front of the mound of vegetables. Rosemarie’s teeth clamped down on her lips, and paled as she adjusted her leg.

  After taking a deep breath, she turned to Chandler. “Can you bring my dressing gown from the bottom of my bed?”

  “I’ll build up a fire in the stove. That will help to warm you.” Daniel headed to the back door.

  “There isn’t much wood left.”

  “There’s plenty,” he answered as the back door slammed.

  His gut twisted as he strode to the pile of wood he’d cut earlier. He didn’t like where his thoughts were going. In no time at all, the three Wilson children had crawled into his heart. Those feelings he could deal with, but his growing awareness of Rosemarie disturbed him. He had a duty to the Confederacy. He had a regiment to return to, a war to fight.