Whirlwind Reunion. Debra Cowan

his frustration returned in full force. So much for staying away from her.

      For now, he was stuck here. He fully expected it to be pure-dee hell.

      Chapter Three

      Being irritated drained the last of Matt’s energy. He drifted in and out of sleep, time moving in a slow murky haze.

      When he finally came fully awake, he was on his stomach and lamplight filled the dark room. The spring night was cool, making the interior of the two-story house a comfortable temperature. He vaguely remembered Pa leaving to have supper with Cora Wilkes and promising to bring a meal back for Matt.

      “Mr. Matt?” Andrew Donnelly appeared in front of him. “You want some water?”

      Matt gingerly rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow, sharp pain ripping through him. The dark-haired boy offered him a full glass and hovered as he drank a little more than half of it.

      When he returned the glass to Andrew, he became aware of the stillness. “We the only two here?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Where was Annalise? He wasn’t asking.

      “Dr. Annalise went to check on Miz Josie. She’ll be back directly.”

      Matt nodded. If he’d been able, he would’ve taken advantage of her absence and gotten the hell out of there, but he couldn’t even pull off his own hat, much less make it to the door. All he could do was stay in this bed, in this clinic, with this woman.

      Knowing he was in no shape to leave didn’t stop the resentment simmering inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was directed more at Annalise or the fact that he couldn’t help search for his attackers.

      His back still burned with a razor-edged pain as if he’d been skinned. He sure would like to know what those injuries looked like. Staring at the glass gave him an idea.

      “Hey, Andrew, does the doc have a mirror anywhere?”

      The boy searched the examination room where Matt lay, then the front room. “I don’t see one. I could go upstairs and look in her rooms,” he said eagerly.

      A little too eagerly, Matt thought. “No need for that. How about you run over to the Fontaine and ask Miz Lydia for a couple of mirrors? I want to get a look at my back and I think I can do it using those.”

      “Well…” Andrew hesitated.

      “If you’re worried the doctor will chew on you for leaving me alone, I’ll take responsibility. Besides, you won’t be gone even five minutes. I promise to stay just like this until you get back.”

      “Get back from where?” A whoosh of air accompanied Annalise’s words as she opened the door and stepped inside.

      The boy’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of her. “I was going to the Fontaine to ask Miz Lydia for a couple of mirrors.”

      “For what?” She straightened her bodice, which was the same deep green as her eyes.

      “Mr. Matt wants to look at his back.” Andrew’s smile grew brighter, if that were possible. “Need me to do anything for you while I’m out, ma’am?”

      “No, thank you. You don’t need to run after those mirrors either.”

      At her authoritative tone, Matt’s voice sharpened. “I want to look at my injuries.”

      “I can help you with that.” She glanced at Andrew. “You’d best get on home for supper.”

      “Are you sure? I can stay if you need me to.”

      “I’m sure.” She smiled. “You did a good job today, just as you do every day.”

      The boy flushed with pleasure and Matt huffed out a breath. She had that kid wrapped around her little finger.

      “Well, good night then, ma’am,” the boy said. “Mr. Matt.”

      “Good night, Andrew.”

      Fuming, Matt pushed up on one elbow, biting back a moan at the agony slicing through him. “Why didn’t you let the kid get those mirrors? I want to see what those bastards did to my back.”

      “I might have an idea,” she said coolly.

      “You’re going to draw me a picture?”

      “No.”

      When she didn’t explain further, he ground out, “Well, what is it?”

      “You know I’ve been putting honey on your wounds?”

      “So, that’s what I smelled,” he murmured. “Why did you do that?” He knew why he would’ve put honey on her, and he knew what he would’ve done with it.

      “It protects the wounds from dirt and helps with inflammation,” she said briskly. “Back to your wounds, I think I can make an impression of them.”

      “An impression?”

      “Yes, a likeness.”

      “I know what an impression is,” he snapped.

      “The idea is similar to tracing a pattern.”

      “I’ll allow my head’s fuzzy, so how would that work?”

      “In effect, I’ll make a paste to form to the injuries—it won’t penetrate beneath the honey—then cover the wounds with a cloth soaked in a cornstarch solution. Once the mixture sets up, I can peel off the cloth and we’ll see the pattern.”

      “What the hell kind of idea is that?” Resentment threaded his words. “That something you learned back east?”

      “Yes,” she said stiffly. “I learned it from one of my professors.”

      “What kind of medicine is that?”

      “It’s not medicine. It’s an experiment he tried, a way to discover things like what kind of weapon might have been used on a victim.”

      “It would be easier to just get me a couple of mirrors.”

      “Yes, but this impression will be permanent. You’ll be able to keep it. If you do find the weapon, you can compare it to the pattern on the cloth.”

      How damn smart was that? Matt was impressed in spite of himself. “And you’re sure it’ll be accurate?”

      “If we do it now. If we wait for the wounds to start healing over, the pattern will change.”

      “I’ve never heard of anything like this. It sounds crazy.”

      “That’s what people said to Professor Quackenbush, but it worked. He was always trying things like this.”

      Professor who? “Hmph.”

      “It won’t hurt you or hinder your recovery.” He noticed she didn’t say she wouldn’t hurt him.

      She shrugged. “You can think about it. Just remember what I said about the wounds healing over and changing the pattern.”

      “Do it,” he decided.

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes.”

      “All right, then.”

      For a few minutes, she bustled around gathering supplies. He watched her through half-slitted eyes, noticing how the golden lamplight made her skin glow like polished pearl. Something hard clutched at his chest.

      She glanced at him. “Is your pain any better?”

      “If it is, I can’t tell it.”

      “I’ll be careful,” she murmured.

      She gathered a large piece of cloth, the pint-sized crock he’d seen earlier, some bowls, a pitcher of water and a tin of cornstarch. Walking to him, she placed all