Abigail's Secret (A Whimsical Select Romance Novella) by Tamara Ternie Read Free Book Online

to speak but the vapors had made their way to inflict upon her gentle senses again.
    John rushed to the room and ran to Thomas. He caught a glimpse of Tess and gasped.  “Is she—?”
    “She’s fine. She just fainted,” Abigail assured. 
    “Should I gather the housemen to go after the assailant?”
    “I ’m not hearing anymore shots or seeing anyone out there.  He’s probably long gone by now,” Thomas said as he cautiously peered out through the window panes.
    Abigail looked at Brice and the blood on his jacket appeared to increase in size. She raised her hand to her mouth and stifled a gasp.
    “ Fetch me the medicine bag, bandages, and fresh water,” she ordered to John. “Take your jacket and shirt off, Brice,” she added, and led him to a chair.
    “I’m fine, Abilene. It’s only a flesh wound,” he countered. “I saw much worse during the war.”
    “I’ll not hear arguments.”  She pointed at the chair and silently commanded him to sit.
    “If you feel you must tend to my wound, then I’m going to have to insist we take it to the other room.”  He nodded his head toward Tess.  “I don’t believe poor Abi gail can handle another swoon.”
    He was right .  For such a strong woman she had very weak sensibilities.  Abigail looked at Tess.  Guilt ate at her gut for involving her in their hasty scheme. She could have been killed.  For that matter, they all could have been slain out on the terrace.
    “Can you watch out for her, John,” Abigail asked as she retrieved the supplies from him. 
    “It’d be my pleasure.” He knelt down to Tess and took her hand into his.
    She led Brice into a spare bedroom on the other side of the kitchens. It had become her mother’s room when she had taken ill with melancholy and hadn’t the energy or inclination to take the stairs.  A chair sat beneath the vanity and she pulled it out. “Sit,” she gently ordered.
    Brice gritted his teeth when he gently shrugged his jacket off.  Abigail rushed to his side to help him. “Is it paining you that much?”
    “That and then some,” he grimaced.
    “The bullet may have hit the bone,” she feared.  “Perhaps we should wait for a physician to be called,” she said as Brice began to unbutton his shirt.
    “It went straight through and missed the bone. No need to call and disturb the doc at this late hour.”  He slid out of his white cotton shirt and tossed it on the other side of the room.  It landed atop the floral coverlet that was spread across her mother’s four poster bed that lay beneath a foliate carved canopy held up by ornately engraved supporters.
    Abigail stood frozen and unable to proceed.  Although she initially wanted to admonish him for throwing his blood soiled clothing onto the clean bed, she found herself in awe over his masculinity.  It dazed her into silence. She had never seen a man in such a state of nakedness.  His chest was broad and tapered down into a well-defined stomach.  He looked to have been molded from clay by an artisan who favored perfection.  Abigail silently ordered herself to breathe.
    “Abilene,” Brice softly called out to her and sufficiently pulled her from her musings. “Are you all right?” In two steps he had closed in on her and reached for her hand.  “You look pale.”  He guided her to the bed and sat her down.  Still holding onto her hand, he knelt down in front of her.  Brice glanced at his shoulder that was smeared ghastly red with blood.  “Truly, it’s barely a flesh wound.  Surely nothing so great that you and Abigail should find need to swoon for,” he grinned.
    She wasn’t sure wh ich was worse; Brice believing she was fragile and hindered by a poor constitution, or the thought of what he would say or do if he knew she was woolgathering over his virility.  She didn’t need to ponder it long.  He didn’t afford her the time to do so.  Brice sat next to her on the bed and her mouth went dry.  She felt her breath start to