stumbled over words and mispronounced things. That second evening, he’d tried “transmutation” four times before she finally called out the correct pronunciation from across the room. Those disturbingly handsome blue eyes had met hers, then, and she’d swallowed, wondering if she’d offended him by offering help. But instead, he just nodded once, accepting, and went back to reading. Twice more since then, he’d asked her for the meaning of a particular word, and the way to pronounce it. Both times he accepted her explanations with a single nod that left her throat dry.
What kind of doctor didn’t know the meaning of “emetic”? For that matter, what kind of doctor read to his daughter from John Gunn’s Domestic Medicine , and then discussed it with the girl? Zelle never answered, of course, but she seemed to like hearing her Papa’s voice. When he wasn’t reading to her from Dr. Gunn’s manual, he read Esther Howland’s The American Economical Housekeeper and Family Receipt Book , which at least made sense. Apparently, since his wife died, Jack had been determined to learn how to support himself and his daughter, and that was admirable.
In fact, he had a shelf in the bedroom—rickety though it might be—filled with similar “how-to” books and recipes. She had yet to see any evidence of his devotion to his medicine, but he certainly was devoted to his daughter’s safety and happiness. And he was obviously devoted to bettering himself, to learning…learning from books.
Zelle murmured in her sleep beside Meri, and her thumb dropped from between her lips. Meri resisted the urge to brush her fingers down those smooth, round cheeks just inches from hers; she didn’t want the girl to wake up confused. For the last two nights, Jack had waited until Meri made herself comfortable on the pallet of blankets beside the toasty hearth, and then placed the sleeping Zelle beside her while he settled down in the chair. She knew it was just because this was the warmest spot in the house, but she couldn’t help but feeling a little glow of satisfaction, to know that he trusted her with his princess.
As usual, she was the first one awake. Gently extracting herself from Zelle’s grip, she sat up and inched off the pallet, careful not to disturb the girl, who seemed to be feeling much better now that two of her teeth had broken through. What surprised Meri, however, was that Jack only muttered and shifted slightly in his sleep. Yesterday, as soon as she’d begun to stir, his eyes had popped open and he’d watched her intently for a moment or two before moving. Again, he’d reminded her of a panther, peering through the jungle for threat or prey. And just like a big cat, he looked like he was deciding between pouncing and fleeing.
This morning, though, he didn’t wake when she found her shoes and pulled them on. He was still huddled against the thin padding of the chair, his booted feet up on the crate, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his hands tucked under them for warmth. His position looked decidedly uncomfortable, but he was obviously used to sleeping like this.
Meri tiptoed closer, wondering what he would think if he woke to find her hovering over him. His dark hair was lanky, his beard overlong. But his black-as-soot eyelashes rested against his skin like butterflies, and his lips were parted slightly, and he looked…less dangerous. More touchable. Meri realized that she definitely wanted to touch him. Wanted to brush that hank of hair off his forehead, to see if she could soothe the worry lines between his brows. Wanted to know if the love he showed his daughter was stronger than the danger she saw in his arms, his shoulders, the strength of his jaw, the feral look in his eyes.
Shuddering, she pulled away, telling herself not to think of Bernard. Not to think of what a man, so much bigger and stronger, could do to an unwilling woman. This was the man she’d come west to marry. A doctor, a
Learning to Kill: Stories