Daniel's Desire Read online

  Daniel’s Desire

  Callie Hutton

  Avon, Massachusetts

  To my goddaughter, Rosemarie. This one’s for you.

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Callie Hutton

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5897-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5897-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5898-1

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5898-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © istockphoto.com/Jay Boivin

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  March 1865

  Camp Morton, Indianapolis

  No sliver of moonlight, no campfires burning. Darkness covered Confederate soldier Lieutenant Daniel McCoy like a shroud. His heart pounded, blocking any sound to warn him of danger, of rapid footsteps in pursuit, or the click of metal before a bullet entered his body. A befitting end for a prison escapee. He stood like a statue to calm his racing heart and allow his eyes time to adjust. Not that it had been bright in the dingy hellhole he’d just left. The one where he’d spent the last month digging his way to freedom. A place where smallpox, cholera, and dysentery ran rampant, and men died screaming, or crying the name of a wife or sweetheart.

  Deep voices carried over the night air from where two guards met. One sentry struck a flint to light his cigar, revealing their war-battled faces as they spoke in low tones. As always, the twang of their accent grated on his nerves. He moved deeper into the shadows until the soldiers separated, each going a different direction.

  He took a deep breath and eyed the stables.

  Too risky to steal a horse.

  After the enemies’ footsteps died away, Daniel’s long strides covered the open area to the safety of the trees. Lack of exercise over the past months had taken a toll on his body, and his lungs burned from the short sprint. He eased behind a large oak, watching, waiting for an alarm to sound.

  Silence.

  His index finger and thumb rubbed the cool metal of the heavy ring tucked in his pocket. He’d stolen it back from the drunken Union soldier while he’d slept. Once again, the heirloom rested where it belonged. With him — a McCoy.

  Sweat beaded his forehead and he took gulps of the damp night air before bending to empty his stomach of the last putrid meal they’d fed him. If it hadn’t been for the local residents of Indianapolis and their compassion toward the Confederate prisoners, providing the necessary food, clothing, and nursing to keep most of the prisoners alive, they’d probably all be dead.

  The sentries made another pass, and still no shouts came from within the prison walls. Despite the cold, Lieutenant McCoy wiped sweat from his forehead, then slipped into the forest surrounding the Union camp. The sound of his panting echoed off the trees as he picked up the pace and stumbled over small roots and animal holes in the dark. He raced to the bank of the White River, waded into the mud and silt, and dove into the icy water. With strong strokes, he swam from the cursed prison.

  After nine long months in hell, he breathed free air.

  • • •

  Johnson County, Indiana

  “Mama, can I get you some tea?”

  Rosemarie Wilson eased her heavy eyelids open and attempted to smile with dry, cracked lips at her eight-year-old son, Chandler. The frown on his pale face tore at her.

  “No thank you. Just look after your sister and brother.” She shifted on the bed, struggling to relieve the throbbing pain in her leg. Black dots danced before her eyes at the movement, and her stiff fingers grabbed the patchwork quilt to control the dizziness and nausea. She raised her head from the pillow and moved the blanket from her leg. The smell from the festering cut on her right calf, where the axe had sliced, terrified her. She’d cleaned it after the accident as best she could, but the jerky, uneven stitches she’d put in herself hadn’t helped the healing.

  At least the gash wasn’t deep. If her leg had been only inches closer to the wood when the axe slipped, she might have cut herself right to the bone.

  Tears slid down her cheeks as life ebbed from her weary body. She’d used so much of her strength trying to keep the farm going after a band of Confederate soldiers had swooped down a few months ago and taken just about everything they’d owned. Days later, she’d laid her husband of nine years to rest in the little plot under the elm tree behind the house. Dead from a bullet wound after one of the soldiers had shot him.

  Damn this war, and everything it took from my family!

  Another tear slid from her eye and landed on the thin nightgown covering her shoulder. Chandler’s voice drifted in through the bedroom door as he spoke to his younger brother and sister in the kitchen. Five-year-old Amelia balked at having leftover oatmeal for lunch. Several more tears joined the first one, and Rosemarie’s heart throbbed so hard her chest hurt. She closed her eyes against the pain and drifted into the welcoming oblivion of sleep.

  • • •

  Rays from bright sunshine seeped below the wooden shutters on the window, bathing Rosemarie’s face, forcing her to turn her head. Her body burned with heat.

  If I could just have a drink of water.

  She listened for a minute, uncomfortable at the silence that greeted her. Where were her children? “Chandler?” Her voice rasped.

  No answer. She raised herself up on one elbow and called louder. Still no answer. Tears of pain and frustration gathered in her eyes.

  Dear God, please help me.

  Did God even listen to her anymore? She’d prayed all her life, always had faith. Even when her father sold her into marriage, she knelt and prayed for Hans to be a good man. Cold and stern, and not the man she would have chosen for herself, her husband had nevertheless provided well for her and their children. The three beautiful children the good Lord had blessed her with. Now their remaining parent was close to death.

  • • •

  Daniel spied the small farmhouse from half a mile away. The sun setting behind the clapboard structure bathed it in an ethereal glow. Three children sat on the front porch, huddled together in the cold. The biggest one rose and stared in his direction. Then the child hurried into the house, leaving the two smaller ones outside.

  As Daniel moved closer, he expected an adult to appear at the front door, and braced himself to run. All he wanted from the farmer was a drink from his well, and he’d be on his way. After walking the entire morning, he hadn’t passed even one creek to ease his thirst.

  The two smaller children turned toward the door as if someone spoke. They immediately got up, and holding hands, entered the house. Still no adult ventured out. Did someone stand at the window, ready to shoot? Indeed, in this part of the country he was the enemy, but his dirty and worn Confederate uniform wouldn’t be recognized from a distanc
e, so he pressed on.

  Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his pocket to rub the ring. He needed to move further south before the Union soldiers found him. One escaped Rebel would be inconsequential, but since he’d been designated one of the camp medics after a Union doctor had been sent to the fields, they would come after him. He’d hated abandoning his fellow Confederates, but very few would survive, and there wasn’t much he could have done, except pray as they died.

  Fatigue washed over him as he approached the porch. If the owner approved, Daniel could quench his thirst, then crawl into the farmer’s barn and sleep for the night. His skin itched from where his clothes, still stiff from the mud in the river, rubbed against him.

  The moment he set his foot on the bottom step, the distinct sound of a gun readying caught his attention. Within seconds, a young boy stepped out the door, the business end of a shotgun pointed straight at Daniel’s chest.

  “Git off my property.” The child’s pale face resembled new snow. His ragged pants had been patched, but not washed in a while. Lines normally found on an adult’s face bracketed either side of his mouth.

  Daniel raised both hands, palms facing the boy. “Son, I only want to get a drink of water from your well. Can you ask your pa to step out?”

  “Git off, I said.” The shotgun wavered and the boy’s eyes narrowed.

  Daniel backed away, keeping his hands in the air. He didn’t want the kid to accidently shoot him out of fear. “Can you tell me how far to the next town, then?”

  “You a Reb?” The boy’s voice trembled.

  “Yes, but I’m not here to hurt you or your family. I just want some water, and I’ll be on my way.” He slowly lowered his hands, but kept them in front of him, palms out. “Is your pa home?”

  Tears sprung to the child’s eyes as he shook his head.

  “Your ma?”

  “Why do you wanna know?”

  Daniel sighed. “I would like permission for a drink of water from your well, and maybe to sleep in your barn for the night.”

  The two smaller children he’d spotted earlier came out the door and stood behind the older boy. The little girl, with long brown curls cascading down her back, took her fingers out of her tiny rosebud mouth and spoke. “Our mama is bad sick. Chan thinks she’s gonna die.”

  “Quiet down, Amelia, and go back into the house. And take Jace with you.” The boy who Daniel assumed was Chan jerked his head in the direction of the door, his face flushed.

  Amelia focused her huge blue eyes on Daniel. “Can you help our mama, mister?”

  “Amelia!” Chan lowered the gun and faced his sister. “I said git back into the house.”

  “Son, look at me.” Daniel spoke in a low voice, and didn’t move from his spot. The boy continued to grip the gun, but no longer pointed the thing at him.

  “What?” He wiped tears on his sleeve, then raised the gun back up.

  “Where’s your pa?”

  Amelia spoke up again, moving to the edge of the porch. “Our pa is behind the house.”

  He blew out a sigh of relief. “Can you fetch him for me?”

  “Can’t.” She shook her head and stuck her fingers back into her mouth. The younger boy, not much more than a baby, came to the edge of the porch and started down the steps.

  “Jace, git back here!” Chan lowered the gun again and grabbed for his brother.

  Daniel directed his comments to Amelia. “Can I go around to the back of the house and speak with your pa?”

  She shook her curly head again.

  “Why not?”

  “Pa died,” Jace lisped in a baby voice, big blue eyes riveted on him.

  Daniel’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Chan. “Is your pa dead?”

  The boy gave a quick nod, and raised the gun again. “Now git off my property. We don’t want no Rebs around here. You already done took everything we had.”

  A reminder he stood in enemy territory. With the pa dead, and the ma so sick she didn’t come out to investigate, these children were in a heap of trouble. The oldest boy still peered at him with narrowed eyes, even though the younger boy and little girl had advanced down the steps and now stood right in front of him, watching him with huge eyes.

  “Can you fix my mama, mister?” Amelia asked as she reached for her little brother’s hand.

  Daniel’s heart seized at the serious situation. He needed to look at their mother, but it didn’t appear Chan would let him. No doubt he had reason to mistrust Confederates.

  “Chan. Is that your name?” He spoke softly to the boy, who continued to swipe at his eyes. The kid seemed about to fall apart, but with a shaky arm, still managed to point the gun in his direction.

  The boy ignored the question, but Daniel continued. “My name is Daniel McCoy, and I know a little bit about healing. Can I at least look at your ma?”

  “No Reb is gonna touch Ma.”

  “Chandler, I want Mama to get better.” Amelia burst into tears and wrapped her tiny arms around Daniel’s leg.

  What a dilemma. One look at his sister and the little boy also began to wail, and grabbed his other leg.

  “Chandler, please.” Daniel patted the two children on their heads, as he appealed to the boy. “Let me say hello to your ma. I won’t touch her, or do anything to upset her.” The boy hesitated, so he added, “You can keep your gun pointed at me the whole time.”

  Apparently, those were the magic words because he lowered the gun and wiped his eyes once more. “All right. But I’ll be watchin’ you.”

  The minute Daniel stepped into the small living room, his nostrils twitched with the smell of disease.

  Dear God, what’s wrong with the woman?

  “Where’s your ma?”

  Daniel followed Chandler down a short dark hallway. The boy gestured to the open door with his head. Daniel stepped in and his breath hitched.

  A woman lay on a large bed, dark circles under her closed eyes. He would have pronounced her already dead if not for the very slight movement of her chest and the deep flush of fever on her skin. He moved to the bed and picked up her hand. Her eyes remained closed, her pulse weak, but steady.

  He turned toward Chandler, who now held the gun at his side, his sister and brother huddled against him. “Can I remove the sheet to look at where she’s hurt?”

  The boy gave him a curt nod.

  Daniel lifted the sheet and almost lost the little bit of the meal he’d had a few hours ago. The woman had an infected gash on her leg. The wound had been partially stitched and bloody pus oozed from it, dripping onto the stained sheet below. He laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She burned with fever.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be able to save her leg, but he had to try. He could cauterize it, but since the wound showed no sign of gangrene, the better procedure would be to clean the cut and re-stitch it. Suturing would be easier on the woman than searing her skin. First, he would have to cut away the dead skin edging the wound.

  “Can you fix her?” Amelia’s small voice ripped into his gut.

  Truth, or false assurances? God, they were all so young.

  Daniel walked to where the children stood in the doorway and got down on one knee. “I can try, Amelia, and I will try very hard. But you must do something for me.” He looked at Chandler and Jace. “All of you. You must pray very hard.”

  Three small heads bobbed. Apparently, the children were no strangers to prayer.

  He rose. “Chandler, where does your ma keep her medical things?”

  The child laid the gun on a table, led him to the mudroom, and pointed to a shelf. “She keeps everything up there.”

  “Thanks. I want you to heat some water on the stove for me. Do you have a fire going?”

  The boy squared his shoulders. “I can start one.”
>
  “Good. Next I want you to find me a pair of scissors and an old sheet, or some kind of clean rags I can rip up for a bandage.”

  “What can I do?” Amelia leaned her head back, almost falling over backwards to meet his eyes.

  “You can help us get things ready. Then, I’ll need you to be very, very brave and take your little brother to the parlor and wait there with him while I see to your mama’s leg. Can you do that?”

  “Will Chandler be with you?”

  “Yes. I need his help, but it’s important for you two to stay in the parlor.”

  Her little chin quivered, and he knelt in front of her again. “I know you want to stay with your mama, but you need to be a brave, big girl and take care of Jace.”

  She wiped tears from her eyes, but whispered, “All right.”

  Even having Chandler in the room would be difficult with the work Daniel had to do, but he needed a second pair of hands, no matter how young.

  “Chandler, what happened to your mama’s leg?” Daniel entered the kitchen, his hands filled with herbs, medicines and salves from the woman’s medical supplies.

  “She was chopping wood and the axe slipped and cut her leg.”

  Daniel winced at the pain the poor woman must have endured. “How long ago?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  A mild sense of relief swept through him. At least she wasn’t so far gone there wouldn’t be any chance of saving her, and the leg.

  “I’ll have to use a needle and some thread to sew up your mama’s cut. Where are her sewing things?”

  “I know.” Amelia had followed him into the kitchen, and with a big smile at being able to help, she pointed to a shelf in the kitchen to the left of the stove. “Mama keeps her needles and stuff up there.”

  “Thank you, little lady.”

  She blushed and ducked her head. Her fingers slid into her mouth.

  “What’s your mama’s name?” Although the woman would be far better off if she didn’t awaken, he’d like to use her name if she did. Cutting away the ineffective stitches and dead skin, cleaning a festering wound, and then sewing it up was enough to fell a large man. What would the process do to the delicate woman in the next room? If he didn’t, however, she would lose her leg, and most likely her life.