Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Had complications after surgery and am still having trouble with memory from anesthesia 3 weeks ago. Dr said my body seems very sensitive to drugs and surgery. It was hard to concentrate writing this chapter and took days instead of hours to write, so hopefully it makes sense.


He grunted.

"I'm impressed that you made it through almost full days back at work this week." She smiled in the morning sunlight.

Mark threw her a look from his chair in the bedchamber.

"Oh, you'll be glad we did this. The blacksmith can use it as a mold of your leg without you coming in every time he makes a prosthesis." She smoothed a layer of plaster over his thigh.

"Two more minutes," he growled.

"For heaven sakes, I don't know why you're timing me. There's no reason why you should be ashamed to let me touch it. You've been surly ever since we went back to work a week ago." She smoothed a first layer of plaster over the end of his thigh.

The man jerked his leg away and leaned down to pick up another piece of plaster out of the bowl himself. "I've done plenty of damn casts. You don't need to be here for this," he snapped.

"I know, but it's good for you to let me touch it. This is not something to hate. It's alright if I touch your leg when it's not just to put on a bandage."

In the middle of applying the plaster himself, he stilled and gave a dark glare. "Does it arouse you?"

She blinked and then frowned. "Of course I find no pleasure in seeing your leg cut off!"

"Mm," he grunted with a look, as if to prove his point.

Rolling her eyes, she sat back on her haunches. "You set me up. I have no reason to not want to touch your leg."

"Then limiting your touch will preserve that," he snapped. "Go do something useful." When she didn't move, his eyes slowly trailed up, the anger palpable. "I said, 'go,'" he snarled.

"You're ashamed, and there's no reason to be."

"Goddammit, go!" he roared, "I will not beg!" Humiliation burned in his scowl.

Standing up, her heart broke for him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were just trying to push me away. I'll check on you in a few minutes."

She nursed Charles and then paced while burping him. Mark still struggled psychologically as much as physically. One minute he would be fine with intimacy, and the next he wouldn't let anyone touch him for hours, sometimes days. Standing at the door a half hour later, she knocked. "Mark?" No answer, so she peeked inside.

He sat in the chair, with the plaster mold on the floor drying as he stared at his leg with slumped shoulders. The rag to wash off the plaster residue was crushed in his hand, but he didn't appear to have started to clean it off.

"Honey?" She walked over to him.

"I can't stand to touch it," he whispered with so much defeat.

Her heart broke, and she knelt. "May I wash you?"

A shake of his head and he dropped the rag right onto the floor. "Please go. I can't stand you seeing it," he whispered.

She rose to her knees and kissed his cheek. "The only way I learned to tolerate you touching my breast is by letting you do it. Sometimes I still feel a sting of humiliation, but you taught me to also feel pleasure at your touch. I cannot feel much in my breast - "

His eyes flew to hers, as if he hadn't known that.

"But in my mind, I feel you. And I find pleasure in it now. It takes time to trust."

"My knee is gone, but I still feel the pain sometimes. Touching it doesn't necesarily make it worse or better - I don't know how to not be ashamed." He still wouldn't look up. He seemed so lost.

"You have to trust that I won't let you fall," she whispered and caught his tear that slid down his cheek. "Each time will be less terrifying. Then, you will begin to find comfort in my touch."

He cupped her hands on the end of his leg and held her there. Those blue eyes searched hers even though this seemed to tear him apart. "It feels so disgusting and unnatural like - "

"Love. It feels like love, Mark."

Silence. It was like he hadn't been prepared to be stopped from going down a dark road and shown one of sunlight.

"I love you so much that all I see is courage and beauty; you love me enough to let me touch what you fear. This is love. You see this as a way to drive us apart, but I see it as a means to bind us in trust and love deeper than most people have their whole lives. I see a man who is not weaker but stronger because of this. I hate that it makes you struggle, but I love your leg for what it offers us. Let me touch you like this every day."

His poor heart softly moved his shirt with the force of its panicked beats. "Why does it not frighten you?" He swallowed hard and searched her eyes.

It finally dawned - he was repulsed by it because it frightened him. She leaned down and brushed a kiss over his thigh before meeting his eyes. "Because this is still you." When he tensed before she even stroked his leg, she stilled. "Are you afraid because it hurts or that it will hurt?"

"Having something cut off should be painful. I've seen patients screaming days later. Almost the entire time it hasn't hurt as much as my knee did. It has to be a nerve was damaged in surgery, and it'll grow back soon."

"Listen to me. You're almost three weeks post-surgery. That just speaks to how terrible your knee pain was, or maybe to how well the tree bark works. I promise it's not going to all the sudden get worse. You're all done with that pain." She stroked his cheek. "Today is Saturday. Let's take Charles outside before the sun gets too warm, and then help me pack for moving."

"Now that we have funds again, the house won't be ready for a few more weeks - "

A smile bloomed. Apparently everyone had kept the secret well.


On Monday, she glanced behind at Mark. He didn't seem to be in as much pain as a week ago, but the five-mile horseback ride still took a lot out of him before it was even time to start work.

"Stop." The lumberyard came into view. "Close your eyes." He might see the surprise otherwise.

"Why?" He frowned.

"Just do it and hold onto me." She eased the reins from his hands and led the horse. Thankfully, he wrapped his arm around her waist a bit tighter and his free hand grabbed the saddlehorn for balance.

Dozens of men and their families gathered around the house with giant smiles as she led the horse through town.

She smiled at the faces that were fast becoming friends. In the past week, no one had stared or made a comment to Mark about his leg. Yet, none had raced to his aid for any task until they saw if he struggled to do it alone. The new crutches the lumberyard carpenter had designed for the blacksmith seemed to work well, giving Mark back so much freedom. The men had even perfected her idea for a chair that allowed Mark to sit at table height while doing surgery. These men were only too eager to give back to the surgeon who had saved many of them from infection, dismemberment or death.

Her grin grew as she stopped the horse and the men parted for direct view of the house. She turned to see his reaction. "Alright, open."

He blinked in surprise to see most all of the town gathered. Then his eyes locked on the house that the men had completed.

"It's ready to move in so you don't have to travel to work anymore."

His eyes shifted to her and he frowned. "I don't understand. There were months worth of work left. Where did the money come from?"

"It don't do us no good to have a Doc far away at night," one of the burly men said.

"We worked out payment with the little lady that she makes us lunch fer a week each month as pay until the snow hits," another chimed in.

"When I came to see Price, I talked to the men about finishing the house so you don't have to travel. Once they heard that you lost your leg, they began working on the house in the evenings and on weekends and days off."

Mark swallowed hard.

"Come see." She moved to dismount, and one of the older men stepped forward and helped her down.

Then two men helped Mark down, but he seemed too distracted to protest. He absently took the crutches from her, his eyes still locked on the house as he headed for the front stairs that someone had built a temporary ramp over.

She followed Mark and exchanged a smile with Jefferson, the carpenter who had taken over as volunteer lead carpenter for this project. "Did you think of the ramp?"

"Yes, ma'm," he whispered. "A man doesn't like to be a spectacle entering his own house."

"It's perfect." She followed Mark room to room, his expression one of stunned disbelief.

"Doc." Jefferson led the way to a closet with half doors in the front room. When he opened the door, he waved a hand. "Step in."

"Step in?" Mark frowned.

A grin answered, so she stepped in and the two men followed. Then Jefferson began to pull a rope. She grabbed Mark's arm in surprise at the speed as the closet moved.

"It's a dumbwaiter for humans!" Mark positively beamed. "May I?"

Jefferson stepped back, with a glint of pride in his eye. "Extra gears were added so the Mrs. can pull it with ease too."

Mark leaned against the wall, propped the crutches under his arms and pulled the rope hand over fist, rapidly going to the children's bedroom hall upstairs. A bell dinged softly behind her.

"That's the signal that it's level with the floor and safe to exit." Jefferson opened the doors.

"How bloody brilliant," Mark said in amazement and exited after her. "Tanya, I shall fetch the babe during the nights just to play with the dumbwaiter."

She laughed and took his arm to view the bedrooms.

"The dumbwaiter was your wife's idea," Jefferson added.

Mark didn't even blink, the grin on his face spreading. "Of course it was - she's a genius."

Everyone had the grace to not comment when Mark stopped at the front porch and couldn't get out more than a 'thank you' to them before his voice gave out. When she looked back at Jefferson, even he brushed at his eye.

She walked into the lab at the back of the clinic that morning after checking on the only hospitalized patient - a man who had cut his hand badly on a saw a couple days ago and infection threatened.

Mark sat in a special chair with rollers and used the edge of the table to glide himself to the other end. Dozens of bottles and tubes made a maze that ended where a flask sat over a lantern flame. He even wore goggles like some mad scientist.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Stay back. I exploded the last flask and didn't get it cleaned up yet. I'm making a salve for the infection."

"You're playing with new toys is what you're doing."

He turned to frown at her.

The goggles magnified his eyes to the extreme. A laugh couldn't be contained and burst out. "I'm sorry, but you look ridiculous!" She grabbed her stomach and pressed a hand to her mouth so the patient wouldn't hear the hysteria.

Mark just snorted in disgust and turned back to his work. "We'll see who's laughing when I cure his infection."

Once the wheezing settled to dabbing tears from her eyes, she stepped around the glass and leaned down beside him to peer at the tubes too. "What are we doing?" A hand slapped over her eyes.

"Not blinding you, for one!" Something pulled over her head, and then everything looked ten times bigger.

"Why do I have to wear goggles!"

He looked at her and burst out laughing. "You carry them off well, my dear." Then he pointed to the tubes and explained some kind of heating process that he called 'distillation.' It offered a glimpse of his mind as he worked in his lab all day mixing and titrating powders and liquids that he combined into a salve. Two days later, there was no sign of infection.

"Read this." He slapped a paper down on the desk before her a week later and walked away on his crutches. The man checked on a patient hospitalised for an axe going into his thigh.

"Am I missing something? Why does this document the chest tube procedures, and why is my name on this?" Flipping through the pages, her eyes widened at the frequency of her name mentioned. She looked up.

After he finished listening to the patient's chest, he asked the man a couple questions and then headed to the lab with a glance that said to follow.

In the lab, she automatically took the pestle and mortar when he dumped tree bark in it to be ground up as he continued to fetch some other remedies.

"You invented a new technique. Most patients die within days of having a chest tube, if not immediately." He continued grabbing bottles off shelves. "In order to be published in a medical journal, a physician must co-author: you figured it out and I wrote it down."

"Mark! No one is going to read this when a woman came up with it!"

"Hence, you're 'T. Johnson.'" He didn't even look up. "For all they know, you're my brother. Is the procedure correctly documented?" he grunted.

"You can't submit this! They'll find out it's me, and your reputation will be ruined!"

"Yes or no?" he demanded and set down the last bottle.

"Yes, but - "

"Then I'm submitting it today. Mix one gram of those into the bowl, one leaf of this and three droppers of these," he ordered and pointed to the bottles. Then he headed out.

"Wait! You can't just mail something on my behalf, and you can't leave me to mix medicine for a patient!"

He stopped in the doorway and cocked his eyebrow in that arrogant marquess manner. "You would object to mailing it even if you'd found the cure for cancer. I don't care if there's backlash for you being a woman. I'm technically your boss, and I say it's mailing."

Her jaw fell open. "We're equal partners!"

The man came closer with a wicked smile. "Business partners don't sleep together." His finger stroked her cheek.

With a shocked gasp, she swatted away his hand and stepped back. "Your ego is going to your head! If you think - "

"Think what?" He took a step forward, backing her up to the wall, and propped his crutches to lean his hands on each side of her shoulders. Just like he used to do.

And her heart still skipped a beat, just like it used to. "Think you can do whatever you please just because you're a man," she said breathlessly. Dear heaven, his hot breath stirred desire and that rakish smile tugging the corner of his mouth made her knees weak.

"I do what I please to see fire ignite my wife's blood. I do enjoy the chase of the intellectual challenge she presents."

Trying to ignore the gallop of her heart triggered when he acted like a rake, she cocked an eyebrow to force an aire of indifference. "You like when I take you to task, you mean."

That spellbinding smile tugged at his mouth even more. "No, the fact that you do not bend to my will simply because you're a woman, no matter how much you want me. Do not think I don't see your eyes dilated or feel your hot breath coming in soft gasps or feel your body trembling with desire. You want me but have the willpower to resist if you aren't intellectually satisfied. That excites me more than anything."

"So you were lying about being the boss?"

His smile faultered. "Um, just teasing." He suddenly didn't seem so cocky.

"So, it's a ploy to get under my skirts." She crossed her arms, forcing him to lean back.

"No," he frowned and tugged at his neckcollar.

Raising into her toes, she slipped her tongue past his lips and buried her fingers in his thick hair. The minute he pressed his body to hers with clear need, she broke the kiss and ducked under his arm. "Just teasing." With a glance over her shoulder, she smiled as he dropped his forehead against the wall in sexual frustration.

His eyes followed her every move the rest of the day, the sexual tension rising to the point that it was a wonder he didn't come up with some excuse to be alone together.

At the end of the day, she went in back to check what supplies besides sutures needed replenishing. After a few minutes, the clank of crutches creaked the floorboards. "Do you need anything specific ordered?"

The floor announced his progress closer. A strong hand rested on her hip as he reached around for a pack of gauze. "Bandages," he said in a husky tone near her ear.

A shiver of desire ran up. "We have plenty."

"For at home." His hand with the package rested on her lower belly in a way that he had to know would stir butterflies in her belly.

"I have ones for your leg on the list already." She leaned back lightly against his chest, ignoring his sharp intake of breath from lust. "I'm working, Dr. Johnson. Is there anything you need?"

"You know damn well what I need," he growled, his fingers digging into her hip. "You enjoy this game of cat and mouse."

She turned with a sultry smile and looked up from beneath her lashes. "Of course." Her finger grazed over his lips and down his whiskery chin. "A mouse likes the power. And likes how you devour once caught," she purred. Letting her finger fall, she let her hips sway on the way to the door. Then she turned with a hand on the doorframe, quite pleased to see him watch with hunger. "That manuscript does not mail."

His eyebrow arched in challenge. "Oh, my dear, it already has." He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest, letting the crutches lean beside him.

"You didn't," she gasped. He wouldn't have.

"The cat always wins in the end."

Her blood boiled. "You're bluffing."

Those blue eyes narrowed and he straightened. "It's damn ingenious what you came up with, and I'm not going to let you hide behind skirts. It deserves recognition as much as if a man had figured it out," he ground out.

"It'll make you a laughingstock! Did you at least have the brains to submit it to a women's medical journal?"

His jaw flexed in anger. "I submitted it where it should be - in The Lancet."

"What?! How can you be stupid enough to send it to the best journal! I'm going to the postmaster right now to get it back before you ruin your career!" She stormed out, remembering to grab her wrap at the last minute.

The poor postmaster looked startled when she barged into his shop.

"Give me the mail from Dr. Johnson - it was a mistake."

"Um, well..." The older man looked relieved when Mark walked in a moment later. "It's legally his, so he has to tell me to return it, ma'm."

She whirled on Mark and drummed her fingers on the counter.

"No," he commanded. "No one will find out until after its wildly successful in practices around the world. Our practice is growing because our unconventional methods are saving lives. I've been down this road before of being shunned at first because of radical practices, but once they see them work, the pendulum swings the other way. I will not recall that manuscript."

Arguing in public would be futile, so she marched out and headed down the road toward home.

"You know I can't walk that fast!" His shout came out angry and hurt.

Turning around, she stormed back to him in a fit. "You had no right!"

"I had every right! Just because you were raised to believe you're an unintelligent outcast doesn't mean they're right!" He shouted with enough vigor for them both. "I've worked with a hell of a lot of physicians and students, and you're more goddamn brilliant than any of them! When I see someone advance goddamn medicine ten years in ten minutes, I'm sending in her work for recognition, and fuck anyone who has the gall act like a dick just because she doesn't have one!"

Her face burned as red as his, but from the crude language. "Others will come up with the same things in time, if not already."

"Just like they figured out to remove uterine fibroids instead of condemning a woman to death for cancer?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Teresa is different. You're a real physician - "

"You do practically everything I do! When I say you're a goddamn genius who arouses me as much with your brain as your body, I don't expect a goddamn argument! Get in the house, woman!"

Fire ignited deep inside and flowed through her blood until every fiber burned with desire. He believed her beautiful and intelligent and talented enough to risk ruining his careeer. Grabbing his lapels, she crushed her lips to his. "I'm supposed to be everything a man doesn't want."

"Fuck them." His arms wrapped around and his hand buried in her hair, giving a gentle tug to tilt her head back as his tongue dove past her lips. "If I had two legs, I'd carry you inside. Get in the bedroom," he panted.

"Dr. Johnson! Dr. Johnson!" One of the men came running down the road in a panic. "My wife is having the baby, but there's blood everywhere! The midwife doesn't know what to do!"

"Tanya, run to the clinic and grab the obstetric bag. Let's go deliver a babe." He turned with a smile and swung his crutches to hurry after the father.

A smile tugged. Mark glowed for the first time since the amputation at the prospect of practicing the medicine that he truly loved.