Author's Notes
Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the long wait on this, things have been a little rough. I've been ill and it turns out I'm a pretty bad patient (Paul Martin would not approve). Well, I'll be studying part-time at college for a while to get back on my feet, so I hope to give you all more regular updates on this story from now on.
I want to thank you guys for leaving me some wonderfully sweet reviews on the last chapter, I've read them again and again and they make me so happy every time. To all of you, members and Reader and Guests—I am humbled by your kind, encouraging words about my writing and the idea of a sequel. I simply don't have the words to express my gratitude to you. Thank you. :)
I hope you are all well and that you enjoy this chapter. This is the morning after the heated kiss! Again, sorry it took such a long time, I hope it isn't too hard to "get back into" the story. And the next chapter will be up soon!
Chapter 33
It was a quiet morning at the Ponderosa house as the grandfather clock struck nine o'clock. At this time, the Cartwrights would normally have been out at work around the ranch but that wasn't the case today. Breakfast smells were only just beginning to drift out of the kitchen into the dining room and except for the rustling of pots and pans, the downstairs part of the house was silent.
Ben came out of the kitchen, clean-shaven and dressed in a crisp white shirt and his favorite brown vest. He was carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cups and paused by the dining table to grab a couple of Hop Sing's butter cookies. The sound of clomping footsteps on wood made him look towards the sitting room where he saw his two youngest sons coming down the stairs. He set the tray down on the table.
"Good morning boys."
"Morning Pa," they replied in subdued tones.
Joe had a hand on the staircase banister to support himself and made a little wince with each step he went down. Behind him, Hoss was concentrating on placing his feet just right and unclenched his teeth long enough to mumble a "dadburnit". They moved stiffly and awkwardly, shirts untucked, and their faces mottled with cuts and bruises. It had been quite a while since either of them had come down for breakfast in such a condition and to Ben, it looked like they'd limped straight out of a saloon brawl. After having suffered a solid defeat.
The father waited patiently as they crossed the sitting room and came to the dining room table. They took their usual seats opposite each other, mimicking each other's strained grimaces as they eased themselves into the chairs. Ben's eyes shifted back and forth from one son to the other as he scrutinized them in his practiced concerned-father fashion.
"How are you two feeling?"
Rubbing his jaw, Hoss said, "I reckon we're both happy about not workin' today."
Joe made a grunt to indicate his agreement, and squinted up at his father with his one good eye.
"Did Madeline wake up yet?"
"She was awake for about an hour last night. Adam said she was very weak but she's going to be fine. She'll need a lot of rest to get her strength back though."
"That poor little gal . . ." Hoss hung his head, his brow rumpled. "It just ain't right. I'll never understand how that fella could do them awful things to her . . ."
"Me neither. He got exactly what he deserved," Joe said in an icy tone that clearly conveyed his lack of sympathy for Madeline's now deceased husband. "I'm just glad that Adam found out and we could stop the guy from getting away."
Ben nodded, grim-faced. "Yes, I hate to think about what might have happened if he'd gotten away with her . . ." His voice trailed off, letting the notion hang in the air along with all the potential, tragic outcomes.
"Where's Adam?" Hoss suddenly asked as he motioned to the empty seat where his older brother usually sat. "The door to his room was open, but he weren't in there."
"He's been sitting with Madeline and Paul all morning. He's out in the washroom now."
Joe stretched across the table for the coffee pot. "I'll bet he didn't get any sleep at all last night then."
"After he saw to Madeline, we sat and talked a while down here," Ben said, pushing the pot towards his youngest. "He ended up falling asleep on the settee, so he did get a few hours at least."
That information took the brothers by surprise and they jerked towards him. Ben simply maintained a neutral mask.
Scratching his ear, Hoss faced Joe. "I guess he musta been right dead on his feet then . . ."
"That's for sure . . ." Joe mumbled.
"Mmm." Ben picked up the tray from the table again. "Well, I'm going to take some coffee up to Paul. You two get plenty of rest today. Hop Sing is almost finished with breakfast."
"Right, Pa."
He walked in the direction of the staircase and left Hoss and Joe sitting at the table, both pondering over what they'd been told. What they really wanted to know was how things were between Adam and Madeline now.
"I sure am happy Miss Madeline's gonna be all right," Hoss said, holding out his cup when Joe gestured with the coffee pot.
"Yea, me too. I tell you, I'd like to have the whole story about what's been going on . . ." Joe studied the black liquid as it poured. "A lot of stuff makes sense now, you know, why she was avoiding Adam and all that, but most of it still seems pretty confusing to me."
"I know what ya mean. Maybe if she's up for it, she'll tell us later when Roy stops by. I guess he's likely got a few questions of his own after everythin' that—"
A sudden eruption of Cantonese yelling from the kitchen interrupted Hoss mid-sentence. He gawked over at the wall that hid the kitchen entrance from view and Joe turned in his seat just in time to see their older brother rushing around the corner—his black shirt hanging halfway open and his hair damp and uncombed.
Adam slid along the floor a few inches before he came to a halt. Clutching his bandaged arm protectively to himself, he tossed a dirty look over his shoulder and mumbled something under his breath.
". . . Morning, Adam," Hoss and Joe said almost simultaneously.
They received a grumble in response which they interpreted as a morning greeting. Adam began doing up the remaining buttons of his shirt with one hand as he walked around the table, bringing a waft of soap mixed with cologne with him.
Hoss was already in the process of pouring him a cup of coffee when he sat down in his chair. "What was Hop Sing yellin' at ya for?"
Adam's head came up and for a second, it appeared as though he was attempting to glare straight through the wall, into the kitchen. If anyone could accomplish such a feat it would be him, Hoss mused.
"He's just fussing," Adam muttered. "He wanted to look at my arm when Paul only just stitched it yesterday. Nothing's changed since then, it would be fine if people would stop prodding it every chance they got."
Even as he said the words, the corners of his eyes creased when he gingerly lowered his injured limb to rest on the tabletop.
Joe peeked at Hoss over the rim of his coffee cup. While there were a few advantages to having the doc and Hop Sing in the house at the same time, this was probably the greatest one of them. Having the two people here, who at least stood a chance of breaking through their older sibling's mulish stubbornness. Well, the two people outside of their own father, that was. And even he struggled with the task.
When Hoss noticed that Adam's lips were pressed together so tightly that they'd become thin and colorless, he decided to change the subject in the hopes of taking his brother's mind off the pain.
"Pa told us Miss Madeline woke up last night . . . we're real pleased to hear she's getting' better. Maybe we kin see her later today."
The simmering frustration seeped out of Adam and his posture sagged. "She hasn't been awake this morning yet . . ."
"Then she'll probably wake up anytime now," Joe quickly jumped in.
"I hope so . . ."
Hoss and Joe exchanged anxious glances across the table while Adam kneaded his brow with the heel of his hand. Although he was more himself again, he looked pale and tired and like he could do with a few days of rest and substantial meals. Finally, Joe worked up the courage to ask the question on both of their minds.
"So, did you and Madeline . . . are you two . . . all right again now?"
Adam looked up at them. Something in his eyes softened when he saw how concerned they were. It took him a moment to find his voice.
"Yes . . . we're all right again."
Joe's mouth widened into a broad smile and a full-out grin spread across Hoss' face, threatening to break open several cuts.
"That's dang good to hear!" He was going to emphasize his happiness by slapping a hand down on the table when he caught Adam's wince as he swiftly lifted his bandaged arm up. With a sheepish look, Hoss lowered his hand again. "That's . . . I'm real happy for ya, Adam . . . for both of ya."
"Yea," Joe said. "I am too . . ."
"Thanks." Adam ducked his head as he settled his arm again. His gaze was pinned to the red and white checkered napkin down in front of him.
"I, uh . . . I know that things were a bit . . . a bit rough for a while around here and . . ." He paused when his voice dropped to an uncertain mumble. "I guess I was a little out of it and I . . . well, I said some things that—"
"Now, don't ya worry about that."
"Yea just forget it Adam, we already have," Joe said.
That wasn't really true. No one in the family had forgotten about Adam's miserable state and his disruptive behavior. But they'd forgiven him for it and they recognized the effort he was now making to get himself back in order. They wanted to help him get there.
For a few seconds, Adam sat dead still. Then his shoulders rose high and fell slowly back down. When he raised his head, he only gave a quiet nod, and avoided looking directly at either of them. His reaction was exactly what the two younger brothers had expected from him. They knew him so well.
Once again, Hoss smoothly steered the conversation in another direction by commenting on the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. As if summoned by his words, Hop Sing appeared then with two silver trays of food in hand and Joe had to laugh. His mouth watering, Hoss eyed the trays filled with scrambled eggs, ham and hot biscuits and Joe spread his napkin across his lap in anticipation. Before returning to the kitchen, Hop Sing did deliver a cool stare to their older brother and Adam responded in his usual unaffected manner, pretending to be unaware of the cook's presence.
Hoss immediately seized the platter of eggs and started loading his plate. After taking a piece of toast for himself, Joe held the bread basket out to Adam who waved a hand dismissively. Saying nothing, Joe set the bread back on the table. He wasn't about to push his oldest sibling, not when he knew that this little demonstration of obstinacy would be brought to an end soon enough. Sometimes, the hard way was the only way with Adam.
Hop Sing made two more trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room as he brought out more food and Hoss and Joe tucked into their breakfast while Adam sipped his coffee. They kept stealing little looks at him and they appreciated that he was taking the time to sit with them when he could have gone straight back upstairs to be with Madeline. It felt nice, being together just the three of them again.
Halfway through his first biscuit, Joe felt the weight of his older brother's intense scrutiny and turned towards him. The second he did, Adam leaned into his space, squinting at his black eye.
"Did someone poke you there again or something? It looks even worse today."
Hoss also studied Joe's shiner from across the table. "Yur right . . . it does look darker and more swollen, don't it?"
Adam hummed. "Definitely the worst I've ever seen."
"Guess I've got the new record then," Joe said triumphantly, turning to Hoss with a smug grin. He even attempted a cheeky wink, but tried it with his bad eye and ended up giving a hiss of pain instead.
Hoss' brow wrinkled in sympathy. "Ain't no kind of record I'd wanna be holdin' anyhow, Joe. You did right by stickin' with your gun yesterday instead of using your fists. Otherwise we might not have had nothin' left of ya now."
"By the way," Adam said, "how did you two find Roy and get to the livery stable so quickly?"
Hoss and Joe resisted the urge to lock eyes with each other. They'd already told Adam this story the previous evening, but he'd been so caught up in his worry for Madeline that he hadn't taken much else in.
Setting down his cutlery, Hoss started to explain again. "Well, after you went off to talk to Miss Madeline about Joe bein' bushwhacked, we ran into Roy." He glanced over at his younger brother with a smile that matched the sudden gleam in his eyes. "Actually . . . we ran into someone else first. Adam, ya won't never believe who showed up just after you left while Joe was still surrounded by that group of gals."
Adam's voice filled with apprehension. "Oh, I think I will . . ."
"Maisy McCoy, that's who!"
"Please, Hoss . . ." Joe swallowed the last lump of biscuit with obvious difficulty. "Don't remind me . . ."
"Sorry, shortshanks," Hoss said, genuinely apologetic when Joe cringed as his mind forced him to relieve the awkward episode.
"Anyhow," he quickly went on, "After that, we ran into Roy on our way to his office. We were tellin' 'im about Joe bein' bushwhacked when two cowboys came over and said that Pa needed the sheriff at the doc's house. So, we went with Roy to the doc's where we found Pa and he told us about Miss Madeline and that you'd gone to the livery. We figured you'd need some help, so we got there as fast as we could."
"Good thing we did too," Joe took over. "For a fella who's always so hell-bent on thinking things through and being prepared, you sure went in there without much of a plan."
Adam calmly reached for his coffee. "Of course, I had a plan."
"Ha!" Hoss nearly choked on a bite of toast. "And just what were ya plannin' to do about the big fella who was tryin' his darndest to squash ya into a smear?
"And pretty near succeeded too," Joe supplied helpfully.
A flash of pain crossed Adam's face at the memory and he brought the coffee cup up to his chin. "He got up behind me, that's all. I was working on a way of getting free."
"Sure, ya were."
"He probably would've been just fine without us, Hoss," Joe said with a smile.
Adam went quiet and set the coffee cup down on the table again without taking a sip.
"No, I wouldn't." He stared down into the dark drink. "If the two of you hadn't arrived when you did, she might . . ." The rest of the words wouldn't come. He stayed silent, lost in his struggle to express himself and Hoss and Joe felt for him. When he did speak again, it was in that even, measured cadence they also knew very well. "Anyway, I'm just relieved she's going to be all right and that you two didn't get really seriously hurt."
"Maybe you haven't noticed, but out of the three of us, you got the worst of it, older brother," Joe stated bluntly.
"That's right," Hoss said, looking him over.
They waited, and sure enough, the usual "I'm fine" reply rolled off Adam's lips with ease. Joe couldn't help himself and briefly glanced skyward. When he faced his oldest brother again, it was apparent that his little display hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither he nor Hoss had expected to see the sides of Adam's mouth turn upward, and their faces lit up with grins at seeing that trademark half-smile. Adam made himself comfortable in his chair and they continued enjoying their breakfast.
"How's the doc doing, Adam?" Joe asked after a minute as he set down his cutlery to grab his coffee.
All of a sudden, scurrying steps entered the dining room and drew Joe's and Hoss' attention. Since Adam was still going with his strategy of refusing to acknowledge the cook, he couldn't very well look up at Hop Sing. Therefore, he was not at all prepared when his unused plate was snatched away and a plate laden with food smacked down right in front of him—with such force that the scrambled eggs jiggled and some toppled off the toast.
Adam's stunned expression almost made Joe spray the tabletop with a mouthful of coffee. With nothing else to add, apparently, Hop Sing whisked off to the kitchen again. Trying to keep from laughing, Hoss pointed his fork at Adam's generously filled plate.
"You better get started on that now if'n ya wanna be finished before supper."
"Hoss . . . you have to help me out here."
Hoss opened his mouth, about to outright refuse, but then he realized that this was no act. His older brother was clearly overwhelmed, peering down at the food as if a great misfortune had befallen him. He shared a look with Joe and both regarded Adam with fondness.
"I tell ya what . . . you get through at least half of that and I'll see what I kin do."
Adam picked up his fork, looking skeptical. "All right, I guess . . ."
Hoss and Joe tried not to be too obvious about observing him as he took the first couple of tentative mouthfuls. With each bite he took, he approached the next with more energy and seemed surprised at himself. The two younger brothers weren't the least bit surprised though. For the last two weeks, he had barely touched his food at breakfast and supper and since the previous weekend, they knew that his diet had consisted almost exclusively of liquids, and all the wrong kinds. It was good to see his appetite returning. They continued eating their own breakfast, feeling relieved and cheerful. They had their brother back.
xXXx
Adam walked along the porch and cast a glance up at the cloudless sky. The sun shone brightly and unhindered, but the temperature had dropped considerably now with the fall approaching. This time of year always seemed to arrive just when everybody was sick and tired of the relentless summer heat. He probably should have worn his jacket, but he'd only meant to be outside for a short while.
He stepped back inside the house and closed the front door. As he wandered to the settee, he threw a sidelong look over at the dining table which was now cleared of dishware.
It had been almost an hour since he'd left Madeline's room and he'd accomplished a lot in that time. Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, he'd had a much-needed bath and a shave. Not a close shave though, he had only gotten as far as trimming the worst of his stubble when Hop Sing had walked in, wearing the look of a man who was on the hunt for an injury to probe. Adam had decided to leave the washroom there and then. He'd sat with his brothers for about half an hour, something he hadn't planned on, but it had been worth it. The short time they'd spent together had meant a lot to Joe and Hoss, he was in no doubt about that. He only wished they hadn't acted as though he was doing them a great favor by sitting down with them. They had been grateful to him when it should be the other way around. It made no sense—they'd accepted him back into the brotherly banter without reserve even though he'd been anything but a good older brother to them lately.
After breakfast, they had gone to their rooms to rest up and he'd needed a few minutes alone outside to clear his head. He felt better for it and the fresh air had also helped settle his stomach after the ample breakfast serving Hop Sing had dished up. Without Hoss' assistance, he probably wouldn't even be upright still.
But now, he really needed to get back to Madeline. He'd been away from her for too long already. With that thought in mind, he strode around the settee and headed for the staircase.
She must still be sleeping. Paul would have called him if she'd woken—Adam knew that for a fact. Not that he thought that the doctor was above pulling a stunt like the one he'd pulled himself the previous night. But he knew that Paul would get him the minute she woke up, just to prove a point.
He got to the bottom of the stairs and climbed the steps as quickly as his aching body would allow.
The effects of the previous afternoon's fight had really set in. It felt like the whole front of his torso had been caught in a cast iron vise, like his chest had been compressed and still hadn't returned to normal size. Whenever he inhaled or exhaled too deeply, he could almost hear his rib cage creaking and groaning, sort of like the stairs creaked with every step he ascended. He'd been in plenty of fights before though, and his experience was that the first few days were always the worst, then the pain would become bearable.
As he reached the landing halfway up the staircase, he twisted left to take the next step up when an injury along his ribs pulled painfully, making him stumble. Without thinking, he put his bad arm out to steady himself against the railing and his breath hitched as pain seemed to explode throughout his body. He managed to stop himself from falling, but only at the last second. Leaning his weight against the railing beside him, he squeezed his eyes shut, clasping his left elbow.
He'd had a reason other than his own stubbornness for refusing to let Hop Sing take a look at the wound earlier. The honest truth was that the pain had become so bad, he didn't want anybody touching it unless it was strictly necessary. He could feel his arm pulsating under the bandage and every time he jostled it—like just now—fresh, searing pain assaulted him as if a hot knife was slicing through the cloth, through his skin, straight to the bone.
He took a couple of deep breaths to get his composure back, still leaning on the wooden banister. When he felt ready, he tried the next step, moving more carefully this time.
From the top of the stairs, he went down the hall and stopped outside the first guestroom on his right. His gaze traveled further down the hallway though—to the closed door of his father's bedroom. He guessed that his pa must have gone to catch up on some sleep. The sleep he hadn't gotten last night because he'd stayed awake watching over his oldest son.
Adam still couldn't quite believe that he'd allowed that to happen. He'd been so tired, too tired to think clearly. He was fairly sure he'd had a nightmare, but he had no recollection of it. Probably because he'd been too exhausted to remember anything. His father hadn't said anything about it, not directly. It was strange really, Adam had awoken to find himself actually sitting up on the settee with his eyes already open, his heart pounding wildly. And those familiar, strong hands holding onto his shoulders and his father's voice in his ear, calming and soothing.
The fact that he didn't remember the nightmare was definitely a mercy he didn't deserve.
He made himself take a mental step back when he realized where his line of thinking was taking him. He'd already wasted too much time drowning himself in self-pity and God knows what else—now he needed to be the reliable one, the strong one. It was exactly as his father had said last night—Madeline needed him.
Turning back to the guestroom, he grasped the door handle. He was about to push the door open when a sudden thought gave him pause. After narrowly escaping an ambush from Hop Sing in the washroom, he was now about to walk straight into the line of fire. Paul was in that room. But so was Madeline. And as far as Adam was concerned—wherever she was, he wanted to be. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door.
Paul was just as he'd left him; sitting cross-legged in the chair by the bed, wearing his charcoal waistcoat, writing in the journal he kept for his patients' medical records. There was now a tray with a coffee pot and cups standing on the night table next to him.
"Nothing yet?" Adam asked quietly as he closed the door.
"Still sleeping peacefully," the doctor said, never stopping his scribbling. "She's catching up on a lot of rest which is a good thing. It's what her body needs most of all."
Adam moved stealthily across the room and stopped by the bed as he peered down at Madeline. She still lay swallowed up in the covers and pillows and to him, it didn't look like she'd even moved in the time he'd been away. Disappointment flooded him. He'd hoped that she would have at least stirred by now. It worried him that she hadn't.
"And you're sure she's—"
"She'll be fine," Paul said, finishing his sentence with a dot before lifting the pencil from the page. "You might as well sit. Standing around like that won't make a difference."
Rubbing the side of his face, Adam slumped down into the chair next to the doctor. He just wanted her to wake up—he needed to hear her voice, see her beautiful eyes. Make sure she was actually getting better. Some part of his brain was waiting for that scratching sound of pencil-scrawling to resume, only, it didn't.
Adam braced himself.
"Well, I see that you're successfully ignoring all my advice," Paul said with deceptive calm.
Hearing no actual question there, Adam decided there really was no reason to comment.
"What did you do to that sling then? I didn't make it for you just to entertain myself, you know."
"I don't need the sling," he said tersely.
"Of course, you don't. What was I thinking, pay no mind to me. After all, I'm merely a doctor."
Adam exhaled slowly through his nose.
"You do realize, that with everything you've put that arm through, it's quite a wonder that infection hasn't set in yet."
"Paul."
"—But cheer up lad, you might still manage it. Since you evidently intend to do everything possible to hinder your recovery."
A welcome silence ensued.
Then, Adam spoke out at the room. "Are you done?"
"I believe so."
The scribbling started up again. Adam shut the noise out. In fact, he shut everything around him out and focused all his attention on Madeline.
She was lying on her back, her deep-brown hair cascading over the pillow and down her shoulders. Her lashes, lavish and long, lay still as dark crescents against her milky skin. Her lips were parted, moving slightly with every soft breath. She reminded him of a sleeping princess from a fairy tale. Impossibly beautiful. Fair and innocent. Even in sleep, her grace was palpable to anyone who laid eyes on her, same as her inner goodness, so vividly etched into her features as if she bore the face of compassion itself.
The vision of her like that suddenly made his chest swell with emotion. She looked tiny in the bed, like a delicate porcelain doll. So fragile. Vulnerable. The urge to reach out to her almost overwhelmed him. He wanted to touch her, make contact with her in some way. But gentle as he knew he would be, gentle as he would always be with her, he worried that even his tender touch might damage her. She'd been hurt so much already.
He stiffened in the chair when he saw a sudden movement. His breath stayed suspended in his lungs as he watched her. She stirred. Her head rolled to the side and then with a little sigh, her breathing settled into that even rhythm again.
A jolt ran through him when her new position made her hair slide down and away from her collarbone, baring the bruising around her neck. Brutal purple-blue, fingerprints, so wrong on her flawless skin. His eyes were transfixed on it. He couldn't stand to see it, yet he couldn't look away. With each second his sight remained there, he felt his temperature rising. As images of that man's face flickered through his mind. Images of the animal who'd dared hurt her.
His hand still cupped his left elbow and without realizing it, his grip tightened until the pressure became ruthless. Madeline wouldn't want this, he knew that. He needed to let go, bury his anger along with the man who was at the root of it. But how? How could he when Ray Bradshaw's marks were still on her? Reminding him. The guy was dead but still alive in his mind and he resented it. He could only imagine how frightened and alone she must have felt. To know that she had been trapped with a heartless brute who had done such cruel things to her . . . and all the while he'd had no idea. Thinking about it made him feel sick.
Everything was pulsating now, not just his arm, but his whole body. His fury was like a hot torrent flowing through his veins, igniting his blood—rousing the darker side of his character. Gradually, the growing, physical pain crept in through the angry haze that had swept over his awareness. Demanding that he master his temper. It took everything he had, all of his will power, but he finally wrestled his gaze away from Madeline's exposed neck.
One thing was certain; he would make sure that no one ever hurt her, ever again. And if she let him, he would spend the rest of his life keeping her safe. Those thoughts had an instantaneous, calming effect on him.
As he simmered down, he became aware of a few things. First off—his arm was throbbing relentlessly, much worse than before. Second, he realized that the fault was his own and he instantly let go of his elbow. And, of course, the last thing he noticed, was the lack of sound around him. The lack of pencil-scribbling.
He shot a look to his left. Only to find two unblinking eyes honed on him. Flint-sharp orbs, the color of polished steel. And above them, feathery silvered eyebrows drawn low. It was obvious that Paul had been watching him for some time.
Adam turned away, trying to keep the pain from showing on his face. But he still felt Paul's gaze intent on him, so penetrating, like it was reaching into his mind and seeing everything, probing his thoughts. Biting the inside of his cheek, he waited, but the doctor continued to watch him. Until it became too much. He jerked his head left again.
"What?!" he snapped, louder than he'd intended.
Paul's expression went from assessing to disapproving, and he glanced over at Madeline, then back at Adam. "I'm going to get you a dose of laudanum, that's what."
"No," Adam said, quieter now. He hugged his injured arm to himself. "No . . . I don't need any."
"Look, it's plain to see that you're in a lot of pain—in the last few minutes, you've gone paler than she is!" Paul hissed, gesturing to Madeline who, by some miracle, slept on.
"I said, I don't need it."
"You're just being a stubborn—" The doctor paused the sentence to grit his teeth together. "I was hesitant to give you anything yesterday, but I can't just sit by while you're . . ." Shaking his head, he closed the journal and set it on the night table.
"I'll be fine. Now, drop it."
"You need something. For the pain as well as—"
"Drop it," Adam cut him off, letting a note of intimidation darken his voice.
"Don't you use that tone with me, Adam." Paul jabbed the pointy end of the pencil at him since he couldn't yell or vent his frustration any other way. "You're either going to take the blasted laudanum or tell me what's going on with you."
"Why can't you just—" Adam clamped his mouth shut. It was useless. They glared at each other for a few prolonged seconds. Then, with a mumbled curse, Paul started to rise from the chair. As a last resort, Adam fixed him with a stare so fierce and deep with intensity that it went far beyond anything even Paul could produce.
"I don't want any because I can't."
The doctor froze, hovering above the seat of the chair, hands braced on the armrests. His annoyance deflated as understanding began to trickle in and he slowly sank back down.
Adam faced Madeline again. "No medicine, no liquor. I might not be able to handle it and I can't take that chance. I need to keep my head clear right now. For her . . . and for them."
The soft-spoken words were followed by a heavy silence. Adam didn't know what to expect as he waited for his friend to respond to his admission. It crossed his mind that the doc might not comment at all—which would suit him just fine. What he definitely hadn't anticipated, was for Paul to rise from the chair anyway.
The doctor placed the pencil on the night table, stepped around Adam's chair and proceeded across the room without a word. Adam drew his lips into a tight line and every muscle in his body tensed in apprehension. He listened for Paul rummaging around at the back of the room where he knew the black doctor's bag stood by the dresser and cupboard, but he refused to look behind him. When he heard determined steps approach, the dreadful thought occurred to him that the older man might attempt spoon-feeding the laudanum to him. But instead of bringing back a little brown flask, Paul appeared beside him with a tufted pillow.
"At the very least, rest it on here."
Adam couldn't help but notice the time he took to fluff up the pillow. When the doc placed it on his lap and reached for his arm, he almost flinched, but managed to suppress the impulse. Paul's touch was careful and considerate as he arranged the bandaged limb on the pillow.
"There, try to keep it angled like that and don't move it at all for at least ten minutes." Straightening up, he stepped over to sit in the other chair again. "And stop clenching your fist," he said gruffly, picking up his journal and pencil. "Flexing the muscles by the wound certainly won't lessen the pain." He huffed. "You really shouldn't need a doctor to tell you that."
Considering his arm thoughtfully, Adam did as he'd been told and kept it completely still. After a minute or so, he chanced a half-peek out of the corner of his eye.
A quiet "thanks" floated out into the room.
Paul grunted something indecipherable, and the pencil started a furious scrawling across the page.
Adam looked down at his arm again. He had to admit that it did help, resting it this way—already the pain was going down just from keeping it relaxed on the soft cushion. Then again, he really didn't feel like admitting it. Not verbally, anyway. So, he settled back in his chair, arming himself with patience as he waited for Madeline to wake up.
xXXx