He moved slowly, not toward the gun at his throat, but to brush his fingers along her jawline. “Is it Nichole?”
“Yes,” she answered. “But I’ve been called Nick for so long I probably wouldn’t answer to anything else. Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, it was Nichole Casey Hayward. But now, it’s just Nick.”
She knew she should end this discussion. The proper thing to do would be to shoot him and be done with it. But his touch was so light, so caring. Without lowering the Colt, she turned her head slightly so that his fingers trailed along the length of her throat.
Nichole was starving, color-blind in a war that was never ending. They’d both been robbed of years of youth and discovery. And for one moment, one timeless moment, she stepped away from reality and responsibility. For just a blink in time she wanted someone to see her as a woman and not a fighting Shadow. She wanted there to be more in her life than running and hiding. She wanted there to be this man.
Moving his long fingers over her chin, Adam lifted her head slightly as though he’d read her mind.
She let the gun slip away as he lowered his lips to hers. A hunger sparked in her as his mouth gently covered hers. She felt his hand slide into her hair as she tasted the warmth of his lips.
The shattering of the door echoed through the room like a cannon shot. Adam instinctively tightened his grip around Nichole’s shoulder. She reached for her gun.
“Nick!” a bear of a man shouted. “Nick!”
To Adam’s surprise, she lowered her weapon as a huge, wild half animal of a man stormed forward. He stood well over six feet with coal-colored hair to his shoulders and a beard of curly hair that stood out in every direction.
“Wolf!” she answered. “Wolf, over here!”
The giant shoved the bloody table aside and knelt to one knee. “I sent the others on ahead. I figured if you were dead, I wanted to kill the doc with my own hands. If you were alive, I’d let you do it, then we’d be on our way.”
The huge man stared at them, as if he were seeing a two-headed cow. His gaze narrowed to Adam’s arm resting protectively across his sister’s shoulder and a Union jacket covering her legs.
“What’s going on, Nick?”
“Nothing.” She looked at Adam. “I was just kissing the Yank.”
The big man slowly stood, drawing in air as if he planned to use half the room’s supply in one breath. “You kissed him?”
“Actually, I was kissing her,” Adam answered, seeing no need to lie or hide behind her.
“Shut up!” Wolf growled. “You’re a talking dead man.”
Nichole leaned away from Adam. “You can’t kill him, big brother, I kissed him.”
Wolf rubbed his face with a beefy hand, as if he could rub away what his eyes were seeing. “You kissed a damn Yankee?”
“I kissed a very kind man who saved my life.”
Wolf sobered and looked straight at Adam. “I thank you for that, Doc, and I’ll see you’re buried proper for it.”
“You’re not killing him, Wolf. He saved my life. I’m the one who kissed him, and I’ll be the one who shoots him.”
Wolf seemed to relax slightly, as if concluding that his little sister had finally come to her senses. He turned and moved toward the remains of the door. “I’ll saddle your horse,” he mumbled as he shoved wood out of his way. “But don’t go around kissing no one else. I can’t be limiting the number of Yanks I shoot.”
As the door fell back in place, Nichole pushed away from Adam with a groan. “Go!” she whispered. “If you stand on the table, you should be able to jump to the loft. From there, go out the place where the roof has fallen in. I’ll give you to the count of thirty, then I’ll fire. You should be in the woods by the time Wolf opens the door and finds you gone.”
“But-”
“There’s no time.” She pushed him away.
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek as his fingers moved over the soft curls of her midnight hair.
“One,” she whispered. “Two.”
“God, you have beautiful eyes.”
“Three.”
“Thanks.” He jumped on the table and pulled himself into the loft.
“Four,” she forced the words out in a hurried breath. “When this war is over, I’ll find you, Adam McLain, and finish that kiss.”
“I’ll plan on it, Nichole Hayward,” he said, and smiled down at her a moment before turning toward the opening in the roof.
“Five,” she whispered as she shoved away a tear with her free hand. “Six.”
Adam was several yards into the blackness of the woods before he slowed. As he moved through the undergrowth at the creek’s edge, he heard a single shot shatter the cool dawn air. A bullet-meant to end his life. The solitary blast brought him back to the reality of hell.
Silently, he slipped into the cold water and began moving upstream. If the kid, called Rafe, had followed the stream up to find Adam’s camp, it made sense that if he followed the water’s guide, he’d eventually reach the Union hospital tents.
The stream widened, growing deeper and slippery, but he didn’t dare move ashore and leave a trail Wolf could follow. Nichole might not want him dead, but her brother had no such weakness. He’d track Adam down if he had the time.
The wool uniform was soaked to the shoulders, but still, Adam moved. Dawn light slid between the branches in slivers of silver, reflecting off the water in diamond brightness, but bringing no warmth. The smell of spring was thick in the air, but fear pulsed through Adam, muting all else.
Twice, he fell, losing ground to the rushing water, but he didn’t dare slow his pace. If Wolf was on horseback, it wouldn’t take the reb long to overtake him.
Rushing water drowned out most sounds, but Adam could hear the low thunder of a horse’s hooves coming toward him. When he tried to increase his speed, the stream fought him for progress.
Just as he leaned to dive beneath the water, he heard someone shout, “Adam!”
Suddenly, Captain Wes McLain, dressed in his cavalry uniform and riding a powerful roan, was splashing through the stream toward Adam.
Wes didn’t pull the reins when he offered his arm to his brother. As he’d done a hundred times in childhood, Adam locked his hand at his brother’s elbow and Wes did the same. With one mighty pull, Adam swung up behind Wes, and the roan turned to reverse his track.
They sliced the stream with wings of sparkling silver. The huge animal spanned the distance to the camp in thundering seconds. When Wes turned the horse toward land and headed for the hospital tents, he slowed enough to shout, “Trying to get yourself killed, little brother? I thought you had more sense!”
Adam ignored the teasing. “I was managing fine. How’d you find me?”
“It took me about a minute to figure out what had happened in your tent. Whoever kidnapped you left a trail even Daniel could follow. When the tracks hit the water, I knew they wouldn’t be heading north.”
He slowed at Adam’s tent and gave his brother a hand down. “I decided the rebs weren’t looking for soldiers to kill, so they must have needed a doctor. And if they crossed the line to get one, they were desperate and you probably wouldn’t be coming back.”
Adam moved into his tent with his brother following. “You guessed right.”
“And you helped them, of course.” Wes reached beneath the straw mattress and pulled out Adam’s total supply of liquor-a half bottle of whiskey. “Your war’s with the angel of death, brother, and no one else. I was just hoping you had time to make them believe that before they shot you.”
After a long drink, Wes made a face. “This is terrible.”
Adam laughed as he pulled off his wet uniform. “It’s what you left here last month.” He tossed his shirt aside. “And you’re right, I did what I could for the injured Gray Shadow.”