An Outlaw in Wonderland Read Online Free Page B

but she’d always found it best to say what she meant straightaway.
     She blamed the war that she was alone, but in truth, she probably would have remained
     a spinster regardless. She’d have been a dismal failure at dancing and prancing and
     spouting pretty lies like a lady.
    “I . . .” he began. “What?”
    “Where are you from that you don’t understand what a request like yours means?”
    “Ireland,” he murmured absently, then rubbed under his eye, which twitched as if something
     lived and jumped beneath the skin.
    “You’re tired,” she said.
    “I’m”—he dropped his hand—“not.”
    She nearly called him a liar, but she’d already insulted him enough. She could see
     from his confusion that he’d had no idea his request would be viewed as improper.
    “How long have you
been
in this country?” She stepped closer and caught the scent of horse and dust. But
     if he’d been sleeping, then how—
    Men poured into the room. They were so dirty, bloody, and rank with the smell of horse,
     she concluded she’d smelled them and not him. They carried a stretcher and they dumped
     an especially bloody, dirty, smelly soldier onto the table before leaving without
     a word. Really, what was there to say?
    Annabeth stepped forward before the last man cleared the door. So intent was she on
     the fellow writhing on the table that she barely noticed the sting when she doused
     her hands in the bucket of more than water. By the time she’d dried those fingers,
     Dr. Walsh already had a scalpel in his.
    “Where—” she began, and he slit the man’s trousers up the side, revealing a long,
     deep gash in his thigh.
    As he dipped his hand and the instrument back into the water, he snapped, “Bullet
     in or out?”
    “In,” the patient managed through clenched teeth.
    A movement at the doorway caused all three of them to glance up as more soldiers entered
     with more wounded. The remainder of the day was drenched in blood and sweat. The sun
     went down; the moon rose. Annabeth’s back ached. Her fingers cramped. Her eyes burned.
     She had never felt so good.
    When the last patient lay in the infirmary and no more rested on the floor, in the
     hall, or outside on the ground, Annabeth plunged her fingers into clear, fresh water
     and relished that, for a change, she hadn’t been the one bringing it.
    She’d dug out bullets, stitched bayonet wounds, set broken bones. Most of the practices
     she had never performed before, yet with a few words from Ethan Walsh, she’d understood
     what was needed. She had saved lives, and her hands fairly shook with the wonder of
     it.
    “I’ll have a word with Mrs. Dimmity.”
    If she’d thought Dr. Walsh had looked tired that morning, she’d been wrong. Tired
     was how he looked now. Although something burned in his eyes that seemed to reflect
     the fiery sensation beneath her breast.
    A sense of accomplishment? Of triumph? Or more?
    “I didn’t think. I just wanted . . .” He paused, and she heard the next word as if
     he’d spoken it aloud.
    You.
    Annabeth swallowed and ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her flush. Unlike most women,
     when Annabeth’s face heated, she did not appear lovely; rather, she looked blotchy
     and ill.
    “I’ll withdraw the request. Ye can go back to bein’—”
    “No one,” she interrupted. “Doing nothing.”
    If she hadn’t been here and seen what had occurred, she might think they slaughtered
     hogs on a daily basis in this room. But she
had
been here, and she’d not only seen what was done, she’d been the one doing it.
    A peace such as Annabeth had never known settled over her. There was nowhere else
     she would rather be.
    “You will not withdraw your request, Dr. Walsh.”
    His eyebrows lifted, as did his lovely lips. She smiled in return as she realized
     something else.
    There was no one else she’d rather be with.

C HAPTER 3
    T he intelligence on the Confederate Ranger Mosby led to Major Forbes being