Cheryl Reavis Read Online Free

Kate,” one of the hospital orderlies said.
    She—and ultimately Mrs. Kinnard—moved out of the way so he could kneel down and assess the man’s condition. It occurred to her that Robert Markham was going to have every bit as much trouble pacifying Mrs. Kinnard as her brother did.
    “Is the doctor coming?” Kate asked the orderly.
    “Just as soon as we can find him, Miss Kate,” he said.
    Kate stood watching as he uncovered the man and began to examine him, looking for a reason why he had fallen to the floor, she supposed.
    “Well, can you do anything helpful?” Mrs. Kinnard said suddenly, and Kate realized she was once again in her sights.
    “I...”
    “ Exactly as I thought. You do know where there is pen and paper, I hope.”
    Kate took a quiet breath before she answered. “Yes. I’ll be happy to get it.”
    Kate escaped to Maria’s writing desk in the parlor and returned with a sheet of paper and a short pencil. Mrs. Kinnard eyed the pencil, and Kate thought she was going to refuse to take it.
    “The ink is frozen. I’m sorry,” Kate added, because in a roundabout way, that could be considered her fault. “I assumed you were in a hurry,” she said, still holding out the pencil.
    Mrs. Kinnard gave an impatient sigh, then removed her gloves and bonnet and handed them to Kate in exchange for the pencil and paper. Kate had no idea what to do with them, given the dearth of furnishings in the hall. She held on to them in lieu of throwing them down on the parquet floor, then she opened the dining room door and went inside, ultimately placing the bonnet and gloves carefully on a chair next to the sideboard and nearly colliding with Mrs. Kinnard when she turned around to leave.
    “They should be safe here,” Kate said, because she hadn’t realized the woman had followed her and concern for her finery was the only conclusion Kate could come to as to why she did. She could hear the front door opening and a number of footsteps in the hall. Several more soldiers passed by the dining room door, two of them carrying a stretcher.
    Mrs. Kinnard sat down at the dining table near the oil lamp Kate had lit earlier and began to write—a list, from the looks of it.
    “Mr. Perkins!” she cried when she’d finished, clearly eschewing Perkins’s military title, probably because he belonged to an army she considered of no consequence.
    “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Kinnard!” he called from somewhere at the back of the house.
    “Take this,” she said, when he finally appeared in the doorway. “I want this list filled as soon as possible.”
    He looked at the sheet of paper, then back at her. “Mrs. Russell isn’t going to welcome a knock on the door this time of night from the likes of me, ma’am.”
    “Whether she welcomes it or not isn’t important. Taking care of Robert Markham now that he has returned from the dead, is. I won’t see him hauled off to your military infirmary, and this young woman is of no use whatsoever that I can see.”
    Kate opened her mouth to respond to the remark, but Perkins cleared his throat sharply and gave her a hard look. His sergeant major look. Again. She suddenly understood what he had been trying to tell her earlier. Neither she nor her tender feelings mattered in this situation. Maintaining her brother’s authority and his rapport with the townspeople did.
    Very well, then.
    She stepped around him into the hallway. If she was going to preserve Max’s peace treaties, she’d have to get herself well away from this overbearing woman.
    Honestly! she nearly said aloud. As she recalled, even Maria found the Kinnard woman hard going.
    Robert Markham—if Mrs. Kinnard’s identification could be trusted—still lay on the cold floor. The hospital orderly had lifted him slightly and was pouring brandy down his throat with all the skill of a man who had performed the treatment many times. Robert Markham eventually swallowed, coughed a time or two, but still did not wake.
    “Miss