Forsaken Dreams by MaryLu Tyndall

shaking. Which caused her pulse to rise.
    “Then I will supervise,” he said.
    Colonel Wallace glared at him. “I agreed to your passage because you were a doctor, James.”
    “And I did not lie to you. I am a doctor. I simply haven’t”—he halted and ground his teeth together—“I don’t perform surgery anymore. Not since I left the battlefield. I told you I’m a preacher now. Been preaching the Word of God for the past two years.”
    “So, Preacher ”—the colonel’s tone was biting, his eyes raging—“you’re telling me we have no doctor. No one to fix the broken bones and heal the diseases that will be inevitable in the jungles of Brazil?”
    James took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself then flattened his lips. “I did not mean to mislead you, Colonel. I can instruct Mrs. Crawford. She can be my hands. But that is all I can offer you besides counsel in spiritual matters.”
    “What the dickens—I already have a parson aboard!” The colonel took up a pace while a look of contrition folded onto the doctor’s face.
    Eliza swallowed as the realization set in. She glanced at her patient. His fate rested in her hands and her hands alone.

C HAPTER 5
    B lake ran a comb through his hair and studied his reflection in the cracked mirror hanging on the bulkhead of his cabin. A fleeting question regarding his sudden interest in appearances taunted his mind, but he already knew the answer. It was the lovely Mrs. Crawford and his expectation of seeing her within moments in the captain’s cabin. It was why he had washed the grime from his face and donned a clean shirt and waistcoat. He only wished he had more fashionable attire and perhaps some of that bergamot or cedar cologne women seemed to love. But he had no such thing—he was a simple man with simple tastes.
    Except, he realized with surprise, when it came to Mrs. Crawford.
    There was nothing simple about her. After the good doctor had declared his inability to operate, she had gone to work, steady-handed and determined, moving like a fine-tuned instrument beneath the doctor’s instructions. Only her trembling voice gave away her fear. Still, she had continued until the bullet was removed, the wound stitched, and the patient resting.
    Where other women would have swooned at the horrors of digging through human flesh, she performed her duty with courage, a courage Blake had not often seen, even on the battlefield. That any woman could endure the nightmare she no doubt suffered as a war nurse only made him respect Mrs. Crawford all the more. That any woman who’d lost her husband, who was alone in the world, would venture to an unknown land to start a new life only increased that rising respect.
    And did he mention she was also beautiful? Not in a Magnolia Scott stunning sort of way, but in the kind of beauty found in a field of flowers: delicate yet strong. Fresh, uncontainable, and wild.
    His cabinmate, the good doctor—or should he say preacher—entered, hat in hand and hair tossed about his face, severing Blake’s musings. James heaved a sigh. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me, Blake.” He tossed his hat onto the table. “I did not mean to deceive you. I knew you already had a parson and wouldn’t sign another. So, once I discovered a nurse had joined the venture, I knew she could be my hands.”
    Blake stared at him through the mirror before turning around. The ship rolled over a wave, and he leveled himself against the shifting deck. “And what if there had been no nurse on board?”
    “I wouldn’t have signed up.” James shrugged. “I would have sought another ship. One that needed a pastor.” He dropped into a chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “In truth, I didn’t want to wait for the next ship. I wanted … no, needed , to leave everything behind.”
    A sentiment Blake could well understand. “Regardless”—he huffed—“you’ve left these colonists in a rather precarious