Surrender the Wind by Elizabeth St. Michel Page A

boring about you.” He caught her hand before she had any notion of taking flight, his flesh warm against hers…and a vague, sensuous light passed between them. “And I assure you, there is nothing trivial about you either.”
    Her wariness stood no chance against his allure. With some sensual fascination, he drew and captured her awareness, until the room, the walls, the ceiling, the world itself, faded around them. His hand glided up and down her arm, her body felt heavy and warm, and her heartbeat raced at the mere impact of his gentle touch.
    “I give you my word that you will be safe,” he said.
    His nearness made her senses spin. His gaze roved over her in lazy regard, appraising her, and leaving her exposed. Reason warred with caution—such an attraction would be perilous. She drew an uneven breath.
    “Do you question my word, Catherine?”
    She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” Her own pulses leapt with excitement. She could feel the heat from his body—so close. It wasn’t him. Too revealing, too much vulnerability…her helplessness…her weakness over him. Her safety, security, her family fortune were at stake. “I can’t explain.” She tugged. Tears grew in her eyes.
    “Catherine—”
    “No.” She jerked her arm away and bolted off the bed. She stared at him, rubbed her arm where it burned from his touch. She turned in the doorway, then spoke again, her voice even and without a shred of doubt. “This cannot happen. We are two parts. North and South.”
    The clomping of horses and the rumble of a wagon diverted her attention. “I’m not expecting anyone. Stay here.” She closed the door and swore she heard John use her words.
    “But two parts make a whole.”

Chapter Four

    Catherine accepted a handmade quilt from the mother of one of her prospective students. Mrs. Jensen, a nice woman, gave an account of her many stillborns until the Lord blessed her with Thomas. She turned her wagon around and bid good-bye, inviting Catherine to share dinner with her family. Catherine ran her hands over the rainbow colored quilt, touched by Mrs. Jensen’s kindness. Her bed at home in the city was covered with silk damask imported from France, but the quilt made by a humble woman who had suffered so much, meant the world to her. How comforting to blend into her new life. Yet, she must not forget Francis Mallory…and the Reb.
    With certainty, John waited for some explanation of her visitor. She delayed, taking in the last few rays of the evening sun, a dusky pale of slate blue sending off a streaky glimpse of ivory and vermillion. The Reb raised so many fears and uncertainties—a warmth…wanting.
    When two souls touch?
    Every fiber of her body warned her against him. What was happening to her? She had been courted by all kinds of men and at all times, proper and circumspect. But neither had she encountered a man like John, and her mind burned with the memory of his simple touch.
    Falling under the spell of the enemy?
    But there was no room in her life for romance. Self-preservation told her she had to keep away from him. He must leave…and soon.
    But how? Having saved his life, she held responsibility for his safety. If he went to a prisoner of war camp, he would die. Conditions in Northern and Southern camps were deplorable. He was too far north and too injured to ride a horse back from where he came. And even if he was able to do so, there was a probability he’d end up dead, or, an even worse probability—he’d kill more Union soldiers.
    This dreadful war had to stop.
    What a dilemma. She sighed with her inability to come up with a solution, placed the quilt over the porch railing, and lingered with a long walk. She circled the house and strolled into the barn, her nose twitching with the dust. The rafters were cluttered with cobwebs and in the descending gloom, she lifted her face into the rays of light that poured between the sideboards…and inspiration blossomed. Hadn’t John