What the Heart Wants by Marie Caron Page A

damaged. Mrs. Young had to cut it off you,” I explained. Now he was trying to get up, and I knew I had to stop him. But how?
    “I’ve got another shirt in my saddlebags. Where are they?” he asked as he looked around the cramped space. As he was so tall, we’d had to shift our things around to accommodate him, and now there was barely space enough next to his bed for me to kneel, but I managed. Suddenly he threw off the quilt that was covering his lower half. My eyes shot directly to his groin.
    To make it easier to take care of his bodily functions while he was unconscious, Mrs. Young had removed his leather britches and replaced them with a pair of my father’s long knitted drawers. So, though he was fully clothed from the waist down to his midcalves—the garment being too short to reach his ankles—the soft cotton clung snugly to his muscular legs and to his manhood, which was currently swollen and easily discernible. My mouth fell open at the sight of it.
    Witnessing my curious and somewhat startled expression, he grinned at me. “Don’t fret yourself, little lady; I’m not fixin’ to ravish you. I just need to take a piss.”
    Blushing to the roots of my blonde hair, I found the chamber pot and set it down next to him. “Do you need my help?” I asked, not sure what I would do if he said he did.
    “Not with this ,” he replied, and I sensed a double meaning in his answer. Shaking nervously, I excused myself and went out to sit with my father. It wasn’t long before I heard my patient cursing a blue streak.
    “You best get in there. It sounds like he’s in trouble again,” my father said as he smirked at me.
    I guess Papa thought I was sorry that I had agreed to take care of Mr. O’Hara, but that was far from the truth. I enjoyed spending time with him. However, when I saw my patient sprawled on the bottom of the wagon, my heart almost seized in my chest. To my surprise, he had crawled to the back of the wagon, where he had obviously tossed out the contents of the chamber pot. The empty pot sat by his left shoulder while he lay facedown on his belly, half on and half off the bed. It was clear that he was unable to right himself or roll over.
    “Mr. O’Hara, what on earth!” I exclaimed upon seeing his predicament. I rushed to his side, and even though he was much heavier than me, I managed to get him back in bed. I was on my knees, his arms were around my shoulders, and we were both breathing hard when we heard the familiar voice of Captain Baker announcing that it was time to circle the wagons for the night.
    Embarrassed, I dropped my hands from under his arms, but he didn’t let go of me. I could feel the wagon turning, moving into position, and I knew that any minute Papa could stick his head inside the wagon and see Mr. O’Hara holding me in his arms, and yet I did nothing to get away. Instead, I let him pull me down onto his lap, crushing me to his chest, mashing my rigid nipples in between our warm bodies. Our faces were nose to nose, and I could see myself reflected in his dark molasses eyes. I held my breath, expecting him to kiss me.
    “You’re enough to make a man want to get well real fast,” he said through gritted teeth. “But, right now, I gotta admit this hurts too damned much,” he said as he let me go. I scrambled to get off him, embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.
    “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” I said sincerely as I looked down at his bandaged chest. There was fresh blood on the bandages, and I was worried he’d broken his stitches. “I need to see your chest. I mean, I need to look at your wound,” I corrected myself rapidly, blushing as he grinned at me.
    “Not right now, little lady,” he said as his hand clamped around my wrist to stop me from touching his chest. “I’m a might hot and bothered right now, and I wouldn’t want to scare you,” he added, giving me a meaningful stare as he tugged the quilt up to his waist with his other