Chapter 42

The two weeks that followed were somewhat of a blur. Michaela devoted each day to caring for Sully, and to telling him everything she knew about the years they spent apart, and then, everything that had happened since they were reunited. Michaela was pleased when he seemed to know on his own when Johann and then Josie passed. He felt it was some sort of intuition, but she knew it was his memory returning, a piece at a time. Just as the sun began to warm the Colorado spring, so Sully's memory began to return as his body healed.

Cloud Dancing came often at night, bringing herbal poultices and teas to treat Sully's wounds, and sharing his wisdom with Michaela a little at a time. She was delighted to learn from him, and couldn't help but notice Sully's obvious improvement in response to Cloud Dancing's medicine.

Charlotte, too, was a regular presence at the homestead, often bringing the children along to help with chores. The children, already fond of Sully, rapidly grew attached to Michaela as well, especially Colleen, who was fascinated to learn everything she could from Michaela.

Using her apron to protect her hands, Charlotte pulled a chicken pie from the oven, placing it on the stove to cool. Colleen was sitting at the table rolling clean bandages with Michaela while Brian sat on his knees on the bed next to Sully, listening to him retell ancient Cheyenne legends he'd heard from Cloud Dancing the night before.

Charlotte smiled at the scene before her, glad to have found such true friends in these two, glad to lend a needed hand. "Well, kids, we best get goin'. Gotta get supper on for the boarders," she announced, eliciting a groan from Brian.

"Can't I stay an' eat here, Ma?"

"Now Brian, you know I need your help settin' the table and snappin' beans."

"Oh yeah!" he said, scrambling down from the bed and running toward the door. "Race ya to the wagon Colleen!"

The adults exchanged knowing smiles as Colleen huffed after him. It wouldn't be long before the little boy lost didn't want to help, but for now, helping was just as fun as playing, and reminded him how much he was needed by his ma.

"Thank you again, Charlotte," Michaela said, rising to hug her friend.

"Pleasure's mine," she assured. She eyed Sully teasingly, "I'll look forward to seein' ya on those crutches Sunday. 'Bout time ya joined us for a Sunday picnic," she scolded playfully, closing the door after herself.

Sully was still smiling when Michaela sat next to him on the bed, setting to work pushing up the sheet that covered his legs so she could inspect his wounds. He stiffened, his legs bare under his nightshirt but for the cast on his right leg. His affection for her, his love for her, had only deepened in the past two weeks, from an innate to an abiding knowledge. But the transition she often underwent between doctor and wife was difficult for him to weather, and even now, the soft touch of her hands as she began to lightly examine his wounds elicited sensations within him he knew he should keep from her.

He watched her, her eyes downcast, thick lashes brushing light pink cheeks, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. The sweet taste of her came suddenly to his mouth, accompanied by the urge to soothe away the worrying her teeth had done to her lip with his kiss. His eyes trailed down her shoulders, poised even as she leaned over him, applying salve to a healing gash in his thigh, to her hands, delicate, precise, tender, efficient in their movements. She was so many things. Soft, yet fiercely determined, shy, intelligent, compassionate, stubborn. Anyone would be taken by her beauty, but to know her, inside and out, made her truly captivating.

His eyes settled at her waist, his palms somehow knowing, maybe even remembering, what it was to touch her there, the warm, smooth contours of her form beneath layers of cotton or silk. Just as trim but softer in the absence of a corset. For the thousandth time he cursed himself for not being able to remember being with her. He couldn't remember how she looked in her underclothes, the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the warm, light contours of her form pressed against his harder, heavier body. They hadn't discussed the more intimate details of their union, nor the transition from friendship to the more complete love they shared now, but it was clear it had happened. They were married, after all.

But they'd hardly touched these past two weeks. Granted his fractured ribs were painful, and he was badly bruised and beaten, but she had avoided their physical contact with a skill that was admirable, if not frustrating. He knew she must have doubts about his mental condition, how much he remembered. Maybe she was even afraid of somehow affecting his memory recovery. But his love for her, his passion for her, was one thing he hadn't forgotten, whether he'd always felt it or it functioned independent of memory, he didn't know.

He drew in a sharp, silent breath as she began to massage his muscles, calling him back to the present. As professional as she was when she came to him as his doctor, he was always her husband, and given the nature and direction of his previous thoughts, the depth of her touch was more than he could take.

Gently but firmly, he placed his hand over hers, stopping her movements. For the first time since she'd sat beside him, she glanced up, her brow creased in confusion.

"Sully, it's important that I massage your muscles, in order to avoid atrophy…" she began, trailing off as she recognized the rising heat smoldering in his eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat as his fingers moved lightly up her arm, the fine cotton of her shirt caressing her skin under his touch, raising goose bumps there.

Unable to look away, she didn't move as he leaned toward her. They were so close. Her breath caught as he drew near, his lips meeting hers in a featherlight caress. His hand closed over her shoulder, his thumb caressing her collarbone as his other hand slowly framed her face, his touch, his mouth, his nearness rousing feelings she hadn't allowed herself to feel since the morning he'd left her in the boarding house.

He drew back reluctantly, holding her gaze as his thumb traced the soft contours of her bottom lip.

Michaela swallowed dryly. "…Y-you were so tired yesterday after the talks. We need to get you on your feet again…" she persisted feebly, trying and failing to break the moment.

"I'll do it," he whispered conclusively, bringing his hand over the line of her shoulder so he could stroke the soft skin of her neck above her collar. She blushed, suddenly realizing why he'd stopped her movements before, and dropped her gaze bashfully.

His touch faltered, and slowly, she raised her eyes back to his face, finding his brow furrowed as he stared at her throat. Suddenly self-conscious, she brought her fingers to her collar, wondering if it had somehow come undone, or if she had flour from the pie crust on her skin.

"Where's your locket, your watch?" he asked suddenly, his eyes searching hers.

Her eyes widened, lips parted in shock. "W-what?" She deliberately hadn't told him of their courtship following the platonic agreement they'd made for their marriage, finding it too confusing and, somehow, too intimate to explain when he didn't remember it, remember them.

"The locket I gave ya, when I pro—" he stopped suddenly, as his eyes dropped to the rings on her finger, knowing he'd given her that engagement ring, images of picking it out from beneath the glass in a high end jewelry store rising in his mind.

"Sully," she whispered, not knowing what else to say, astounded at his returning memory, unsure how to help him put the still-missing pieces together.

"Did I propose to ya twice?" he asked, confusion having replaced every other emotion in his eyes.

She searched his eyes, her heart aching for his bewildered mind. "Yes, but—"

"You turned me down the first time?" he pressed, trying to make sense of it all.

"No, Sully, I—"

"I don't—" he began, withdrawing from her more from confusion than rejection, but the movement frightened her that she was losing him.

"Sully, if you'll let me explain," she began, but he remained unmoving, his own thoughts struggling to sort out, to find, memories that were eluding him. She watched him, unsure whether he was ready for her to continue, and then decided to forge ahead anyway. "You did propose twice, but I never refused you. I… I'm afraid it's a little confusing, our story," she said gently, touching his hand. He met her eyes then, encouraging her to go on.

"We were friends, best friends, when you proposed to me the first time. We agreed to marry, but to remain the best of friends, to leave our relationship at that." She paused, waiting for the dawn of understanding in his eyes to save her from going on, but it didn't come. She took a deep breath. "We agreed to exclude the more… intimate… aspects of marriage, but to marry anyway, as we promised we would when we were young." She studied him, uncertain whether he understood, uncertain where he stood, if he was still seventeen in his own mind, or twenty-eight, or somewhere in between. Lately, he seemed himself, but there were still so many missing pieces…

"But we fell in love anyway," he prompted her, his mind racing to sort it all out as she placed more pieces before him.

"Yes," she murmured, warmth rising to her cheeks at the thought, how it felt to be held by him, to receive his kiss, his caress, to feel the security, the comfort of his strength, "…after we were married. You suggested we court. We agreed to take it slowly. You said you didn't want to miss anything," she breathed, moved once again by his thoughtfulness, how much he had shown her he truly cared, truly loved her, by that gesture.

"Now I'm missin' it all again," he said coldly, frustrated.

She touched his forearm, but it wasn't enough, and she touched his cheek, shaking her head. "You're remembering," she countered, so much tenderness in her eyes.

He searched her eyes for a long moment, looking for the answers he needed in the soft jades and hazels before him. "Have we…" he trailed off, embarrassed to have to ask, knowing it would embarrass her, but somehow desperate to know.

"No," she whispered, blushing, "not yet."

He exhaled a long sigh, falling back against the headboard. "Good." Noting her perplexed, perhaps even hurt expression, he continued. "I just… I couldn't remember. I feel things, here," he clenched his fist over his heart, "but I don't know if they're memories, or just feelin's. When I couldn't remember us, couldn't picture us together… that's not something I thought I should forget."

She couldn't' prevent the blush from rising to her cheeks. "Oh, Sully, no, no you haven't forgotten. But those feelings… I suppose…" she stumbled, struggling for the right words. "We— you proposed so very recently, with the locket…" She met his eyes, struck by his rapt gaze, filled with longing and, somehow, empathy. "Those feelings…" she whispered, the remainder of her thought plain between them as they gazed at one another with longing.

"Soon," he whispered as if he knew, as if he remembered, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

Her heart pounding, breath short, mouth dry, she was suddenly very aware of his proximity, the feelings they shared, and the speed in which this moment had unexpectedly fallen upon them. She wanted to fall into his arms, for his injuries, his amnesia, to vanish, but she was frightened. Frightened that he wasn't fully himself again, frightened that it was too soon, too unexpected, frightened for his still healing body, frightened because she didn't know what to do, or how. And overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the heat in his eyes, the tenderness of his touch, the desire it elicited in her to draw closer to him, always closer.

"We—we should have dinner, before it gets cold," she said, her voice shaky. She rose from the bed, going over to the stove to retrieve the dish that sat cooling there. "Charlotte made us a lovely chicken pie."

Stunned by the sudden change of subject, Sully stared at her a moment, knowing she was avoiding them, but not quite sure why. Inwardly relenting, he decided to let it go, not to push something he didn't understand. He smiled indulgently, reaching for his crutches and limping over to the table as Michaela set out plates and glasses for cold tea. "Sounds good."

Sunday was only the second time Sully had left the homestead since his injuries, the first having been the talks which Michaela had finally permitted him to schedule several days before, which had gone relatively well, thanks to the meticulous notes he'd recorded before he was hurt, and the hours of studying his injuries allowed him, in addition to the conversations he'd shared with Cloud Dancing. There was a tentative agreement between the army and the Indians for now, which left the Cheyenne at less of a disadvantage than it could have, and put off the tyranny of the army a little longer. Sully had come home tired, sore, and frustrated, wondering if justice would ever be forthcoming for the indian tribes.

The Coopers, Sully, and Michaela shared a companionable lunch on a large quilt following the church service, after which Colleen begged off to chat with her friend Becky, and Brian talked Sully into hurling the baseball so he and Matthew could practice batting in the meadow. Soon other boys gathered, and they nearly had a full-blown game going. Michaela watched after him anxiously, afraid of what a stray ball could do to his still sore and fragile rib cage.

Charlotte patted her hand, drawing her attention back to her friend. "You're frettin'," she noted, as she placed the final dishes back in the basket.

Michaela dropped her eyes bashfully to her lap, then couldn't resist raising them again to Sully before meeting her friend's frank gaze. "His bones are still healing. If he was hit by a ball, or if he fell…"

"You told him to be careful. He will be," she said, her eyes twinkling. "How're you two doing?"

"Sully and I? Fine, we're fine."

Charlotte nodded slowly, her eyes keen on her friend, and waited.

"His memory is slowly returning, as I would have hoped. And his external injuries seem to be healing remarkably fast," she elaborated, hoping that would appease her friend.

"And?"

"And?" Michaela repeated, feigning ignorance. Charlotte eyed her knowingly. She sighed, a small, crooked smile forming wistfully on her lips. "All the old feelings are there, and the new. Perhaps stronger now, I don't know. I—I just don't know for sure if he's fully himself again, or… There still seem to be so many missing pieces in his mind."

"Seems himself to me. Don't you think the rest'll come in time?"

"Yes, of course I do. I just—I suppose I've been so preoccupied with his recovery, I haven't considered moving forward in our relationship right now. He's still in pain, still healing, still recovering his memory…"

"Maybe so," Charlotte acknowledged. "But it seems to me that man's taken with you. Y'almost lost him once. Best not waste your time," she advised, patting Michaela decisively on the arm.

"Dr. Mike! Dr. Mike!"

Michaela was up and running, doctor's bag in hand, before Charlotte could register the frantic voice of Abby coming from the other side of the meadow. Loren stood nearby, staring dumfounded at the picnic blanket, where Maude lay curled on her side, her hand pressed to her breast.

Michaela dropped to her knees behind Maude, elevating her head upon her lap and shading her eyes with her body.

"Abby, the medicine I gave her. Where is it?" she asked urgently as she listened to the rapid, weak, uneven beating of Maude's heart through her stethoscope.

"Abby!" she shouted when the young woman didn't respond, looking up to find her staring desperately, imploringly at Loren.

"Pa do ya have it?"

Loren just gaped at Maude, watching her face grow more pale by the moment.

"Mr. Bray!" Michaela shouted, trying to shake him out of it with the force of her voice.

"L-l-latrine," he finally managed, dropping to his knees, his eyes never leaving his wife.

Michaela turned immediately to Abby, who was kneeling over her mother holding her hand. "Abby. Abby, listen to me. I need you to run to the post office, as quickly as you can. See if Horace has a package for me from Chicago. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she nodded breathlessly, frozen in fear.

"Go!" Michaela urged, jolting Abby into action. Immediately, she looked back to Maude's pale face lying in her lap, smoothing back her hair as she gasped for breath. There was nothing she could do if the medicine hadn't come. Nothing but offer some comfort and hope she made it through this episode.

Looking up, she realized a crowd had gathered. Jake Slicker, too, looked frozen in shock, standing back as he watched Maude's fading face. Others stood by with concern and thinly veiled curiosity, waiting for this woman who called herself a doctor to prove herself to them, to magically earn their trust. She made eye contact with Charlotte, who held Brian in front of her while Colleen clung to her arm. Michaela shook her head subtly, indicating to Charlotte she should take the children away, they shouldn't be here.

"Shh," she soothed Maude, "take deep, even breaths. As slow and even as you can."

Sully sank carefully down beside her and touched her back. "Anything I can do?" he asked quietly.

Never looking up, she shook her head. "We just have to wait," she whispered, glancing in the direction of the post office. In truth, she knew the package likely hadn't come yet, and this episode was lasting far too long. Anger toward Loren began to boil up in her as she considered what he had so foolishly done. It had likely cost his wife her life. When she saw Abby running back, empty-handed, she turned immediately to Jake and the Reverend.

"We need to get her home. Quickly," she instructed, wanting to get Maude away from the town's watchful gaze. Dumbly, both men lifted Maude into their arms, Michaela helping them position her so her head was up, and they carried her quickly toward the mercantile.

An hour later, Sully and Charlotte sat on the porch when Michaela emerged from the store, townsfolk gathered all around. Her eyes told Sully everything he needed to know, and he rose, coming to stand behind her, wordlessly conveying his support.

Together Michaela and Sully unhitched the wagon and put the horses up for the night. They worked silently, Sully moving slowly and painfully, Michaela discouraged by Maude's loss. She helped him up the steps to the porch, once more keenly aware of Sully's apparent pain and fatigue.

She went to him as he began unbuttoning his shirt, moving to help him. Exhausted and aching though he was, he was just as aware of her fatigue.

"I can do it," he whispered, stilling her fingers.

"I know," she persisted. "But you've done too much today. I don't want you to strain yourself further."

But he wouldn't release her hands. "Let me," he whispered firmly.

She stared at him a moment, his gaze at once firm and tender, unrelenting in both. Feeling her eyes well with tears, she dropped her gaze.

"I'll start some water for tea," she murmured, turning sharply toward the kitchen, lighting the fire in the stove.

He changed quickly into his pajamas and knelt to set the fire in the hearth. Rising with the help of his crutch, he found her staring at the stove, motionless.

A tender hand cupped her shoulder, and she wiped her eyes self-consciously.

"Michaela," he whispered, urging her with the gentle pressure of his fingers to turn around. She did, large eyes lustrous with tears meeting his.

"If Loren hadn't thrown away the medicine, if the package had come…"

He drew her into his arms, drawing in a silent breath in discomfort. "Ya did the best ya could. Ya can't blame yourself, ya can't get hung up on what ifs," he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair.

"Oh Sully," she breathed into his shoulder, sorrow and exhaustion and love and worry all compounding on one another until all she could do was cling to him, letting go of it all for the time being.

"Shh, it's gonna be okay. Ya been through so much lately," he soothed.

"So have you," she whispered, sniffling.

"I've never seen ya so worried when I left for the reservation. Can't imagine what it musta been like waiting for me to come back. Then losin' my memory, you musta been scared you might lose me, too, just when we thought we had it all."

She looked up at him in awe. She hadn't told him of her fear. For him to remember something so recent… She smiled wistfully, framing his face in her small hand.

"We do have it all," she whispered truthfully.

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, a soft smile on his lips. Forgetting everything, forgetting the pain in his chest and the loss of Mrs. Bray and the stress of the last few weeks, forgetting everything but her, this moment, his love for her, he kissed her. Softly at first, his lips brushed hers, tentative, sweet, coaxing. But she surrendered to his touch, his kiss, almost immediately, she as lost as he was in her relief to have him back completely, forgetting as he did his still-broken body. The kiss deepened quickly has caressing hands moved over arms, backs, necks, stomachs.

Breathless and weak with passion, they eased onto the bed, Sully's mouth moving warm and caressing over her chin to her throat, setting her ablaze as he moved down her neck. Desperate for her, hisown body on fire, he unbuttoned the first button of her blouse without thinking, dissatisfied with the amount of skin it bared to him. His movements slowed, and deepened as he realized he'd never done this before, the intimacy of undressing her even this little bit only fueling his passion. He unbuttoned another button, and another, and another, his mouth open and hot caressing the exposed skin. He paused when he encountered the fine lace trim and narrow ribbon of her camisole, the hint of the swell of her form barely discernable to his sensitive lips.

Michaela's breath caught, her fingers combing into his hair, caressing his scalp, overwhelmed by the sensations he aroused in her. Some part of her knew they should stop, knew he was in pain, knew this wouldn't help him heal, but that part of her was somehow disconnected from the part of her whose heart and soul were merging with his as their bodies moved together. She had ached, these past weeks, for this feeling of union with him, this sense of oneness she felt when they expressed their love in such an intimate way.

He laid his cheek against her chest, breathing hard as he suppressed a groan of combined pain in his ribs and pleasure in this moment. Never had he allowed himself to become so aroused by her, so lost in her. Gradually, he rolled to his back, grunting at the shooting pain in his chest, and reached over to clasp her hand in his.

Michaela squeezed his hand, concerned. "You're hurting. We shouldn't have—"

"Yes we should," he interjected. He released her hand to softly stroke her cheek, his eyes warm. "I love you."

Losing all desire to argue, she turned on her side, propping her head on her elbow, and touched his lips, quieting him. "And I you," she intoned sincerely. "Rest now," she whispered, stroking his hair, his arm. "Rest."