Chapter 22

“Esther,” Mr. Carver says, returning into the tent. He blocks my view of Miles and Amber, but maybe that’s for the best. Watching them was giving me strange feelings in my stomach that I’m nowhere near ready to face, let alone put a name to.

“Yes, Mr. Carver?”

By now the medical professionals have finished their work. There is some discussion going on between them about potential internal bleeding, but no one seems overly interested in rushing me to the hospital, so that seems like a good sign.

“You should stay here for the rest of the afternoon,” Mr. Carver says. Worry lines dig creases all over his face.

Eying the medical staff, I say, “I should be able to come back soon. I don’t think they want to take me to the hospital and I feel okay.”

“Esther,” Mr. Carver says again, drawing my attention back to him. Since his arrival at the medical tent, I did wonder if his concern was more for me or for the liability this problem produced. However, looking at him now, his gaze so full of obvious, genuine concern, I know I was being unkind.

Mr. Carver is a good man. I never should have doubted that. Maybe I am in shock or something.

“Stay here,” Mr. Carver says. “Go to the hospital if you are asked to. But let me handle your duties for the rest of the day. You simply concentrate on feeling better, alright?”

“Okay, Mr. Carver.” I won’t fight him on this, not anymore. To assuage his fears, I’ll stay put until I have a firm bill of health. Well, at least I’ll stay nearby. I won’t go back to work, even if every nerve wants me to make sure that this event I helped so meticulously plan is going well.

“Very good, Esther. Thank you.” Mr. Carver nods. “I wish you a speedy recovery.”

“I’ll be back to work tomorrow,” I say. Regardless of what the doctors say, I mentally add.

Mr. Carver’s lips go thin. “Let’s wait until tomorrow before you make that decision, hm? Bruises often feel worse the next day.”

I suppose I can at least promise him that. “Very well.”

Satisfied, Mr. Carver leaves the tent, only for Cynthia to storm in instead.

She doesn’t say anything right away, though from the way she’s stampeding around like a horse on promenade, she clearly wants to.

“Sit down,” I tell her, patting the seat beside me. “You are making me tired just watching you.”

She flops onto the seat, turns toward me, and immediately says, “I’m so sorry that I left you.”

I look at her strangely. “What were you supposed to do? Stay and get hurt too?”

“I shouldn’t have left you.” She adamantly shakes her head. “A friend deserves better.”

“Cynthia…” I say with no small measure of sympathy in my voice. “You did exactly what you needed to do to save me.”

Her hands coil up into fists on her lap. I place my hands over hers.

“If you stayed,” I continue, “Then who would have gone for help? We’d both be laid up in here. Or worse. No, leaving to get help was the best thing you could have done. You are a large part of why I’m here with only some scrapes and bruises, Cynthia.”

She still doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she at least loosens her fists. “I’ll do better next time.”

“You did perfectly this time,” I tell her. “Though hopefully there won’t be a need.” I laugh a little, and Cynthia does too.

Just like that, the tension between us dissipates. I sit back, removing my hands from hers. She knocks her shoulder into mine.

“How about Miles, though? Rushing to the rescue like a bat out of hell. Then showing up here with you in his arms.” Cynthia swoons. “What a hero.”

Miles is a hero, and in action, he was stunning. A true prince among men with true aim and a strong disposition. Only a man of courage would rush toward the danger.

I am forever indebted to him for this, I know. And my heart races just thinking about all the potential ways I could make it up to him.

But that’s not healthy thinking. In fact, Miles is such a bad influence on my heart and libido that I don’t want to think or talk about him at all.

“You have to tell me everything,” Cynthia says. “I want to know every second of how the call boy Congressman came to your aid. Did he ride in like a white knight? Did he give a speech?”

“You read too many romance novels,” I lightly scold her. “Of course he didn’t give a speech.”

“Ah, but you aren’t denying the white knight part.”

Cynthia clearly is not going to let this go, so I give her the shortened version of events. As I don’t want to fluff up Miles too much, I keep things simple.

Miles shot the boar. He put me on his horse. He carried me here.

My version doesn’t suit Cynthia’s wild fantasies, though, and she glares at me, displeased.

“You are holding back,” she says, suspicious. “I can see it in your face that more happened than what you are saying. Look at your blush.”

“I’m not blushing,” I insist, even as my cheeks heat up.

“I’ll get the truth from you someday,” Cynthia says. “I don’t know why you are being so stubborn.”

“I’m not,” I lie.

“Ester, if you can’t –”

Cynthia is abruptly cut off by the sudden entrance of Amber. I half expect Miles to sneak in behind her, he did want a full report after all, but for now, he remains missing.

Amber’s sharp, piercing glance swoops over the whole room. From the medical staff still speaking quietly to me with my leg elevated, to Cynthia beside me looking back at her with surprise and confusion.

“Friend of yours, Esther?” Cynthia asks.

“This is Amber,” I say. “Miles’s childhood friend. And a journalist.”

Amber, it seems, doesn’t care to be introduced to Cynthia. “I demand to speak with you alone, Esther Graham.”

Cynthia raises a brow as she glances between us. “She ‘demands?’”

I shrug. Even from our brief prior meeting, Amber’s distain for me was obvious. I hoped, after speaking with Miles alone, she might ease off some. But fuming as she is in the entrance to the medical tense, she seems no less fired up than usual.

“Listen. Amber, is it?” Cynthia says. She keeps her voice calm but there’s a tight edge to it now that wasn’t there just a moment ago. “Esther nearly died this afternoon. Whatever you have to say to her can surely wait until she’s not sitting in a medical tent, yeah? Make an appointment or something.”

Esther’s face flashes red.

Cynthia could have been more respectful, true. She is clearly not taking Amber seriously. Admittedly, with the way Amber stormed in here, temper tantrum at the ready, she looks much like a young woman with more emotions than sense.

“I need to speak with you,” Amber says again, not backing down. Then she huffs a breath. “It’s about Miles.”

Oh.

Cynthia and I glance at each other.

That changes things.