Jacquie D’Alessandro - Red Roses Mean Love

A smile tugged at her lips when she recalled how her fury in those early days had worked in her favor. She likened herself to a general, passing out orders, delegating chores, issuing commands. It was hard work, but everyone rose to the occasion, and within a year she'd managed to shovel her way through part of the wreckage.

Unfortunately money was a constant source of concern. There were few moneymaking options available to young ladies, so her desperate situation called for equally desperate measures. Swallowing her guilt along with her pride, she did what she had to do to bring in funds, but she was forced to conduct her activities in strict privacy. The deception ate at her soul. She valued honesty above all else, but her circumstances left her without options.

The man who employed her insisted on secrecy, and she reluctantly honored his wishes. The money she made was too substantial and too necessary to risk. If she had to deceive her family to keep food in their stomachs and a roof over their heads, so be it. After Pamela married and the boys and Cassie were properly educated, she would stop. Until then, she couldn't risk jeopardizing her income by telling them the truth. As far as everyone knew, Tripp Albright had left them sufficient funds to live on.

Frowning at the direction her thoughts had taken, she resolutely shook off her sadness. I have more to be thankful for than most people, she reminded herself. The Albrights might not have much, but they had each other. Her gaze wandered down to the sick man. I have more than you at this moment, you poor man.

She replaced the warmed cloth on her patient's forehead with a fresh cool one. He looked so helpless and pale-just as her mother and father had before succumbing-and a wave of grim determination replaced her weariness. This time she would not fail.

"You are going to live," she vowed in a fierce whisper. "Whoever you are, I swear you will get up and walk out of this room and return to your family."

She pressed the damp cloth to his hot skin and allowed her gaze to drift over him. The thick white bandage wrapped around his forehead provided a startling contrast to his raven hair. The scrapes and bruises on his face were healing nicely, though even at their worst they did not hide his incredibly handsome features.

A week's growth of beard shaded his strong jaw, casting his countenance in a series of intriguing shadows. High cheekbones accentuated his straight nose, and she imagined he'd be quite spectacular with his firm, full lips curved upward in a smile. She wondered for the hundredth time what color eyes were concealed by the fan of dark eyelashes lying against his pale skin. Even in her wildest dreams she could not have conjured up such a devastatingly attractive man.

She remoistened her cloth and ran it gently down his neck onto his left shoulder. His ribs were tightly taped, but the upper portion of his chest and shoulders remained bare, the white sheet tucked under his arms. The thick mat of dark hair covering his broad chest tickled Hayley's fingertips as she ran the cloth over him. Glancing down the length of him, her face grew warm, recalling the sight of the body she knew lay bare under the sheet.

Aided by Grimsley and Winston, she'd removed the remainder of the man's filthy, torn clothing the night they brought him home. Hayley wasn't unfamiliar with the male anatomy. She'd all but raised her two younger brothers-impish rascals who until several years ago were quite fond of shucking their clothes and swimming in the lake without a stitch on.

But there was a vast difference between her brother's adolescent boyishness and the man who lay in her father's big bed. After that first night Grimsley or Winston had taken over the intimacies of sponge-bathing the man, but the vision of him was permanently blazed in Hayley's memory. Even covered with scratches and bruises, he was beautiful-like a Greek God carved in marble. Sculpted, muscular, and perfectly formed.

Forcing her thoughts away from such disturbing images, she changed the bandage covering the wound on his upper arm. There was no sense in finding this stranger attractive. He belonged elsewhere. His family was no doubt frantic with worry for him. He might even have a wife, although he wore no ring.

Hayley mentally shook herself. Three years had passed since she'd felt the slightest stirring for a man. But she could not afford to indulge in useless daydreams, having learned long ago the futility of wanting things she could not have.

The door opened and Pamela returned with a tray bearing tea and Hayley's dinner. Under her sister's watchful gaze, Hayley plopped herself down on the settee and nibbled on a savory meat pie. When she sipped her tea, a blissful sigh escaped her. The restorative comfort of the food and drink seeped into her tired bones.

"How are the children?" she asked.

Pamela smiled. "Fine. Rambunctious and noisy, but fine."

"Rambunctious? Noisy? I'm stunned."

"I'm sure you are," Pamela replied with an unladylike snort. "The picnic we went on today completely tired them out, thank goodness. I believe I'll plan another one for tomorrow."

A swell of tenderness touched Hayley's soul. She found her siblings' exuberance exhausting and endearing at the same time. "An excellent idea. A long picnic would no doubt be in your best interests."

"Indeed. Would you care to join us? The fresh air would do you good."

Hayley shook her head. "For now, my duty is here." Her gaze settled on the sick man. "Look at him, Pamela. He's so big and strong, yet so ill and helpless. My heart aches to see him lying there like that. So still. Like death. It reminds me of when Mama and Papa…" Her voice trailed off, hot tears pooling in her eyes.

Pamela reached out and grasped Hayley's hands in a hard, comforting squeeze. "Oh, Hayley… this must be so hard for you, but you're doing all you can… all that is humanly possible. Just as you did for Mama and Papa."

"Mama and Papa both died," Hayley whispered, dismayed when she felt a tear slide down her face. She really did not want to cry. She hated crying. Another hot droplet eased down her cheek.

"But not because of you," Pamela said fiercely. "It was God's will and no one's fault."

Hayley fought the wave of grief and almost blind terror threatening to engulf her. "I don't want him to die, Pamela."

Pamela knelt down and gathered Hayley into her arms. "Of course you don't want him to die. We all want him to live. But it's in God's hands, Hayley. Trust His will. And in the meanwhile, you must not make yourself ill. We need you, too. We're hanging on, but we cannot cope without you much longer."

Hayley blinked back her tears and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. When she'd sufficiently mastered her emotions, she pulled back from Pamela's embrace and managed a weak smile. "As soon as he is better…"

"I know." A tender smile touched Pamela's lips. "I believe your stubbornness alone will see this man cured. Heaven knows it keeps the rest of us in line. But we miss you. Callie says her tea parties aren't the same without you, and Andrew and Nathan bicker constantly without you to intervene. And between Grimsley's eyesight, Winston's hollering, Aunt Olivia's poor hearing, and Pierre's grumbling, I fear my sanity is in jeopardy. I don't wish to concern you, but I fear anarchy is just around the corner."

An involuntary chuckle escaped Hayley and she felt immediately better. Her sister's gentle humor always cheered her up. She tapped her fingers to her chin. "Just tell Pierre everything he prepares is divine," she advised Pamela, "and make sure you keep the cat away from him. While I don't believe he'd actually carry out his threat to cook Bertha, we'd best not tempt fate. As for Winston-"

"Ye Gods!" Pamela broke in, slapping her forehead. "I nearly forgot. You won't believe what he did today."