Distillery Hospital, 24 February 1871
Chad looked down at the telegrams that had been waiting for him on his desk that morning. His neck and shoulders hurt, partially from shoving Perkins the day before but also from the tension that had followed him from his quick dinner in the mess hall to his room to sleep. Word of his shameful behavior had gotten out, and he was thankful he had Patrick with him. He found himself to be relieved that Claire hadn’t joined them, but also strangely missing her, both the quick-witted girl she’d been and now the smart, competent woman she was.
With a shake of his head—as if that would dislodge the memories of her lips under his and her waist beneath his hands—he turned his attention to the first yellowed envelope. Both were clipped to a handwritten note tha
