GROANING, THE FIRE in his thigh and shoulder excruciating, Quincy couldn’t believe he’d made such an amateur miscalculation. His head pounded from the hard smack to the ground and his vision blurred. When he heard Victoria’s feminine gasp, he turned toward the sound.

“Quincy?” He watched as Victoria crawled toward him, flattening her body to the ground when she reached him. “Your shoulder’s bleeding. And your leg!”

“I think I’ve been shot.”

“Apparently,” she said, and then added so quietly, Quincy barely heard her, “These are real bullets from real guns in the middle of a very real battle, aren’t they?”

Quincy knew she must be afraid, but he was in too much pain to soothe her.

Victoria pressed on his shoulder. “I need to get you somewhere safe. Can you move?”

He shook his head. “You need to get away from me.”

Victoria’s hand pressed harder. “No, we need to get away from here. Now, can you move?”

Quincy squeezed his eyes shut. “Get out of here!”

“Quincy, please let me take you to cover.”

Another shell. His heart broke as he watched her burst into tears.

“Quincy! Listen to me. I will shove my elbow into your shoulder if you don’t let me move you somewhere safe.”

She sounded angry, which was better than the tears in his opinion. “You must be safe.”

Victoria huffed. “Now you’re being nice to me?”

Catching her slight smile as he pushed himself up, bile flooded his throat, and he groaned as he tried to swallow it back down.

“Take it slow, Gus,” she said gently.

Victoria helped him stand and pulled his uninjured arm around her shoulders as she wrapped her arm around his waist. He grunted in protest.

“Okay, big man, let’s get you to safety.” She looked around them. “Where?”

“Over to that grove of trees. It’ll give us some cover.”

They limped over to the covering and he was certain the exertion of carrying him would cause her to pass out.

* * *

Victoria couldn’t help but notice, from her hand around Quincy’s waist, nothing but muscle. He felt slim, which could be from hunger, but still extremely muscular. Reaching the trees without further incident, she set him down so his back was against one of the trunks and hidden from the open valley. She took a moment to catch her breath before she knelt down beside him. Pulling her backpack from her shoulders, she opened it and almost laughed out loud when she came across the alcohol and bandages.

She sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Her hair was in her eyes, so she scooped the lot of it up and secured it at the base of her neck with the scrunchy still around her wrist from earlier that day. “Quincy? I’m going to open your jacket and have a look at your injuries. Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

His breathing, slightly labored, concerned her as she unbuttoned his jacket. She pushed the rough, woolen fabric aside and then did the same with his shirt. She was surprised by the thinness of his shirt, inadequate for winter weather, and yet, his jacket seemed too heavy for the summer. Uncovering the muscular shoulder, she gently probed the skin to find the damage.

The sun, climbing its way toward the clouds, produced just enough light shadowing through the trees to see the wound. A new day was dawning, and Victoria was concerned the fighting would begin again. She hoped they were secluded enough.

Because of her surgeon father, she had a little more than basic first aid training and for the first time, appreciated that fact. Pulling the gauze out of her bag, she soaked it with rubbing alcohol and glanced up at her patient. “This is going to sting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”

“It’s rubbing alcohol—it’ll help to clean the wound.”

Quincy groaned as she quickly pressed the gauze over his wound.

“Sorry. Let’s get you bandaged up so I can get out of here.” She began to bandage his shoulder and as she got close to him, she heard his quick intake of breath. “What’s wrong? Is the pain that bad?”

“You smell wonderful.”

“You’re crazy.” She shook her head in disbelief at his strange thoughts and watched his face as she tied off the injury. He grimaced, and Victoria squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry. Let’s look at your leg.”

Quincy managed to unbutton his pants and push them part way over his hips. Victoria realized with a gasp that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Oh, stars! Are you commando?” she screeched.

“What’s amiss?” he asked.

“At ease, soldier.”

Quincy chuckled at her jest.

“Um, just a second.” She reached in her bag and grabbed her hoodie. “We’ll use this for covering.”

He grinned as he pushed his pants farther down, but she noticed he had some difficulty with only one usable arm.

“Here, let me help.” Victoria pulled the pants down but kept her head turned and felt her face flush red.

“I’m covered,” he said. “Your sensibilities are safe.”

She turned back toward him and gulped. The area around the wound was raised and red, and when she touched it gently, he pulled his leg away.

“Holy shit, you must be in agony,” she said with concern. “I’ll clean it first and then we’ll bandage you, okay?” She went to work, once again in a clinical frame of mind. “I wish I could get those bullets out, but I suppose it would be better to wait for a surgeon.”

Once he was bandaged, she turned her head while he hiked up his pants and then she buttoned them for him. When she turned around, she saw his head fall back against the tree. Concerned by his sudden lethargy, Victoria squeezed his hand. “We should really get you to a hospital.”

He shook his head. “No hospitals.”

“What? Why not?”

“They are diseased.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “They are?”

Glancing at him when he didn’t respond, she rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. Quincy had passed out and Victoria was left to talk to the birds.

* * *

Quincy awoke slowly; his eyes focusing on the beautiful woman he thought might be a dream.

“Hi,” she said as she gently felt his forehead, the touch of her cool hand soothing.

“Violet,” Quincy said in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your eyes. They are so blue, they’re almost violet.” He cocked his head and stared. “You are stunning.”

She gave a tight smile. “How do you feel?”

Quincy licked dry, chapped lips. “Thirsty.”

Victoria helped him sit up further and gave him a drink of her water.

He frowned. “What manner of container is that?”

“It’s a plastic bottle.”

Knowing in that moment that she wasn’t delusional and wasn’t lying, Quincy squeezed her hand.

“You believe me now, don’t you?” she whispered.

He nodded slowly. “I do believe you, but how is this possible?”

Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know, but let’s worry about that later, okay? We need to get you to safety and a doctor.”

From their relative cover, Quincy watched the Confederates begin to retreat. Finally, he saw a few of his men, led by Marcus and Harry, breach the brush concealing the scattered bodies.

“Marcus!” he shouted.

“What are you doing?” Victoria whispered.

“Acquiring assistance.”

Quincy flagged the men over, but rather than aiding him immediately, they were transfixed by Victoria. Quincy knew they hadn’t seen a woman in a very long time. As he felt her move closer to him, he smiled. He liked that she felt safe with him, even in his wounded state.

“Victoria, Marcus is my second in command, and Harry is next to him,” he whispered.

Marcus cleared his throat and relaxed his grip on his gun.

Quincy stood as straight as he could, despite the pain, and addressed his men. “This is Miss Carrington. She came to my aid on the field and is under my protection. Clear?”

Marcus moved to face Harry and both he and Quincy sent him a pointed stare.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.

Quincy waited for each man to nod his agreement.

“We’ll take you both to General Warren,” Marcus said, and handed his gun to a young soldier.

* * *

The group moved out into the open field and Victoria stayed close to Quincy, concerned as he limped back to the fort. Marcus and one of the other soldiers flanked him, creating a human set of crutches, and Victoria let out a sigh of relief as Quincy’s body slumped against his men.

When they arrived where the rest of the men were, Quincy introduced the General to Victoria. She almost laughed at the formality of it all. Quincy acted as though they were at a ball, rather than on a battlefield with holes in his shoulder and leg.

She watched in admiration as Quinn debriefed Warren on the situation while she stood next to him and said nothing. If she moved away from him, even slightly, she found his hand on her arm and her body pulled back behind him again.

She couldn’t really be in 1864, could she?

“You need medical attention, Sergeant,” Major General Warren said.

“I’m aware of that, sir, but the lady needs to be taken to safety.”

Victoria hated being talked about as though she weren’t there but held her tongue.

Warren nodded toward Victoria. “She doesn’t need medical attention.”

“No, but she is in need of protection. I will get medical attention as soon as she is safe.”

The Major General stood in silence for a few minutes in thought. Victoria held her breath in anticipation and stared at Quincy’s back.

“Very well, Sergeant. I’ll leave your health to your own discretion.” Warren jotted something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Quincy.

Quincy took it from him with a nod. “Thank you, sir.”

Three of their cavalry had been shot and killed, so the Colonel allowed him two of the three horses left without riders on the promise they’d be returned.

“Can you ride, Victoria?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, I can ride.”

“Can you ride astride?”

“Of course,” she said, thinking it was an absurd question.

Quincy looked as though he didn’t really believe her, and she waited for him to argue, but instead he said, “Let’s get on the road. It’ll be a long ride to my brother’s home.”

Victoria was thrilled by his look of surprise when she jumped on the horse. She grinned at him as he mounted his own horse, enjoying the fact that one of the men had to help him.

They moved slowly at first, Victoria setting the pace, concerned about Quincy. “I noticed you didn’t take any supplies from your men.”

“No,” he said. “They will need them more than we will. We will be home in two days and will receive plenty of food and blankets—”

“But your men could be out in the field for weeks still,” she finished.

“Yes.”

“That was thoughtful,” she whispered, his kindness filling her with warmth.

Without further conversation, they increased the pace and rode hard for close to two hours. Slowing his horse to a walk, Quincy waited for her to do the same and then smiled at her. “You ride very well, Miss Carrington.”

“Victoria,” she pressed.

“Victoria,” he said with a nod.

“Thank you for the compliment.” She shifted in the saddle and pulled her feet from the stirrups. “I wish I could take credit, but my family owns racing thoroughbreds, so I was in the saddle before I could walk.”

“Racing?”

“Yes. It’s something that won’t become formalized until after the war ends.”

“I would have never guessed.”

Victoria chuckled quietly to herself. “How are your injuries?” Then added before he could answer, “When we stop, I’d like to check your bandages.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to worry after me.”

“Did I say I was worried?”

“I am perfectly fine, Victoria.”

Victoria smiled. “Tough Gus, huh?”

They stopped three hours later, when Victoria saw Quincy grimace, even though he never said a word. She knew he needed to rest but also knew he’d never admit it. “Quincy, could we please stop for a bit?” She yawned for effect. “I’m quite tired.”

He nodded, but she caught a look of relief on his face. “Of course.”

They found a secluded area, dismounted, and tied the horses down. Victoria saw that Quincy was having difficulty, so she went to assist him and caught him as he stumbled.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She deduced he would be embarrassed at his weakness, so quickly said, “My fault. I should have zigged when you zagged.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Let’s get you fixed up.” Helping him over to a tree, she set him against it and then settled her palm on his forehead. He felt warm to the touch and she was concerned he may be developing a fever. Zipping open her bag, she found her stash of Advil, pulled two pills out along with her bottled water.

“What is that?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s a painkiller.” She watched him raise an eyebrow at her in distrust and let out a sigh of frustration. “I’ve brought you this far, I’m not going to poison you now.” He took the pills. The action seemed to drain him, and he leaned against the tree trunk, eyes hooded, hiding the pain. Patting his hand in concern, Victoria said, “Just relax. Sleep if you need to.”

He dropped his head back with a grunt. “I must protect you.”

“Gus, you couldn’t save a kitten from a puppy right now. Just relax. I’ll be fine.”

She watched him lose his battle with wakefulness and let out a quiet sigh. Her relief didn’t last long.

“Victoria?”

Frowning, she squeezed his arm. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped. “How do you think this happened to you?”

Checking his temperature again, she answered distractedly, “I don’t know, but now I’m wondering if something similar happened to Hannah.”

“Who is Hannah?”

“My college roommate.” She slipped a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I should check your bandages.”

He shook his head. “Tell me about Hannah first.”

“She disappeared suddenly and no one has any idea where she is. In fact, she was in the same building I was in when she went missing, and now it’s all a big mess.” Victoria filled him in on the circumstances surrounding Hannah’s disappearance and the scrutiny she was receiving from the FBI. It took a few minutes to realize he wasn’t paying attention to her story.

“Quincy? Hey, stay with me.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “We need to check your bandages.” His eyes fluttered closed, so she tried to shake him awake. “Quincy? Come on, big man, wake up.”

His body went limp and Victoria knew he could no longer hear her. Folding her sweatshirt, she repositioned the unconscious man so that he was lying flat on his back and then gently laid his head on the makeshift pillow.

Victoria thought she should at least try and see if she could get the bullets out. She hoped his lack of consciousness was a blessing as she pulled her supplies from her bag and grabbed the small makeup case she carried. Inside was a flashlight along with tweezers, scissors, band-aids, a tube of Neosporin, and even a sewing kit.

Unbuttoning his pants, Victoria tried her best not to notice his flat stomach and muscular thigh, turning her head slightly, but having to look to pay attention to what she was doing. She remembered she had a couple of towels on hand to clean her camera with, so she laid one over his “specialness.”

Thank you, Mother, for never actually using the word.

She got to work and felt around the wound on his thigh. It seemed as though the bullet didn’t go particularly deep, because she could feel it just under the muscle. However, the wound puckered with pus, looking much worse than it had earlier. Her hopes dashed that she could get it out without having to cut him.

Taking a few minutes to rinse her hands with her water and rub sanitizer on them, she dried them quickly and then went to work after she said a quick prayer. She felt his thigh with her fingers, made a tiny incision with the knife she found in his coat pocket, and then dug the tweezers into the wound as gently as possible. She felt the bullet, heard the metal scrape as she squeezed the tweezers, and pulled it out with relative ease.

The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped in a quiet whoosh as she cleaned the wound and put a stitch in it. Squeezing a dime-sized round of ointment on a square of gauze, she gently laid it over his wound then wrapped the bandage around his leg—his unbelievably muscular thigh—before tying the bandage off and pulling his pants back up his body. It was a little harder to get them back on, but she managed with such brute force, she was surprised he didn’t stir.

Once she rinsed her hands again, she moved up to his shoulder and felt his forehead, which seemed cooler, probably because of the Advil. She took a moment to look at his handsome face and gently swept his hair away from his forehead before cupping his bearded cheek, surprised by the softness of the whiskers on her palm.

“Okay, I know I said wake up before, but please don’t take this moment to listen to me. Stay asleep so I can look at your shoulder.”

Unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, she gently pushed them aside to remove the bandage. The wound—red, swollen, and angry—drew a quiet moan from her. She figured that might be what was causing the fever. Gently probing the wound, she couldn’t feel the bullet. She lifted his shoulder and felt his back. There wasn’t an exit wound, so she was sure it was lodged inside, out of reach. There simply wasn’t any way she could get it out.

She poured the rubbing alcohol over his shoulder, unprepared for what happened next. He shot up with a growl and grabbed her arm.

“Shhh, Gus, it’s me—Victoria.”

Quincy stared at her, unseeing, and breathed frantically.

“I’m trying to clean your shoulder. I’m sorry it hurts,” she crooned in an effort to calm him. Several minutes ticked by as he held her wrist in his large, strong hand. “Quincy?”

Taking a slow, deep breath, he looked at her again. This time, she knew he saw her. “It’s all right, little rebel. I won’t hurt you.”

Letting out the breath she still held, she smiled. “Okay. Can I please finish?”

“Finish what, exactly?”

“I was able to get the bullet out of your leg, but not your shoulder.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You removed the bullet?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

Holding up her instrument in triumph, she said, “I had tweezers.”

Looking down, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you remove my trousers?”

Embarrassed, she let out a quiet sigh and lowered her eyes, mortified.

Quincy chuckled, but didn’t press further. “Thank you. I would very much appreciate it if you would look at my shoulder. It’s quite painful at the present time.”

“I’m sorry. Can you pull your arm from the sleeve?” she asked as she moved back to him. “It’ll be easier to bandage.” She winced involuntarily when she noticed his grimace as he pulled his arm out of the jacket. She leaned forward and reached for a lapel. “Here, let me help with your shirt.”

Gently pulling it from his shoulder and down his arm, she was bombarded with a more than adequate look at his flawlessly formed chest, and she couldn’t help but blush again.

Could this man be any more perfect?

Diverting her eyes, she concentrated on looking at his shoulder. “It’s getting infected, Quincy, and since I can’t locate the bullet, I don’t think I can get it out. We’ll need to bandage it and hope for the best.”

“We’ll go straight to my brother’s townhouse, then. There is an excellent surgeon in the city.”

Victoria sighed. “How long will it take us to get to D.C.?”

“About two more days?”

“Shut up!” she exclaimed as she sat back on her ankles.

“Excuse me?”

“Where will we sleep?”

“On the ground,” he said as he carefully pulled his jacket back on.

“We’ll freeze during the night without blankets.” Victoria shivered at the thought. “And what about snakes? I don’t do snakes.”

“Victoria, I will build a fire,” he said evenly. “And there are no snakes.”

Crossing her arms, she challenged, “How do you know that?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Gus!” She almost hit him. “What about during the day, when it’s hot, Einstein?”

“Who’s Einstein?”

“He was a genius.” She waved her hands dismissively. “Not the point. Focus! Snakes.”

“It’ll be daylight, Rebel. We’ll see them coming,” he joked. “Or, slithering, as the case may be.”

She glared at him. “Oh, you’re a comedian now? Can’t we ride straight through?”

“We could ride for longer periods, but we have to be mindful of the horses. They will need to rest, especially in the heat.”

“Quincy, I don’t camp,” she whispered. “Carringtons don’t camp.”

He started to laugh but stopped quickly with a groan. Victoria assumed the action pulled at his shoulder and grinned. “Serves you right for laughing at me.”

“We’re in enemy territory, Victoria,” he rasped. “We don’t have the option of finding an inn or hotel. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

“Well, can we please ride today until we can’t go any farther and then stop for the night?”

“Yes, little rebel. We can.”

Gathering their things, they remounted once Victoria made sure Quincy could ride and then they took off, one step closer to civilization.