The Blizzard Bride

by Susanne Dietze

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  Bynum and the others slipped away. Dash dropped to his haunches so they were face-to-face. His thumb grazed her jawline. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time.”

  “But you did. Perfectly.”

  “Not soon enough.” He stared at the knot of Knapp’s necktie at her throat.

  She reached to take his chin and guide his gaze back to hers. “I’m fine. Micah’s fine, isn’t he? That’s all that matters.”

  Her touch soothed and stirred him at the same time, and he wished he could rest his cheek in her palm. Take her hands. Carry her home in his arms.

  But he’d hurt her before. He wouldn’t do it again by taking liberties in front of a dozen men. He lowered his hand but couldn’t let go of her altogether. His fingers took hers.

  Her gaze lowered to his neck, unadorned but for his shirt collar. “You can’t say no to a new scarf now. I’ll knit a green one. Unless you prefer store-bought.”

  “Oh no. Knapp doesn’t have anything I’d like as much as a new green scarf from you.”

  Bynum waved at him. They must be ready to move Pitch out onto the wagon. Best to get Abby out of the way first. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the Elmores’ place.”

  “I won’t argue.” She winced when she stood. “My neck throbs something awful.”

  “If the doctor offers you something for the pain, take it. Here, Bynum will hand you up to me.” He mounted Six and then reached down. Bynum hoisted her by the waist. Dash lifted her sideways across the saddle, half on his lap, securing her with his arms. “Comfortable enough? Warm enough?”

  She snuggled into his chest. “Yes to both.”

  That made two of them. Ignoring Bynum’s amused grin, Dash nudged Six forward.

  As she snuggled closer into him, leaning her temple against his collarbone and tucking her head under his chin, Dash’s heart forgot to beat. Lord, I still love her. I didn’t want to have feelings for her again—if they ever stopped. I haven’t looked at another woman since. But—

  “I’m sleepy, Dash.”

  “Just rest, sweetheart.”

  “But Five. She’s still at Burt Crabtree’s. In the cottonwoods behind the barn.”

  “We’ll get her, then.”

  She was quiet, her breathing even as Six carried them back on the path. He hated to wake her, but he had to retrieve Five from Burt’s property. She didn’t protest, though, just snuggled back into his chest as he backtracked to the Elmores’ place, Five’s reins in hand.

  Hildie met him at the door, eyes red-rimmed. “Abby?”

  “She’s all right.” As he spoke, Abby stirred.

  “Is Bynum—”

  “Fine. He’ll be here soon. Micah’s safe too, but Abby was injured. Doc will be here when he can, but he’s tending Pi—Burt Crabtree. He’s not who he seemed, and he’s the one who hurt Abby.”

  She flinched. “Carry her upstairs. I’ll warm some broth for her.”

  “Hi, Willodean, Patty,” he greeted, passing them.

  “I’ll show you Miss Bracey’s room.” Willodean marched ahead, followed by Patty. It made the going slower, but Abby smiled.

  The girls climbed on Abby’s bed. “Here.”

  “Thank you, Willodean. Why don’t we make room for her now?” They scooted off so Dash could set Abby on the bed. “Go ask your mama for bandages, please.”

  Abby sank against her pillow as they left. “It’s done now, isn’t it?”

  He poured a half glass of water from the pitcher at her side table and handed it to her. “Just about. You were so brave. And telling him about God? I love you—your spirit, doing that.”

  “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He’s just a man, Dash. A man with a broken heart. There are a lot of us out there, I guess. But we need to know there’s hope.” She took a sip.

  Voices rose from downstairs. Bynum and the doctor. Dash stepped back to give them room.

  Abby pushed herself up. “Is he dead?”

  “No. Not sure what’ll happen tonight, though. In the meantime, Miss Bracey, let’s see to your neck. Gentlemen, excuse us, please.”

  Dash couldn’t help but kiss her forehead before he left. He followed Bynum downstairs to the kitchen, where Hildie held a tiny bundle of a baby.

  She scowled at him. “You look like you could use the doctor too, Dash.”

  “It’s nothing. Where are the girls?” Dash glanced in the hall.

  “In the parlor, dressing Patchy Polly in a baby gown.” Hildie’s gaze hardened as he pulled out his commission book. “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to talk to you. Explain a few things.”

  He lacked the stamina to break it gently. Facts were best, anyway. While he and Abby hadn’t lied about their past relationship, they hadn’t been honest about why they’d come to Wells. Everything had to do with Fletcher Pitch, whom they knew as Burt Crabtree.

  When he finished, Hildie dashed tears from her eyes. Bynum stared at his hands.

  “I’ve disappointed you, I know. And for that, I’m sorry. If you can’t tolerate having Abby in the house because we withheld the truth from you, I’ll—”

  “We’ll discuss it later.” Hildie rose and busied herself at the stove.

  Bynum glanced at Dash then shrugged.

  Exhausted and uncertain, Dash left. He couldn’t very well stay. He rode Six at a sedate pace, past Burt Crabtree’s place and the school with the half-repaired roof. He’d wire his superiors and then struggle his way through a more detailed report tonight. Maybe Isaac could help him write it, if he wasn’t with Geraldine and Micah.

  What would happen after that? He might be instructed to transport Pitch to prison. Or if Pitch died, Dash might be expected back in Kansas City on the first train. Maybe even Washington.

  That wasn’t the real issue making his head ache, pounding against his skull with every beat of his pulse. The real issue was what he was going to do when Abby returned to Chicago and he had to live the rest of his life without her.

  CHAPTER 23

  At half past one the next afternoon, Abby glanced at her reflection in the small parlor mirror before allowing Dash to drape her coat over her shoulders like a cloak. Hildie had graciously loaned her a loose dress to accommodate her bandaged throat. Mother would have despaired of Abby’s frumpy appearance, but more eyes would be drawn to the bandage on her neck than her saggy frock.

  Dash was handsome as ever, despite the scab on his lip and the bruise blossoming on his jaw. Those were marks of his bravery. The rest of him looked good too, from his dark blue suit to his fresh-shaved cheeks, emphasizing the strong jut of his chin and the planes of his cheekbones. She’d rather look at him than at herself in a mirror anytime.

  Once outside, he assisted her into the wagon he’d brought. “Borrowed it from Yates’s. These fellas here are One and Two, the horses from the first two stalls.” He unfolded a heavy lap robe and tucked her in, from her legs up to her chin, like she was an infant.

  She tugged it down a fraction. “It was kind of you to come all the way out here. I could have gone to the celebration with Bynum and Hildie.” They’d left ten minutes ago. “I think she’s brave going. Stuart is only a few days old.”

  “I don’t imagine they’ll stay long, but it’s important to celebrate when God answers prayers and good things happen.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Micah was found and a villain was thwarted. It’s a wonderful thing for the community, and the truth is I’ve come to love Wells. For the first time in years, I feel as if I belong somewhere. Like I have friends. But … I’m not sure I still have any, after yesterday. I might not be welcome anymore. You might not be either.”

  “Because we’ve been lying to folks?”

  She turned away to stare at the white horizon. “When the truth about me came out in Chicago, I lost all my friends.”

  “The truth about your father, not you.”

  “Then this situation is worse, because I’m the one wh
o deceived everyone.”

  “Hiding information on behalf of the federal government isn’t the same as fibbing, Abby. You were tasked with an important job. And I think, given the chance, you’d do it again. Even knowing you had to work with me.”

  She laughed, which he’d surely intended. “I suppose.”

  “I know you’re worried. You’re in pain too. How couldn’t you be?”

  “It’s superficial.” But the wound in her neck throbbed and the cold didn’t help, because of the way her muscles tensed. “I’m more concerned about Hildie. We scarcely talked last night, and this morning the baby needed her. At lunch I apologized because I was supposed to be helping with the baby, and instead I’ve caused all this trouble, and she said nonsense, but she’s got to be upset. There wasn’t time to properly talk after that, either. She helped me into this dress of hers and they left for town hall.”

  “I wondered where you got that dress. It’s pink, which you don’t wear too often.”

  Not since Dash left her, since he’d loved how her pink frocks made her cheeks look rosy. The memory used to ache, but it didn’t any longer. “Maybe there’s no harm in adding something pink to my wardrobe again.”

  “I know you’re worried, but let’s see how this goes, all right? The mayor wants us there. Invited us specifically. Well, me, but he meant you too. And he knew the truth when he did it.”

  They’d turned the corner and were passing Burt Crabtree’s place—the barn that held so many secrets, the house that looked cold and sad without smoke rising from its chimney. Seeing them wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. “The land will sell quickly, won’t it? To a new owner who hopefully isn’t a criminal.”

  “It’s a good piece of property, to be sure.”

  “What’s going to become of Jasper?”

  “He’s with Yates’s horses at the livery. In stall Number Seven.”

  She smiled. “He’ll be glad for the improved company.”

  Dash shifted on the wagon seat. “It was hard to miss that ‘Burt’ didn’t know much about horses, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “It might be, if you’re in the Secret Service.”

  She wanted to ask him what that meant, but he turned right at the church and there they were, yards from town hall. Abby took a deep breath, drawing cold air all the way down to her diaphragm. She didn’t want to do this. She’d be stared at, so she’d grab a cup of punch for something to do and then wonder if she should join a group of ladies. Would they let her sit with them?

  I’m not alone, though. You’re with me, aren’t You, Lord? Thank You for being my companion and strength.

  Dash set the wagon’s brake. “Ready?”

  Good thing he didn’t wait for her answer. He came around, plucked the lap robe from her, and oh! She hadn’t expected him to take her by the waist and set her on the ground. The whoosh of movement robbed her of breath—or maybe that had something to do with the way he held her close to his chest. “You all right?”

  She couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded.

  He took her arm and led her into the vestibule. Mrs. Carpenter and Mrs. Knapp stood inside, deep in conversation, but they looked up as Dash and Abby entered.

  “Why, hello,” Mrs. Knapp greeted.

  “How are you, Miss Bracey?” Mrs. Carpenter glanced at the bandage.

  “Well enough, ma’am, thank you.”

  Dash led Abby through the vestibule. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “I suppose not.” They’d been courteous, if not effusive. How would the others treat her?

  “Ah, there they are.” Mayor Carpenter met them in the threshold. “Help yourselves to the baked goods, please. Mrs. Queen baked the cake, and other townsfolk contributed their finest offerings. Try my wife’s prune compote.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dash shook his hand.

  “Oh, and Lassiter, about that matter we discussed. A minute, if you would?”

  “Of course.” Dash offered Abby an encouraging nod and departed, leaving her alone.

  Folks stared. Stopped talking. Bynum, holding little Stuart. Hildie, talking to Sara Queen. All her students and their parents.

  Abby’s heart rattled in her rib cage. She’d known it would be like this once people found out she’d hidden the truth from them. She turned around to find the punch bowl.

  Movement in her periphery caught her attention. Geraldine—Katherine Hoover—came alongside Abby, lower lip clamped between her teeth. “Miss Bracey?”

  Before Abby could answer, Geraldine enfolded her in a gentle hug. “Thank you for saving Micah.”

  “I—didn’t. He went to the Elmores’.”

  “Because you told him to run.” Geraldine’s voice shook with tears. She wasn’t angry? Abby’s eyes closed, and she leaned into Geraldine’s embrace. “Because,” Geraldine continued, “you cared enough to help put an end to Fletcher Pitch’s reign of terror.”

  “Because you protected all of our children during the storm. Thank you.” It was Mrs. Queen’s voice. Abby opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized other women had gathered around her and Geraldine.

  “Because you are brave. And a good teacher.” Hildie touched Abby’s cheek.

  “Because you love our children,” Mrs. Sweet said. “Enough to discipline them if they need it, and enough to pray for them.”

  “And get to know them,” Mrs. Queen added.

  Abby pulled from Geraldine’s hug. “I wanted to know you—truly, all of you—but that wasn’t the only reason I asked to meet with each of your families, you know. I came to Wells to locate Fletcher Pitch’s son.”

  “We know.” Mrs. Queen smiled.

  “But … I lied.”

  “So did I.” Geraldine shrugged. “They understand why I did it. We understand why you couldn’t be completely forthright with us too. You and your charming former beau.”

  “Maybe again?” Mrs. Queen’s eyes twinkled.

  “Poor Abby is in no condition to be teased. She’s weak as a day-old kitten. How about some sugar biscuits and Sara’s cake?” Hildie pointed at the table.

  “I’ll go with you to hold your plate,” Geraldine said.

  Abby hesitated. “You’re too kind.”

  These women had no idea how much their friendship meant to her. God knew, though. And He confirmed it when Hildie smiled.

  “And then come back and sit down. I’ve saved you a place next to me.”

  The cake and coffee warmed Dash, but not nearly as much as the attention some of the women bestowed on Abby. They didn’t reject her, as she feared.

  Bynum sidled up to him, cradling little Stuart, who was wrapped in a blue crocheted blanket. “Your face looks worse today, but the rest of you looks like one happy man.”

  “Pitch can’t hurt anybody else now, although I wish he’d survived the night.”

  “His death was an accident. I’m just glad he didn’t take anyone else with him.” Bynum shook his head. “Last night, Hildie was beside herself with worry for Abby. She’s part of our family now.” He met Dash’s gaze. “She’ll be staying with us.”

  “Do you suppose the womenfolk have told her yet that they want her to stay on as teacher?”

  “They’re smiling a lot. I’d say yes. I hope they’re also telling her the town’s adults have agreed to protect Micah from the truth that Fletcher Pitch was his father. They’ll let Geraldine tell him when he’s old enough to understand.” Bynum’s gaze caught on a small figure darting beneath the cake table. “Patty—I’ve got to—here, take Stuart.”

  Dash found himself awkwardly holding the baby in his palms. He was lighter than a sack of sugar. Warmer and cuter too. Dash slid one hand up the baby’s back, the way Bynum had done. There. That was better. Now Stuart’s head tucked into the crook of Dash’s elbow and his tiny spine rested on Dash’s forearm. Miniature feet strained against Dash’s belly, but the little fellow was only stretching. No yowls. Now that they were bot
h a little more comfortable, Dash’s shoulders relaxed. Holding a wee one was pretty pleasurable, all told.

  He took turns watching Stuart’s dark, unfocused eyes and Abby interacting with her students and their parents. Everyone smiled, and a few shed tears, especially Geraldine, but Isaac was nearby to lend his handkerchief if necessary, at least until he spied Dash with Stuart.

  “Getting ideas, Dash?” He approached, jutting his chin at the baby.

  “Maybe. How about you?”

  Isaac flushed. “One thing at a time.”

  “One thing at a time,” Dash agreed. Although things had a way of happening faster than a person planned, sometimes.

  The mayor beckoned Dash to the front of the room.

  “Excuse me, Isaac.” Where was Bynum? Still wrestling Patty. “Stuart, you’re coming with me.” Dash strode, baby and all, to the front of the hall, stopping in the exact spot where Abby had stood when she addressed the parents of her students, what seemed ages ago.

  “May I have your attention, please?”

  Hildie’s mouth formed an O and she stood up. “Sorry, I’ll take the baby.”

  “He’s fine. Relax, Hildie.” She sat down as those gathered laughed. Once the room quieted, Dash looked out at them all. “I’m a man of few words. Not much for reading them or speaking them, but I can’t leave today without thanking you for your assistance. Fletcher Pitch is—was—one of the most dangerous, slippery criminals the Secret Service has pursued in its almost twenty-three years of existence. Catching him was my job, but when I asked you for help, you all said yes, to a number. Some prayed. Others joined me, risking your lives. For that, and for helping save Micah and Abby, I thank you.”

  Folks clapped. Others nodded acknowledgment. Dash smiled, humbled by the display, but he wasn’t quite finished. “Two more things to tell you. One, a funeral for Maynard Yates will be held Friday afternoon at the church. I hope to see many of you there. And last of all, Miss Bracey and I will be taking our leave from the party now, so I’ll have to hand Stuart off to somebody—”

  Mrs. Leary, owner of the seamstress shop, was at his arm in an instant. “I’ll take him.”