Wynter's Bride

by Christine Sterling

  Ivy wondered about the man before her. He didn’t seem affected by the cold. He hadn’t said much as he guided the horse on the winding path further up through the mountain.

  “Shouldn’t we be going down towards the town?” she asked. “I am sure they have a doctor there.”

  “They do, and a fine one. But it is over an hour on horse and my cabin is about 10 minutes away. Now be quiet and let me concentrate.”

  Ivy was silent for a moment. She shifted slightly to remove the edge of the saddle that was digging into her backside. She grabbed tighter to him to prevent slipping off the saddle.

  Her hand reached around and grabbed the front of his coat. Her fingers felt the hardness of his abs through the leather and Ivy thought she would swoon. The man was all muscles.

  She took a moment to study him. He was taller than she was – by at least a full foot. She felt small embracing his back.

  His shoulders were broad, and he had thick legs that were hugging the sides of the horse. His face needed a shave. He had at least a day’s growth – not quite a full beard and mustache, but enough to block his face from the cold. His black hair was longer than what she was used to seeing, stretching a bit past his collar. He didn’t look too much older than her; he was probably in his early thirties. She thought he was rather handsome, though she suspected that it was partly because the man had saved her.

  “How much further?” Ivy asked, pulling her cloak closer around her. She was shivering despite the heat radiating off him. Her back was cold and when that happened the rest of her couldn’t get warm.

  “Just a bit. Are you cold?” Seb asked.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No. If you need to move to the front, I can keep you warm.”

  “That would be inappropriate.”

  “And freezing wouldn’t be?”

  Ivy didn’t hesitate. Who would see her here in the mountains? “You’re correct. Let me up front.”

  Seb stopped and allowed her to slide off Joker before lifting her back to the front. He adjusted her, so she was flush against him. Her back was warm, but now the rest of her was warming up in ways she didn’t recognize. She shivered again, but for entirely different reasons.

  From the front she was able to take in her surroundings. The landscape was ragged with huge boulders peeking out of the snow. There were tall trees everywhere, thickening in some areas, thinner in others. When they reached a thinner patch, she could see even higher mountain peaks in the distance.

  The snow was falling faster now and covering the ground in a thick blanket.

  “It is beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.” She shivered again. Seb wrapped his uninjured arm around her.

  “Better?”

  Ivy couldn’t respond. She didn’t want to say anything and ruin the magical moment.

  Chapter 5

  It was not even a full 10 minutes when they crested the peak and a beautiful log cabin came into view. It had several glass windows and a stone fireplace. The porch was covered, and a chair sat out inviting someone to come and visit. There was wood stacked against one end of the porch and another wood pile out in the snow.

  Snow covered trees surrounded the cabin and covered the pond in front. A rough log barn sat off to the side and that is where Seb led the horse. When they got to the barn, he paused to let Ivy slide from the horse into the snow. It covered her feet and she shook her legs as she walked into the barn, trying to remove the snow that snuck into the top of her boots.

  The barn was warm, hay piled against the far wall provided insulation. There were three stalls and an open area that contained a workbench and several tools Ivy had never seen.

  The sound of clucking caught her attention and she saw several chickens roosting on the top of a stall.

  Seb led his horse into the first stall. He took the two saddle bags from the saddle horn and handed them to Ivy. “You can put those supplies over on that bench.” Ivy quickly placed the bags on the table as he requested. She heard him grunt as he tried to remove the saddle. He was struggling doing it with one arm.

  “Here, let me help,” Ivy offered, running to finish sliding the saddle from the horse. It was heavier than she thought. “Where do you want it?”

  Seb pointed to a bench over in the corner. He grabbed a handful of hay and placed it in the bucket on the fence post. He patted the horse’s head as the beast happily munched. “I don’t have the energy to brush you down, boy. But I’ll come back out in a bit and do that.” He threw a bunch of corn on the ground for the chickens before turning to Ivy. “Grab one of those bags and let’s go inside the house.”

  Ivy followed him through the snow and into the log cabin. It was sparsely furnished. Just a hutch, a table with a few chairs, two overstuffed chairs next to the fireplace, and a second room without a door that contained a large bed with a dresser.

  Seb placed his bag on the table and Ivy set hers next to it.

  “Make yourself at home. I need to get this wound taken care of and then I’ll build a fire.”

  Ivy noticed the beads of perspiration along his face. His jaw was clenched tight as if every word was a struggle to get out. His face was pale, and his skin drawn. His eyes were dilated, and Ivy noticed his hands shaking.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing,” he said, through gritted teeth. “I’ve got it,” he hissed as he tried to take off his coat.

  Ivy placed her wrap on the chair and rushed over to help him remove the heavy coat. Seb hissed. “Not too fast. You’ll take the skin off.”

  Ivy could see the blood was frozen to the shirt underneath. “That looks terrible. Why didn’t you say it was that bad?”

  “It was a gunshot. How bad do you think it would be? Thank goodness it wasn’t a shotgun.”

  “Why’s that?” Ivy peeled the coat from his arm and looked at the shirt which was sticking to his skin. Her stomach turned a little. There was a reason she hadn’t gone into nursing.

  “Because it is easier to take out one bullet than a bunch of buckshot.” He started to unbutton his shirt and Ivy looked away.

  “Let me start a fire. We are going to need hot water to clean that wound.” She quickly went over to the wood box and grabbed a few pieces of wood, placing them in the open fireplace. She added some dried pine needles from the bucket on the floor and looked around for matches.

  “There is a flint on that peg, and on top of the shelf is an iron matchbox.”

  Ivy nodded and quickly lit the dried tinder, blowing on it gently to get the flames going. Once it was blazing, she added a few more sticks and soon the room was starting to warm.

  There was water in a pot attached to a trammel hook. It was cool, but clean. She scooped a bit out into a bowl. And then she swung the pot over the flames, so it could heat the water.

  Grabbing a rag, she placed it in the bowl to wet it and squeezed out the excess. She pressed the wet cloth against the fabric sticking to Seb’s shoulder. He scowled but didn’t say anything, so she continued, wetting the cloth then peeling it back from his skin.

  He was exquisitely built. Muscles rippled in his arms and she caught a glimpse of his flat belly. The same belly her hands grazed when she was behind him on the horse.

  Finally, a puckered wound appeared from beneath dirt and debris. She did the same to the front of his shoulder and was pleased to see an exit wound.

  “I don’t think the bullet is in your shoulder. There are two wounds.”

  Seb nodded. “There is alcohol up in the cabinet there. Pour it on the wound to clean it out.”

  Ivy found a bottle of whiskey and opened the cap. Do you want a drink before I do this?” She didn’t believe in imbibing, but this was strictly for medicinal purposes.

  “No, I don’t touch the stuff.” Ivy nodded.

  She poured a bit on the wound, hearing Seb’s breath hitch as the liquid covered his skin. She dabbed the skin with a clean cloth. “Then why do you have it?”

  “As a reminder.”

  �
�Of what?”

  “Nothing. Just a reminder.” He shifted in the seat. “Can you hurry with that?”

  “Of course.” She splashed some more liquid in the wound and blew gently on it. “You are going to need stitches.”

  “No, I don’t want any until I get down to see Doc. He can take care of it.” He tried to lift the cup of water Ivy had placed in front of him, but he didn’t have the strength to bring it to his lips. Ivy wordlessly lifted the cup and he took deep swallows. Ivy watched this throat bob up and down.

  “Your wounds are bleeding again. I’m going to stitch them up, so you don’t bleed over everything.”

  She remembered seeing a sewing kit when she grabbed the matches. Laying it out on the table she took black thread and threaded the needle. She winced as she drew the needle through the puckered flesh. Several stitches later she was done and tied off the string into a knot before snipping it close to the skin.

  “Not a perfect job, but let’s say my embroidery skills have finally been put to some use.” Seb looked even paler as he sat at the table. “Let’s get you to bed before you fall down. You need to rest for a bit.” Seb nodded. He tried to stand but fell back in the chair. “Put your arm around my neck and I’ll help steady you.” He complied, and Ivy slipped her arms around his waist. He smelled like leather, outdoors and the scent of his injury.

  She rolled him gently to the bed and he landed with a grunt before passing out. There was a woolen blanket at the foot of the bed. Ivy grabbed it and covered the sleeping man.

  She was eternally grateful that he had rescued her, but now what was she supposed to do? It didn’t appear she was going to be getting to town anytime soon. Or at least until Seb woke up and could lead her back down the mountain.

  She wished she had her bag with her, but it was probably lost on the train. Her money, her books, the letters from her father. She wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come. They felt thick in her throat.

  She sat in front of the fire, which was blazing now and looked around the small cabin. It was solidly built, as there were no drafts sneaking in between the logs. Apart from the bedroom off the side, everything was contained in this one room.

  The fireplace was the only way to cook. She hadn’t cooked on a fireplace before, as most of her meals were provided as part of her teaching salary. But how difficult could it be? She was smart enough to figure out how make something to eat. She was a teacher after all.

  Just keep the fire burning and she would be fine. She added another piece of wood and proceeded to look around the home to see what she could find to eat.

  There were several jars in the hutch. Beans would take too long, but she could soak them for a soup the next day. There were basics, but not enough to make anything. There wasn’t even enough sugar to sweeten her coffee. She rummaged around a bit more and still couldn’t come up with enough items to begin to make a meal.

  Maybe he had a cold store outside? She walked out to the porch and there was a covered box next to the door. Inside she found a covered bucket filled with creamy milk, a block of cheese, some apples and a tin cup. Grabbing the cheese and a cupful of milk she headed back inside.

  She noticed the bags on the table. She had forgotten about them already. Perhaps there was something inside those that she could eat. The strings were tight, and she was able to use her teeth to loosen the knots. She pulled out various packages and placed them on the table. Most of it was dry goods – beans, sugar, salt, coffee, flour, and a slab of salt pork. The second bag contained a jar of lamp oil, a tin of lard, a tobacco pouch and sack of penny nails. There was even a small paper bag filled with gumdrops.

  What an odd combination, she thought, popping a gumdrop in her mouth. The sugar exploded on her tongue and she realized how hungry she was. She quickly rolled the bag back up and put them aside before she gobbled the sweets up.

  She found a cast iron Dutch oven and placed it on the table. She’d quickly make biscuits and a bit of the salt pork with a few slices of cheese for dinner. She quickly mixed flour with a bit of the lard and added some of the milk she found.

  She pressed the dough out because she couldn’t find a rolling pin and used a glass to cut out biscuits. Rubbing the oven with some additional lard, she placed the biscuits in the pan. She gathered up the scraps and repeated the process until the pan was filled and there was no dough remaining.

  She covered the oven and put it into the fire. There was a small scoop hanging from a nail in the bricks, so she used that to pile hot embers on the lid. It would take about half an hour for the biscuits to cook, so she didn’t want to put the salt pork on just yet.

  She dusted off her hands and looked for something to cook the salt pork in. There was a pan with three legs in the hutch. She removed it and placed it on the table while she cut the salt pork. Placing a few slices into the pan she wrapped the rest back up and put it in the cabinet where the rest of the supplies were stored.

  What else could she find? I would love an egg to go with the pork and biscuits, she thought. She remembered the chickens in the barn. She wondered if they were laying eggs.

  Might as well head out into the snow and find out.

  There was a coat hanging on a peg by the door, so she slipped her arms into it and buttoned up the front. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders before heading out into the cold.

  She grabbed another apple and dropped it into her pocket before making the trek to the barn. It wasn’t that far, and Seb had a rope from the barn door to the side of the house. It made it easier for her to walk having something to hold onto. Her only wish, that she had gloves to protect her hands from the biting wind.

  Her skirt helped clear the path and she took advantage of the fabric to swish the snow aside. Once she got inside the barn it was much warmer. She rubbed her hands together and looked around.

  The chickens were still on the stall board and a few were sitting in the straw. Joker was still in his stall and he gave a low neigh when he saw her.

  She remembered Seb mentioning he needed to brush down his horse. She had been around horses in San Francisco but being around them and being around them were two different things. She hoped Joker had a good temperament.

  The poor creature had mud and ice stuck in his coat. There was a brush on the workbench. Ivy didn’t know if it was a horse brush or not, but it would at least help knock away some of the dirt and ice.

  Joker must have noticed the apple in her pocket as he tried to nip her side when she was walking around him. Offering him the apple, the horse took a bite and started chewing happily. It gave Ivy enough time to get some of the dirt out of his coat. When he wanted another nibble, Joker would nudge her with his head. Ivy murmured soft words to the animal as she completed her task. When she was done, she placed the brush back on the workbench and picked up a folded blanket that she covered the horse with.

  Rubbing Joker’s muzzle, she promised him another apple the following day. She then turned to the chickens.

  The birds were eyeing her as she approached, carefully watching her every move. She reached her hand out to the closest chicken and feathers went flying through the air as the chicken took off to the other side of the barn.

  Suddenly the barn was filled with squawking birds, noisily complaining about the intrusion, and loose feathers. She walked over to where there were three birds sitting in the straw. Reaching under the first bird she felt an egg. As soon as she started to pull it out from under the chicken, it pecked her hand.

  “Hey,” she said, pulling her hand and the egg back. She put the egg in her pocket and went to get the other one. This time the chicken stood up and started to flap her wings.

  “Okay,” she said, “you aren’t going to make this easy, are you?” Why was she talking to a chicken? There was a sack of feed next to the door, so Ivy grabbed a handful of dried corn and tossed it on the floor. The chickens squawked again and rushed to the treats on the floor.

  Ivy quickly stepped over them and retur
ned to collecting eggs. There were nearly a dozen eggs. She knew chickens could lay an egg a day. Since there were seven hens, the eggs hadn’t been collected in at least two days. That was because of her.

  If Seb hadn’t been out trying to find her he wouldn’t have been shot and instead he would be out here working instead of lying in bed.

  She didn’t have enough room in her pockets, so she placed the eggs in a bucket she found. She lifted the bucket and gave Joker one last pat before heading back towards the cabin.

  She didn’t know where Seb stored the eggs, so she just put them in a bowl on the table. Hanging up her wrap and the coat, she went back to the fireplace to check on her biscuits. She brushed the coals away from the lid of the Dutch oven and peered inside. Perfect. They were golden brown. She removed the oven from the fireplace and sat it on the side of the hearth where it wouldn’t continue to cook.