Spring Creek Bride

by Janice Thompson

  Mick found himself thinking about a comment one of Brewster’s men had passed his way while in the store this morning. Another threat. Be on the afternoon train to Centerville or there will be a price to pay.

  It was as if Brewster and his men knew he wanted to stay in Spring Creek. But even he didn’t know yet what to do about The Lucky Penny. He had to send word of the fire to his investors, but he couldn’t do it until he had a plan.

  The women continued to talk, oblivious to his ponderings. Mick finished up his bowl of beans and leaned back in his seat, giving Dinah a smile. “You do quite a healthy business here. And your customers are loyal, to say the least.”

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded. “I’ve known many of these folks for years. And the locals—the ones who were born and raised here—will do anything to help out when there’s a need. It’s always been like that.”

  “Until the last few years,” Ida added. “When the Great Northern came through, I honestly thought our little town would never recover from the shock. But it looks like I was wrong, and I’m happy to admit it. It would appear the fine folks of Spring Creek, Texas, still know how to lend a helping hand to a family in need, and for that I’m so grateful.”

  Dinah whispered a quiet, “Amen,” and Mick almost joined her. Right now, seated here with these two women, watching Carter ladle beans from an oversize spoon into his mouth…Mick almost felt right at home.

  “It’s going to be dark out soon,” he said to Ida, nodding toward the window. “I’d be happy to walk you home.”

  Her face reddened. “Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.” She started to push back her chair and he stood to assist her.

  “Let me walk you as far as the tracks,” Mick suggested. “I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t walking through town with the sun going down. It’s just too dangerous.”

  “He’s right, Ida,” Dinah agreed. “You’ve stayed much later than usual, and there’s no telling what sort of trouble you could run into along the way with the men so riled up. I’d feel so much better if you let Mr. Bradley walk you home.”

  Ida tried to argue, but Mick—to his great pleasure—managed to stop her before she declined his offer. They said their goodbyes and headed down the stairs and out onto Midway. Mick took note of the fact that Chuck Brewster’s men were gathered in a cluster in front of The Golden Spike. He pushed aside the uneasy feeling that took hold, though he couldn’t seem to shift his gaze.

  The men looked his way as he and Ida turned in the opposite direction. Mick focused his attentions on the beautiful woman to his left, determined to protect her from these ruffians.

  They made their way to the edge of town and beyond the tracks. He felt sure she would stop him there, telling him she could make it the rest of the way on her own, but she did not. Instead, they talked easily and at length as the sun settled into a heavy sky off in the west. All too soon they arrived at Ida’s house.

  “I’m so grateful for your time,” Ida said. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He wanted to say so much more—to tell her how sorry he was that he’d been the cause of so much trouble, to say that he’d figure out a way to make it right. And yet…

  As he gazed into Ida Mueller’s beautiful eyes, as he studied the color of her hair and the sound of her voice, Mick felt torn between two worlds. Part of him longed to link arms with this Southern beauty, walk her to church and join her as she fought to defend her town. Another part of him wanted to rebuild the gambling hall, give it another go, see if he could make things work—for his sake and the sake of his investors.

  Oh, if only he could live in both worlds at once.

  “Good night, Mr. Bradley.” She opened the front door and took a step inside, then turned back to give him a smile that nearly sent his heart into a tailspin.

  With a tip of his hat, he turned back toward town.

  As Mick made his way along the road, the vibrant colors of the setting sun faded into a haze of gray. Night began to fall around him, shadows hovering overhead. As he reached the roundhouse, a feeling of unrest came over him.

  Something felt…wrong.

  Off in the distance, just beyond the building, Mick heard what sounded like hushed voices. Then footsteps. Walking. Then running.

  As the sound drew near, he inhaled deeply. He was torn between wanting to run and needing to defend himself. Still, as the darkness swallowed him whole, neither seemed like a viable course.

  Mick felt the first hit.

  And the second.

  By the time the third one came, everything had faded to black.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A deafening fog enveloped Mick and he fought to breathe. Every few seconds a searing pain tore across his jaw and his head and the taste of blood on his lips served as a chilling reminder of what had just happened.

  He tried to sit up, but the searing pain in his right leg stopped him cold.

  Dear God…

  Mick’s thoughts, rapid and scattered, were interrupted by a strange tightness in his chest—a crushing feeling that caused him to wonder if his heart might explode.

  He couldn’t make a bit of sense out of any of it. Nor could he see. A light, white and hot, blinded him and forced him to think he must surely have drifted into a ghoulish nightmare.

  “You all right, mister? Answer me if you’re all right.”

  Mick heard the words but couldn’t will his head to nod. Or to move at all, for that matter. Instead, he lay quite still, fighting to remember where he was, what had brought him to this agonizing place. He could taste blood on his lips, and pain tore through his jaw. But it was nothing compared to what he felt in his right leg. He began to lose consciousness.

  “Ready for bed, son?” His mother’s voice brought comfort as she brushed the hair from his brow. “Let’s say our prayers before we settle in for the night.” Her smile, bright and reassuring as always, made him want to bow his knees in prayer. And her beautiful eyes—caring, compassionate. How they danced with joy.

  He tried to respond, but found himself unable to.

  “Now I lay me down to sleep…What’s next, son? Say the next part.”

  Mick whispered, “I pray the Lord…”

  She joined him for the rest. “…my soul to keep.”

  A gripping pain crushed Mick’s chest, as if in an attempt to squeeze the breath out of him, and he could not continue. His arms broke free from their numbed state and he reached up, hoping for someone—anyone—to ease the pain.

  “Mister, don’t move. Whatever you do. We’ll do our best to help you, but you’re going to have to work with us.”

  If I should die before I wake…

  Mick faded into a world of dreams.

  As Ida took a long, hot bath, she did everything in her power not to think about Mick Bradley. She tried not to reflect on the color of his eyes. She did her best to push aside the gentle sound of his voice as he’d offered to walk her home.

  Oh, if only she could banish all thoughts of him. Then life would return to normal. She would get back to work, saving her town from ruin, and he would…

  Her stomach knotted as she thought about the possibilities.

  He would leave.

  The idea of Mick Bradley leaving Spring Creek didn’t hold the same appeal it once had. Not in the slightest.

  She dressed for bed and prayed before settling in for the night. No sooner had she done so than a knock came at the door. Ida rose at once, knowing somehow that the news would not be good. She waited at the top of the stairs as her father answered the door.

  “I-I’m so sorry to bother you, sir,” said a breathless Johnsey Fischer.

  “Nonsense, son. What’s happened?”

  “It’s…it’s Mick Bradley.”

  A gripping sensation took hold of Ida’s heart. “What about him?” She descended the stairs, clutching her dressing robe.

  Johnsey stepped into the front hall and she read the concern in his eyes in the flicker of the lamplight. “He
’s been attacked. At the roundhouse.”

  “No!” Ida gasped. “How bad is it?”

  “It doesn’t look good, I’m afraid. One of the railroad men found him. He’s barely alive.”

  “Where is he now?” A violent trembling took hold of her. Oh, how she wanted to be there. To help in whatever way she could.

  “Doc Klein is on his way to the roundhouse as we speak. Dinah feels sure the men will take Mick back to Doc Klein’s place within the hour.”

  Ida wanted to ask a thousand questions. Why the roundhouse? How badly was he hurt? Who did this unspeakable thing?

  She knew, of course. Knew that Brewster’s men had been behind this. Surely Mick knew it, too. If he was still…

  As the word alive flitted through her mind, Ida’s tears started.

  “Dinah wants to be freed up to offer her assistance, if needed. She’s hoping you will watch Carter, Ida, if you don’t mind,” Johnsey continued.

  “Of course I don’t mind.” Ida flew into action, rushing to her room and changing clothes as quickly as she could, a prayer winding its way from her heart to her lips as she raced to and fro.

  “Lord, I beg you, please protect Mick. Don’t let him die. Oh, God, forgive me for getting the men so stirred up. Lord, I…”

  She dissolved into sobs. Mick Bradley was dying…because of her.

  Every now and again, Mick shifted into his right mind. He attempted to understand what had happened.

  Shouting.

  Tugging.

  Agony unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

  Someone kneeling over him. He heard the tearing of cloth and then felt the person wrapping his leg. But why? As Mick tried to reach down, he found himself restrained and fought against it. He did not want to be led to the bowels of hell bound like a prisoner.

  If, in fact, hell was his destination.

  Again he fought those who tried to restrain him, but this time their voices attempted to soothe his troubled soul.

  “Easy now.”

  He shook his head, the bitter taste of bile rising up into his mouth. If I should die…

  Mick groaned in pain as men came from every side—lifting, twisting, pulling…

  Through the haze, Mick felt a crowd gathered around, sensed their presence. Surely a band of angels wouldn’t have offered any more comfort.

  “Let’s get him out of here, boys.” Within minutes, Mick had been loaded on a wagon and was on his way back to town. Whatever awaited him there was completely beyond his control.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ida paced in the kitchen above the mercantile, trying to remain calm.

  “Ida, all the worrying in the world won’t make things any better,” Dinah said.

  “I know, I know.” Ida twisted a worn dishcloth in her hands, released it and then twisted it again. Her heart felt much like that rag, as if it had been pummeled and then released, only to take a beating once more. First the fire, and now this.

  She turned to face her aunt head-on. “What am I to do? I can’t help but worry. This is all my fault. If only I hadn’t gotten everyone so worked up when he first came—”

  Dinah gripped her hand, prying the dishcloth loose. “The Bible instructs us not to worry, only to pray. And you spoke very plainly to the church folks on Wednesday night, encouraging a prayerful approach to Mr. Bradley. This is not your fault, Ida.”

  “Still—”

  “Whenever worries arise, we need to go to God at once. And I can’t think of a better time than now.” Dinah took a seat at the breakfast table and motioned for Ida to do the same.

  Ida dropped into a seat, her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t feel like bowing her head or praying. No, she wanted to join the doctor as he cared for Mick, tending to his wounds. She wanted to jump in and fix things, as always. Only now, she could fix nothing. Perhaps Dinah’s idea to simply pray made sense after all.

  As if reading her thoughts, her aunt reached across the small table and took hold of Ida’s hand once again. This time, she began to pray aloud. “Lord, we ask You to watch over Mick. Bring healing and comfort. Be with Doc Klein as he tends to Mick’s wounds. Be with the sheriff as he pursues the men who did this. Make Your presence known in the midst of this tragedy, Father. May every heart turn to You. We place this tragic situation in Your capable hands and acknowledge Your role as Sovereign King and as One who knows all things. Amen.”

  Ida echoed with a quiet “Amen,” then gazed up into Dinah’s eyes. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re so strong, Dinah. You’ve lost so much, and yet you always manage to find the good in everything. And everyone. You turn to God first, when others would simply panic. And you somehow manage to keep the rest of us calm whenever there’s a calamity.”

  “I struggle more than you know. Especially on days like today.” She brushed away a tear and Ida knew her thoughts had shifted to Larson. Dinah’s back stiffened and she dried her eyes. “But every time I reach the point where I feel I cannot go on, I am reminded of the Lord’s hand at work in my life. And in Carter’s. I must trust Him, Ida. And you must, too.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “He will look after Mick, and will shine His searchlight on those who have committed this awful deed. They will be brought to justice.”

  “But if Mick should die—”

  “Ida, you can’t think like that.”

  “Don’t you see, Dinah? Papa’s right. I try to fix everything. And everyone. I attempted to fix our little town by making Mick miserable enough to leave. Then, suddenly, I felt as if sending him away was the last thing the Lord wanted. Mick Bradley was sent here for a reason, perhaps to come to know the love of the Lord through our good witness. I see that now. But if he’s been killed—”

  “We have no way of knowing that,” Dinah cautioned, “so don’t spend time dwelling on it. We will deal with the details as they are revealed. In the meantime, we must busy ourselves in the best possible way. Doc Klein will likely need my help, as always. He was so kind to train me as an assistant for situations like this. Could I leave Carter here with you so that I might offer my services?”

  “Of course.” Ida worked to press all fears from her mind as she stood. “Just promise me you’ll send word. If you’re able, I mean. And to be careful, Dinah.”

  “Of course.”

  Dinah and Ida looked in on Carter as he slept, and then Dinah planted a kiss on her son’s forehead. “He’s growing up so fast,” she whispered.

  “Indeed. And he will be such a wonderful man one day, Dinah. I’m sure of it.” Even as the words were spoken, Mick Bradley’s face flashed before Ida’s eyes.

  With a heavy heart, she said goodbye to Dinah and settled in to wait for news.

  “Son, can you hear me?”

  Mick awoke to the sound of a strange voice. Through the fog, he looked up into an unfamiliar face. A man with kind eyes. An angel, perhaps? Had he died?

  “Son, I’m Doc Klein.” The older man’s voice sounded soothing, reassuring. “I’m going to take good care of you.”

  “What happened?”

  “Never you mind that now. Just know that I’m going to do the best I can, and lots of folks are praying for you, so you rest easy.”

  Mick would have laughed if he’d had the strength. Even if the good folks of Spring Creek banded together to offer up prayers on his behalf, why would the Almighty listen?

  A violent shaking began and Mick gave himself over to it. How could he possibly be this cold in the middle of summer? Everything swirled around him in a haze. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue and the pain in his chest grew worse with every breath.

  Dear God, just take me. Please. Put me out of this pain.

  Would death bring an end to the unbearable suffering? Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

  A sound at the door drew his attention. He wanted to turn his head but could not seem to move. He soon heard a familiar voice.

  “Mick
, it’s Dinah. I’ve come to help Doc Klein as he operates.”

  “Operates?”

  “Yes, son,” the doctor said. “We’ve got some work to do on that leg. And I’ll wrap those ribs afterward. See if we can ease your pain.”

  None of this made any sense. Not a bit.

  “I’ll be giving you morphine, son,” the doctor said, “so you’ll be asleep soon. I’ll do the best I can to piece you back together.”

  Mick wondered if he deserved to be pieced back together. Probably not, he concluded. Just as well. The best thing that could happen to him now—and to Spring Creek, and to Ida—was if Doc Klein couldn’t put the pieces back together. Save them all a lot of trouble.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I’m sorry, Dinah, but I had to come. Carter is with Mrs. Gertsch. I simply couldn’t sit still and do nothing. Not when I feel so…responsible.”

  For once Dinah did not scold her. Instead, she gave Ida a compassionate look, then brought her in the room to see Mick.

  Ida gasped at the sight of him—a bloody, mangled mess. “Oh, Dinah!” She knelt at his bedside, her throat in a knot. She finally managed a whisper. “Will he make it?”

  Dinah put her finger to her lips and ushered Ida back out of the room. “He just came out of surgery and Doc says it’s too early to tell. He’s lost a tremendous amount of blood and has several broken bones. His leg is shattered. Even if he does live…” She stopped speaking and simply shook her head.

  “What? Please say it.”

  “Even if he makes it, he might not walk again. And then there’s the issue of all the broken ribs. Doc was afraid his lung was punctured, but praise God, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Still, it doesn’t look good. But we mustn’t let him see that.”

  “Has he come to yet?”

  “No. He’s on a heavy dose of morphine and will be out most of the night.”

  Ida’s heart twisted. Dinah reached to slip an arm around her waist.