“Well, that’s the way we do orphaned sheep,” commented Chase, coming up behind Bridget. “Guess we might make a ranch hand out of you yet.”
If possible, Tom’s smile got even wider.
Suddenly, Bridget was bone-tired. She could barely raise her arms to wipe her hands on the towel Chase handed her. As she did, he grasped her hand and squeezed it lightly.
“Well, we better…uh. I’ll see you to the house then. You and Tom.” Chase looked away, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“You’re not staying?” What other disasters did he have to deal with when they should be going to bed?
“Weather’s turned. The wind’s blowing from the north now. Bill will stay with Lady, and with you and the children. I’ve got to go help Frank and Hob bring the rest of the sheep in from the west pasture.”
“Oh,” was all that Bridget could think to say. She had pictured her wedding night differently. But she was a rancher’s wife now, she told herself. She should be grateful for the snug roof over her head, the plentiful food in her belly, and for her husband’s kind treatment of Tom and Mary. If she never managed to open his heart, she would still have her family safe and sound.
With a sigh, she turned to help Tom gather the bowl and rags.
Chapter Nine
The weather had turned, Bridget thought as they fought the wind on the way to the house. Chase offered her his arm, which she took gratefully as the three of them stumbled up the steps of the porch, the snow pelting their faces in hard, icy clumps.
But the house was still warm, and, despite her chattering teeth, Bridget smiled as she saw that the little girls had tried their best to clean up after supper. She would wait until they’d gone to bed to rewash the bowls and spoons, so as not to hurt their feelings.
“You’ve got plenty of wood in the lean-to,” Chase commented, pointing to a door near the cookstove that Bridget hadn’t noticed before. Now that she was safely inside, he seemed in a hurry to leave again. Was it because she had brought up his wife’s death in the barn?
“I’ll build up the fire,” he continued, “so you only have to stoke it if it gets low. The water barrel is in there, too, and mostly full.”
He turned to Tom. “You should find the loft plenty warm, and there are extra blankets in the trunk at the foot of the bedstead, if you need them.”
Tom paused in hanging his new coat on the peg by the front door to nod at Chase. It had been a long day for everyone, no doubt he was grateful to be done. He climbed the ladder without even saying goodnight.
Chase sat in the wingback chair and tugged off his boots.
“Can I help?” Exhaustion was close to claiming Bridget as well. She couldn’t imagine that he was about to go back out to work through the night.
“No.” Chase stopped. Grimaced. “Yes. You can bring me two fresh pairs of socks. They’re in the top drawer in the bureau.”
In her unfamiliarity with the house, she opened the door to the girls’ room by mistake. Mary and Pearl were snuggled under a mound of quilts, their arms wrapped around each other, sleeping peacefully.
She closed the door quickly and entered Chase’s bedroom. No, their bedroom. There was the bed, made up with a brightly-colored quilt, a trunk under the calico-curtained window, a night stand with a lamp and a book. She hurried to the bureau, knowing he was anxious to get out to the herd. There would be plenty of time to inspect the bedroom once she was alone.
Alone on her wedding night.
Had he always been so gruff? Chase wondered as he waited for Bridget to bring him dry socks. He’d never thought of himself as such, but the last few years he’d spent most of his time with Hob, Frank and Bill. Not much opportunity to practice his social graces out in the pasture.
“Are these the right ones?” Bridget asked as she returned, handing him two pairs of thick, woolen socks.
“Yep, those’ll do.” As he reached out to take the socks from her, he noticed her hands were ice-cold and the edges of her sleeves were wet with snow. Not just snow, there were spatters of Lady’s blood too. The hem of her dress was sodden. Her boots were probably soaked through too.
Where was her sense? Why hadn’t she changed, or at least taken off her boots? He suddenly recalled that she hadn’t been wearing a coat or gloves in the barn. Didn’t she know what the Wyoming cold could do to a person?
“Take off your shoes!” he barked. He refused to bring another woman to this place to get sick and die.
She sat immediately in the rocking chair, her face white, and began fumbling with her boot buttons. Now he’d done it. She was shaking, not from cold, but from fear. Of him. He felt ashamed again.
“I didn’t mean to track in so much snow,” she pleaded. “I was careful not to step on the rug.”
“Here, let me do it.” He grabbed her foot and yanked the half-laced boot off. The ox-blood colored leather was soaking, as were her stockings underneath. “Other one.”
He couldn’t get the second boot off fast enough. Like the wind outside, fear howled in his ears, blocking out everything. Cold, sick, die, not again, please God, not again.
“Never,” he said through gritted teeth, “never let your feet stay wet. You should have seen to yourself first.”
She looked up at him, fear in her eyes, but he was so mad at himself for not noticing her discomfort, he couldn’t speak without that furious edge in his voice. “Take off your stockings.”
Bridget blushed, looking mortified. He’d been married before, but she hadn’t. Well, she was his wife now, she could get used to it. He’d apologize after he was sure the danger of frostbite had passed.
She fumbled hesitantly with the hem of her skirt. Was she really going to try to remove her stockings without giving him a glimpse of her legs? He went to fetch a fresh pair of his own socks, which were heavier and warmer than hers. He lingered a moment to give her time to get the wet garments off without more embarrassment. And to take a deep breath himself. But he couldn’t manage to shove his anger back down where it belonged. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at. But he had to be sure she understood the danger.
On his way back he grabbed the spare blanket. As he entered the front room again, he unfolded it and stood behind her, began to drape the thick woolen cloth over her shoulders.
When it touched her, she flinched and slapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Her terrified reaction quenched his fury where reason could not. He continued to wrap the blanket around her gently, as if she were one of Lady’s puppies.
She stared up at him, eyes wild with fear. “I thought you went to get a belt.”
“I told you, Bridget. No one gets hit in my house.” He handed her the clean socks he’d brought. Then he sat in the wingback and pulled on his own socks and boots. “Stay by the fire until you’re warm. Then go put on your warmest clothes.”
She continued to watch him silently, wet stockings crumpled in her fisted hand, as he strode to the door, yanking his coat on as he went.
He paused and turned. “Wolves aren’t the danger here, Bridget. The cold, it’s the cold that kills.”
Chapter Ten
Bridget woke to the sound of a wolf howling. Then a giggle. Then another howl. Then another giggle. She blinked, rubbed her eyes. She’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair, waiting for Chase to come home.
“We’re wolfs and we’re hungry.” Mary and Pearl, still in their nightgowns, knelt on all fours in front of her, looking not quite as menacing as they probably hoped.
She couldn’t help but smile. Let the girls have their fun. Better that they’d already forgotten yesterday’s scare.
“My stars! Such frightening beasts. Will you please not eat me if I give you...” Hadn’t she seen a bin of oats in the pantry last night? “…oatmeal?”
Mary frowned. “With butter and brown sugar?”
Bridget nodded.
Pearl tugged at Mary’s sleeve, and made a round sign with her hands.
“And fri
ed apples! Pearl wants fried apples.”
Did Mary actually know what Pearl wanted? Or had she merely suggested something that she thought Pearl might like?
It didn’t matter, Bridget decided. As long as the girls were happy together.
Bridget patted them on their heads as if they were dogs, and they panted appreciatively in return. She hoped they wouldn’t insist on eating from bowls on the floor. If they were wolves, they would have to be civilized wolves.
She stood, stretching her neck and rolling her shoulders to relieve the cramps from sleeping upright. The blanket Chase had wrapped around her last night fell in a heap on the chair. The air was chilly in the cabin, but the fire, although low, was still burning.
“Why are you sleeping in the rocking chair? Why are you wearing those socks? And what’s that brown stuff on your apron?” Apparently Mary the Wolf felt just as comfortable asking questions as Mary the Human.
“Well...” Bridget didn’t like to lie. “I was waiting for Pearl’s Da. He had to go out and get the sheep last night.”
She’d tried to wait up because she’d thought he’d only be gone for a couple of hours, but her body hadn’t cooperated. Maybe he had come in while she was sleeping and gone to bed. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to wake her. Or, she thought sadly, maybe he didn’t want to sleep next to her.
She took a couple of steps sideways, so she could take a quick peek into the bedroom. No Chase. Could he be out in the barn already, checking on Lady?
Mary pointed at Bridget’s feet. “And those big socks? They look funny.”
“Chase wanted my feet to be warm. He said never to let your feet stay wet.”
Pearl nodded solemnly, as if this were common knowledge. Which, Bridget thought, it probably was. Except to her. She cringed mentally as she remembered how angry Chase had been. He’d told her that the cold was dangerous. She should have thought about what that meant.
Bridget was saved from questions about the bloodstains on her clothes as the front door banged open.
Chase, she thought, both relieved and anxious at the same time. But no, it was Bill, carrying her trunk. In the chaos last night, she’d forgotten that it was still in the wagon, waiting for Chase to find time to bring it in. Bill stomped his boots to shed the snow that clung to them.
“Mornin’ ladies!” he greeted, setting the oilskin-covered trunk on the floor near the hearth, where it would dry out.
“We’re not ladies! We’re wolfs!” Mary growled, and Pearl echoed the sound. Wait, Pearl had growled too? Not exactly the same as talking, but was it progress?
“Well, you’re mighty funny lookin’ wolves in those nighties,” Bill said, smiling. “You might want to change, ‘fore the rest of the pack gets a gander at you.”
That sent the girls scrambling for their room.
“Sure sounds good, Pearl laughing like that,” Bill remarked. “Mr. Chase is going to be mighty pleased when he hears it.”
“Can I get you some breakfast? I was just about the feed the ‘wolves’.”
“Not me. Had me some eggs in the bunkhouse. Just came in to see to the fire and bring your trunk in. Had to shovel it out of the wagon.”
“Thank you, Bill. You’re very kind.”
Bill bowed his head. “Naw, that’s okay. Mr. Chase asked me ‘fore he left last night. Ain’t nothing me an’ the boys wouldn’t do for Mr. Chase and Pearl, and you an’ yours, now that you’re his.”
What could she say to that? Thank you didn’t seem enough. “Are you sure I can’t get you something? Coffee?”
“I’ve got to head out, but thanks.”
“Is Chase out with Lady?”
“No, ma’am. Likely holed up in the pasture shack with the boys. Storm’ll blow itself out by noon, I reckon, and then it’ll be safe for them come back.”
Oh. “How is Lady? And the puppies?” Bridget doubted Bill would be in such a good mood had things taken a turn for the worse.
“I changed the bandage just like you said. Barn smells like a still. But she’s doin’ better than we had any right to expect.” A grin spread over his bearded face. “That boy is takin’ to ranch life pretty quick. He’s been with those puppies all morning. Mr. Chase did right to bring you here.”
His words brought a clutch to her heart. She wondered if Chase would come to agree with that sentiment.
Bill loaded more wood onto the fire in the front room, then stoked the cookstove.
“Ma’am? If you don’t mind me asking, since it’s your first Christmas here and all…”
Heavens! Bridget had completely forgotten Christmas was two days away.
Bill seemed reluctant to continue. He shuffled his feet.
“You see, Mr. Chase, he stopped having Christmas after Miss Ada passed. Don’t rightly know if Pearl even remembers what the day means. I was just wonderin’ if you might want to have some kind of festivities? Wouldn’t have to be much.”
“Of course!” Bridget said, thinking quickly. Christmas at home hadn’t been much of an affair either, aside from her father’s grumbling that the pub was closed. When their meager budget allowed, she had tried to make a special supper, and find money for enough sugar to make treats for her siblings. She wondered what Siobhan might do to mark the day, now that she was gone.
Bill’s face brightened. “I could bring in a tree. Plenty of spruce in that little woods yonder. And Miss Ada’s ornaments and things are stored in the barn. She sure loved Christmas.”
“I think that would be fine.” Wouldn’t it? Or would Chase object to a Christmas celebration? “Maybe just a few ornaments.”
“You don’t mind using her things, do you?” Bill asked.
But Bridget heard the unspoken question, the one he was afraid to voice. Are you going to make things better or worse for Chase and Pearl?
She loved that Chase inspired such loyalty in the people around him.
“Ada was Pearl’s mother, Bill. I hope I can be good to her, but nothing will ever change that fact. Pearl should be able to remember the happy times with her.”
“That’d be real nice. Yep, Miss Ada sure loved Christmas. ‘Bout the only thing that made her happy.”
Bridget decided to ignore the implied invitation to ask about Chase’s relationship with his first wife. She would wait until Chase was ready to tell her the rest.
“By all means, bring in a tree, and the ornaments. I’ll see what we have in the pantry.”
“I do appreciate this, Miss Bridget. This house has been sad for too long."
Once Bill was gone, Bridget changed into a clean dress and the boots Chase had bought her yesterday. She dearly hoped the blood would come out of her mother’s dress in the wash, or at least fade, but, she sighed, running her fingers over the soft fabric, if Lady recovered, it would be worth it.
She was serving the girls the promised oatmeal and fried apples when Tom came in looking tired but quite satisfied with himself.
“You should see ‘em, Bridget,” he insisted. “They’re the smartest puppies ever!”
After that, Bridget could barely contain the girls. She insisted that they finish breakfast, which they did in very wolfish bites, then help her with the dishes afterwards. Only once chores were completed to her satisfaction did she allow them Tom to lead the girls out to the barn to meet Lady’s babies.
Bridget sank down into the rocking chair with a happy sigh. The storm had become a light snow, and a golden glow from the cold sun creeping in through the eastern windows.
Christmas. She understood Chase’s reluctance to celebrate the day without his first wife. But the children should be able to have happy holiday memories. New memories.
She and Tom and Mary wouldn’t be expecting any presents, not after their shopping trip yesterday. But Pearl should have a little something, and the ranch hands, and Chase, too.
If nothing else, she could bake treats for them. There was plenty of flour, sugar, milk, and eggs for cookies and cake, apples for pies, and she would see what canned goods
Mr. Degnan sent home with them. Chase’s pantry contained more food than the Doyle pantry had ever had. If they were snowed in, she could probably feed the whole family for a month.
This would be a merry Christmas, she decided. No matter what.
Chapter Eleven
“The puppies pooped out!” explained a disappointed Mary as she and Pearl clattered into the house a little while later. Tom had stayed with Lady while Bill went to cut the tree. The storm had also petered out, and the sun was doing its best to scuttle the remaining clouds.
Pearl held up four fingers, and lowered them one by one.
“Pearl says to tell you we named them. Spot, Splotch, Patches, and Li’l Britches!” Mary’s nose twitched. “What’cha making?”
Bridget’s hands were covered in flour from the three apple pies already in the oven, and she’d just finished mixing up a batch of cookie dough. To her joy, she’d discovered a tin of popping corn in the back of the pantry. She could hardly wait to make some with the girls.
The morning passed quickly, and Bridget lost herself in the luxury of being able to cook without scrimping. Mary and Pearl eventually tired of “helping,” and disappeared to play with the dollhouse.
Every so often, Bridget would start at a noise outside, hoping it was Chase and the men returning with the sheep. She would sigh when it turned out to be only the wind, and once, Bill returning with an enormous, snow-covered spruce. It filled the house with its piney smell. Deep down, she was almost as excited as Mary and Pearl at the idea of decorating her first Christmas tree. She clasped her hands and forced herself to stand still as the girls twirled around the front room. If Bill hadn’t been there, she would have twirled with them.
Compared to the life she’d lived in Chicago, life in Wyoming made her feel rich.
Bill leaned the tree in the corner. When he straightened, she noticed he looked slightly troubled. But when she asked if something was the matter, he only shook his head. “Just ranch things, ma’am. Nothing to worry yourself about. Mr. Chase’ll take care of it when he gets back, I reckon.”
All Is Bright: Bridget’s Christmas Miracle (Mail-Order Brides of Laramie County 1) Page 5
