by Lawna Mackie
Quinn’s Christmas Wish
A Bandit Creek Paranormal Christmas Story
Copyright by Lawna Mackie
Thank you to my family who helped me brainstorm around the dining room table. I hope you’ll enjoy some of interesting characters we brought to life. Also I extend my gratitude to the Bandit Creek authors and my friends who assisted me along the way. I encourage everyone to visit Bandit Creek at www.banditcreekbooks.com
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I have two paranormal/romantic fantasy novels coming soon.
IMPOSSIBLE TO HOLD – December 19, 2011, Liquid Silver Books www.liquidsilverbooks.com
ENCHANTMENT – January 13, 2012, Muse It Up Publishing
www.museituppublishing.com
For more information visit me at www.lawnamackie.ca
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
Authors Note
Coming Soon - The Gift
Chapter One
CREEK, MONTANA, 1912
Dried leaves crunched beneath twelve-year old Quinn’s weight as he sank to his knees. His throat burned and he swallowed hard, his breath catching in his chest. He would not cry. He wouldn’t! In slow motion, he watched a drop of his crimson blood splatter against the carpet of fallen leaves. Anger and hurt brought unshed tears to his eyes.
The wind gusted amongst the trees, blowing the hair away from his face and forcing him to sit up. Whatever leaves were left on the poplars rustled and the tall spruce groaned and cracked, swaying along in the breeze.
Quinn shook his head and pounded the ground with his fist.
The flood of Bandit Creek a year ago had stolen his hopes, dreams and happiness. Despite the rebuilding of the town, evil thrived in many forms. Countless bodies had never been recovered. Men, women and children, drowned, trapped at the bottom of the lake…Lost Lake as it was now called. A year later, murder, superstition, possession, and mysterious illnesses engulfed the town and survivors of the flood.
Choking back the painful memories, his fingertips traced his father’s name etched in the tombstone. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood away from his nose and mouth. He could almost hear his Pa’s deep soothing voice. You’re strong, Quinn. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Deep down he hoped his father was right.
Chapter Two
Samuel Campton sat silently on his horse Roman while the gelding carefully plodded along the winding trail towards Lost Lake. Fresh snow during the night left a white carpet over the dirt and covered the boughs of the evergreens.
He hated Lost Lake and the unusual feeling he felt every time he checked his trap line near its shoreline. Roman even slowed his already leisurely pace as they neared the water. Samuel touched a spur to the animal’s flank, hurrying him forward along the darkened trail. Ahead beams of light streamed through the canopy of close knit branches.
What broke the eerie silence was a large splash and splutter of water followed by terrified whimpers. Without hesitation, Samuel kicked Roman into a full gallop, dashing toward the noise and the lake. Fifty feet from the edge of the shore, he pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted. He slid his Winchester rifle free from the scabbard. The trees crowded the shore and blocked a clear view of the water. All too soon, he found himself at the edge of the lake staring at the largest wolf he’d ever seen.
An ice chunk floated about twenty-five feet from shore, and clinging to it by its paws was a wolf. Samuel shook his head. It made no sense; the lake hadn’t even frozen over yet.
“Damn!” he cursed. Visibly exhausted, the animal could barely hold its head out of the water. Why didn’t the critter simply swim to shore? But then again, strange happenings and superstition surrounded Lost Lake.
The man hung his head, taking a deep breath before he lifted the rifle and took aim. It would be best not to let the animal suffer. Unexpectedly, the wolf lifted its head and stared directly at him. Its eyes glowed, turning from red to gold and boring straight through to his soul. He got the impression the creature was pleading for salvation and a chance to live. Samuel slowly lowered the gun, and again the animal made an unsuccessful attempt to drag its body out of the water.
“Okay. Okay.” He yelled. “Stay put for a minute.” Unable to believe he was about to help the cursed beast, he spotted a tall dead skinny spruce lying a short distance away. He didn’t know what else to try, but hoped his idea would work.
He lifted the tree into the water. As it tipped toward the wolf, a deep growl resonated from the animal’s throat.
Samuel lost his temper. “Listen pal. I could have shot you, and now you’re growling at me. My gun is still right here if you’d prefer that option.”
The growls ceased, and the tip of the tree landed on the chunk of ice within reach of the wolf’s mouth.
“Okay I’ve done my part now it’s your turn.”
The animal whined.
Samuel groaned with frustration. “Bite the damn thing so I can pull you in,” he instructed forcefully. I can’t believe I’m talking to the stupid animal. The wolf’s eyes turned red and its powerful jaws snapped as it lunged forward, grabbing onto the wood.
He pulled the animal to shore, foot by foot, until its legs touched the rocky bottom beneath the water. The wolf exploded out of the frigid lake like a bullet, knocking Samuel backward off his feet. It stood beside him and shook violently, sending water in all directions.
He stared up at the beast, whose eyes had turned red again. The other abnormality was the paws; larger than any wolf’s feet he’d ever seen, they included an extra toe on each front paw.
The guard hair glittered in the morning light. Down its back was a large gold strip, which stood out against the sleek black coat. The animal would tower over any other wolf.
Samuel stayed very still as the animal leaned forward. His rifle lay far enough away he didn’t stand a chance of reaching it should the wolf decide to get aggressive. Instead of attacking, its long snout sniffed his leg up and down and then just as quickly, it turned in the opposite direction and darted off into the forest.
The trapper sat for a few moments, stunned by the events. Why didn’t he just shoot the beast? Hell, he could have received a healthy chunk of change for the unusual pelt. Enough wasting time. Pushing himself up and off the ground, he dusted the snow and dirt off his legs. After retrieving the rifle, he took one last stare out at the God forsaken Lost Lake. He scanned the water for the large piece of ice, but it was nowhere to be found.
The wind picked up and the ghostly sounds of the lonely forest echoed in his ears. All those people died here, buried under this icy lake in the old town of Bandit Creek. They didn’t even know what hit them when the whole town flooded.
What possessed him to come to this odd place of Bandit Creek? Of course it was the dream of finding more gold and silver. The thought alone solidified his decision to leave Alaska and move south—a warmer climate and a town where riches were waiting to be discovered. When Samuel started the journey he hadn’t expected the town to be wiped out by the flood before he even arrived. The town being gone didn’t matter anymore, not now when he’d planted roots and his trap line was thriving.
He weaved through the trees, making his way back to Roman. The horse he
ld his head high, looking like he would bolt at any moment.
“Easy fella. The wolf is long gone by now,” Samuel reassured his mount.
Roman snorted, shaking his head. The man found himself looking over his shoulder. A shadow flashed between the evergreens. The horse danced sideways, a snort flaring its nostrils.
Samuel took the reins, reached up and patted the horse’s neck.
“Well, if it isn’t careful it’ll end up in one of my traps. I will have truly wasted our time this morn’n.”
Chapter Three
Amanda Drake reached over the table, beginning the task of clearing away the dirty dishes from the lunch hour meal. From table to table she went with her black skirt swaying back and forth along with her quick steps. Much needed to be done, and for that she was grateful. If she stopped, her mind would drift away…back to the time when her life was content and peaceful, a time when she had her Walter. Tears immediately stung her eyes. She didn’t have time for tears. She finished collecting the dishes from the round oak tables and moved to the back room where a stack of dishes needed to be washed.
The aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from the oven reminded her to remove it. Mr. Murphy had been gracious enough to allow her to run the boarding house. He knew the difficulties she was having. Being only twenty-nine years of age, he said she’d be ideal for the demanding job.
Like all the buildings since the flood, Murphy’s Boarding House was only a year old and had been supplied with all the newest appliances and services, making her job easier.
With the dishes and baking complete, Amanda wiped her forehead and tucked a lose strand of hair from her braid behind her ear. The supper meal needed to be started, and then she would ensure the rooms upstairs were properly tended.
Bells chimed, signaling somebody had entered the restaurant.
“Amanda you need to get out here now!”
Quickly wiping her hands on her apron, she rushed from the kitchen. Betty Smith, from the Town Hall across the street, stood in the entryway.
She pointed out the door toward the steps. Her hand trembled visibly betraying her anxiety. “Hurry, it’s Quinn. He’s lying on the steps! There’s blood all over his face.”
Amanda felt the room spin as fear gripped her heart. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her out the door. Sure enough, her twelve-year old son Quinn lay sprawled on the steps.
A tiny scream erupted from her throat. Quickly, she sat and pulled him into her arms, staring down at his face covered in dried blood. “Quinn, sweetie, it’s momma. I’m here now.”
She choked back a sob and yelled to Betty. “Please go into the kitchen and fetch me a cloth and some water.”
“Amanda, I should fetch the doctor,” she responded.
“No, Betty! Do as I ask, please just get me the cloth and some water.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Come on Quinn, wake up for me,” she cried, rocking him in her arms. “I love you, sweetie. Open your eyes, honey.”
Betty rushed out the door with cloth and water in hand. Tenderly, Amanda wiped his face clean. The blood had almost stopped trickling from his nose. The cut over his eye was new, along with a fresh bruise. Rage boiled inside her as she struggled to hold her composure. When his eye twitched, a large smile spread over her face and she kept right on talking to him. “That’s my boy, come on, Quinn, momma has you.” His long lashed eyes fluttered open and closed again.
The woman exhaled with relief, holding her fist to her mouth.
“Betty, would you please go back in the kitchen and get a glass of water for Quinn.”
“Oh thank heavens!” Betty breathed heavily, running back up the steps.
Quinn licked his lips and opened his eyes. “Mom,” he said weakly.
Amanda smiled down into his baby blue eyes. “Hi sweetie! You scared me half to death,” she said, pushing the hair away from his face and kissing his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mom,”
Amanda could hear the threat of tears behind his words. “You silly boy, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Betty rushed down the steps with the glass of water and handed it to Amanda.
“Here Quinn, take a sip, then we’ll sit you up, okay?” She smiled and held the glass to his lips while he took a small drink.
Snowflakes began to fall, and Amanda looked down at her boy’s coat covered with splotches of red. Quinn took another drink before he whispered. “It happened again.”
She held her breath and did her best to hide her fear. “It’s okay now. You’re here with me.”
Far down the street a man rode into town. Amanda cringed because she didn’t want to draw attention to her situation. What she needed was to get her boy home.
She looked up at Mrs. Smith imploringly. “Betty, thank you so much for your assistance. Quinn will be okay once I get him home. May I impose on you for one more favor?”
“Of course. What can I do to help?”
“Would you please fetch Mr. Murphy from the stables and let him know I need to take Quinn home?”
The older woman turned on her heel and quickly moved behind the boarding house.
Amanda didn’t recognize the tall man who approached on horseback. She wished she could move Quinn, but it was too soon.
The late afternoon sun diminished rapidly, making it difficult to see the man until he stopped in front of the steps, quickly jumped off the horse and stood at her side.
“Ma’am, can I assist you?”
She smiled sheepishly. Quinn put his arms out trying to push himself into a sitting position.
“Umm, thank you sir, but I believe we are okay,” Quinn responded first.
The man had warm dark brown eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his well-defined face. His long chestnut colored hair was pulled back and tied with a leather band. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever come across such an attractive looking man. Broad shoulders, and muscled arms and legs suggested he must be a hard worker. For a moment, she forgot about her deceased husband, Walter. Guilt and shame washed over her, and she hoped neither Quinn nor the stranger picked up on her thoughts.
Quinn moved some more and tried to stand. Amanda steadied him as best she could, protesting he should be still and remain sitting.
The man moved closer, towering over the both of them.
“I’m fine sir,” Quinn stated with a slur. No sooner did the words leave his mouth when he started to fall backward.
“Quinn.” Amanda shrieked, almost as quickly as the man stepped forward and scooped the boy into his arms.
Quinn’s tired eyes slowly opened again. “Sorry, Momma, I thought I could stand.”
The tall man spoke. “Ma’am, I’ll carry him over to the Doc’s residence.”
She sniffled, placing her hand on his woolen covered arm. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of my place, miss, but I think he needs a doctor,” he fired back.
“Won’t do no good. He’s seen the doctor many times.” Amanda sighed.
“I see,” he responded awkwardly.
Where had Mr. Murphy gone? She looked up at the unknown man holding her son. “Would it be a big imposition to ask if you might carry Quinn back to our house?” she questioned shyly.
He stepped down the stairs. “Lead the way. I’d be glad to assist.”
What should she do? She looked up at the boarding house with uncertainty. She couldn’t just leave it unattended, but Quinn’s well being came first.
Voices sounded a moment before Mr. Murphy and Betty Smith rounded the corner.
“My word, Amanda, I see that poor boy of yours has had another spell,” Mr. Murphy declared, looking at the tall man. “May I ask who you might be?”
The strange man stared Mr. Murphy directly in the eyes. “Samuel Campton is the name. I’m fairly new to town.”
Betty smiled at Samuel. “I remember you, sir. You’ve been in the Town Hall a couple times…for permits, claims and such.”
He nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes, Ma’am I have. But if you folks would excuse me, I think this young man needs to get home.” He returned his dark gaze to Amanda.
“Of course. Mr. Murphy, I’m dreadfully sorry to leave you before the dinner rush. The pot roast should be almost done and everything else is ready to go as well.” She looked up at her employer, twisting her apron in her hands.
“Get on with you.” He motioned with his hands, shooing her away. “I reckon there ain’t anyone who’s had as much sour luck as you, Ms. Amanda. Go on with you. Get Quinn home, and don’t you hesitate to ask for help if you need it,” he preached in earnest.
Mr. Murphy directed his attention to Samuel. “Mr. Campton, thank you for your assistance. Come on back anytime and have a free meal on me.”
Betty went to the kitchen, and returned with Amanda’s heavy black winter cloak and bonnet. “I’m guessing these are your things, Amanda,” she said, handing them to her.
She smiled. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Smith.” She shivered in earnest before donning the cloak, and turned to the stranger holding her son. “Thank you, Mr. Campton, please come this way,” she directed and hurried off towards home.
Samuel turned to Mr. Murphy. “If you could kindly care for my horse until I return, I’d be grateful.”
Without speaking Mr. Murphy grabbed the reins and led the bay gelding around the corner.
Amanda reached her small residence. After the flood, help was offered to anyone who had survived. Amanda spent all the money Walter and her had saved on rebuilding this small home for Quinn and herself. By working at the boarding house, she managed to keep food on the table and supply the basic necessities.
Snowflakes flew, swirling around her feet on the front porch. She unlocked the door and rushed inside, quickly lighting the coal-oil lantern.
She motioned Samuel to follow her to Quinn’s bedroom, pausing before leading him through the door. She pulled the coverlet from the single bed. “Here, please lay him down,” she said, patting the mattress. Gently, the giant of a man laid her son down. The boy’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was even.
