Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series

by Cynthia Hickey

  A boom came from the tree line behind him. A searing pain shot through his side. Holding on to the horn, he struggled to stay in the saddle. Wetness that had nothing to do with the snow spread across his ribcage.

  ###

  Amos lowered his rifle. Desperation spread through him when Gabe kicked his horse into a trot. He’d missed making the shot that would have changed the course of his life. He never thought he would put a man through the sight of his rifle, but tamer actions haven’t worked. Drastic measures needed to be taken.

  How had he sunk so low as to contemplate killing a man? What would Maggie say if she were alive? She’d chosen Gabe. Why couldn’t Amos resign himself to that? If she were here, she would gaze upon him with a sorrowful expression in those dark eyes of hers until he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the dirt.

  He holstered his gun and turned his horse toward home. Maybe the snow had frozen his heart into a hard unfeeling mass. Or maybe Gabe’s failure to keep the woman he loved safe had done that two years ago.

  Lord, what have I become? That I would so desperately want a man dead in order to possess what he had?

  If Gabe ended up dying from his wounds, and if word got out that Amos shot Gabe Williams, his new widow wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth. She most likely didn’t know his name, much less his face. Amos had already spent too much time in a fairy-tale world of his own making. It was time to let past hurts go and move on with his life.

  Plenty of women would want to be the wife of a successful rancher. A man who stood to gain a lot more if fate were on his side.

  But if Amos stepped back, Gabe wouldn’t suffer. He wasn’t sure he could allow that.

  ###

  Charity opened the door and peeked outside, blinking against the stinging wind that chapped her cheeks and glued snowflakes to her eyelashes. Gabe should have been back hours ago. What little bit of weak sunlight they’d had all day was quickly disappearing. She shivered and closed the door.

  She needed to go look for him, but she had no idea how to saddle Ruby, nor was she familiar with the surrounding landscape. No help for it. Gabriel might need her. Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed her heavy wool coat. “Sam, Meg, you stay here. I’m going to look for your pa.”

  “On foot?” Sam glanced up from his bowl of ham and beans.

  “Yes, I’ll take the lantern. Which direction does he usually head?”

  “North.”

  Charity raised her eyebrows.

  “That way.” Sam pointed to the back of the soddy. “There’s a path up the mountain. It’s steep, but you can’t miss the valley on the other side.” Sam stood. “Maybe I should go with you.”

  “No, you stay with your sister.” Charity eyed the rifle over the mantel, then disregarded the idea. She couldn’t load or shoot. She grabbed the lantern and lit it with a piece of kindling.

  The wind stole her breath the instant she stepped outside. Sam had told her it would warm up again, but with a day like the one this one, Charity had a hard time believing it. She lifted the lantern and trudged in the direction Sam mentioned.

  Before long, her legs trembled from the strain of making her way up the mountainside. Her foot slipped on a patch of ice, and she fell to her knees. The lantern shattered on a rock. The night pushed in on her with all its fearsome darkness. Her breath hitched.

  She knew without looking that she sported skinned knees from slipping and falling on the hard ground, and she had yet to spot a single cow or her husband. Of course, should she find the four-legged animals, she wouldn’t have a clue what to do with them.

  She tugged her coat closer around her and continued, blocking her mind from the pain in her feet and nose. What if she walked past Gabriel in the storm? He could be lying behind any rock or bush. There was some visibility, but with her head down against the wind, she might miss him. What if he died out here? Then what would she do? She could always move back to Virginia City, but what about Sam and Meg? As their stepmother, was she their legal guardian?

  What about her growing feelings for Gabriel? The thought of him lying dead, alone, in the snow, chilled her more than the storm.

  “Charity O’Connell Williams you’re a ninny.” The wind whipped away her words. Thinking the worst, as always. Most likely she traveled on a fool’s journey, and Gabriel was already on his way home. She turned to head back. A whinny came from her right, and Rogue stepped from the bushes with Gabriel hunched low on his horse’s back.

  “Gabriel!” Charity rushed to him. “What happened?”

  “Fool woman. We’re in a snow storm.” He groaned. “Where are the children?”

  “They’re safe at home—where we should be.” She ran her hands over his leg and side, then pulled them away sticky. “You’re bleeding!”

  “Someone shot me. Rogue was on his way home. You’ve put yourself in danger coming out here.”

  Charity stared at the horse and her injured husband. She needed to mount behind Gabriel. Grasping Rogue’s reins, she led the horse to a nearby boulder and climbed up behind her husband. They could share body warmth. She dug in her heels and urged the horse to head home fast.

  Someone shot Gabriel. Who could hate him that much? Charity swallowed and glanced over her shoulder. Was the shooter still out there, or had he run away like the coward he was? She clicked to Rogue again and tensed, expecting a bullet in the back at any moment.

  Gabriel slumped forward. Charity wrapped her arm around his waist and did her best to hold him in the saddle. Not an easy task considering the difference in their sizes. She wasn’t sure how she’d get him off the horse and into the house, but Ma always told her she could do anything she put her mind to. She hoped that included an abundance of strength when she needed it.

  Gabriel’s blood began to soak through her coat. Her stomach churned. What kind of damage had the shooter done? Would she have to dig a bullet out of her husband? She kept her lips clamped tight against the acid rising in her throat. She’d need God’s help, if He felt so inclined this once, to help Gabriel.

  15

  Gabriel still had the strength to assist Charity with getting him into the house. Although he leaned heavily on her shoulders, they managed to bang open the door and stumble over the threshold, landing in a pile of torn petticoats and groans.

  Tears welled in Meg’s eyes at the sight of them, and Sam bolted the door shut behind them. Charity breathed a sigh of relief once she struggled to her feet, and Gabriel collapsed on his bed.

  She stared at the widening blood stain on his coat. Squeamish or not, the coat, and the shirt, needed to come off immediately. “Sam, remove your pa’s boots, then take care of Rogue, please. Meg, put some water on the stove to heat.” Charity knelt beside her trunk and dug until she located her medicine box. Please, don’t let Gabriel need the bullet removed. The thought of doing so churned her stomach. She wasn’t used to the sight of blood and torn flesh.

  The silence behind her alerted her to the fact the children had yet to follow her instructions. Charity turned with a scowl that quickly faded. Sam and Meg held hands as Sam quietly prayed for their pa’s recovery. Charity swallowed against the boulder in her throat. Hadn’t her ma once said something about a childlike faith? She’d like to have that indulgence, she really would, but once again God threatened to take away someone important to her. She refused to let Him as long as she had breath in her body.

  She choked back a sob and began tugging off Gabriel’s coat. It wasn’t easy with him lying injured and unconscious. “I’ll need that water soon, Meg.” She hated interrupting their prayer, since God might actually listen to children, but she couldn’t stop Gabriel’s bleeding if she had to take the time to heat water. “Sam, fetch me clean cloths before you head out to the horse.” Blood seeped into the blanket under Gabriel’s inert body.

  Sam thrust a clean dishtowel into her hands and watched as Charity pressed it against Gabriel’s wound.

  “Hurry, son, and take care of the horse. I’m g
oing to need your help.” Maybe she ought to let Rogue wait, but her husband loved that horse and wouldn’t appreciate it being left out in the weather. Charity didn’t want him to worry about anything when he woke.

  After several moments of pressing the cloths against his side, Charity unbuttoned Gabe’s shirt. She chose not to think about what she would see as she removed it. Besides the wound, she’d see her husband’s unclothed chest for the first time. She had never seen any man unclothed for that matter. Red Feather didn’t count, and Charity had done everything possible not to dwell on the Indian’s lack of dress. She had never even seen her Da without a shirt on.

  The sides of Gabriel’s shirt fell away, revealing a deep gash through the fleshy area at his waist. Charity smiled nervously. No entrance or exit hole, thus no bullet to dig out. Just a deep gash to stitch. She supposed she ought to thank God for the small favor. She pressed another towel against her husband’s wound and waited for Sam to come back. Where was that boy?

  He burst through the door along with a rush of cold air. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Hold this against your pa’s wound while I sterilize my needle. We don’t need to dig the bullet out. Just clean and stitch.” Charity moved back and let Sam take over. While she worked on sterilization, Meg poured hot water over more clean cloths.

  Charity scrubbed her hands with lye soap and threaded her sharpest needle. She took a deep breath, knowing she would need a steady hand. Her hands shook as if she had the palsy.

  Squinting, she took another deep breath, held it, and guided the thread through the eye of the needle. After retrieving the small bottle of spirits she kept in her medicine box, she was ready to work. Gabriel groaned when she poured the liquor across his wound, but didn’t wake. The guttural sound he made tore at Charity’s heart. She didn’t want to do this. But if not her, then who? Certainly not one of the children, and the Stoltzes lived too far away to fetch for help.

  She exhaled sharply through her nose, then jabbed the needle through his skin and tried to do her best stitching. Not being a seamstress, she worried about the neatness of the stitches. No help for it. She needed to get the wound closed.

  By the time Gabriel was stitched and bandaged, Charity’s head throbbed and the fire had begun to die down. She glanced at the children, their eyes shimmering as they stared down at their father. Her heart faltered. She’d been so focused on Gabriel, she’d lost all thought of them until that moment.

  Charity couldn’t remember the last time she had been so tired. She convinced the children their pa would be okay and encouraged them to go to bed. She ducked behind her curtain.

  Her limbs trembled as she shed her soiled dress and donned her flannel nightgown. She dragged the rocking chair close to Gabriel’s bed, placed more wood on the fire, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and then settled in for a long night of watching over him.

  The flames flickered, highlighting his bare chest. What would it feel like to lay her head there? Have his arms wrap around her in love?

  She crossed her arms. She could have become a widow that day, and there were still the cattle to bring home. How did women and children survive life on the prairie without a man? Did they pack up and move to the nearest town, finding whatever job they could? The selfish thoughts running through her mind left her empty. She didn’t want to go back to the unmarried life. Real marriage or not, Charity was content with the life she had now. Mostly.

  Gabriel’s brow furrowed. Charity reached out and smoothed the frown away. When would she admit to herself she was falling in love with her husband?

  It would do her no good. He had made it clear from the beginning where his thoughts and heart lay. She’d thought she had hers under control, as well. Obviously not. Tears burned her eyes. She swiped them away and blamed them on the stress of the day.

  Gabriel thrashed, and Charity laid a calming hand on his shoulder, his skin warm beneath her palm. When he settled, she grabbed a quilt from the foot of the bed and pulled it over him. Her gaze landed on the rifle over the mantel.

  As soon as Gabriel was able, she’d ask him to teach her to shoot. If a no-good scoundrel came sniffing around, she’d need to be able to defend the home. And if it happened to be the man who shot her husband, she would gladly pay him back with a bullet of her own.

  ###

  Fire burned through Gabe’s side and silk tickled his hand. He turned his head. Charity lay stretched out on the bed beside him, her hair loose and flowing across the pillow. He’d wondered what it would be like to have her sleep beside him, but hadn’t planned on it being because he was injured. He moved to wrap an arm around her and draw her close, but stopped as his side screamed.

  He would die for a drink of water, but he definitely did not want to wake his sleeping wife. Not while he had a rare opportunity to study her. She rolled over and faced him. If he wanted to, Gabe swore he could count all the amber freckles that dotted her nose. Her lashes, dark for a woman with red hair, rested on her cheeks, hiding eyes the color of a summer meadow. He tried to conjure up a picture of Maggie’s hair, and failed. He seemed to recall it being the color of straw, and her eyes as dark as his children’s. Next to the vibrancy of Charity, Maggie had been a tame sparrow.

  Sure she had had gumption. After all, the trek across the continent after the war couldn’t have been easy, but Maggie did everything in a quiet manner, often melting into the background. Charity would also be noticed wherever she went.

  His gaze wandered over the curves of her shoulder and hip and back to her face. He caught just a glimpse of a rounded freckled cheek and brushed aside the urge to caress her face and wake her with a kiss.

  Gabe tore his gaze away and laid his arm over his eyes. He was nuts comparing the two women. They were as different as night and day. He groaned at his foolish thoughts.

  “Oh.” Charity bolted from the bed, jostling the mattress. “I must have fallen asleep.” She put hands to her cheeks. “How do you feel? May I fetch something for you?” She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “No fever. That’s good. How long did I sleep? Gracious.”

  “Charity, stop.” Gabe held out a hand. “Sit. Please, don’t be embarrassed on my account.”

  “Embarrassed for what?” She perched on the edge of the rocking chair and twisted her hands in her nightgown.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the two of us sharing a bed. We’re married.” She was adorable with her cheeks flushed and hair wild about her head.

  “Not in … that way.”

  “You were only sleeping, Charity.” He grinned. Maybe when he healed and was on his feet, they could do more than sleep.

  “Yes, well.” She leaped to her feet. “Let me fix you some coffee.”

  “Water will be fine. I’m going to drowse back off in a moment.” The pain in his side was fierce enough that all he wanted to do was grit his teeth and hide away until he healed. And feel Charity’s soothing cool touch on his face.

  Before she returned with his drink, his eyes closed.

  ###

  Charity could not believe she allowed Gabe to wake before she did. What was the matter with her? Oh, she was a wanton woman. Married or not, a woman did not lie with her husband without invitation, did she? Oh, but the bed had looked so inviting, and she had been so tired. She’d meant to be awake before him and he none the wiser.

  She leaned both hands on the counter beside the wash basin and lowered her head. What must he think of her?

  She took a mug from the upper shelf and poured water from the pitcher. How easy it would be to slip and ruin all of her plans for the future. She could so easily succumb to the benefits of a physical marriage, and thus, be unable to receive an annulment. Although Ma always looked at intimacy has another chore, when Charity looked into Gabriel’s eyes, she felt flutters that told her physical love could be something more than an obligation. She could look for gold whether married or not, but how would Gabriel feel if he fell prey to a moment of temptation? He’d
most likely hate her forever.

  With a sigh, Charity moved to the bed and gazed at her sleeping husband. She set the cup on the table, and settled back into the rocking chair. Maybe she ought to go to her own cot in order not to climb back beside Gabriel. If she did, she’d get no sleep for worrying about him waking up and staring at her again.

  Her head nodded, her chin rested on her chest, and her eyes closed.

  “Ma?” Sam patted her shoulder.

  Charity opened her eyes to the sight of both children staring at her. “What’s wrong? Did he take a turn for the worse?” She cupped Gabriel’s cheek. His skin was as hot as an ember. “Bring me cool water. Quickly.” She tore the blankets off him and glanced outside. Of course, it would stop snowing. “Get the water from the creek, and try to find me some unburned bark from an aspen tree.”

  The children rushed outside to do her bidding, leaving coats and cloaks behind. If they weren’t careful, Charity would be treating them for fever too.

  Again, she dug through her medicine chest and pulled out a tin of dehydrated aspen bark. She had enough for a few days of treatment, but figured with winter still a couple of months away, she had time to harvest and prepare more. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

  Please, God, spare Gabriel. If He did, Charity promised to pay close attention to the scriptures Gabriel read from the Bible during the winter months. If God could show His mercy this time, she would give Him another chance to show her He loved her.

  16

  “Hello, the house!”

  Charity tossed down the spoon she’d been using to stir the stew for the day’s meal and rushed to the door. Hiram and Red Feather strolled toward her from the direction of the creek. Tears welled in her eyes as she threw open the door. “Come in, please!” Her knees weakened from the prospect of help.