“I threw all the gold away,” he croaked, letting her rub his cold hands in her warm ones. “I should have saved some of it for us. I could have—”
“Shh.” Jewel pressed a finger to his lips. “Forget the gold.”
“I could have filled my pockets before I threw that saddlebag away, and none of the men would have known the difference.” He pressed shaky fingers to his temples. “Then I could have sent out a hundred men to find Samson and bring him home. I blundered that one, too, didn’t I?” He reached out and rubbed a thumb across her smooth cheek, feeling his throat tighten and burn. “Why, I could have … could have …”
“Listen to me.” Jewel spoke over the sound of the wind in the pines. “There’s a good side to every mistake, Mr. Kelly. An excess of anything corrupts the soul, doesn’t it? Take poor Mr. Crowder as an example. A year from now he’ll be up to his neck in debt, with ten men at any given time ready to slit his throat over card games or liquor or property—and all the gold in the world wouldn’t solve his problems.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m half frozen and you want to keep me alive.” Wyatt let her pull him to his feet, his arm draped over her shoulder for support.
“Perhaps.” Jewel led him forward, arm around his waist, and he heard her smile. “Is it working?”
Wyatt licked his chapped and split lower lip. “Maybe. Keep trying.”
“You’ve no gold now to buy the Cheyenne land with. You can start over, Mr. Kelly. Free from revenge. No regrets.”
Wyatt groaned. “No, but now Kirby has enough gold to do it. The sorry snake.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “And it’s my fault. It was a fool idea to begin with.”
“Don’t think about that now. Just hold on. We’ll be home soon.” Jewel eased him up onto Bétee’s back, tucking the shawl tight around his shoulders. She slid on in front of him and pulled at the reins.
“But …” Wyatt thought hard, trying not to focus on his throbbing side as Bétee jolted down the rocky side of a creek. “I think there may be a way out of Kirby buying the land.”
“How, if there are coal deposits?”
“The national park.” Wyatt nodded. “That’s it. There are also several rare species of wildlife and botanicals on the land; I think I can convince them to make it a nature preserve run by the Cheyenne. So long as they’ll agree to work jointly with Yellowstone and comply with basic park regulations.”
“With a lifted restriction on hunting, of course. Unless you want them to starve.”
“Of course not. I think I can write up something so convincing that even Kirby Crowder and his gold won’t do much good. Just give me a few days with some books, park regulations, and a local survey of wildlife and plants, and I’ll convince them that it would be a great ecological disaster to sell the land or open a mine on it. You’ll see.”
Jewel actually smiled. “Why, Mr. Kelly—I’m surprised at you. You’re going soft on me.”
Wyatt scowled. “Well, keep it to yourself, will you?”
He gazed out through the white woods, feeling stabs of pain pulse through his side, and felt his mind drift far away—to a snow-crusted plain at the edge of the prairie. A row of rough wooden crosses that made a sob catch in his throat.
The warm tears that burned his eyes felt good—healing—and he didn’t try to blink them back.
His family was gone, but he would always remember.
Always.
Until the day he died, he’d be a brother. The lone survivor.
His father’s son, remembering the feel of those burly arms around his neck in a tight embrace. For he, too, carried his father’s blood and his father’s honor.
And that would never, ever change.
Jewel turned suddenly. “You know you still have a handful of gold nuggets, don’t you? The ones you stuffed in your pocket there at the outhouse.”
Wyatt’s emotion-hard face suddenly melted into a look of joy as he scrambled for his pocket with freezing fingers. “By George,” he murmured, fingering out a handful of nuggets. “You’re right.”
“You can buy a new horse with it.” Jewel spoke gently. “I know how you’ll miss Samson. He’s been your favorite ever since I’ve worked at your uncle’s ranch.”
Wyatt dipped his head, glad the gloomy darkness hid the watery sheen of his eyes. “It’d be impossible for him to survive out here alone all night, wouldn’t it?” His voice came low and mournful. “Not with wildcats and mountain lions. The cold and coyotes.” He sniffled, trying to keep from blubbering. “As old as he is now. He’s not as strong as the young horses, but I always thought he was fine.” Wyatt scrubbed his face with his palm and said no more.
“Never mind.” Jewel spoke gently. “I’m sure one of the local ranchers will find him and turn him in.”
“There’s nothing around here for miles, and you know it.” Wyatt wiped a palm across his nose. “He’s a good horse, but I don’t think he could find his way back to the ranch in this snow—not at his age. He’ll be so lost he couldn’t find his own tail.”
“Perhaps he’ll hole up for the night, and we can look for him tomorrow.”
“You know a hungry mountain lion won’t let him live that long—if we’re even able to get out tomorrow in the snow. He’s got arthritis. It’d be a miracle if he’s still alive now.” Wyatt sighed.
“Well, doesn’t that God of yours do miracles?”
“Not to fellows like me, probably.” He sniffled in the cold. “I promised Samson his oats,” he said, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I’ve never failed him yet. I might do a lot of things wrong, Miss Moreau, but I keep my word, and I … I …” He wanted to say “love that fool horse,” but the words stuck in his throat.
“You’re a good English teacher. Isn’t that what you were going to say?” Jewel spoke quickly.
“Me? Naw.”
“On the contrary. In fact, I think you might make a fine lawyer. I can teach you Arapaho, if you like, and French—and you could consider legal cases and question witnesses from all over the state of Wyoming. Or all over the West, if you like. You could be a Yellowstone legal specialist.” Jewel brushed snow from her long hair. “In fact, your uncle has quite a few connections in the academic world, does he not? You could go to law school. You’ve certainly got enough gold in your pocket to give you a good start.”
“Law school.” Wyatt whispered the words as if hearing them for the first time. They were magic; they rolled over his tongue. Hanging in a shiny haze like the yellow lights of the ranch, visible over the next ridge. “Law school, you say?”
“There’s a shortage of lawyers in the West, Mr. Kelly. You’d be in high demand.”
“Law school,” Wyatt repeated, his voice thin and husky. “And you’d … teach me languages? That is, of course, if you’d consider me.” He swallowed hard, and his mouth felt dry at the thought of Jewel bending over the table, pointing out verbs. Her slender hands guiding his as he formed the unfamiliar letters with his pen. “My Arapaho pronunciation may be a bit garbled, but I’m sure I could learn with time. And … tutoring of course.”
“Lots of tutoring.” Jewel’s voice took on a lush tone. Soft, like the sleek side of a wildcat. “And it would be a pleasure to teach you. But how do I know you’re not feigning your Arapaho language deficiencies, Mr. Kelly? The same way I did?”
“You can’t know.”
Jewel chuckled softly, sounding like sleigh bells. “Well, I’m determined to find out.”
Wyatt blinked back snowflakes. He was delirious, warm and light-headed and cold at the same time.
“And your father would be proud of you, Mr. Kelly, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“For what?”
“For everything you are, Mr. Kelly, and everything you will be. I’m sure of that.”
Bétee slowed to a trot at the entrance to the ranch, her hooves kicking up snow in the fading twilight. Black sky curved over navy blue of snowfall, fresh and smooth on the hillsides like smoothly spread
sugar. Wyatt blinked through the snowflakes at the bright front door, where his uncle stood holding out the lantern. A worried look pasted across his face.
And Samson waited obediently at the stable door, his sleek face turned toward Wyatt. Saddle empty and reins dragging. Neighing impatiently for his oats.
JENNIFER ROGERS SPINOLA, a Virginia/South Carolina native and graduate of Gardner-Webb University in North Carolina, just moved to the States with her Brazilian husband, Athos, and two sons. Jennifer lived in Brazil for nearly eight years after meeting her husband in Sapporo, Japan, where she worked as a missionary. During college, she served as a National Park Service volunteer at Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. In between homeschooling high-energy sons, Jennifer loves things like adoption, gardening, snow, hiking, and camping.
Dedication
A huge thanks to my critique partners and helpers—Theo, Mom, and Jane. And to my dad, remembering our tea parties of my childhood. To my Lord and Savior, always there for me as my source of strength when I feel so weak and unable. As always with every book I write, this is for You.
Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.
PHILIPPIANS 2:3
Chapter 1
A harsh pounding threatened to splinter the wood of the heavy front door.
Christiana’s cheerful humming came to an abrupt halt, and she almost dropped her mother’s good china. She spun around, her hands clutched around the plates, and wondered who could be visiting so late. Why hadn’t they pulled the bell? It must be going on half past ten! No decent time for any caller.
In immediate response to her thought, the chimes rang—followed by more frantic knocking.
Pulling in a deep breath, she laid the stack of plates on the tablecloth. She wished her parents were home and that their housekeeper wasn’t visiting her sister in Seattle.
“Stop borrowing trouble,” Christiana scolded herself. “You’re no helpless child.”
Slightly encouraged, she moved to the entry hall, her hands going to her hair and smoothing whatever stray locks might have escaped their pins. She glanced at the umbrella in the stand, a possible weapon if the need should arise.
She hoped she appeared more confident than she felt.
Opening the door, she almost got her nose rapped on by an impatient masculine hand poised for another knock. Christiana blinked in surprise. The man standing there pulled back his arm in equal shock.
The gaslight from the entryway showed her visitor to be taller than her by a few inches, wearing a black hat and overcoat, lean in build. He had a nice face and rich coffee-brown eyes that looked anxious. Her mind picked up the details in the few seconds before he spoke.
“Please, miss, I need to speak with Mrs. Leonard at once,” he explained in a rich, well-modulated tone.
“Mother isn’t here at the moment. Would you like to leave your card? I can tell her you dropped by.”
“No time for that. Have you any idea when she’ll return?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. She went to deliver some papers to my father for the Exposition—the Lewis and Clark one that opens soon.” She realized the inanity of elaborating; every member of the populace of Oregon and many from the entire nation, indeed, from around the world, knew of the Exposition.
“That’s on the other side of town,” he calculated aloud, “at least an hour to get there, even with taking the trolley. With all the traffic due to the Expo, double that.”
She nodded, wondering the reason for his visit.
“I can’t wait hours, not even one.” He shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets. “Can you tell me the location of the nearest doctor?”
His gruff question triggered the alarm of comprehension in her mind. “What did you say your name was?”
He blinked. “I didn’t. Sorry. I’m Noah Cafferty.”
She regarded him in surprise. “You’re related to Lanie Cafferty.”
“She’s my stepmother. The reason I’m here. Her time has come, and no one else was home when I arrived at their house.”
Instantly, Christiana’s thoughts clicked into gear. “How long ago?”
He studied her as if debating whether he should share the information. He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s taken me twenty-six minutes to find your house with her bad directions. She, um, she wanted your mother to know …” His face turned a shade dark, and she sensed discussing such delicate matters was uncomfortable for him. For her, it was second nature.
“It’s all right. You can tell me.”
“She said her water broke.” He cleared his throat. “That the baby was coming.”
Christiana nodded. She could wait for Mother to arrive, though with evening traffic and the distance, it could take hours. Even with the information Noah Cafferty related, it was impossible to know how far along Lanie was without an examination. Christiana had learned that for every woman childbirth was different. Only one matter was certain: Lanie would be delivering a child soon. And Christiana was the sole person available to handle the job.
“We shouldn’t linger. I’ll just get my coat and hat.”
“Wait—what?” He grabbed her arm. She stared at him with her brows raised in curious question. He shook his head and let go of her sleeve. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. This whole thing has my brain coming unscrewed.”
She smiled. “It’s perfectly understandable. I won’t be one moment.” Again she moved to collect her things.
This time he took a step inside. “You can’t mean … you don’t plan to take your mother’s place?”
At his clear alarm, she nodded while turning to the hat tree for her coat and hat. She hoped he couldn’t tell that she was shaking in her shoes at the idea of assuming her mother’s role in delivering a baby. And without assistance.
She felt uncertain she was ready for this, but she had no choice. Grandmother Polly had done it at her age—and all alone, on a wilderness trail, in the middle of nowhere.
Christiana could do it, too.
“You can’t be serious.” Noah eyed the young woman who looked little more than a girl. “What are you—seventeen?”
She winced at his guess, and he knew it must be dead-on.
“I assure you, Mr. Cafferty, age has little to do with skill. I’ve assisted my mother for the past two years. I know exactly what needs doing.”
“Yes, but have you ever done it alone?”
Her anxious expression and the resounding silence gave him his answer.
“There must be a doctor somewhere close,” he argued hopefully.
“Knowing Lanie as I do, I don’t think she would care for the idea of one, but of course you must do whatever you feel is best.”
That was just the problem. Noah had no idea what was best for his father’s young wife. He had only thought to drop in for a visit, since he rarely came by except for the occasional Sunday dinner. It wasn’t that he disapproved of his father’s choice of a bride any longer. The age difference had unsettled him at first, Lanie only five years older than himself. But lately he had made a concentrated effort to accept her as family. The knowledge that Lanie’s well-being and that of his little half brother or sister rested solely in his hands was nerve-racking to say the least. If he made the wrong decision, his father might never forgive him. He might never forgive himself.
“Can you tell me where the doctor lives?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” He regarded her in disbelief. “How could you not know?” He shook his head. “All right, then. Have you got a telephone?”
She motioned to a nearby table. “There’ve been problems with it. The connection is horrid, full of static. You’re welcome to try, though.”
He moved toward the candlestick phone and picked it up, bringing it to his mouth while clicking the hook and putting the receiver to his ear. A series of disturbing clicks followed.
“What�
��s the doctor’s name?” he asked.
She gave an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know that either. Lanie mentioned it once. She and her husband use a different doctor than we do.”
“Your family doctor, then.”
“He’s out of town. I remember him telling Papa at church that he was going to be absent for a week, to sort out things with his father’s estate.”
Noah’s eyes shut in dismay. Of course. Why should he expect a doctor to be available with the way this evening had progressed so far?
“You could ask the operator to connect you with Lanie’s doctor—she might know who he is.”
He could, if he could get through. Frustrated, Noah set the earpiece on its hook and the phone back on the table.
“I might not be much in your estimation,” the very-young-looking Miss Leonard said carefully. “But right now I’m all you have. Once there, you can ask Lanie the name of her family physician if you feel better about doing so. I won’t take offense at your lack of confidence in my skills. I just want to make sure she’s all right. Her health and that of the baby are what’s important.”
This time, she rested her hand on the forearm of his coat sleeve.
“I don’t envy your position, Mr. Cafferty, and I do understand how upsetting this is to you, to find yourself so suddenly in charge of such a monumental decision.” By the grim way she said it, she understood only too well. “But I have learned in my years of assisting at births that babies wait for no one. If you don’t make a decision soon, it might be too late.”
Her words sounded like a death knell; he felt the blood drain from his face. He didn’t know if it was the fear of arriving too late to save them or the mature manner in which the young Miss Leonard presented herself or even the wisdom glowing steadily in her gray-blue eyes; but for whatever reason, Noah nodded his consent.
“Then we should go.”
“I’ll just grab Mother’s bag. I’ll need that, too.”
Noah watched her hurry away, hoping he had not just signed Lanie and little Baby Cafferty’s untimely death sentences.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 45
