by Lois Richer
Holt pulled Emma to his chest, allowed her to snuggle close, and read from the Bible storybook.
Lizzie’s eyes stung as she blinked away tears. She would not cry even though the scene reminded her of all she’d lost. And Emma, too. She concentrated on helping Pa get settled for the night.
After a while, Holt stopped reading. Lizzie glanced over at them and saw that Emma had fallen asleep.
She kissed her father’s forehead and went to her sister. “Emma, honey, time for bed.” She bent over to pick Emma up, bringing her so close to Holt she could see the flecks of gold in his irises, feel the heat from his body, inhale the scent of wood and wide spaces from his skin. She tried to pull back but was caught in a net of longing and loneliness.
Emma stirred and Lizzie jumped away. “Come along.” She escorted her sister to the ladder, made sure she climbed up safely and crawled under the covers. Miss Ellen rested on her cheek as Emma sighed and slept.
Slowly Lizzie turned, finding Holt watching her. Her breath stalled halfway up her throat at the intensity of his gaze. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear herself from that look.
He jerked to his feet. “I’ll bid you good night.” He grabbed his coat, slammed his hat on his head and reached for the doorknob. Then he paused. She felt the air stiffen between them. “Ma’am.” He pivoted to face her. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
“You’ll be back for breakfast?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound half as desperate as she felt about his answer.
“I...can’t say. I may go to the mine early. Good night,” he said again and left without looking back.
Chapter Nine
It took the better part of a day to go to the coal mine and return. This was his third trip. Holt welcomed the reprieve. Almost as much as he minded it.
In spite of himself, he’d been drawn back to the cozy little room for breakfast with Lizzie, Emma and Mr. Tate. It was sweet agony, reminding him of the kind of life he would never enjoy.
Now, as he huddled on the wagon seat, shrugged up inside his coat against the cold wind, he decided to focus on things he was happy about rather than the things he couldn’t have.
Mr. Tate was still too weak to get out of bed on his own but decidedly stronger than the first day, when he’d collapsed on the floor. This morning he had sat up in bed and fed himself.
Lizzie hadn’t been able to stop smiling. “He’s made a turn for the better,” she’d remarked.
“I ’spect it will take a few days for him to regain his strength.”
“I know, but it’s been so long since he fed himself.”
Holt had allowed himself to squeeze her shoulder briefly. “I’m glad. For all of you.”
She’d leaned into his touch. Or had he only wished that? Dreamt it? He comforted himself with the assurance that there had been no mistaking the flash of gratitude in her eyes. Whether for his encouragement or her father’s improvement he couldn’t guess. But he could hope it was partly the former. Yes, it was definitely a good thing he had several all-day trips to make.
Yet every day meant those who hunted him were that much closer. They should have overtaken him by now. He pretended he didn’t feel the fear boiling through his insides. God must have intervened in some way in order to allow Holt this respite.
Dark shadows already filled the hollows as he headed down the lone street of Buffalo Hollow toward the store. The wind had increased in intensity, bringing with it the smell of snow.
He studied each doorway, each lamp-lit window carefully, letting his breath whistle past his teeth when he saw no one that made him think he should leave in a hurry.
God in heaven, You see how this family needs help. I’m more than prepared to lend it, but I’m trusting You to hold the bad weather and my pursuers off until I can cross the forty-ninth.
He pulled up to the coal shed, backed the wagon as close as he could and began to shovel the coal inside. Once he finished, he returned the horse and wagon to the livery barn. The man on duty seemed bored, and Holt saw an opportunity to get some information. “Anyone coming and going today?” He kept the tension from his voice and hoped the man would think his question only idle conversation.
“Nope. Most people got the good sense to stay home with snow threatening.”
“’Spect that’s so.” His mind somewhat at ease, Holt hurried to the store, entering through the rear door that he had repaired.
He smiled as Emma ran to him. “You’re back.”
“Yup.” His gaze shifted to Lizzie and his heart soared at her smile of welcome.
“Feels like snow. Glad you got here before it comes.”
“Me, too.” Except...he should be riding north ahead of the snow. He dare not get trapped here for the winter—they’d find him for sure. Holt could practically feel the noose around his neck. But he had given his word to Mr. Tate that he’d make sure this family was prepared for the cold weather, and not even the fear of hanging would make him leave before he’d done that.
Chapter Ten
Holt stayed until Emma went to bed then he went out into the winter. To sleep at the livery barn. Lizzie shivered. The house grew colder when he left, and she admitted it wasn’t simply because of the draft coming in the door. His presence lit the room. Perhaps that’s why Pa was improving. That and having a fire in the stove. Thank God Holt had shown up when he did.
Somehow they would manage when he left.
Lizzie shook away another shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “Pa, do you need anything more?”
“I’m fine.” He pulled the covers up to his chin and turned on his side. Like Holt said, it would take time for him to regain his strength.
She thought of joining Emma in the loft but she wasn’t tired, so she sat at the table and tackled the mending. It was a mindless enough job that her thoughts drifted...straight to Holt and the way he made her feel. If only she had room in her life for the kind of dreams that he kindled. For the first time, she imagined how it would be to ride side by side with a man who cared for her. To be held and sheltered. To create a home for him.
But she had a little sister and sick father who needed her, not to mention a store to run. And he had never indicated he wanted to stay. Why just this morning she’d observed him staring out the window as if counting the minutes until he was on his way. No point in dwelling on things that could be different, or dreaming impossible dreams. With a heavy sigh, she put away the mending and headed for bed.
During the night the wind increased, rattling the door and windows, screaming around the corner of the house. She normally let the fire die down while they slept, but the wind sucked the warmth from the house and twice she climbed down the ladder to put more coal on the embers, hovering over the stove until the heat increased and then scurrying back to bed.
Sometime during the night, the sound of the wind changed, pulling Lizzie from her light sleep. She listened, trying to identify why it had wakened her. She realized the sound was coming from inside the house. She tensed, wishing she’d brought the shotgun to bed with her. Emma was curled up next to her safe and sound. Lizzie intended to keep her that way.
She slipped from her covers, silently pulled on a robe and edged toward the ladder. The sound came again. She waited, not breathing. If it was an intruder she had no weapon to defend herself and her loved ones with.
And Pa. Down there. Helpless.
She tipped her head to catch the source and location of the sound.
And then it hit her. She knew what it was. Fear leapt into her throat, and she slid down the ladder without touching any of the rungs.
Chapter Eleven
Holt hurried from the livery barn as the first blush of dawn pinkened the sky. The snow had held off but the wind had a bite that made a man wish for a cave to hunker
down in. Or even more alluring...a nice warm house with a woman’s welcoming smile.
Like the ones Lizzie gave.
He shrugged farther down into the protection of his coat as he hurried up the street. Didn’t even bother to check to the right and the left for anyone interested in a lone cowboy.
He ducked into the living quarters behind the store. “Brr. That’s a cold wind.”
The silence at his greeting made him freeze in the act of taking off his coat. He turned. Emma sat at the table, fear blazing from her big eyes. Lizzie knelt by her father’s bed, sponging his face and arms.
It didn’t take Holt more than a glance to know the man was burning with fever. He tossed off his coat. “How long has he been like this?”
“He woke me last night shouting and rambling incoherently. I’ve been trying to get his fever down since.”
Mr. Tate hollered and swung his arm. Lizzie ducked.
Holt sprang into action. “Throw back his covers. We have to sponge him all over.” He worked as he talked, pulling Mr. Tate’s shirt over his head and slipping his arms out of his union suit. By rights they should remove the underwear on his lower body as well, but he figured the man wouldn’t want his girls to see him that way.
“Get me more water.” Lizzie scrambled to bring him a basin. Holt took the washcloth, dipped it into the basin and washed the man from the waist up, letting the water evaporate.
Emma edged closer. “Is he gonna die?”
“No.” Holt and Lizzie answered as one. He saw the set of her jaw, knew she would fight to her last breath to save her father. “I’m at your side.” He would fight just as hard as she.
She looked at him, her eyes filled with gratitude.
“You take care of Emma. I’ll look after your pa. Between us, it’ll be okay.” He wanted to give her a hug, to offer her comfort, but he had no right.
Holt returned his attention to the older man. This was something he could do for Lizzie. No matter the cost, he would honor his promise to Mr. Tate. And he would not fail her. If he was found and captured, so be it. He prayed God would enable him to face his fate with dignity.
Chapter Twelve
Lizzie rubbed her neck, trying to ease the strain caused from bending over Pa most of the night. She tried to persuade Emma to eat something. But her sister was as worried as she. As she tidied up, she watched Holt caring for Pa. The man wasn’t the least bit awkward at playing nurse. Oh, how she took comfort from his strength and encouragement. The night had been interminably long and lonesome.
She handed him some tea that he paused only a moment to down.
“I’ve been trying since you got here to express my gratitude to you,” she murmured. “But the words don’t ever seem like enough. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she murmured. Heat crept up her neck and stung her cheeks.
His grin was fleeting. “Perhaps God sent me here to help you. You ever think of that?”
She didn’t answer, but she smiled to acknowledge the kindness of the thought.
A little later...or was it a great deal later...she reached over and took the cloth from him. “There’s soup and sandwiches ready. Go eat while I tend to him.”
Holt hesitated then went to the table. He sat across from Emma. “Where’s Miss Ellen?”
Lizzie wondered if he’d have any more success diverting Emma than she had.
“Still in bed,” the girl answered.
“Bet she’s tired of being there.”
Emma sighed loudly. “She’s a doll.”
“Yesterday she was your best friend. How would you like it if your best friend forgot about you?”
Lizzie watched Emma consider Holt’s words.
“I wouldn’t like it.” She scrambled from her chair and up the ladder so fast Lizzie feared for her safety.
“Emma, slow down.”
But Emma practically slid down the ladder, Miss Ellen tucked under her arm. She returned to the table and sat Miss Ellen beside her plate. “There you go. I didn’t forget you. Not for a minute.”
Lizzie looked to Holt. He watched her. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. Didn’t want to, finding warmth and comfort in his eyes. The air between them seemed to shift and shimmer. She drank long and hard from the silent promises he offered before she turned back to care for Pa.
“If only his fever would break,” she murmured.
Emma clutched her doll to her chest. “Miss Ellen is worried.”
Holt scooped Emma into his arms and brought her to Lizzie’s side. “You aren’t alone.”
Lizzie nodded. Holt was here; his presence helped her find courage.
“God is with us. Let’s ask Him to heal your pa.” Holt bowed his head. Emma followed his example, as did Lizzie after a moment, struck by the deep assurance of Holt’s faith. Holt prayed for Pa to get better. And for them to know how to help.
But hours later his condition didn’t improve and Pa grew steadily weaker.
Chapter Thirteen
Holt lost track of the hours as he and Lizzie alternately sponged Mr. Tate or tried to amuse Emma, the tension in the room getting thicker as the day waned. Nothing had changed with the sick man. Except the fever was sucking the life from him. What would happen to the girls if their father died?
“Is there no doctor we can call?” Holt asked.
“The nearest doctor is two days away and said he could do little when we called for him the last time.” Lizzie’s voice creaked with worry. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Holt longed to take her hands and pull her close. Offer comfort and encouragement. And so much more. But a man on the run had nothing to offer.
“I’ve heard tales about a Métis woman out on Burke Edwards’s ranch,” she said. “They say she has herbs that help cure illnesses. Her name is Paquette.”
“I’m going to find her.” He’d already started pulling on his coat. “How do I get to this ranch?”
Lizzie shook her head. “It’s threatening a storm. It’s too late in the day to make it back before dark.”
If he wasn’t so worried about Mr. Tate and the cold ride ahead of him he might have cheered. She didn’t want him to go. She was concerned about his safety. “I’ll return with help.” A man could ride many a mile, face snow, darkness, even men wanting to execute frontier justice if he knew a woman waited for him.
Not allowing himself a chance to examine the foolishness of such thoughts, he strode out into the dark and out of town. As he rode from town, the wind tore his breath away but it didn’t deter him. He kept up a steady pace until he reached a set of buildings that he hoped was the ranch he sought. His limbs stiff with cold, he dismounted and staggered to the door. His knock was answered by a dark-haired man. “I’m looking for a woman named Paquette.”
A bent-over, crippled woman stood near the stove. “I be Paquette, me. Who you?”
He explained about Mr. Tate’s illness. “We heard you could help.”
She nodded. “I have cures.”
“Please, would you come with me?” He knew they didn’t understand the urgency of his request. “Right away?”
The man, who had identified himself as Burke Edwards, the owner of the ranch, answered. “It’s almost dark and a storm’s threatening. Better to wait for morning.”
Holt shook his head. He couldn’t wait. Lizzie would be worried sick. And Mr. Tate... “I must return.” He reached for the door.
“Don’t be foolish,” Edwards said.
“I go with him, boss.” Paquette shuffled toward a hallway. “You wait. I get things.”
Edwards groaned. “I better go along, too, just to make sure you get there safely.”
Holt shifted from one foot to the other as Paquette got ready and Edwards ducked out to saddle the
horses. Finally they were mounted and on their way.
But before long he began to wonder if he should have listened to Edwards’s advice. The snow started, turning the air before him into a wall of white, the road disappearing in the darkness and swirling snow.
Chapter Fourteen
Lizzie left her father’s side to stare out the window.
“You think he’s lost?” Emma’s voice shrilled across Lizzie’s nerves. She forced herself to still her worrying hands and speak calmly.
“No, dearest. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“It’s dark out.”
And snow had started to fall. Or rather to blow. So strong it didn’t seem to touch the ground, violently swirling in the air. God, please keep him safe.
She returned to Pa and resumed sponging, not knowing what else to do.
The door rattled and she jerked about. But it was only the wind. With shaking hands, she returned her attention to her task. It happened again and again, and each time she had to stop herself from bolting to the door. As the hours ticked by the room grew more and more empty.
The door rattled again. Only this time the handle also jiggled. She sprang forward, spilling water on her feet and not even caring as she threw open the door.
“Holt!” Joy she could not disguise filled her voice. “Holt, you must be freezing. Come in.” She tugged at his sleeve.
“I brought help.” He could barely form the words, his lips stiff with cold.
Lizzie tore her gaze from Holt’s face and saw a tiny woman at his side.
“This is Paquette,” he said.
“Thank God you’re here! Please, come in and get warm.”
“I not be cold.” The woman shuffled in, shed a fur cape and went straight to Pa’s side. She rubbed her hands to take the chill off of them then touched his forehead. “He be sick long time.”
