RNWMP: Bride for Jonathan (Mail Order Mounties Book 8)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Jonathan was struggling to sit still and moved from side to side as he read. Finally, he stood up and began to pace, his book in his hand. Elaine just sat and watched him, a smile growing on her face until a giggle finally escaped, and he looked up.

  “What?” he asked, sounding agitated.

  “You just unlocked your own mystery,” she said, clasping her hands to her chin. “This is amazing.”

  He slumped back down in his chair. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart. Can you please explain?”

  “Of course. Did you notice how much better you were reading when you stood up and moved around?”

  “No, I was just feeling fidgety. You say I was reading better?”

  “Yes, much. You had more fluidity in your words, and you were sounding them out quicker. This happens sometimes with readers—they need to be moving physically in order to engage their brains. This is the research that’s being done right now that the standard schools are struggling to accept.”

  “So there are other people out there like me, who read better when they’re moving?”

  “Yes! So many of them. You’re not alone in this, not at all.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I really can’t believe it. You’re saying that I’m doing it, that I’m making progress?”

  Tears welled up in Elaine’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “Yes, honey. You’re doing it, and I’m so proud of you.”

  He looked down at the book. “I’m going to be a reader,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “And I’ll be able to read stories to our children.”

  “Yes, you will.” She laughed again, too happy to hold it in. “How many children do you want to have?”

  “Twenty-six, and we’ll name them according to the letters of the alphabet.”

  “Twenty-six?” She raised an eyebrow. “That’s certainly ambitious.”

  “But we can do it. The oldest will be Alexander.”

  “And if she’s a girl?”

  “Then we’ll name her Abigail,” Jonathan said, not to be dissuaded.

  Elaine grabbed a piece of paper. “All right, husband dear. For your writing practice, let’s name those children, all twenty-six, with male and female names for each.”

  He grinned. “Bertram. And Beverly.”

  ***

  Just before dawn the next morning, Dermot and Jonathan rode wordlessly to the trailhead, where Wesley and Preston were waiting for them. They couldn’t control the sound of the horses’ hooves, but they’d done everything else they could not to alert Dubois to their arrival.

  “I got here an hour ago, and there’s been no movement,” Preston whispered.

  “Let’s tie up the animals and approach on foot,” Wesley replied. That made the most sense, as they’d only have to abandon the horses after a short while anyway, and there was more grass for them to nibble where they were.

  The men crept up the trail, their breath coming like clouds of fog. Jonathan tugged his gloves on a little tighter, but his wrists were still getting cold. Every so often, he heard the scamper of a small animal, but the only footsteps were those being made by himself and the other Mounties. Dubois either wasn’t here or was asleep, or perhaps watching them without moving. Jonathan didn’t sense eyes on him like he usually could, so he’d wager it was one of the first choices.

  They reached the cave they’d identified on the map, one they’d searched two weeks previously, and as they entered, a distinctive smell filled Jonathan’s nostrils.

  “We found it,” Wesley said from the front of the group. “Preston, stand guard at the entrance.”

  The other three worked their way farther back into the cave, all their senses on alert. Dubois could be waiting for them, and they had to be ready for anything. Their search revealed nothing, however, and they holstered their guns, except for Preston who was still on alert.

  “Let’s dismantle this,” Wesley said, nodding toward the still.

  They set to work disconnecting tubes from vials. Wesley wasn’t in favor of smashing it to bits, like Jonathan wanted to do, but Jonathan did let a few vials accidentally slip through his fingers, and he wasn’t reprimanded for it. After all, his hands were cold, and his gloves did reduce his dexterity somewhat . . .

  Dermot took the whiskey that had been made to the front of the cave and poured it out on the ground. “This is going to make some raccoon very, very drunk,” he commented.

  “They’re probably already tucked up for the winter,” Preston replied. “I haven’t seen one in days.”

  “They don’t actually hibernate like the other animals,” Dermot pointed out. “They do wake up every couple of weeks and eat.”

  “Can we please hurry?” Jonathan hissed. “I’d like this completely done before Dubois comes back. I don’t want him to have an easy time rebuilding.”

  They shoved the tubes and vials into some burlap sacks they’d brought with them, then began their climb back down to the horses. Just before they reached the bottom of the trail, Jonathan heard a shout from behind, and he turned to see Dubois’s angry face peering over the top of an outcropping.

  “You’ve ruined me!” he shouted.

  “Good!” Jonathan returned. He knew he shouldn’t engage the man, but he couldn’t help it. The retort had come out nearly on its own.

  Dubois lifted a pistol and shot. Jonathan felt the bullet hit his right arm like a thunk, and it knocked him sideways. The other Mounties pulled their pistols and returned fire, but Dubois had disappeared.

  “Are you all right?” Dermot asked, turning back to Jonathan.

  “I think so,” Jonathan replied, looking down at his arm. Funny that he couldn’t move it. It just hung there on the side of his body.

  Preston grabbed some supplies out of his saddlebag and applied gauze to the wound as best as he could through the coat fabric. “Let’s get you inside as fast as we can so we can see what we’re dealing with,” he said. “I’m not going to strip you out here in the cold.”

  “I appreciate that,” Jonathan replied, his teeth chattering as it was.

  “He’s going into shock,” Dermot said, taking Jonathan’s other arm. “His cabin’s closer than the office—let’s head there.”

  “I’ll ride for the doctor,” Preston said, mounting quickly and tearing off.

  All their voices were starting to sound far away. Jonathan blinked a few times to stay awake as he mounted his horse. Wesley rode right next to him, most likely to keep him from falling off, and Dermot rode ahead to let Elaine know they were coming.

  When they reached the cabin, she had already torn long strips of fabric into bandages and thrown wood into the stove. They eased Jonathan’s coat off, then set him in a chair close to the stove so he wouldn’t get any colder than he already was. A glance told him he had blood running down his arm. That probably wasn’t good.

  “Just put more bandages on top and hold it tight for now,” Dermot said, bracing Jonathan from the side so he wouldn’t fall over. “We should wait for the doctor in case there’s a bleeder.”

  Elaine nodded and did as she was asked. Jonathan noticed through his haze that the bandages were blue. “Did you . . . did you tear up your dress?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It was going to take me forever to make it anyway,” she said. “I must have chosen the most complicated pattern in existence.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” he mumbled, but she just stroked his hair back and smiled.

  ***

  The doctor arrived, and after taking one look at Elaine, he ordered her to go outside and get some fresh air. It was freezing out there, but she grabbed her coat and went out willingly. She wanted to stay by her husband’s side, but she also couldn’t take another minute of watching blood pump out of his arm. The bullet must have hit a vital vein or artery—she couldn’t remember which it was more likely to be, even though she’d brought a medical text and had even read it through once. The human body was fascinat
ing, not only in the complexity of its design, but its ability to heal itself.

  She pulled in a freezing breath. Yes, the body could heal itself, and the arm wasn’t a vital organ, not like a heart or a brain. At the rate his arm was bleeding, however, it could become very vital, but she didn’t want to think about that.

  “Elaine!”

  She looked up to see Isabelle running toward her. Her friend wrapped her arms around her and held her tight. “Is he all right?”

  “The doctor’s in with him now. How did you know?”

  “Jimmy was out hunting and saw Preston and the doctor on their way here. They told him.” She motioned behind her. “He told me, and then he went and told them.”

  Elaine looked over Isabelle’s shoulder to see two dozen Indians walking toward the cabin, many with their arms full of wood. Without saying a word, they built a huge fire in front of the cabin and lit it. At first, Elaine had no idea what was going on, but then she realized that they intended to wait with her, and the fire was to keep them all warm while they sat vigil.

  Jimmy came up to her, something in his hands. He nodded, then held out his hands and offered her what they held. It was a bear’s claw necklace similar to the one Ann wore. “For you,” he said. “For good luck.”

  “Thank you, Jimmy,” she said, taking it from him and looping it over her head. What a change in this man from the first time she’d met him. He now carried himself with confidence. Being able to go out and hunt must have made all the difference in how he felt about himself.

  The Indians arranged themselves on the ground, sitting on robes that Elaine assumed were buffalo or some related animal. Ann came forward and invited Elaine to be seated as well. The crackling of the fire calmed her, and the feel of fur beneath her reminded her of a shaggy dog she’d had as a child. It was a comforting sensation, and she was able to start relaxing. Isabelle sat on her other side.

  After about an hour, the door to the cabin opened, and Elaine sprang to her feet. “How is he, Doctor?”

  The man was wiping his hands on another square of blue fabric. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

  Elaine practically flew inside to see Jonathan propped up in bed, his arm clean and bandaged, looking worn out, but looking alive. “Oh, Jonathan!” She bent over and kissed him soundly. “I’m so glad you’re all right! But don’t you ever do that again!”

  He laughed, but sounded so tired. “All right. I promise that I will never get shot again. I’ll have to quit my job, though, and we’ll have to move someplace where guns haven’t been invented yet, but we can do that, right?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be impertinent.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Make him some nourishing broth, and let him sleep as long as he wants. I’m leaving some morphine here on the table, along with dosing instructions. It’s very important that you follow them exactly. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how he’s doing.”

  “Thank you so much, Doctor,” she told him, and he nodded as he walked out the door.

  Wesley, Dermot, and Preston looked thoroughly done in. “We’ll need to write reports,” Wesley said, his voice giving away how very little he wanted to do it. “We’re supposed to report in as soon as possible whenever a Mountie has been shot.”

  “But first you need some rest,” Elaine said. “You all look like you’ve been dragged backward through a hollow log.”

  “Come back to our cabin and take a nap,” Isabelle invited from the doorway. “There’s no sense in making Wesley and Preston go all the way back to Moose Lick just to return later to write those reports, and Jonathan can’t go into town for a while yet.”

  “Good thinking.” Dermot gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. “Come on, men. Naps and then reports.”

  They filed out, leaving Elaine in charge of Jonathan. She was glad to see that the Indians hadn’t left yet—in fact, they were adding more wood to the fire. Their presence was comforting, like they were guardian angels sent to watch over the situation.

  “You have some good friends out there,” she said, motioning toward the front of the house.

  “Yeah, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather serve with,” Jonathan said, his voice drowsy.

  “I mean the Indians. They’re sitting watch outside, waiting to see how you are.”

  “That’s . . . really nice.” He slid down until he was lying flat. “I’m going to sleep now, okay?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what you need.” She made sure he was covered, went to the kitchen to start a pot for some broth, and then took a minute to sit down at the table and cry with relief and gratitude. It was rather startling how exhausting those two emotions could be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The pain was excruciating. As Jonathan woke up, all he knew was wave upon wave of agony. Why did he hurt so much?

  When he was finally able to open his eyes, he looked over and saw Elaine napping next to him, her hair escaping its bun and tumbling around her face. She was truly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But why were they both napping in the middle of the day, and why was his arm on fire?

  He tried to sit up, but couldn’t seem to manage it, and fell back with an uncomfortable thump.

  Elaine’s head jerked up like a shot. She pushed her hair back from her face and smiled at him, but she looked worried. “Hello there,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Confused. And in pain,” he replied. “What happened?”

  “You were shot early this morning. You and the Mounties went out to find Dubois’s still. Do you remember that?”

  “Oh, that’s right. And the doctor came and stitched me up.” He winced at the memory more than the actual pain he was feeling at the moment. If he never had to endure getting another bullet dug out of his flesh . . .

  “Yes. He also left some morphine. Do you need some now? I think it’s time.”

  Jonathan automatically shook his head, but after trying to move his arm, he changed his mind. “Any idea why I can’t move it? And why it hurts so darned much when I try?”

  “He said the bullet went through a nerve. It could regenerate, or it might not.” Her voice was casual, but he picked up on what she was trying not to say.

  “Could I lose the use of my arm?” It was best to get it out in the open. He’d rather know exactly what he was facing.

  “There’s a possibility, but he wants to see how you heal before he makes any pronouncements.” Thank goodness that Elaine understood his need to know. If she had tried to deflect his question, it would have been so much more difficult to bear.

  She brought the morphine over to the bed and he swallowed it down. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “The doctor told me to make you some broth.”

  “Broth? I was shot in the arm, not the stomach,” Jonathan pointed out.

  “True, but you’ve also been through a great deal today, and you did go into shock for a little while. Let’s start with the broth and go from there, okay?”

  “All right.” How frustrating that she made sense when what he really wanted was a big slab of beef and a plate of potatoes with gravy.

  She brought him a cup of broth, and he sipped it dutifully. Then his stomach rebelled, and he handed the rest of it back. “I guess I’ll try more later,” he said, and she nodded.

  He had every intention of staying awake and keeping her company, but before long, his head was lolling again, and he just had to close his eyes. At least the pain was somewhat under control, allowing him to relax.

  ***

  When the three other Mounties arrived an hour later to write up their reports, Elaine let them in, but hoping it wouldn’t take too long. Jonathan needed to rest all he possibly could.

  “I’m sorry to be rushing this, but headquarters really does need to know what happened,” Wesley explained. “If Jonathan needs to go on prolonged medical leave or something like that, it’s best to get the paperwork turned in right away.”

  “I understand,” Elaine said. It was certain
that he’d be on medical leave. The question was, for how long? She didn’t imagine he could remain a Mountie if he only had one functioning arm, but she didn’t want to ask for confirmation. She needed to stay positive for Jonathan’s sake, and so she’d move forward as though she expected his full and complete recovery.

  The men gathered around the bed, and Wesley prepared to take a report.

  “Help me with the details, men, and I’ll write it up more neatly when I get back to the office,” he said. “We arrived at the trailhead at what time?”

  “The sun rose at seven forty-five this morning, and we were there shortly before that,” Dermot replied.

  “I got there around six thirty,” Preston added.

  Wesley walked them through each event of the morning. Elaine was rather surprised at how detail oriented they had to be, but she knew it was necessary, especially when a shooting was involved.

  “We commandeered the suspect’s personal belongings and brought them back to the office with us,” Wesley continued.

  “Except for the vials I broke,” Jonathan said.

  “Except for a few pieces of glass that were broken in transit,” Wesley said as he wrote that down.

  “More like, I took great delight in throwing them on the ground,” Jonathan clarified.

  Wesley chuckled and shook his head. “You know I’m not going to write it that way.”

  “I just figured you ought to know the full truth.”

  Wesley went on. “The suspect shot in the Mounties’ direction and struck Jonathan Murray in the right arm.”

  “You might add that it was unprovoked,” Preston suggested.

  “Except that I was sarcastic when he said we’d taken his livelihood,” Jonathan said.

  “If sarcasm was grounds for getting shot, Dermot here would be full of holes all the time,” Wesley pointed out.

  “I just want the report to be accurate.” Jonathan moved a little, then flinched. Elaine noticed that he was trying to act normal around his friends, but his face was turning a little gray, and she knew he must be in a lot of pain.

  “Do you feel as though Dubois had a right to shoot you?” Wesley asked, studying Jonathan’s reaction carefully.