“Thank you, sir—and to you.”
And just like that it was over. Louisa had been right in her belief that eventually her father would come around.
“He’s afraid,” she had said more than once by way of explanation.
“Of me?” Rico had been incredulous.
“No. Of us.”
Doc’s lecture was brief and to the point. “Your wife and both your daughters have been through a lot tonight, and I will not have either of you further upsetting them.” He turned to George. “Either you get behind this thing and understand you can’t change what is, or you stay away until Louisa has had the time she needs to regain her strength. She has her mother back—that much is clear.”
“I hear you, Doc.”
Doc grunted and turned his attention to Rico. “As for you, she’s already babbling on with Addie and both mothers about fixing this place up. She’s got no strength for more than caring for that baby in there, so do what you need to do to make sure she has what she wants without having to do the work herself.”
“Yes sir, whatever she wants. Can I see her now?”
“Yes, but keep it short. She needs her rest.”
Rico started down the hall, then turned to look at Louisa’s father. He pointed over his shoulder toward the bedroom. “You coming?”
* * *
Louisa couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open, so when she saw Rico and her father standing side by side at the foot of the large bed, she thought she must be dreaming. Her mother and Rico’s were in the corner with Addie, tending the baby.
“Rico,” she said weakly, trying to bring him into focus. “We have a baby girl.”
He sat on the side of the bed and took her hands between his. “I know. Are you all right?”
She laughed and then grimaced. “I’ll be fine. Stupid of me to be so clumsy, but Doc Wilcox assures me I did no harm to our daughter.”
“As if you could hurt anything,” Rico murmured as he kissed her fingers. “Your father’s here,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Papa?”
“Right here, Louisa.” Once again his voice shook with emotion and he swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I want you to know that me and Rico have…he’s a fine man, Louisa. He’ll make a good father.”
“Oh, Papa, I’ve prayed for this day.” She held out her hand to her father and he took it, standing on the opposite side of the bed. “Have you seen her?” she asked, looking from her father to her husband.
“Not yet,” Rico said.
“Almost ready,” Addie said as she wrapped the newborn in cloth and then presented Rico with the bundle that to him didn’t look much bigger than a small sack of corn meal.
“Hello, Little Bit,” he whispered, then added in awe, “She’s so tiny.”
“She’ll grow,” George Johnson grumbled, “and cause you no end of worry, I promise you that.”
Louisa’s mother came to stand next to her husband, her head resting on his shoulder as Juanita and Eduardo held hands from their vantage point at the foot of the bed. Addie slipped quietly from the room.
“Listen,” Louisa said. Everyone went still as they heard the bells from the church echoing on the cold night air. Louisa looked around at the two families. “It’s Christmas Day,” she said huskily.
Rico placed his little finger in the baby’s hand. “You hear that, Little Bit?”
“That child needs a name,” Rico’s mother announced.
“We decided to call a daughter Mary,” Louisa said. “Mary Isabel to honor my grandmother and Rico’s.” She looked directly at her father. “To honor them and her heritage.”
Her father bent and kissed her forehead, then he straightened and cleared his throat. “Seems to me that everybody here has had a chance to meet this young lady except for me and Eduardo. How about giving her grandfathers their turn?”
Rico stood and passed his daughter to his father-in-law, who stared at her for a long moment before handing her to Eduardo.
Seeing both sets of grandparents huddled around the child, Louisa tugged on Rico’s hand. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
“Are you truly all right?” he asked.
She stroked his face. “I have never been more all right in my life, Rico. I have our perfect child and my family back in our lives…and you.” She framed his face with her hands and pulled him to her, and the kiss they shared held the final release of all the anguish they had suffered over the last several months.
Her father cleared his throat and she and Rico broke apart, each grinning as they looked up at the others. “Doc said you need your rest, Louisa, so we’ll be going.”
“We most certainly will not,” his wife announced. “You men go find a bedroll so Rico can get some sleep. We’ve set up a crib for little Mary here in this bureau drawer for tonight, but first thing tomorrow, I want you to go get that cradle from the attic and bring it here.”
“And until then?” her husband demanded.
Addie stuck her head in the door. “We’ve got plenty of room at our house,” she said. “Rico can stretch out in the parlor here, and Amanda and Helen and I can take shifts until morning. Now scoot.”
Like her father, Addie was not someone to be argued with. Slowly the two families moved out into the hall after taking their turn to plant kisses on Louisa’s cheek and take one more look at the sleeping baby that Rico held, looking as if he had held babies his entire life. Once the others were gone, Rico closed the bedroom door and laid the baby in Louisa’s arms as he settled himself next to her, his arm around her shoulders. The two of them stared down at the infant.
“She’s so beautiful,” Louisa said.
“And why not?” Rico tenderly stroked her hair. “Just look at her mother. Now it’s time you got some rest.”
He reached for the baby.
“I wish she could be closer than that bureau drawer,” Louisa said. “What if she needs me in the night?”
Rico glanced from the bureau back to the bed. “Here,” he said, returning the baby to Louisa’s arms. Then he pulled the dressing table next to the bed, pulled the drawer out of the bureau and set it on top of the table, then straightened the padding the grandmothers had put inside the drawer. He held out his arms for his daughter. With something that Louisa saw as akin to reverence, he laid Mary in the drawer.
“You can reach her from there,” he said, “but promise me you’ll call for Addie or your sister if she needs anything.” He started toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Oh, no, sir,” Louisa replied with a mischievous grin. She patted the space beside her on the large bed. “You are staying right here, and if our Mary needs something in the middle of the night, her Papa can see that she has it.”
Rico laughed and pulled off his boots as he stretched out next to her so that her head rested in the crook of his shoulder.
From outside the window, Louisa could hear the muted voices of people leaving the church services, calling out holiday wishes as they headed home. From the makeshift crib, she could hear Mary making small sucking sounds as she slept. And from next to her, she heard the soft steady breathing of her husband, who had found so many ways to make all her Christmas wishes come true.
About the Author
Award-winning author Anna Schmidt resides in Wisconsin. She delights in creating stories where her characters must wrestle with the challenges of their times. Critics have consistently praised Schmidt for her ability to seamlessly integrate actual events with her fictional characters to produce strong tales of hope and love in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Visit her at annaschmidtauthor.com.
A Christmas Reunion
A Runaway Brides Novella
Amy Sandas
One
Wyoming Territory
December, 1879
Warren Reed had liv
ed in the northeast most of his life and was no stranger to winter winds, snow, and ice. He had expected some degree of hardship when he decided to make the move from Philadelphia to the Wyoming Territory in the middle of December. But as he rode horseback with nothing to shield him from an increasingly biting wind except his brand new sheepskin coat, his new Western hat, and an old pair of leather gloves, he seriously doubted the sanity of such a decision.
It didn’t help that he was blindfolded, with his wrists bound, and being escorted into the mountains at gunpoint.
* * *
Taking on an abandoned medical practice in the small town of Chester Springs at the base of the Shoshone Mountain Range was not the type of thing Warren had ever expected to do in his career. But when the opportunity arose, he had accepted it without much debate or introspection. It had been one of the rare moments in his life when he acted impulsively.
He’d been in the small Western town for only two days, not long enough to meet any townsfolk beyond the elderly lady who owned the boardinghouse where he’d gotten a room and the shopkeeper at the mercantile. With winter heavy on the ground, the citizens of Chester Springs seemed inclined to stay indoors, leaving the narrow roads through town eerily quiet even in the middle of the day.
At least the mayor, with whom Warren had been corresponding, had left behind a key for the doctor’s office before leaving town for a few weeks.
Determined to settle in, Warren had immediately begun the work of setting the abandoned office to rights and taking stock of supplies. Unfortunately, most of what he needed had to be ordered and could take weeks to arrive. It was with some disappointment and not a little frustration that he closed up his office just after sunset on his second night in town. He had hoped to be able to jump right into this new life he had chosen.
His feelings of dissatisfaction slid into a wary curiosity as he turned around on the boardwalk to find two men, who had obviously been waiting for him in the street, outside his office.
One of them was mounted and held the reins of two other horses while cradling a rifle in his arms. The other stood silently to Warren’s left, just a few paces away. They looked much the same as all the other rough-and-ready men he’d seen out West. Both wore the clothes of cowboys, with wide-brimmed hats shadowing their faces. Their only distinguishing features, as far as Warren could tell in the gathering darkness, were that the one on horseback had a full beard, while the other had the black skin of African ancestors.
Something about them set him on edge.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
The man to his left stepped forward, lifting his hand to show a pistol pointed squarely at Warren’s chest.
Warren stiffened, but knew better than to overreact. He’d been mugged his fair share in the big cities out East. But for some reason, this didn’t feel like a robbery.
“No shouting or you get shot. No struggling or you get shot,” the bearded man on horseback said in an easy conversational tone. “Just come with us peaceful-like and you’ll make it home again. Got it?”
“Where are we going?” Warren asked, keeping his eyes on the pistol.
“Can’t say,” the man replied.
The one pointing the gun at him gave a nod to the leather bag in his hand. “Does that hold your medical supplies?”
“It does.”
The man gave another sharp jerk of his head, indicating he wanted Warren to mount one of the horses. Since there didn’t seem much choice, he complied. Once he was in the saddle, they quickly tied his wrists and blindfolded him.
It would seem they wanted him for his doctoring skills, but why they felt they had to lead him away at gunpoint was beyond him.
Still, doctoring was what he had come here to do—to tend to the people of this wild territory. He’d fallen in love with this land seven years ago, when he’d spent a summer with his uncle up in Montana. So he wasn’t going to resist or argue their methods—especially not with guns drawn and the promise that he’d be returned after his services were rendered.
They headed straight out of town at a swift, intentional pace. The longer they rode, the more Warren was able to gather about the situation he’d be facing once they reached their destination. It must be nestled someplace up in the mountains, judging by the incline they’d been traveling for the last couple of hours.
He was surprised his captors would talk so openly about their criminal behavior, but the bearded one seemed to have a penchant for idle chatter. Someone had been shot. And from the sound of it, the wound had been come by during unlawful activity. A stagecoach robbery was Warren’s deduction.
Well, wonderful.
His first patient was going to be an outlaw.
Wherever they were going, Warren just hoped they made it there before he froze to death. His hands were already numb, as were his legs and face. He was not dressed for this kind of exposure.
“Damn storm comin’.” This was offered by the bearded man, riding to Warren’s right.
“Yep,” replied his companion.
“We gotta push through the pass before snow starts fallin’.”
“Yep.”
That was the only warning Warren got before the three of them started loping at a pace that had him bending forward over the pommel of the saddle. They kept up that grueling speed at a steep climb for what felt like another hour, though it was probably less. Their horses couldn’t possibly last much longer at such a pace.
And then they started a slow descent.
Not long after, Warren figured they had entered a valley, as there seemed to be some shelter from the wind that had been whipping at them for most of the journey. No more than ten minutes later, the horses came to a slow stop.
Warren was dragged from his horse. He couldn’t do much to assist in dismounting with his hands tied, but he could at least have had some warning to get his feet ready to hit the ground. He heard a grunt of annoyance when he stumbled in the snow, followed by a derisive mumble about him being a city slicker.
“It would help if I could see where I was walking,” Warren said. “Or do you expect me to tend to your friend blindfolded?”
There was a pause before the bandana was removed from his eyes.
They stood outside a long wooden building like the sort of bunkhouse he’d seen on large cattle ranches in Montana. It was made of thick logs, and a long porch stretched across the front, with warm light spilling from the deep-set windows.
Warren turned to get a better look at his two captors. The one who’d remained mounted during his kidnapping was younger than he’d expected, maybe only in his early twenties. He had bright blue eyes, and the full beard covering his face did nothing to disguise his youth.
The other man stepped forward to take the horses’ reins. He was clean-shaven, his black hair was shorn close to his skull, and his gaze was deep and intense, but he wasn’t likely much older than his partner. He gave Warren a passing glance before saying to his companion, “I’ll get the horses settled. You’d best get him inside.”
“I’ll need my bag,” Warren reminded them.
The black-skinned man wordlessly released it from the saddle and handed it to Warren before turning to lead the horses away.
“Come on, Doc,” the bearded one said. “Let’s hope we ain’t too late.”
There was a note of strain in the outlaw’s voice. The stakes must be high for these two to have traveled several hours to Chester Springs and back in order to fetch a doctor.
Warren followed him onto the porch and through the front door of the long building.
As he stepped inside, he was welcomed by a blast of heat from the big stone fireplace set into the far wall straight ahead. Unlike the bunkhouses he’d known in Montana, this place had an open living space spread out to his left, with a good-sized kitchen stretched along the wall to his right. A long wooden table with nearly a doze
n chairs around it took up much of the space between the two areas. Two hallways extended from the front room, one to the left and one to the right, containing doors to what he assumed were individual bedrooms.
As they stomped the snow from their feet and Warren did his best to shake the numbness from his fingers, he heard someone coming toward them from one of the wings. Light stretched from a room at the far end of the hallway. At first all he could make out was that the silhouetted figure was a woman.
And she was in a hurry.
“It’s about damn time you got back. Did you grab the doctor?”
Her voice hit him like a blow straight to his sternum. Warren took an instinctive step back. Old memories sliced through him like the sharp edge of a scalpel against raw flesh.
It couldn’t be.
They were hundreds of miles from where he had last seen Honey Prentice in Montana. That distance was the only thing that had made it possible for him to come back out West. He had assured himself there was no chance he’d accidentally run into the woman who had torn his heart from his chest all those years ago.
But her gasp as she stepped out into the room told him he’d been wrong.
She was as beautiful as she had been as a girl of seventeen.
And she was not happy to see him.
She crossed the room with long, swift strides that had her cotton skirts whipping about her legs. In an easy movement, she pulled the bearded outlaw’s gun from his belt before he knew what she was about and then turned the weapon on Warren.
Fire flashed in her brown eyes as she held the gun steady with two hands. “What the hell are you doing here, Warren Reed?”
Warren swallowed back the tight squeeze of his own fury as he stared coldly at the weapon and then at his former lover’s face. “You should ask this gentleman that question, since he and his friend didn’t give me any choice in the matter.”
“Are you crazy?” asked the stunned man at her side. “This here is the new doctor from Chester Springs that Jackson told you about.”
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