Carson's Christmas Bride (Hero Hearts; Lawmen's Brides Book 3)

by Natalie Dean

  “I can’t regain my health if I stay in bed all day long. I’m going to end up an invalid.”

  “Miss Sarah says that you ex-ex—you used up all your strength and you’re in a weakened state,” Lucy recited. Clearly, she had paid attention to the instructions of Sarah Baker Harlow, who had only allowed her husband to be taken to the Boone cabin after all the children had been vaccinated. “She says you must rest.”

  “Miss Sarah is a shrew,” Carson returned. “You’re going to end up just like her if you go about giving men orders like that.”

  “Eat your oatmeal,” she told him.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “School is closed until the smallpox epidemic is over,” she told him.

  “How’s the town doing?”

  Restored to harmony, Lucy handed him the tray bearing the bowl of oatmeal and sat on the side of the bed. “Still sick,” she said. “Miss Sarah goes every day to do her nursing. She left me in charge of the inside, and Erich is in charge of the outside. He doesn’t mind so much now that we have Deputy.”

  “Deputy?”

  Lucy’s eyes danced. “Miss Sarah bought us a horse and we named him after you. Erich is in charge of taking care of him. Erich’s got work, too. He’s taking care of Teacher’s place.”

  “Teacher?” Either he was losing his wits, or the smallpox really had weakened him, because he was having difficulty following little Lucy’s conversation.

  “Teacher. Miz Greenwell. She’s old and can’t get around, so Miss Sarah asked her if she’d like to hire Erich to do chores for her. Now he’s making money,” Lucy said, a note of envy entering her voice, “so’s he can save up for his own horse. Miss Sarah says he can only do the work if he keeps up with his schoolwork. But we’ll be ahead of everyone when we go back, because Mrs. Graves took care of us while Miss Sarah was nursing, that was before you married her, but now she’s back home with Deputy Graves, but Miss Sarah says it’s all right because we’re not alone now that you’re here. You sleep a lot,” Lucy accused him.

  He couldn’t defend himself against the charge. The recent days were a blur of crowded memories that jumbled together with no sense of order: the showdown in the middle of town with Graham Boone . . . Sarah putting herself in harm’s way to protect him . . . him breaking down the church door with Justin Ward, who had turned out to be less of a cocky loudmouth than Carson originally thought. He didn’t remember arriving at the cabin. He didn’t remember much of anything.

  “What day is today?”

  “It’s Tuesday.”

  “What date?”

  “I don’t know. Teacher tells us that and we don’t have school now, so we don’t know.”

  Her logic was irrefutable but still annoying. “How long have I been like this?”

  “In bed, you mean? Since you came. Miss Sarah says you’re getting better. Mostly she’s been spoon-feeding you broth, like a baby, but before she left this morning she said that she thinks you’re well enough for oatmeal.”

  He thought he should be well enough for more than oatmeal. He was a young man with a beautiful bride, but none of the patchwork memories provided any evidence that he had been able to enjoy the privileges of marriage. He rubbed his chin. “I’m still hairy as a grizzly,” he remarked.

  “That’s just what Miss Sarah says!” Lucy exclaimed, delighted by the symmetry.

  “Does she now?” Carson replied grumpily. He remembered something about kissing and beards and while he couldn’t recall the exact words, he remembered the context. He was a married man and he hadn’t so much as kissed his wife.

  “She does, and she says she’s going to shave you when you’re well enough. She said she can’t shave you until all the blisters are dried up. You’d have terrible scars if she didn’t wait. Eat your oatmeal; I don’t want to have to tell Miss Sarah that you didn’t listen.”

  “Miss Lucy,” Carson said belligerently, “you do know that I’m the adult here and you’re the child?”

  “I know that, but you’re in a sickbed and you have to listen to me because I’m in charge of the inside,” she told him.

  He was going to have a talk with Sarah about her instructions. Carson leaned back against the pillows which had been plumped up behind him. He felt weak but he wasn’t going to let eagle-eyed Lucy know that or she’d likely blab to Sarah.

  “What else is going on in town?”

  “Do you want me to feed you the oatmeal, like Miss Sarah does the broth?” she asked eagerly, noticing his condition with a zeal that had very little to do with compassion and more to do with her desire to be “in charge inside.”

  “I do not,” he said. “I’m eating it at my own pace.”

  “It’ll get cold,” she warned. “Cold oatmeal doesn’t taste good.”

  “I’ve eaten worse,” he said. He continued to rest against the pillows, his eyes closed. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was already tired, just from the effort of sitting up and eating a few spoonfuls of oatmeal. “Tell me what else is going on in town. You said that Deputy Graves is at home?”

  “Yes, and Mrs. Graves is caring for him. He’s not well enough to go back to working for the Marshal, so Marshal Walker and Deputy Ward are taking care of everything. It’s been quiet.” Then Lucy fell silent and Carson guessed that she was thinking of her father.

  “With the smallpox in town, it’s bound to be quiet,” he said.

  She nodded. “Pa has it. Miss Sarah is nursing him in the hospital.”

  “She’s nursing—"

  Carson halted. Regardless of what he thought of that no-account bully, Graham Boone was Lucy’s father. “I reckon she’ll take good care of him,” he said diplomatically.

  Lucy nodded. “I don’t think he’s coming back here,” she said.

  There was no soothing answer to this. If Boone was in the hospital with smallpox, he’d only gotten a temporary reprieve from his sentencing. He had escaped from jail, he’d caused a disturbance in the town, he’d tried to force Sarah to marry him. It wasn’t enough to hang him, even though he’d brought a gang into town with him. But it was enough to put him behind bars for a bit.

  “I reckon that depends, honey,” he said. “What do you want to happen?”

  “I don’t want him to be dead,” she said. “But . . .” her lower lip quivered and he saw tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t want him to come back here.”

  She began to cry, her thin little body shaking with the force of her sobs.

  “Honey,” Carson said, forcing himself to sit up so that he could envelope her in a comforting hug. “We’re going to be a family, okay?”

  “We are?”

  “Of course we are. What did you think?”

  “I don’t know. With Pa in the hospital . . . I don’t know.”

  Carson drew a deep breath. Making an explanation that would comfort a child was a lot harder than confronting drunks and rustlers. “Lucy, do you trust Miss Sarah to do what’s right?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you trust me to try to do what’s right?”

  She nodded again. A faint frown creased her forehead as she tried to decipher the meaning behind the questions. Carson was moved to pity her; poor kid, what kind of life had she had, growing up with Graham Boone? Her mother had done all she could to raise her children right, but she’d had to fight her own battles against a violent husband who did not provide for his family.

  “Well then. You just let us handle it, what do you say? It’s up to me and Miss Sarah to make sure that you and the rest of the kids are brought up right. It’s what your Ma would have wanted, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Ma was firm on that,” she said. “She said we were Bible-raised and we weren’t to turn to the Devil’s ways, no matter what.”

  “I reckon that’s why God sent Miss Sarah into your life,” Carson said. “Miss Sarah, she sure does think a lot of you kids. I don’t know why,” he joked, “I know you’re just a passel of brats, but she seems to think
you’re little angels.”

  “She likes us?” Lucy asked hesitantly.

  “Likes you? Glory hallelujah, Lucy, I thought you were smarter than that. She doesn’t just like you, she loves you.”

  “She does?”

  Carson nodded his head solemnly.

  “She’s not going back to Charleston?”

  “What makes you think she’d do that?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought that she’d want to leave after everything . . .”

  “As long as you don’t put any more frogs in her trunks, I think she might be persuaded to stay,” Carson said.

  Lucy grinned. “That seems like a long time ago.”

  “That’s what happens when you love someone and someone loves you. Time moves faster because there are more happy times.”

  “Why?”

  “Blamed if I know. But it sure seems like that’s the way it’s been since Miss Sarah came to Knox Mills.”

  Chapter 20

  “Mrs. Bak—" Dr. Darnley paused and managed a smile. “Mrs. Harlow, I must remember that. Although one hardly expects to find a newly-wedded bride spending her day in a hospital.”

  “There will be plenty of time to be a bride when the crisis has passed,” Sarah assured him as she filled a clean basin with hot water from the fireplace.

  Dr. Darnley sighed. “We’re getting fewer patients, but the outbreak seems to be lasting longer than it did during the summer. I don’t understand it. But that’s not what I came to tell you. There is no reason that you have to nurse Graham Boone,” he said firmly. “I shall see that he is cared for. You owe him nothing.”

  Sarah put soiled rags in the basin to wash and began scrubbing. Her dress, one of her oldest ones, was already stained from the morning’s nursing duties and the apron covering it was soiled as well. But hospitals were not for the fastidious and she paid no attention to her appearance. It was enough that she had arrived clean that morning and that her thick black hair was pulled behind her head in a severe knot with no adornments. “I owe his children,” she said simply. “I must do whatever I can to give him the care that I would give to any other patient.”

  “Are you a martyr?” he asked bluntly.

  Sarah shook her head. “I am a Christian, Dr. Darnley, that is all. If Our Lord could forgive those who mocked him as he died on the cross, I can certainly do what I can to ease Dr. Boone’s suffering now.”

  “It’s more than he deserves,” Dr. Darnley snapped. “If it were up to me, he’d be before a judge now.”

  “He’s in no condition for a trial now. I should think that, when he has recovered, Marshal Walker will consider his re-sentencing.”

  “I’ll do what I can to see that Boone never sets foot in Knox Mills again,” Dr. Darnley said. “I have no sympathy to spare for a man who assaults a woman such as yourself.”

  Sarah smiled. “But you would not deny him medical care.”

  “No—of course not, it is my profession and my calling—but he has not done me a personal injury. You have decided, then? You are staying in Knox Mills?”

  “Of course. My husband is the deputy here. The children are here.”

  “They are not your children. You have no responsibility to stay on their behalf.”

  “But what would happen to them if I failed them? Besides,” she wrung out the wet rags and placed them on the nearby wooden rack for drying. “I love them. I want to stay. I am hoping that Dr. Boone, when he is capable of making a decision, will see that it is better for them to be here with me than to leave with him.”

  Understanding dawned in the doctor’s eyes. “I see,” he said. “So there’s a motive to your actions after all? An altruistic motive, to be sure,” he added hastily, “but a motive nonetheless.”

  “I suppose so. All the same, I’d feel more at ease if I knew what the Marshal’s plans are for Dr. Boone after he has healed.”

  “Go ask him,” Dr. Darnley suggested. “He’s likely in his office, or making rounds with that new young deputy. Go,” he urged. “I’ll manage here for a spell.”

  “I look . . .” Sarah’s voice trailed off, the belle of Charleston for a moment supplanting the nurse of Knox Mills.

  “You look like a woman who has been taking care of the stricken,” Dr. Darnley told her gently. “And you’re a beautiful woman.”

  Abruptly he turned and left the room that had been set up as a makeshift washing center.

  Sarah watched him leave as she rolled down the sleeves of her dress and removed her apron. She had been sought after by beaux since she had been a girl of fourteen and she recognized the expression she had seen in Dr. Darnley’s eyes. But her days as a coquette were over. She was a married woman now.

  A married woman with a caveat, she thought as she put on her cloak and left the hospital. Because Carson’s sleep was still restless and interrupted by bouts of delirium, she did not sleep in the bed with him. Instead, she slept on the floor beside him on a straw mattress, waking through the night when he stirred to make sure that he was well. Sometimes he knew her well enough to smile and mumble that it was time for a kiss, a suggestion that she parried with a gentle pat on his whiskered chin. Other times, feverish and weak, he stared as if he did not recognize her.

  She was not surprised by his relapse. The sudden expenditure of physical energy on the day that he prevented her from being coerced into marriage with Dr. Boone had sapped his strength and he was now as weak as he had been when the smallpox had suddenly claimed him. But he was getting better and that morning, when she looked in on him before leaving for the hospital, she had been relieved to hear that his breathing was even and his skin color much improved.

  Soon, she would be able to shave his beard. Sarah smiled to herself and felt herself redden, even though there was no one else who could have read her thoughts.

  “Mrs. Harlow,” a voice called her name.

  Sarah turned to see Marshal Walker hurrying to catch her. “Marshal, it’s a pleasure to see you. In fact, I was on my way to your office.”

  Jack Walker eased his pace so that they were walking side by side. “Oh? What can I help you with?”

  “I—this is somewhat awkward, Marshal.”

  Jack’s keen gaze examined Sarah. “Maybe not so much as you think, ma’am,” he said evenly. “If you’re wondering what’s going to happen to Boone when he’s well enough to leave the hospital and cured of the smallpox, I can assure you that he’s not going to be troubling you again. I’m sure that Carson will do everything and anything to protect you, once he’s up and about again.”

  “Yes, I have no doubt of that. It’s—"

  “How is that scamp doing?” Jack asked, his words belied by the concerned expression on his face. “Not many brides have to play nursemaid to their bridegrooms.”

  “Better, thank you for asking,” she said. “I left Lucy with instructions to make sure that he eats oatmeal for breakfast. I think he’s well enough to advance beyond broth. Lucy enjoys lording it over anyone she can, so I have no doubt that she has given him very strict orders.”

  “I don’t know how well Carson will handle that. He’s used to being on his own. Now he’s acquired a wife and a ready-made family.”

  “That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, Marshal.”

  “Let’s go into the office,” he suggested, sensing that this was not a conversation to be conducted in the main street of town. “Justin will be out and about and the one good thing about a smallpox epidemic is that it tends to keep crime low.”

  He held the door open for her and entered the office behind her. As he had said, the office was empty, although he frowned when he saw the messages on his desk. The smallpox had hit the Comanche and the fort wanted all neighboring communities to be vigilant.

  “Is something wrong?” Sarah asked as she noticed the frown on his face.

  “Nothing new,” he said, scanning another message. “Nothing to worry about.” He’d feel better, though, when Benjamin was fit to return to his
duties. He didn’t expect to see Carson back for at least another fortnight; that bold rescue of Sarah Baker had depleted his vigor and although the smallpox was clearing up, the weakness left in its wake was not. Justin Ward was doing better, though; it seemed that he had grown up in a hurry and his knowledge of the area was proving useful.

  It was Justin’s message that concerned him, however. There were reports of smallpox in East Knox Mills, where the freed slave community lived. They wouldn’t be coming to the hospital for treatment and if the truth were told, he couldn’t be sure that they would have been welcomed at the hospital. Some folks in Knox Mills owned slaves and they had funny ideas about such things. But if the outbreak could not be contained, it would spread eventually, and it could consume Knox Mills, even as the town was slowly recovering from the disease.

  “Marshal, what is it?” Sarah asked.

  He told her. Sarah’s eyes grew large as she listened. “But they must have treatment!” she cried out.

  “Ma’am, you’re from Charleston, South Carolina. Would Charlestonians be willing to share their sick quarters with former slaves?” he asked bluntly.

  “I—I don’t know. But they cannot be left to suffer with no aid.”

  “I don’t expect they’d come into town anyway,” he said. “Even for treatment. They keep to themselves, mostly.”

  Sarah forgot that she had come to see the Marshal to learn more about Graham Boone’s fate. “The smallpox will devour them,” she said. “That cannot be allowed.”

  “Ma’am—you have family responsibilities now,” Jack reminded her. “Those children, and Carson . . . you can’t go off to treat people who’d just as soon you stayed away.”

  But Sarah was already on her way out the door.

  Chapter 21

  Carson insisted that he was well enough to join the rest at the table. He was a bit too optimistic in that prediction, but with Erich’s willing help, he managed to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen, leaning on the boy’s shoulder.

  Sarah smiled at Erich. “Thank you,” she said. “Let’s bow for prayer. Our gracious Father, we thank you for this food which you have provided. Thank you for these children who are doing so much to help the household. Thank you for your healing powers as you return Deputy Harlow to strength. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and give us the strength we need to serve you. In your Son’s precious name, Amen.”