fourteen

Micah dropped to his knees beside Ingrid. “Are you warm enough?” Several layers of furs covered her, but night had cooled the air considerably.

“Much better after that stew.” Her voice sounded as tired as she looked.

“Shall I brew willow tea for you?” Perhaps if the tea dulled the edge of her pain, she could sleep.

“In a minute.”

She must have something to tell him, then. He held his tongue, letting his gaze wander to the leaping flames of the fire. She would speak when she was ready.

It didn’t take long for her gentle voice to break the quiet. “Do you have a home, Micah? I realized today I don’t even know that about you.”

He glanced toward the darkness. “These mountains are my home. I set up camp in one spot and stay there until it feels like time to move on.”

“The mountains are beautiful, aren’t they? I never imagined this wilderness would feel so majestic. Even with everything that’s happened, I feel so much more alive here.”

He turned back to her, and the soft smile that touched her lips, even through the exhaustion marking her face, made his heart lift. She was so beautiful, yet it was her inner strength that drew him like he’d never expected to be drawn to a woman again.

He forced himself to look away.

“Do you miss having one place to call your own? Or for that matter, do you miss having a place to store things? It must be hard having no more than you can carry with you.”

Was she simply making conversation, or was there a serious question she wanted to ask? He wasn’t sure he was ready for a deeper discussion, so he took the lighter path and slid her a look. “I’ve found I can carry more than one would expect.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “It turns out you can even haul an injured woman when forced to.”

Her tone sounded so demeaning, it made him want to turn and face her to make his point clear. But he forced himself to stare into the flames. “I’m thankful I can help, that I found you on that mountainside—alive. If I’d been a day later . . .” He couldn’t finish the thought. It brought back too many memories of times he wasn’t able to help.

Her hand touched his arm, and he could feel the heat all the way through his coat. “I’m thankful you found me, too. More thankful than I can say.”

He finally met her gaze, but shadows made her thoughts impossible to read. So he nodded, then looked away, back to the flame—a welcome distraction.

She pulled her hand from his arm, leaving a barren place, and only the crackle of the fire sounded.

Usually, he loved the quiet. The peace of silence, where nothing was expected of him. But a part of him couldn’t stand to let go of the connection that now stirred between them. So he searched his mind for something to keep her talking. “How do you know the doctor in Settler’s Fort?”

“He and my father worked together as chemists after graduating from their university.”

“When did your father begin doctoring?”

“After I was born. My mother died giving birth to me, and I think he hated feeling helpless as she slipped away. He went into doctoring a few months later.” She was quiet for a moment. “His first love was studying medicines that would provide new cures, but he loved working with patients, too.”

“So you never knew your mother?” The thought struck him harder than it should have. Even though she’d lived among Boston’s elite, her world hadn’t been free of hardship.

“My father raised me, with the help of a nanny, then tutors. But he was always there. The center of my world.”

He swallowed down the burn in his throat. Now her world had shifted off-kilter, though she didn’t seem afraid or unsure of what to do next. How had she developed such a strength?

“I lost a parent when I was born, too. My father. Except he left by choice, not by death.” The words slipped out before he even knew they were coming. But maybe they would take her mind off the loss of her father.

“Oh, Micah.”

Those two words, soft in the stillness of the night, settled over him like a thick blanket.

“If only he’d known what he was missing out on.” Her voice, so gentle, soothed like a healing salve.

A knot clogged his throat, and he had to clear it to speak what he’d always wanted to say. “It didn’t bother me so much that he wasn’t around, but that he left my mother to fend for us alone. She worked as a laundress most of my youth, taking in work from wealthy homes, slaving over hot fires and boiling pots, ironing and mending by lamplight late into the night.” He paused, swallowing down that knot again.

When he shot a glance at Ingrid, she was looking at him with an odd expression. “Did your mother ever work in the homes on Cambridge Street?”

He looked away. Should he tell her? A part of him wondered if she really was that little girl in his favorite memory. “Yes.”

“Did you ever go with her to the houses? Do you remember how old you were?”

“Sometimes. We lived in Boston until I was about nine, I think.” He couldn’t help turning back to her. “Why do you ask?”

“I wonder if we met. I have a tiny memory of a boy who came with his mother for some kind of business with the housekeeper. I was so lonely that day, waiting for Papa to come home for the midday meal as he’d promised. That boy played stones with me, and Papa even came and played with us for a while. I remember being so happy. It was almost like a real family, with a brother to play with and be my best friend.”

He swallowed again, and his voice barely croaked through the knot in his throat. “That was one of my favorite memories, too.”

Her gasp sounded over the crackling fire. “That was you.”

He nodded. “It must have been. I remember it just the way you described.” And he couldn’t help sinking back into that day, the pure pleasure of feeling like he was a part of something special. He could even remember the rich ring of her father’s laughter.

He couldn’t have said how much time passed before Ingrid spoke again, pulling him from the memories. “Tell me more about your mother. And how did you become a doctor?”

“Mum worked so hard. I apprenticed with a doctor when I was barely old enough, mostly because he was the only man I could find to take me on. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to take care of me for even one more day. When I set out my own shingle, I planned to begin providing for her. Finally.

“But she’d passed away the year before. The woman who sent me a wire to tell me said she thought Mum’s heart went bad. But I think it was pure exhaustion.”

He’d never told anyone that. Not even Ella. Why he was saying it now, he couldn’t have said. Maybe the lateness of the hour and his exhaustion clouded his good sense.

Gathering what little strength he had left, he turned back to Ingrid. “I’d better make that tea now so you can sleep.”

Ingrid eyed the brooding sky as the sled finally settled over a smoother section. The jostling today didn’t ache as much as the past three days on the trail, but the thought that the coming rain or snow this afternoon might end their travel early filled her with more lightness than it should.

Every day it took to get these vaccines to the people of Settler’s Fort mattered, but her entire body ached with the pain radiating from her leg and rib—not to mention the pounding in her skull.

She glanced at Micah, who led their procession, with Samuel riding on his back. The boy’s tousled hair bounced against Micah’s wide shoulders as he slept. Not a bad way to ride.

What did Micah think of the coming storm? Camping in a downpour wouldn’t be pleasant, but maybe they could build a quick shelter and use the furs for protection.

A quarter hour later, Micah stopped them with a raise of his hand. “The sky looks to snow any minute, but there’s a cave about half an hour ahead. A good place to get out of the weather.”

Her chest surged. That would be so much better than a makeshift shelter.

That half hour seemed to double as snowflakes began to fall. They’d crested a ridge and begun a downhill descent, which kept them moving at a faster pace than before. Micah led them at an angle, his stride sure as he began to weave around boulders, finding a trail that would have been impossible to discover under so many layers of snow.

At last, he stepped sideways, leading them into a crevice in the mountain. The opening became a cave, and Jackson’s hooves clicked on the stone floor as they passed through the entrance.

“Look, Mama. An outlaw cave. Do you think there’s hidden treasure?” Samuel’s voice rang loud in the small enclosure.

“I don’t know, son. We’ll look after we make camp.” Joanna’s voice dragged with weariness. She’d handled more than her share of cooking and camp chores—not to mention climbing mountains for three days now.

“The cave doesn’t reach much deeper than we can see. Go ahead and settle in. I’m going to gather wood.” Micah turned back toward the entrance and stepped out into the falling snow.

Joanna set to work with her usual efficiency, assigning Samuel simple tasks. When she asked him to pour corn for the donkey, the boy plopped down on the stone floor. “I’m tired, Mama. I don’t wanna feed Jackson.”

Here was a chance she could help. Ingrid leaned forward. “You know what? Your little donkey is so smart, I bet we can teach him a trick or two.”

“A trick? Like magic?” He sat up straight, then struggled to his feet.

While she entertained Samuel with the donkey, Micah brought in three loads of wood, forming a large pile near the fire Joanna was kindling to life.

After dropping the last of the sticks, he brushed the snow from his coat and turned to scan their camp. His attention hovered on the boy, who now sat with Handsome in his lap. Something in Micah’s eyes looked almost haunted, but then his gaze shifted again, landing on her. Or rather, her leg. His focus roamed the length of her propped limb before coming back to meet her eyes. “Would you like to stand for a minute?”

Hope surged in her chest. Could he be sincere? “Yes, please.” She pulled the furs aside, ignoring the blast of icy air that hit her lower half.

He stepped beside the cart as he still studied her. “I need to adjust the splint first so your foot can rest on the ground. We’ll need to move you out of there so you can sit flat on the floor.”

“What can I do to help?” Joanna appeared at Micah’s side, wiping bark from her hands. Twin lines formed between her brows, a sure sign of worry.

“Let’s raise her out, just like before. You support her legs.” He stepped around the cart so he was on the side of her good leg, then bent low, his face coming near hers. “Wrap your arm around my neck.” His breath heated her face, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

She did as he asked, while he fit one hand around her waist and the other under her good leg. He was merely her doctor, assisting her to a more comfortable position, yet the gentleness with which he touched her made her feel cherished.

Until her broken leg shifted, and a knife plunged through the bone. “Oh.” The sound slipped out before she could clamp her jaw shut, and she clung to Micah.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured in her ear, his breath fanning her hair. Then his voice shifted. “Let’s ease her down.”

The stone floor was hard and cold, but she did her best to ignore the sensations as Micah knelt beside her broken leg. He fiddled with the cloth wrappings for a minute, then wrapped his hand around her ankle as the wood pieces fell away from either side of her limb. The release of pressure sent another pang through the injured area.

She fought the sting pricking her eyes, then pressed them closed as tears threatened harder. After inhaling a deep breath, she paused, then exhaled, focusing on releasing a steady stream of air.

When she forced her eyes open, Micah was studying her, worry creasing his brow. “Does that hurt a great deal?”

She shook her head. “Not a great deal.” Not as much as those first few days after the crash.

Slowly, he released her ankle. “Sit exactly like this for just a minute while I cut the wood shorter. Don’t move at all, understand?”

She nodded, afraid to unclamp her jaw lest the tears spring up again.

He stepped away, taking the two boards with him, then the sound of a hatchet on wood echoed through the cave.

“What’re you doin’, Mr. Bradley?” Samuel’s little boy voice blended with each blow.

“Cutting these shorter.” The hatchet blows ceased, then Micah stepped back to her side and knelt again.

“What’re you gonna do with those?” Samuel crouched beside Micah like a shadow.

“I’m going to tie them next to Miss Chastain’s leg so the bone heals straight.” His tone stayed calm and relaxed, as though he was perfectly accustomed to explaining his every action to a child.

“Samuel, come help me lay out the blankets.” Joanna’s voice interrupted the boy’s next question.

“Aw, Mama. I’m helpin’ Mr. Bradley now.”

“I can handle this for a bit. Best help your ma.” Micah placed the wood and wrapped the first cloth around her leg.

“Yes, ma’am.” Samuel released a long-suffering sigh as he pushed to his feet and ambled toward his mother.

Ingrid braced a hand on either side of the wood pieces to help hold them in place while Micah tied. “You’re good with him.”

One corner of his mouth tipped. “It’s hard to have so much energy sometimes.” He spoke as though he’d experienced such.

“Was that the way you were as a child?” She kept the question soft, gentle so he didn’t feel like she was prying.

His mouth lost any sign of a smile, and he was quiet for several heartbeats. “My daughter was like that.”

She froze, searching his face for what emotion might show there. He didn’t take his focus from his work as he fastened the second tie. “She sounds like a special girl.”

The corners of his mouth flicked. “She was.”

“What was her name?” Maybe she shouldn’t press for more details, but he might like the chance to talk about her.

“Rachel. She had red hair and freckles just like Samuel. She used to scrunch her nose like he does, too.”

Her heart panged as an image formed of a little girl with copper curls and Micah’s dark eyes, snuggled in his lap while he read her a book. “She sounds adorable. How old was she?”

“Seven.” The light left his eyes, and he pulled the cloth snug, then straightened.

The tight line of his jaw proved she’d pushed too far. She should have focused on happy times, not asked a question that would remind him of her death. “I’m sorry, Micah.”

“Ready to try standing?” He rose, then stepped around behind her. “I’ll lift you. Don’t try to use the broken leg, just let it rest.”

She did her best to obey, working her good leg underneath her as he lifted under her arms. The injury ached, and her damaged ribs let themselves be known, too. But she forced herself to move past the pain as she rose to a full standing position.

The cavern swirled around her as she reached a height she’d not experienced in well over a week. She grappled for something to hold on to, especially as Micah’s grip on her loosened.

Before she could inhale a breath, she felt herself falling.