Abigail could see the shock rippling across Nathan’s face. Before she could blink, he dashed for the street.
Lizzie.
Dread darkened Abigail’s senses, making her feel faint and momentarily immobile. But Lizzie needed her. She couldn’t succumb to the horror and fear swirling within her. Hitching her skirts, she ran after Nathan, past the corral, across the dry, dusty grass, faster and faster. She skittered to a halt just shy of the street.
Two frightened horses snorted and stamped, their muscles bulging against the leads binding them to a flatbed wagon. High aboard the seat, a man struggled to control them. His face was pale, like the whitewashed sides of Wiley’s General Store.
“Ho, there, Bill. Be still now, Bess.”
A growing crowd practically drowned his harried words. Abigail pushed forward, afraid to see what drew them yet compelled to continue.
“I’m sorry, mister!” the man on the wagon shouted, straining against the reins. “She came out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to stop.”
The words birthed fresh horror in Abigail’s chest. “Please, let me pass.” She repeated it over and over until at last she broke through the jostling of elbows and shins.
The sight that met her forced her to gasp. Nathan huddled next to Lizzie’s still form, his face twisted by fear and pain. Lizzie was unconscious in his arms, her face drained of blood and appearing as white as milk. In stark contrast, a purplish bruise had formed on the little girl’s brow.
“Is she…?” The words faded from Abigail’s mouth. She sank onto her knees next to Nathan.
His fingers trembled as he lifted a strand of hair from Lizzie’s cheek. “Sweetheart?” Tears soaked his eyes as he scanned the crowd. “Someone fetch Doc Goodenough.”
“I’ll go.”
Abigail’s head rose at the familiar voice. Caroline stepped from the throng. Where she’d come from or how she’d heard, Abigail had no idea. Nonetheless, her friend’s presence bolstered her courage. “Thank you,” she mouthed—but Caroline was running down the street toward Doc’s before Abigail could finish.
Nathan surged to his feet, startling the horses and bystanders even more. “Get back!” he roared, hovering protectively over his daughter’s body. “Get those animals out of here!” He jerked his chin toward the wagon then bent and gently lifted Lizzie into his arms.
Though the seething fury in Nathan’s voice set her insides to quaking, Abigail reached out and clutched his elbow. His head snapped toward her, his eyes burning coals that seared through to her heart.
“Not the doctor’s office.” Abigail lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s too far. Not the livery, either. It’s not sanitary. Bring her to my cabin.”
The anger in his gaze melted away, but what remained was far more devastating.
He clung to her with his eyes, pleading for reassurance she could not give. Instead, she grasped his arm and refused to blink, as though she might with that small gesture convey the strength he needed.
“Put her in my bed, Nathan,” Abigail urged. “Doctor Goodenough can examine her there.”
He nodded, his throat working, fighting a swell of emotion Abigail knew could erupt at any moment. The crowd parted as he passed, their silence lingering like a bad omen—except that Abigail didn’t believe in omens. She lifted her eyes heavenward—only for a moment, but long enough to pour every ounce of energy she possessed into one simple word.
Please.
Her legs numb, she scrambled up the cabin steps ahead of Nathan. Murmuring quietly to Lizzie, he brushed past Abigail toward the bedroom and laid his daughter gently on the bed. Abigail wished it could be softer, more forgiving than the straw and ticking she’d slept on since moving to Calico. She rushed to a cedar chest next to the nightstand and pulled out a spare blanket.
Lizzie let out a sigh as Nathan settled her against the pillows. It was the first sound she’d made since being struck by the horses.
Abigail’s gaze collided with Nathan’s. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded, the hope lighting his eyes matching what she felt. She held her breath as he bent and whispered into his daughter’s ear. “Sweetheart, if you can hear me, it’s time to wake up. I’m worried about you. Can you open your eyes for me?”
Lizzie’s mouth curled into a pucker, but she did not speak. The disappointment on his face bit sharply into Abigail’s heart. She patted his arm and forced a small smile.
“It’ll be all right. The doctor will be here soon.”
In fact, footsteps sounded on the porch moments later. The door burst open and Dr. Goodenough rushed in, followed closely by Caroline.
“How is she?” Caroline’s question hung unanswered in the small cabin. Her friend was red-faced and breathless, and Abigail figured she’d run the entire way to Dr. Goodenough’s office.
Dr. Goodenough dropped his bag to the floor with a thump and leaned over Lizzie’s tiny body. He grunted and laid his ear to the child’s chest. “What happened?”
“Chasing a bird or a butterfly—who knows?” Nathan raked a hand through his hair. “The driver of the wagon said he didn’t see her until it was too late.”
Dr. Goodenough straightened and moved to Lizzie’s feet. Beginning with her toes, he felt along her limbs, checking the bones for breaks. “Did she go under the wheels?”
Nathan paled, his knuckles white as he clutched one of the bedposts.
Abigail took his hand, waited until he shook his head, and then spoke for him. “We don’t think so.”
A sigh rumbled from Dr. Goodenough’s chest. Moving to his side, Abigail’s gaze remained locked on him. Redness rimmed his eyes and a shudder shook his hands, but the doctor was young and had shown some skill when he tended to Tom Kennedy after the fire. Surely he could care for one small child. He had to! She pinched her lips together and willed strength into his trembling fingers.
“Well?” she breathed when she could bear his silence no longer.
Dr. Goodenough moved to Lizzie’s head and lifted first one eyelid and then the other. Something obviously satisfied him, for he drew back his shoulders and gave a nod, turning to peer at Nathan.
“She took a bad knock to the noggin”—he pointed at his own tousled hair—“but it looks as though nothing is broken. She should be fine in a week or so, but until then, no running or overheating herself.”
“Fine?” Nathan appeared to be puzzled for a moment, uncertain whether to actually trust the doctor’s words. His fingers ruffled his hair. “Then why is she still unconscious?”
Lizzie stirred as though in answer to his question. “Pa?”
Relief knotted in Abigail’s throat. Dropping onto his knees next to the bed, Nathan grasped Lizzie’s hand and briefly pressed it to his mouth. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“My head hurts.”
By the smile stretching Dr. Goodenough’s lips, Abigail knew he was just as relieved by the words as she and Nathan.
“Like I said”—he bent to retrieve his black bag from the floor—“she oughta be fine in a week or two.” He withdrew a small bottle from the bag and then pushed the handles closed with a snap. “A teaspoon of this mixed in a cup of water to cut the bitter taste. No more.” His brows rose in stern warning. “And only if she requires it for pain. It should help her sleep.”
Sensing Nathan was loath to leave his daughter’s side, Abigail accepted the bottle and wrapped it firmly in both hands. A teaspoon. No more. She would remember.
“As for you, little girl,” he said as he bent to peer kindly at Lizzie, “no playing near the streets. Doctor’s orders. I’m sure you won’t mind missing out on school while you get better, either.”
Lizzie smiled, and Nathan sighed with relief. After a moment, he staggered to his feet. Dr. Goodenough tapped him on the chest with a bony finger and motioned him closer to the door. Abigail took his place next to the bed, a smile for Lizzie already fixed into place.
Dr. Goodenough’s voice dropped, but there was no mistaking the note of concern. “Watch for dizzy spells. Fetch me if she shows signs of being disoriented, or if she becomes nauseous. I know I don’t have to tell you how lucky she is.”
A shudder shook Nathan’s body and his head bobbed in glum agreement.
From the corner, Caroline spoke. “God was certainly watching over that child today.”
All three started, as though none of them even remembered she was in the room.
Her hands lifted, and she shrugged. “It could have been much worse.”
Though at first Nathan stiffened at Caroline’s mention of God, his body gradually relaxed and he nodded. Strangely, his grudging acceptance of the remark eased the weight squeezing Abigail’s chest. She turned her attention to Lizzie. The child was going to be all right. They were all going to be all right.
The weak hope sputtering in her chest since she’d left the general store flared into life. God hadn’t abandoned them after all—He’d been right there alongside them the entire time.
Weariness settled across Nathan’s shoulders like a yoke. After returning to the livery and spending a grueling day tending to the mule teams, he wanted nothing more than to take Lizzie home and settle in for the night—but he couldn’t do that yet. Not without thanking Abigail for tending to his daughter first. So he dunked his head in the horse trough, ran a rag across his back and neck, then put on a clean shirt and headed for her cabin.
A firm knot of guilt formed in his belly—a feeling he’d been fighting all day. The last thing he’d wanted to do was leave Lizzie after her accident, but the work at the livery wouldn’t wait. Nothing in this wilderness waited—not even long enough to grieve.
He knocked then spoke the moment the door opened. “How is she?”
Abigail pressed her finger to her lips. “She’s fine. Sleeping.” She pulled the door wider and motioned him inside.
Nathan shot a worried glance toward the bottle of laudanum Dr. Goodenough had left on the nightstand. Many a man had found himself addicted to the stuff, and he didn’t like the idea of giving it to his daughter even in small doses.
Following his gaze, Abigail shook her head and then trailed after him to the bed. “No, she didn’t need it. After I gave her something to eat, she drifted right off.” She gestured toward a kettle dangling from the hook fastened to the wall next to the fireplace. “Are you hungry? I made chicken soup.”
Which explained the savory aroma drifting through the cabin. Nathan hesitated, warring with the rumbling in his belly and the desire not to inflict undue strain on Abigail’s already-taxed finances.
“I have plenty,” she insisted, her face an irresistible mixture of expectation and encouragement.
Lizzie slept peacefully with her small fist pressed against her cheek. What harm could it do to allow her to rest while he and Abigail talked? At his nod, pleasure lit Abigail’s eyes. She turned and went to the cupboard to retrieve a cup and a bowl from the shelf.
“There’s fresh water in the pitcher.” She indicated the counter with a tip of her head and held out the cup.
“Thanks.” Careful to avoid her fingers, Nathan poured himself a drink while she spooned a hearty helping of soup from the kettle and placed it on the table.
“Sit,” she said, laying a spoon alongside the bowl. “I’ll cut you a slice of bread.”
Bread, too? Nathan’s mouth watered. He tried not to let the chair scrape and wake Lizzie while he took a seat. Already, the aroma from the soup tantalized his senses. His stomach rumbled, but he waited until Abigail returned with the bread and sat across from him before lifting his spoon.
“Mind if I say grace?” Her cheeks colored softly. “We have a lot to be thankful for, despite—everything.”
Nathan’s gaze dropped to the chicken and carrots bobbing in his soup. He hadn’t prayed before a meal since before Charlotte died. Still, it felt right. He set down his spoon and laced his fingers.
“Father, we thank You for this food. Please bless it. Use it to nourish our bodies. Especially Lizzie’s. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
That was it? He lifted his head in surprise, but Abigail was already rising and returning to the counter to fetch a jar from the shelf.
“Honey for the bread.” She placed the jar beside his bowl and flitted back to the sink.
She’s nervous, Nathan thought, watching her. Was it his presence alone, or the fact that she’d sensed his reluctance at facing God? He reached for the jar and used the tip of his knife to scoop out a portion of the thick, amber liquid.
“I have coffee, if you like,” Abigail said, swishing a bit of water around in the pot to cleanse it. “I was just getting ready to brew some fresh.”
“I reckon I could use a cup after the workload today.”
“Busy?”
Nathan nodded as he dug his spoon into the hearty soup. “Those fellas from the mining company sure rode in hard. I had to rub down every one of their horses before I put ‘em out to pasture. When I finished with that, I put in a little extra time working on the lean-to. Figure it’s best I get a handle on that before the real bad weather sets in.”
She smiled, and the conversation settled into a comfortable flow as Nathan told her about his day and Abigail shared the details of her afternoon with Lizzie. Before long, his belly was full, some of the ache had eased from his tired back, and it was time to go. He rose and reached for his empty bowl.
“I’ll get that.” Abigail quickly claimed the dishes and carried them to the sink. “I hope it was to your liking.”
“The meal was wonderful, Abigail. Better than I’ve had in months. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Hesitation flickered in her eyes. “Will you—will the two of you—I mean…”
He understood her concern. She’d seen the livery and knew the conditions there weren’t ideal for nursing an injured child back to health, which was why Nathan had spent several hours converting the lean-to into a bedroom for Lizzie. He’d even rigged a canvas roof to keep her warm and make her feel as though she were in a tent instead of a shack attached to the barn.
“We’ll be fine,” he said, offering a smile of thanks.
She smiled back, setting off a curious wobble in Nathan’s midsection. Suddenly he knew he’d best get Lizzie home—and soon. “Sorry to leave you with a mess,” he said, striding toward the bed where his daughter lay, “especially after everything you did today.”
Abigail’s light tread was a gentle patter behind him. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I was sort of hoping you’d bring her by tomorrow.”
Nathan bent, scooping Lizzie into his arms, and then paused. “You sure about that? She’s bound to be underfoot, knot on the head or no.”
Once again, a smile curved Abigail’s lips. “She keeps me company. Makes this place not so quiet.” Tears dampened her eyes, which she quickly tried to hide with a turn toward the nightstand. When she swung back, calm had returned to her face. She held out a bottle. “The laudanum Dr. Goodenough left.”
“Think she’ll need it?”
“She might. Best if you keep it on hand just in case.”
Nathan nodded, but before he could shift Lizzie’s weight and reach for the bottle, Abigail slipped it into his shirt pocket and gave it a pat.
“There you go.”
Nathan held his breath. The motion had brought her closer. Even with his daughter between them, he could smell the clean scent of her hair, see the rosy complexion of her skin. She was a beautiful woman, alone in a town full of scoundrels and thieves. Nathan hated leaving her, but his first priority was to his daughter.
“Thanks,” he whispered, drawing back a step.
Abigail spun toward the bed and returned with the cover she’d put over Lizzie. “Take this. I have another,” she said, draping the blanket over Lizzie’s small form.
Nathan adjusted his arms to let the blanket fall between his body and Lizzie’s so he wouldn’t lose it on the way to the livery. He didn’t want to accept any more from Abigail; she’d already done so much. But she obviously cared for his daughter, and he wouldn’t hurt her feelings by rejecting this last gesture of concern.
“Thanks,” he repeated.
She held the door open while he and Lizzie slipped through. Not once did the child stir. In fact, her head lolled sleepily against his chest and she let out a murmured sigh that let him know she dreamed. He paused on the porch, certain there was more he should say before he left, but he was unable to find the words.
Grabbing a corner of the blanket, Abigail tucked it under Lizzie’s arm then pushed a strand of yellow hair from her flushed cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweetheart,” she said, surprising Nathan when she pressed a kiss on the spot where Lizzie’s hair had been. Her gaze lifted to meet his, the gloom of evening making her eyes mysterious. “You too.”
Mouth dry, Nathan could only nod. He eased toward the steps, hesitating when he reached the first one. “Abigail?”
Her hand on the door, she looked back at him. “Yes?”
“Make sure you bolt the door tonight. And if you need me…”
She smiled. “Thank you, Nathan.”
Devoid of his hat, he tipped his head instead and hurried across the dry grass toward the livery. It had to be the extra work and worry that were making his thoughts such a scramble. Still, after he tucked Lizzie into her new bed, he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting to Abigail’s window, where the glow from a single candle lit the night. She was alone in that house, but judging from her demeanor today, she was coping with it fine. Better, really, than Nathan had expected.
He smiled as he turned and pulled the suspenders from his shoulders. Anson had done a fine job, raising his daughter alone. Nathan could only hope he himself would do as well with Lizzie.