15

THE HORSES PLODDED ALONG the snow-covered path that Deirdre hoped led to her father’s old hunting cabin. She and Connor used to play there as children, but in the swirling snow, her sense of direction was not at its best.

Icy fear chilled her more than the biting squalls. What if she led them the wrong way and they became lost in the woods? In this storm, no one would find them and they’d all freeze to death.

She pushed back the claw of panic. She had to keep her wits about her, for everyone’s sake. Most of all for Sean. Deirdre would not let anything happen to her sister’s firstborn child.

Her arm tightened about the boy. God had been with them so far. She had to trust He’d see them through this crisis.

Branches tore at her face, catching her hat and jerking it from her head. The wind whipped her hair, tearing it from the pins to blow across her eyes. She bent over Sean to shield him from the brunt of the storm’s onslaught.

At last, they came into a clearing. Looking up, Deirdre’s pulse quickened. Even under the weight of snow, she recognized the oddly-shaped tree that marked the area near the cabin. It should be around the next bend.

“We’re almost there!” she shouted over her shoulder, hoping her words made it back to Matthew.

Seconds later, relief bloomed as the familiar structure came into view. Thank you, Lord. Deirdre guided Ginger to a post beside the cabin and waited for Matthew to come and take Sean from her. She slid to the ground and led the mares to the shelter Daddy had made for the animals. As much as she’d like to tend to the horses properly, she didn’t have the luxury of time. Sean’s well-being had to take priority.

She climbed the rickety stairs to the door Matthew had left ajar and stepped inside. Other than being dirty, the cabin remained untouched by time. The great stone hearth dominated the main area. A wooden table and two chairs sat in one corner.

While Matthew laid Sean on the dusty sofa, Deirdre went to the fireplace and pulled a box of matches off the mantel. With stiff fingers, she opened the container. A flood of relief loosened her muscles. They had matches to start a fire. The woodbin beside the fireplace brimmed with logs and kindling. Thank goodness Daddy always left basic supplies ready for anyone who might come upon the shelter.

She handed the matches to Matthew and went into the bedroom in search of blankets or quilts. Grabbing the linens off the bed, she lugged them out to the front area.

Matthew had pulled the sofa closer to the hearth, where the beginnings of a fire glowed. “Help me get Sean out of these wet clothes.”

Deirdre dropped the bedding, tugged off her cold-stiffened gloves, and began to unbutton Sean’s coat while Matthew worked at getting the soggy boots off. A slow burn invaded Deirdre’s fingers as she fought to unfasten the buttons. Eventually she succeeded and pulled off the sodden coat. Matthew removed Sean’s torn pants and woolen socks. Blood oozed from a long gash on his left thigh, likely where the tree had landed. Shivers now wracked the boy’s slight frame.

“Shivering is a good sign,” Matthew said. “When the body can’t shiver, a person is in serious trouble.”

Deirdre nodded, trying to ignore the increasing discomfort in her own extremities. “If I remember my studies, we have to warm the torso first.”

“Correct.” Matthew unbuttoned his own coat and removed his wet scarf. “I’ll treat the wound while you dry him off.”

Using one of the blankets, Deirdre pressed it to the boy’s body, careful not to rub the delicate skin. Matthew picked debris from the wound and used some melting snow to wash it, then tied his scarf around the leg. Once finished, he chose another dry blanket and wrapped the boy in an almost mummy-like fashion, leaving the material loose around his feet.

“How are his toes?” Deirdre tried to quell her anxiety over the fact that Sean hadn’t stirred during the entire process.

“I’ll check them now.” He spared her a stern glance. “But you need to get dry yourself.”

“I’m fine. Sean needs—”

“Deirdre.”

His stern voice seemed to drain all the fight from her. “All right. I’ll change in the other room.” She pushed the hair off her face, suddenly aware of the shivers coursing through her body. Ignoring the pain in her feet, she grabbed one of the blankets and started across the room, but after two steps, her legs gave out beneath her and she crumpled into a heap.

Through the haze in her brain, she felt Matthew lift her and carry her to a chair by the fire. Then he knelt and started tugging off her boots.

Deirdre couldn’t make her fingers move to help him. The adrenaline had seeped from her body, leaving her as weak as a newborn.

Matthew set her boots aside and raised his head to meet her gaze. “I have to remove your stockings now.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. He reached beneath her skirts, still crusted with snow, and peeled back the woolen stockings. As Matthew gently dried her legs and feet, hot prickles of pain shot through her toes. Deirdre clamped her lips together. At least the discomfort kept her from feeling embarrassed by the situation. Only her absolute trust in Matthew made the incident bearable.

He peeled off her overcoat and laid a thick blanket around her shoulders. “Can you stand up to get out of your skirt?”

“I think so.”

He helped her to her feet, and once assured she was steady, he turned away to tend the fire.

Beneath the cover of the blanket, she dropped her waterlogged skirt to the floor and sank back onto the chair, wrapping the coverlet around her. She’d only been up to her knees in the water, and thankfully her undergarments were dry. She inhaled and attempted to gather her strength. Matthew and Sean needed her. She wouldn’t let them down.

The door creaked open. She looked over to find Matthew poised at the opening, a metal pail in hand.

“I’m getting some snow to melt. I’ll be right back,” he said and disappeared outside.

The cold dissipated as the warmth from the fire bathed her cheeks. If it weren’t for the pain in her extremities, she might have been lulled to sleep. Wearing the blanket like a cloak, Deirdre walked over to her nephew, so innocent and vulnerable. She crawled behind him on the sofa and wrapped her arm around him, willing her body to infuse him with her warmth and vitality.

Please, Lord, help us to know what to do for Sean. Cover him with your healing grace.

Her thoughts turned then to her brother Danny who had drowned when only a little older than Sean. They couldn’t lose another child.

Her family would never recover.

Amid a swirl of wind and snow, Matthew entered the cabin and shut the door behind him. He stomped the slush from his boots and carried the pail over to the fire, where he hung it on a hook above the flames so the snow could melt.

He rose and turned to the sofa. Deirdre had crawled in behind the sleeping boy. She lay with her eyes closed, one arm over her nephew in a protective gesture that made Matthew’s throat tighten.

The fate of these two precious people rested with him. And he had none of his medical supplies with him. He had nothing but a dirty shelter, a fire, and the snow. A tidal wave of powerlessness and fear engulfed him. How would he keep them alive with only these rudimentary elements?

With my help.

The words entered his mind like a whisper, shaking him to the core. Would it do any good to pray? He’d tried when Priscilla and Phoebe were so sick. And still his wife had died. He’d tried to pray on the battlefield for the gravely injured soldiers, yet the majority didn’t make it. He, himself, had barely gotten away with his life.

So why would God help him now?

Matthew knelt before the sofa. Deirdre and Sean’s even breathing gave him momentary comfort. He opened Sean’s blanket to check his toes. Still stiffened with cold, Matthew enclosed one foot within his hands and blew gently on it to warm it. Taking care not to rub the skin, he repeated the process with the other foot, then checked the boy’s hands. They were much nearer to normal temperature, so he repositioned them against Sean’s stomach and wrapped the blankets around the boy once more. He then repeated the same process with Deirdre’s feet before tucking the covers around her. As a further precaution, he laid another quilt over them both. He knew it would take time to warm the body, that it was crucial to be patient and not heat the core too quickly.

Matthew pushed up from his knees, the sharp stinging in his toes reminding him he needed to take care of himself as well. He removed his boots and socks, placed them near the fire with the others, rolled up his soggy pant legs, and dried his feet. Then he dragged a chair over to the hearth and stretched out his feet toward the warmth.

Matthew’s mind whirled with helpless frustration. The only thing left for him to do, whether it helped or not, was pray. He closed his eyes and poured out heartrending entreaties to the Almighty.

Please, Lord, don’t allow this boy to die because of me. Guide me to do what is best for him, whatever will help him recover. Grant peace to his parents and to all who are worried about him. And please cover Deirdre with your healing power as well.

He must have dozed off—for how long Matthew didn’t know—but the fire had all but burned out when he awoke. Quickly he added more wood and struck another match to get the blaze going once again. Their survival depended on this source of heat.

Once Matthew had repeated his ministrations to Sean, rewashing the wound with the melted snow, he turned his attention to Deirdre. Carefully he unwrapped her feet and repeated the same process to warm them. Holding her delicate foot in his now-warm hands seemed impossibly intimate. He only prayed she didn’t awaken to find him in this awkward position.

Once he’d tucked the blanket back around her, he picked up one of her chilled hands. Cocooning it within his own, he breathed onto their joined fingers to warm them. As he did, he stared down at her beautiful face—the long lashes against her skin, the tiny mole beside her brow. He reached over to brush a lock of hair from her forehead, attempting to ignore the fear that choked him. His worst nightmare had come roaring to life. Once again, a woman he cared for, as well as a vulnerable child, relied on his skill to keep them alive.

Would he fail this time, too?

Sheer determination stiffened his spine. Even if God chose not to answer his prayers, Matthew would not—could not—fail again.

A new truth wisped through his mind and wound its way around his battered heart. Feelings so strong they could not be denied bled through every pore of his being. Although Matthew had cared for his late wife, he’d never been in love with her. And though he’d been incredibly saddened by Priscilla’s passing, his grief was for Phoebe, that she would grow up without a mother. He knew from bitter experience nothing could replace that bond.

Now, as his fingers brushed the satiny paleness of Deirdre’s cheek, he knew he’d never before experienced this type of connection with another person. Only his devotion to his daughter came remotely close, a bond that had been strengthened thanks to this amazing, fearless woman who gave her all to those she loved.

Once again, he took her hand in his, but when she stirred, he quickly released it.

She blinked at him, squinting in the dim light from the fire. “Matthew.” She attempted to rise, her attention going immediately to Sean. She caressed the boy’s cheek with her hand. “How is he?”

“Still asleep. But he seems to be gradually warming up.” He couldn’t keep his gaze from the rich spill of hair across her shoulders. “How do you feel? Any pain in your hands or feet?”

Her nose wrinkled. “My toes are burning.”

“You have a mild case of frostbite, but you should be fine.”

She flexed her fingers and peered at him. “Were you holding my hand?”

Heat crawled up his neck, and he made a point of stoking the fire. “Just checking your fingers.” He dared not look at her for fear his feelings might be written across his face.

He rose then and walked to the window. In a poor attempt to gauge the time, he peered outside, but the dark overhang of trees and the dense falling snow made it impossible to tell anything. It could be early evening or the middle of the night. If only he’d worn his pocket watch today.

In the blackened pane of glass, Matthew’s disheveled reflection stared back at him, the glow of the fire providing a backdrop of light.

They were alone in the woods, and it appeared they’d be here until the storm ceased. Unless the O’Learys sent out a search party, which, given the weather, seemed unlikely.

Matthew stared at his somber image in the darkened glass. The one thing he prided himself on above all else was his integrity. He was a man of honor, and he would do what he had to, as a doctor and as a man, to protect this woman and child. No matter the consequences to himself.

“Matthew?”

He startled, jarred from his thoughts.

Deirdre stood beside him, wrapped in the blanket, worry etched in the lines around her mouth. “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?” With her hair loose about her shoulders, she seemed much younger than her years.

A wave of tenderness shot through him, and he attempted a smile. “Everything’s fine. Except the storm isn’t letting up. I’m afraid we’re trapped here until it lessens.”

“I don’t mind—as long as you’re here. I know you’ll keep us safe.” She gazed at him with such trust that the air stalled in his lungs.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. To reaffirm they were both alive, that they had survived. He moved closer and brushed a knuckle down her cheek. Her pupils darkened, her breath caught. The scent of wood smoke and ashes swirled around them. He closed his eyes on a sigh. No matter how much he wanted to, it wouldn’t be right. Not with them virtually alone in the woods.

Matthew prided himself on being a gentleman, and a gentleman would never take advantage this way.

He gave her a soft smile. “Come and have something to drink.” Taking her hand, he led her to the pail he’d removed from the fire. Earlier, he’d found a tin cup, a ladle, and a spoon in a cabinet. He ladled some of the melted snow into a cup and handed it to her.

She took a sip, then drained the contents. “Thank you.” She set the cup on the table and began to rummage in the cupboard. “I wish there was something to eat.”

“There isn’t. I checked earlier. You should try to stay off your feet to protect the skin.”

He guided her back to the sofa, only to find Sean had shifted to take up most of the space. Instead, Deirdre sat on a chair by the fire.

Matthew ladled out more water and took it over to Sean. He lifted the boy’s head and managed to get a few sips past his cracked lips. Even a tiny amount would help keep him from becoming dehydrated.

He checked Sean’s body temperature, wishing mightily for a thermometer. The boy seemed warmer than the last time he’d checked, and Matthew offered a prayer of thanks. He bundled him back up in the coverings, then retrieved another chair to sit beside Deirdre near the fire.

“Daddy, Connor, and Gil will be out searching for us. If they made it back from the city.” Deirdre stared into the flames in front of them. “I wish there was a way we could let them know we’re all right.”

Matthew nodded. “I’d hoped to be able to head back once Sean was out of danger, but we’ll have to wait until the storm lets up.”

Matthew longed to ease Deirdre’s worry. He needed to find a way to divert her attention.

Anything to distract her from agonizing about her family.

Anything to distract him from thinking about the two of them in this intimate setting—alone.