“More comfortable?” He tucked the edge of the fur around her shoulders.
She nodded, more with her eyes than her head, which must mean her head ached. Not surprising with all she’d been through.
“I don’t know your name.” He shouldn’t force her to talk since the effort probably pained her, but if they were going to be spending a while together, it seemed he should know what to call her.
Her mouth parted—working, as though she was trying to summon moisture. Her lips were bright red and dry. He pressed his hand to her forehead, still feverish. She needed water next.
“Ingrid.” The word came out in a rasp, and she cleared her throat. “Ingrid Chastain.”
The name sifted through his mind, settling in as though he’d known it for years. The words formed a picture of innocence, purity, and beauty. Exactly as she appeared.
Her eyes opened a bit more, her face tipping so she could look at him better. Her mouth opened, working for another word. “Yours?”
Heat flushed up his neck. He’d been out in this wilderness so long, he’d lost all decent manners. “Bradley. Dr. Micah Bradley.”
Her eyes widened a little more, and his stomach flipped. He hadn’t called himself doctor in five years and hadn’t meant to say it now. He had no right to the title anymore. He’d proven himself far too unworthy.
Turning away, he focused on rekindling the banked fire. Too much snow had fallen, dampening the coals, so he had to start from scratch with flint and dry tinder from his stack.
His cold hands fumbled more than normal, and maybe not just because of the frigid weather. The presence of the woman lying just behind him weighed heavy. Why had he brought her here, thinking he could somehow save her life? Yet, what else could he have done? He couldn’t leave her to die on the mountainside. Although death may still be her outcome.
After far too long, he worked the fire hot enough to melt snow. A few more minutes warmed the liquid, and he lowered a cloth pouch of shredded bark from a white willow into the water.
The chatter of tiny animals drew his attention, and he slid a glance to the three chipmunks who’d ventured into camp. They kept themselves several strides away, possibly because of the woman they weren’t accustomed to seeing behind him. Her presence didn’t cease their steady chirping, though.
He reached for the pouch at his waist and pulled a small handful of oats to toss to them. “I don’t have the good stuff today. You’ll have to come back later.”
They scurried toward the grains, scooping them up like beggars gathering coin. With a few final chirps, his friends scampered away. He’d miss those urchins when they went into hibernation, but maybe the timing was for the best. He now had someone else who needed him a great deal more.
At least for now.
When the tea was finally ready, he carried the tin cup to her. “Try to drink some. This will help with your pain and fever.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek. Still warm, but not more than before. A good sign.
Her long lashes flicked upward, her eyes meeting his without searching, as if she knew exactly where to look for him. Lifting her head, she reached for the cup. He didn’t release it into her hand but helped guide the mug to her mouth. Her lips were still so chapped; she needed bear grease to protect them from the wind and cold.
After drinking half the liquid in the cup, she sank back against the fur, panting.
“Those broken ribs will be painful for a few weeks. Try not to strain yourself. Sleep is what will help the most for now.”
She studied him, fear edging into her eyes for the first time. “Where are the others?”
A boulder formed in his gut. She wasn’t strong enough to hear about the others. Some of them were likely kin, or at least good friends.
He looked down, examining the contents of the cup. “See if you can finish this.” When he raised the tin to her lips again, she accepted the drink, but her eyes never left his.
He didn’t meet her gaze, but her penetrating stare pierced his skin as he kept his focus on the cup.
The fact that he didn’t look at her may well frighten her, but the truth couldn’t be any better than her wildest fears. All the members of her party were dead, killed in a wagon crash. Not only was she utterly alone in this mountain wilderness, she had at least two broken bones and a fever—which might stem from internal infection or trauma, either of which had the potential to take her life. How much worse could her situation be?
But a slip into despair when she heard about her friends might well be the death of her. She needed to heal a little before facing the news.
She made a noise as she sipped the last of the tea, and he pulled the cup away, analyzing the specks of bark left at the bottom. “That should help you feel better. Sleep now.”
As he started to back away, she grabbed his arm, gripping with a strength he’d not have credited her with. “Doctor.”
He forced himself to look at her. “Please, call me Micah.”
“What of my father? Beulah. Our driver. Where are they?” All hint of pain had fled her eyes, replaced by dark determination.
No. This wasn’t the time to tell her. She wasn’t strong enough yet. He forced his most calming expression. “You should rest now. We can talk later.”
“Please.” She tightened her grip. “Tell me.”
She probably wouldn’t rest until she knew. He swallowed, summoning some kind of words that might ease the pain. “I’m sorry. No others survived.”
That determination wavered the smallest bit as her red-rimmed eyes shimmered. Her throat worked. “Are you sure?” Her words slipped to a whisper.
This was the part he’d never learned to handle. Especially not when the mere words conjured a wave of despair that stole his breath. “I checked each of them. I’m sorry.”
Her hand slipped from his arm, and he took it in his own, his wind-chapped skin contrasting starkly with her black leather gloves. He had so little to offer this woman. “Miss Chastain. Nothing I can say will ease your loss, but know that I’ll do everything in my power to see you well and on your way back to your home.”
A gasp pulled his focus back to her face, as much as he didn’t want to see the tears there. Her reddened eyes had rounded, fear touching them again. Or . . . maybe not fear.
“The box.” She clutched his hand. “Do you have the box?”
He scanned his memory for the container she might be referring to. “I saw several crates around the wagon. Which one do you mean? Some were broken open.” And the thought of traipsing back out in the snowfall held no appeal.
“The box of vials. It’s about . . .” She released her grip to spread her hands twice as wide as her body. “They were packaged carefully. I have to find that crate.” She raised her head as though she planned to stand and hike back to the wagon herself.
He pressed a hand to her shoulder. “I’ll find it.”
She lay back and studied him. “You will?” Her scrutiny made his neck itch.
But he nodded. “I will.”
Finally, she relaxed, her eyes drifting shut as though she could no longer hold them open. Probably the willow tea taking effect. “Thank you.”
After tucking the fur around her again, he stood and stepped back. He couldn’t help but study her, even as he analyzed her request. Of everything she would fight for after the news he’d just given her, a box of vials seemed almost absurd. Perhaps her mind was slipping from the awful strain she’d been through today, both physically and emotionally.