Another whimper, and the shadow crept out from its shelter, one black paw at a time.
“There you go. Come on.” He crooned the words as a fluffy runt-dog inched toward him. “What are you doin’ here?”
The dog finally came close enough to sniff Micah’s hand, then he tucked his haunches and sat in the snow. A second later, the little thing hiked its tail back up and stood, legs spread and shivering.
Micah couldn’t help a chuckle. “That snow too cold for your backside?” He eased closer and stroked the animal’s back. The dog was barely bigger than the spread of his hand, and almost all fur. He didn’t seem to mind being touched, so Micah slipped his fingers under the dog’s belly and scooped him up, tucking him close to his chest.
The little shadow snuggled close, as though relieved to be safe from his nightmare of the past day. He must belong to Miss Chastain. There couldn’t be any other logical reason a pet dog like this would be stranded in the mountains, days from any settlement. And this wasn’t exactly the kind of animal a frontiersman kept for companionship.
He tucked the dog into the crook of his arm and started up the mountain. “Time to go back, boy. I know someone who needs you as much as you need her.”
six
Micah’s load was already awkward, but he settled the little dog on top of the crate where it could lean against his chest. The animal burrowed in, relaxing into the ride.
The hike back up and down the mountains strained his muscles almost as much as hauling the cart the day before. But he finally made it, and the sight of camp filled him with the last burst of energy he needed.
Miss Chastain opened her eyes as he set his load beside her. She seemed groggy and turned her head to get a better look at the things he brought. When she saw the dog, her eyes widened and she gasped. “Handsome.”
“Found this fellow tucked under a bush near your wagon. Thought he might be a friend of yours.”
She reached for the dog. “Of course.” The pup scrambled into her arms, licking her chin as she held him close. “I missed you, too.” She cooed to the dog, a smile finding her face, lighting her features for the first time since he discovered her on the side of that mountain. She’d been pretty even in her pain, but the smile made her radiant.
He blinked, then straightened and stood. Best he focus on what needed to be done here. “Did you have any excitement while I was gone?” The rifle still lay where he’d left it.
“All was quiet. Thank you for the crate. The vials inside are safe?”
He turned back to her. “No damage.”
“Good.” She tucked the dog in beside her, pulling the pelt higher to cover all but his head. “I’ll be up tomorrow, then I’ll figure out how to get them to Settler’s Fort.” Her eyes drifted shut, as though she hadn’t the strength to keep them open another minute.
His chest tightened. She wouldn’t be going anywhere tomorrow. But surely she realized that.
If not, tomorrow his most critical task would be to make her see reason.
Something pressed on Ingrid’s chest, pulling her from sleep. She inhaled a deep breath, then groaned as a familiar knife plunged through her ribs.
She opened her eyes, but the blinding light made it hard to do anything but squint. As she struggled for a shallower breath, she pushed at whatever sat atop her chest. Her hand caught a mass of fur as she swatted, and the bundle loosed a high-pitch cry.
A flash of memory washed over her. “Handsome?” Forcing her eyes open, she raised her head, fighting to ignore the pain in her ribs. “I’m sorry, boy. Where are you?”
He stood beside her, back raised and tail tucked between his legs as though still trying to determine why he’d been accosted.
“Come here.” She reached for the dog and pulled him close to her side. “This is a better spot for you.” Breathing was hard enough with her broken rib; she didn’t need more weight smothering her chest, even if the little Bichon weighed less than five pounds, according to Papa’s scale in his laboratory.
Papa. A fierce burning surged up the back of her throat, stinging her eyes. He couldn’t be dead. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that the best part of her life was gone?
Papa had been her world. Her friend. Her greatest champion. His work had given her purpose. His dreams had been her own for as long as she could remember.
How could it all be gone? Crushed with that wagon on the side of a mountain. She pulled Handsome closer, tucking him into her shoulder so she could breathe in his puppy scent. At least she still had this gift from her father.
And the vaccines. She had to take the vials to Papa’s old medical school friend in Settler’s Fort. Smallpox had already killed so many in this massive territory. It had been over a year since Papa received any correspondence from his old college chum, but when Dr. Stanley sent a wire desperate for vaccines to protect the town from a new outbreak in a nearby settlement, they’d had to act fast.
Every day she lay on this pallet of furs was one more day lives might be lost. Papa had given his own life to this cause. She couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. Nor Beulah’s. Not even the kind wagoner who’d agreed to take them through the mountains, even though winter was fast approaching. If only they’d listened to his warnings. Yet, hiring Mr. Sorenson had seemed like the only way to deliver the vaccines—and get themselves there to assist with the doctoring.
All three of them had wanted to be there to help, even Beulah. A fresh wave of grief slipped through her for the faithful maid. Sweet, dutiful Beulah. More friend than employee.
“You’re awake.”
She sniffed, working to clear her senses before she turned to face her host. She opened her mouth to respond, but emotion still clogged her throat. Instead she nodded and swallowed again.
“How about another cup of tea and a corncake?”
Her stomach gurgled, making the ache of hunger clearly felt. But that tea made her so groggy. It felt like she’d been sleeping for weeks. “Corncake sounds wonderful. But no tea, thank you.”
He reached toward the fire, then turned back a moment later, a plate and cup in his hands. “How about water instead? We need to make sure you drink enough. How’s the leg feel?”
A surge of pain radiated through her leg and hip, as though he’d touched the limb with his words. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out.
“Still bad, huh?” He dropped to his knees. “I need to pack it in snow again while you eat. We’re fighting the swelling.”
A dim memory surfaced of him leaning over her leg, icy wetness freezing her skin, numbing the pain as shivers overtook her body. It was hard to say which was worse—the constant agony of pain, or being so cold and miserable.
But there was one other ache that she was no longer able to deny. She dropped her gaze to the blankets. “I, um, don’t suppose you have a chamber pot around here do you?” Heat flamed to her cheeks. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss with anyone, especially a man.
But there was no denying the need, and she wasn’t sure she could get herself up to take care of things without help.
“Oh, um . . . yes.” He leapt up and strode toward his other shelter where he appeared to keep supplies. Surely he didn’t actually have a chamber pot.