Would-Be Wilderness Wife

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Yell, and have nearly a half dozen men appear to help her? Some women would have been delighted by the prospect. She could imagine her friend Maddie crying out and then sitting back with a grin to watch the fireworks. But Catherine felt as if fine threads were weaving about her like her father’s surgery silk, binding her to this place, these people.

Was she really ready to be that close to anyone again?

* * *

Drew left Catherine and returned to the main cabin so he could help Beth, bringing with him the lacy doily his sister had left on his table and depositing it on her bed. He dozed for a while on one of the beds he used to share with his brothers, rousing twice to poke Levi into silence. Beth woke him before dawn and stumbled off to bed herself. Drew leaned against the hard rocks of the hearth and watched his mother.

She was a proud woman, sure of her skills and her faith. Unlike Catherine, she’d never followed any calling but the keeping of hearth and home and the running of the family farm while his father was logging. She’d been the steadying presence behind Drew the past ten years, always ready to provide advice and comfort, a loaf of bread and a warm quilt. Sometimes he felt as if each stitch formed the word love.

More than one man over the years had attempted to court her. But his mother had refused to leave her claim, even after most of her sons had land of their own. He remembered the day not long after his father had died when men had come from town to try to persuade her to move in closer.

“A widowed woman with five boys and a girl?” one of them had scoffed. “You can’t manage this property alone.”

“I’m not alone,” his mother had said, putting one arm around Drew and the other around Simon as their siblings gathered close. “If this is what the Lord wants for us, He’ll make a way.”

The Lord must have wanted them at Wallin Landing, for they’d been here ever since.

His mother was still sleeping when his brothers left for their work and Beth started about her chores of feeding the chickens, checking for eggs and letting the goats, horses and pigs out to pasture. Simon came upstairs long enough to assure Drew that everything else had been taken care of.

“We’ll have the oxen,” he murmured, glancing around Drew as if to make sure their mother was sleeping peacefully. “And I wanted to let you know that John figured the costs for the plow. We should have enough from that spar for Captain Collings to make a good down payment. Then we can put James’s field in corn and make better use of those horses he was so set on.”

Drew nodded. James had convinced them to invest in the strong horses when another local farmer had given up his claim and needed to sell out. Drew had hoped to put the beasts to good use expanding the fields. Their family had run perilously short of corn and wheat the past two winters, and any profit they might have made logging had been eaten up by purchasing cornmeal and flour from town. He and his brothers were determined to lay in a greater store this year.

“Do what you can today,” he told Simon. “If Ma feels better, I can come finish the job tomorrow.”

Simon’s face tightened, and he took another look at their mother before heading down the stairs. Though he hadn’t spoken the words aloud, Drew could feel his doubts.

If Ma ever felt better.

Please, Lord, make her well!

Sometimes it seemed as if he’d been fighting off illness and injury his whole life. What he hated most was the feeling that there was nothing he could do but wait.

The house settled back into quiet. The sun rose over the lake, golden rays spearing through the windows and leaving a patchwork of color as bright as his mother’s quilts across the worn wood floor. Still Drew waited. When his mother finally stirred, he straightened and strode to her side. Her gaze was more alert than he’d seen it in weeks.

“What did you do with my pretty nurse?” she asked.

Drew took her hand and clasped it in his. The skin felt warm from the covers but not as dry and hot as it had been.

“We wore her out,” he said, giving his mother’s hand a squeeze. “But I’ll fetch her back for you shortly. In the meantime, are you hungry? Thirsty?”

She cocked her head as if considering the matter, and Drew noticed that her hair was stuck to her forehead like a row of ginger-colored lace. He put his hand to her cheek and found it cool and moist. Was it possible? Had the fever broke during the night?

“Now, why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, pulling back her hand and touching her hair. “Oh, but I must look a fright!”

Drew smiled, relief making the air sweet. “You never looked more beautiful to me, Ma. Shall I make you biscuits?”

She started to yawn and hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand. “Ask Levi. That boy makes better biscuits than the rest of you combined—light as a feather.”

“He’s out working,” Drew told her. “You’ll have to settle for my cooking instead.”

She was regarding him out of the corners of her eyes, as if she knew she was about to ask something she suspected he wouldn’t like. “You might ask Miss Stanway to join us for breakfast.”

Not her, too! “Don’t you go getting any ideas about Miss Stanway, Ma,” Drew said. “She’s here to nurse you.”

She coughed into her hand, but the noise still sounded healthy to Drew. “Yes, of course she is. And I expect I’ll need a great deal of nursing yet, probably for days.” She lowered her hand and heaved a great sigh.

“I have a feeling you’ll be up and about in no time,” Drew said. On impulse, he bent and pressed a kiss against her cheek. Her face was a rosy pink as he started for the stairs.

Thank You, Lord! The thanksgiving was instant and nearly overwhelming. Catherine had been right. His mother was going to live. Their family was whole awhile longer.

Oh, he would have to watch Ma and his brothers while Catherine was at the Landing if he wanted to remain single, but Catherine probably wouldn’t be in their lives much longer if his mother’s recovery was as rapid as he hoped.

His spirits didn’t rise as high as they should have at the thought.

He was halfway to his cabin when he heard the noise—the drum of horses’ hooves rapidly approaching. As he pulled up, the sheriff’s deputy, Hart McCormick, and several other men from Seattle galloped into the clearing, faces set and bodies tensed.

“Deputy,” Drew said with a nod as they reined in around him. “Something wrong?”

McCormick tipped back his broad-brimmed black hat and narrowed his sharp gray eyes at Drew. “Could be. One of Mercer’s belles went missing yesterday, and Scout Rankin tells me you might have had something to do with it.”

Drew held up his hands. “There’s no need for concern. Miss Stanway is here and perfectly safe.”

Still Deputy McCormick glared at him, as if sizing up Drew’s strength, taking note that he was unarmed. McCormick was tall and lean, with close-cropped black hair and eyes the color of a worn gun barrel. He’d earned the reputation of being one tough character, having thrown off a rough beginning before riding down a number of outlaws in the two years he’d served as deputy. Drew didn’t like his chances if the lawman decided to take him on.

Just then, one of the horses pushed forward, and Drew realized the rider was a redheaded woman. Though she wore a divided skirt so she could sit astride, the way she clutched the reins told Drew she didn’t have much experience with horses.

“Then you won’t mind bringing her out, now, will you?” she challenged, sharp words softened by an Irish accent.

Deputy McCormick relaxed in his seat. “Miss O’Rourke is particularly concerned about her friend.”

Drew lowered his hands. “She’s staying in that cabin over there. If you’ll give me a moment...”

“Hold these,” the redhead commanded, tossing the reins at Drew. As he caught them, she threw one leg over the horse and slid to the ground. “I’ll just be fetching her myself.” She stalked across the clearing, gait stiff.

“Bit of a spitfire,” McCormick commented, watching her. His mouth hitched up as if he liked what he saw. “Still, there’s something to be said for a woman who speaks her mind.”

“Yeah,” one of his posse members threw out. “Spinster.”

The others laughed.

“Being uppity seems to be a pretty common failing among those Mercer gals,” another commented, scratching his grizzled chin. “Doc Maynard said this Miss Stanway gave him an earful for some of his practices.”

“She gave us an earful, too,” Drew said, watching as Miss O’Rourke hopped up on the porch and rapped at the door. “And Ma is alive because of it.”

That sobered them. McCormick touched his brim again in obvious respect. “I’m sorry to hear your mother was ailing, Wallin, but I’m glad to know she’s on the mend.”

The door to the cabin opened. Catherine stood in the shadows, hair tumbled about her shoulders, his quilt bundled around her. Stocking feet peeped out from below. The sight hit him square in the chest, and breathing seemed impossible. One look at her friend, and she gave a glad cry and a quick hug before pulling Miss O’Rourke inside and shutting the door.

Air found its way into Drew’s lungs. What was it about Catherine that made him react this way? He’d seen pretty girls before—not many and not often it was true, but still.

“I thought you said she was stuck-up,” one of the men commented with a frown to his friend. “She looks mighty nice to me.”

“I heard they started calling her the Ice Queen,” another agreed. “Looks as though the Wallins managed to thaw her out.”

“Maybe that’s why she needs a quilt,” the deputy said with a warning look to his posse. “Either that or she’s trying to shield herself from the criticism of people who came West themselves to escape it.”

His men had the good sense to look abashed.

McCormick returned his gaze to Drew, shifting on the horse so that his gun belt brushed the saddle horn. “The way I figure it, what you do with the gal is between you and her, so long as she’s in agreement. If she has no complaints, we’ll be on our way.”