All Is Bright: Bridget’s Christmas Miracle (Mail-Order Brides of Laramie County 1) Read online

  The rider—Hob—met them at the base of the hill, his horse pawing the ground and straining against the bit.

  “Heard the shots. What’s the commotion?” Chase jerked the wagon to a halt.

  “Dang it all, boss...” The rider removed his hat and swiped his brow before his eyes lit on Bridget. “Beg pardon, ma’am. Forgot you all were a-comin’ today.”

  “Hob. The gunshots?” Chase asked.

  “Yessir.” He cleared his throat and refocused his eyes on his boss. “Wolf got into the pasture again. Took a ewe before Bill got the shots off and scared him away.”

  “Dogs?” asked Chase, chucking to the horses so they moved into a swift walk.

  Hob’s big bay fell in beside them. He shook his head sorrowfully. “It’s Lady. Her shoulder’s tore up clean to the bone. Wolf just missed her throat. Don’t rightly know if she’ll fare. Bill’s with her in the barn.”

  Not Lady.

  Chase did his best to hide his dismay. “All right then. Thank you, Hob. You boys did the best you could. All that’s left is to go calm the herd now.”

  After Hob rode off, Chase looked at Bridget, who stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape. “Soon as we get to the house, you get the children inside. The boys’ll bring the supplies inside in a bit.”

  “But—a wolf? Is...is it safe?”

  “Safe enough now. Wolf’s long gone, eating his fill of mutton. I’ve got to see to Lady.” He knew he was being impatient, but now that they were coming up the drive, he could hear his best herding dog’s agonized yelps. He reined the horses in, bringing the wagon to a stop. “Hurry.”

  “Of course.” Bridget stood, still scanning their surroundings warily.

  “Hold up,” Chase commanded, leaping down off the wagon seat. He looped the reins around a post and walked quickly to the opposite side of the wagon, where he held his arms up. She still didn’t have the hang of dismounting, and it did no one good if she fell and broke something.

  As soon as her feet touched the ground, he sprinted for the barn.

  Chapter Seven

  Chase was already halfway to the barn before the impression of his hands faded from Bridget’s waist.

  She squared her shoulders. No time to be disappointed that he hadn’t carried her over the threshold of her new home. That was just in stories anyway. She was a rancher’s wife now. She needed to act like one.

  Tom helped Pearl scramble over the side of the wagon, his eyes darting between the little girl and Chase’s retreating figure. “What happened, Bridget?”

  “Just a wolf, Tom.” Just a wolf. Just a wolf. Just a great big vicious sheep-eating wolf.

  She reached into the wagon and grabbed some of the paper-wrapped packages. Pearl ran up the stairs to open the front door of the house, Mary on her heels. They hurtled inside.

  “A wolf!” Tom looked around anxiously. “It’s gone?”

  “Don’t worry, Chase says we’re safe.”

  “We missed it? A real wolf and we missed it?” Tom looked genuinely disappointed. “Shucks.”

  She shivered. “Just help me get the things in. Tom.”

  Arms full, Bridget followed Tom into the house. The girls’ wraps were puddled near the door, and small, wet boot prints led through the large front room where fire blazed in the hearth. Bridget followed the girls’ trail into the kitchen. A large cast-iron pot sat on top of a wood-burning cookstove. Probably the source of that spicy aroma. Bridget set her packages on the rough-hewn table, bumping her knee against one of the puncheon benches tucked under it.

  Where were the girls? She returned to the front room.

  So, this was it, her new home. It wasn’t large, but it would be comfortable. Two chairs near the fireplace, one a wingback upholstered in dark leather, the other a bent-willow rocking chair. A small table held a porcelain lamp and several books. The two doors on the west wall must lead to the bedrooms, she decided. And a ladder in the corner led up to a loft.

  Pearl, grinning widely, pulled Mary back into the front room. Apparently, they’d been exploring the bedrooms.

  “Pearl’s got her own, real bed!” Mary said, her eyes bright. “And it’s gonna be mine, too. Just the two of us.”

  In Chicago, Bridget, Siobhan, and Mary had crowded onto a single straw-filled mattress on the floor next to a similar one shared by the boys. Da slept in the other room, in the bed he used to share with Ma.

  I won’t be sharing a mattress with Mary anymore, Bridget realized. I’ll be sharing one with Chase.

  She wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

  “Pearl’s got a real doll, and the eyes open and close and everything and she said it can be mine too. And a doll house with little people and furniture.” Mary was almost beside herself, hopping up and down with delight. “And her own wash basin!”

  Pearl’s eyes were shining with happiness at Mary’s excitement. How lucky that the two girls were becoming friends so quickly. What would Bridget have done if they hadn’t gotten along?

  “Can we eat now?” Mary rubbed her stomach, Pearl mimicking her motion.

  As much as Bridget longed to know what was going on in the barn, she was glad she and the children were inside. Wolves couldn’t open doors, could they? She shivered, but reminded herself she was a ranch wife now, and wolf or no wolf, the children had to be fed.

  “Hang up your coats, girls. I’ll get supper on.”

  Tom appeared with the last of the boxes from the wagon, which contained the food Chase had bought.

  With Pearl’s help, she found the tableware in a clean, spacious pantry, which she realized with a start was her pantry now. She was anxious to investigate it further, but her stomach was rumbling as well.

  The pot over the fireplace held a hearty mutton stew. Bridget ladled it into bowls. The children ate happily, Mary supplying most of the conversation for the three of them. Bridget was wondering if she should bring supper out to the men in the barn when the front door banged open.

  Bridget hurried to the front room. Chase. He didn’t look happy.

  “Shall I...would you like some stew?” Bridget fumbled.

  “Later.” Tracking snow on the wide, wood plank floor, he walked to the far end of the room, and withdrew an iron key from his pocket to open a narrow cabinet. A glimpse inside revealed several long guns.

  “Is the wolf back?” asked Bridget, her heart in her throat. She took a shaky step backward, toward the children.

  “A wolf?” Mary cried from the kitchen doorway, snatching Pearl’s hand. “Is it gonna et us up?”

  Tom squeezed past the girls to stand next to Bridget. “I can help hunt the wolf.”

  Chase passed his hand over his face and closed his eyes. “Bridget, please. I promise you we are in no danger from the wolf. Don’t frighten the children.”

  Bridget felt herself flush. Of course Chase wouldn’t let anything happen to her or the children. She opened her mouth to apologize when Chase said:

  “This is for Lady. I have to put her down.”

  Tom’s eyes widened as Chase pulled out a gleaming shotgun.

  “Can I watch?” he asked eagerly.

  “No! It’s not a game!” The sudden anger in Chase’s voice made Bridget’s stomach clench. Da had been one to get mad quickly, and to get over being mad slowly.

  Tom shrunk back. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Chase hesitated, then leaned the gun down against the wall and walked to Tom. He raised his hand to place it on the boy’s shoulder. Tom jerked away, ducking his head.

  Chase frowned and looked to Bridget.

  “He didn’t mean to be disrespectful,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please give him another chance.”

  Chase looked from Tom to Bridget. Give him another chance?

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Tom said again, quietly, his head down. He slowly straightened his body, however, as if bracing for a blow.

  With a shock, Chase realized Tom was bracing for a blow. He’d seen dogs like that, so accustomed to abuse, th
ey quailed when a hand reached out to pet them.

  Chase slowly lowered his hand to the boy’s shoulder. He admired Tom’s bravery. Even though the boy was trembling, he didn’t flinch from Chase’s touch.

  “It’s okay, son. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’m just sad about Lady, is all. There’s plenty of time to teach you about shooting.”

  “You’re not gonna hit him?” Mary asked.

  “Mary, hush!” warned Bridget. But her eyes remained glued to Chase’s face. In her letters, she’d said her father was strict, but she hadn’t said he beat the boy. Had the man beaten Bridget too?

  He’d been assuming that the scar on her face had been the result of an accident. Could it have been inflicted on her intentionally? By her own flesh and blood? The thought made him sick.

  He spoke as gently as he could.

  “No, Mary. No children are hit in my home. No one gets hit in my home. Ever.”

  The relief that he saw in Bridget’s expression made him deeply ashamed of frightening her, and terribly sad. There was so much he didn’t know about his new wife.

  Tom stopped shaking beneath his hand. When Chase tore himself away from Bridget’s shining eyes, he found the boy looking at him with something close to wonder.

  “I’m sorry about your dog, Mr. Chase,” he said simply.

  Chase sighed and moved back to the gun. “She’s too ripped up to hope for recovery. It’d be bad enough, but she’s got the pups.”

  Lady had whelped her litter just five weeks ago. She was a good and patient mother, but had been eager to get back to the sheep, wagging her tail and looking hopefully at him and the boys whenever they took the horses out. Britches, her mate, though doing his best, had been struggling to control the herd on his own. Since the puppies had reached a point where they didn’t need to nurse as often, he’d let both the dogs go out. Chase cursed himself for not keeping Lady home one more day.

  “Bridget can fix her up,” Mary proclaimed. “She fixed up Da after he got cut by a eye-talin!”

  “Mary!” Bridget and Tom chorused.

  Chase ignored their protest. “You’ve been a nurse?”

  “I have some experience in wound-tending,” Bridget admitted. “I can’t promise anything.”

  He tried not to get his hopes up. Putting Lady down was going to break his heart. It would be worse if he thought she had a chance and she didn’t. “All right, come to the barn.”

  Bridget didn’t bother with her coat before she was out the door. Her skirts slowed her down enough that Chase had no problem catching up.

  “In my trunk, my sewing kit,” she gasped. “It was too heavy for Tom to bring in.”

  Chase leapt up to the wagon. He didn’t need to tell her not to wait for him. By the time he found her box of sewing implements, she was already inside the barn and kneeling beside Lady, who was being tended by Bill. The yipping of Lady’s hungry puppies made Chase’s heart ache almost as much as Lady’s heavy panting. The poor girl was tiring quickly. Soon there wouldn’t be any fight in her at all.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Lady. Gosh-darned wolf. You’re gonna be just fine. Blasted wolf!” Bill’s voice was shaking, alternating between comforting the beloved dog and cursing the animal that had hurt her.

  Britches lay, head on paws, just outside the stall. When he saw Chase, Lady’s mate thumped his tail twice, but didn’t move.

  “There, there, boy,” Chase whispered, reaching down to pat his head as he peered inside the stall. Lady lay with her head in Bill’s lap. He sighed with relief as he saw the dog’s chest rise and fall, albeit jaggedly. The straw was covered with blood, and the bandage he’d tied around Lady’s right front shoulder grew redder as more blood seeped into the cloth.

  Chase shoved Bridget’s sewing kit into her hands.

  “Any change, Bill?” he asked, hopeful despite himself.

  The ranch hand looked up at the couple. Tears were freely coursing down his sun-roughened cheeks. “She’s quieter. Seems like she’s might sleep some, maybe.”

  Bridget shook her head. “That’s not a good sign. We need to stop that bleeding.”

  She knelt down beside the man and the dog and gingerly touched the bandage. Lady didn’t stir.

  “Whiskey. I need some whiskey.”

  “Ma’am?” asked Bill. “I know this is a hard thing for a lady to see and all, but this is no time to be indulgin’ in spirits.”

  If the situation weren’t so dire, Chase would have laughed at the incredulity in Bill’s voice.

  “To clean the needle and thread, and my hands,” Bridget explained. “There’s no time to boil water.”

  “Well, I, um...” Bill coughed.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Bill, just go get it!” Chase commanded.

  “Yessir,” Bill eased Lady’s head to the ground and stood. The ranch hand nodded to Bridget. “You gotta fix her up, ma’am. She’s a dam...dern fine dog.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bridget returned her attention to Lady as Bill left at a dead run. The wind howled louder. Britches whined in accompaniment. The puppies’ yips had turned more urgent.

  Chase knelt beside Bridget.

  “No matter what happens, the puppies need to eat,” she said. She couldn’t help but think of baby Mary, screaming for milk as her mother lay burning with the fever that took her a few days after giving birth. Bridget remembered her own terror as she was torn between sponging her mother’s brow and dipping a cloth into milk Tom had begged from a neighbor to feed the infant. She’d watched her mother die, and horror had squeezed her heart when she realized that she was now responsible for her five brothers and sisters.

  The same helplessness filled her now. Suddenly, saving the dog in the stall had become her whole world. Tears filled her eyes.

  She pulled out her shears and held her breath as she cut through the makeshift bandage. The wound was deep, deeper than she’d expected. “Oh, Lady...”

  “It’s okay if you can’t help her.” Chase wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I know you’ll do your best.”

  His arm felt iron-strong, but, as she remembered his kindness to Tom, she felt the gentleness in it too, and she allowed her shoulders to relax. She winced inwardly as she recalled the last time a grown man had touched her. It had been her father’s hand, slapping her face for not fetching his tea fast enough.

  “I just don’t want her to die, Chase. Mothers shouldn’t die and leave their puppies.”

  She felt his body stiffen before she realized what she had said and the awful memories it must bring back for him. Their eyes met for an instant before Chase stood. His deep sadness filled the space between them like a living thing.

  “Just do your best, Bridget.”

  “I’m sorry, Chase. Mrs. Jorgensen...I hope you don’t mind her telling me. I’m sorry you weren’t there with Ada. I closed my mother’s eyes when she died. It didn’t make it any better, but I was there to hold her hand and...”

  Chase turned away. She’d said too much.

  Just then the door banged open, admitting a wild-eyed Bill in a cloud of snow. “Found it.”

  He handed the mostly-full bottle to Bridget. From the slight odor on his breath, she guessed he’d fortified himself during the trip from the bunkhouse.

  Bridget wished there were something she could drink that would make her feel less terrible. She pointed to a pail hanging from a hook on the wall. “That clean?”

  “Washed with water after the cows get milked.” Bill handed it to her.

  She poured the whiskey into the pail. The strong smell almost made her gag. Her father coming home from the pub, needing to be cleaned up and put to bed. Yelling and cursing and giving her a smack if she stumbled.

  She shook her head, banishing the memories. “Chase? We need clean cloths. A sheet maybe.”

  Chase left the barn without saying a word, but Bridget couldn’t worry about that now. She pulled a length of stout thread from its spool and a long needl
e from her sewing kit, then plunged them, along with her hands, into the bucket.

  Blood still seeped slowly from Lady’s jagged wound. Bridget could see the gleam of bone at the bottom of the cut. She closed her eyes in a quick prayer. If even a sparrow couldn’t fall to earth without her Heavenly Father knowing, surely He was watching over Lady now.

  Suddenly, Chase was beside her again, his arms filled with downy, white towels that Bridget recognized from the pantry. She took several and dropped them into the bucket.

  “Get some clean straw beneath her, as gently as you can.” The men worked quickly, and Lady still didn’t stir.

  “She probably won’t wake, but, Bill, wrap this around her muzzle.” She handed him a dry towel. It took both Ciaran and Davin to hold Da down, and even so, Da always managed to strike her as he thrashed under her ministrations.

  She took a deep breath and, with a whiskey-soaked towel, dabbed at the dark, clotted blood around the wound. Then she threaded the sodden thread through the needle. The dog whimpered softly as Bridget plunged the needle into her skin, but didn’t seem to wake.

  In and out, in and out, chanted Bridget silently. Just like mending a shirt...

  Lady’s skin was fragile like paper, and slippery. “Chase, can you...?

  Before she finished her sentence, he was already using a towel to carefully blot away the bright red blood that was still seeping from Lady’s shoulder.

  “There,” Bridget sighed, tying a series of tiny knots. It wasn’t pretty, but the blood had slowed to a trickle, and it looked like Lady was breathing more deeply.

  “She’s got to rest now, and rebuild the blood she’s lost. Change the bandage every six hours, and douse the wound with whiskey every time to keep infection away.”

  She was forgetting something. It was important. What was it?

  She turned, trying to think. It was so quiet.

  “The puppies!” she cried. She couldn’t hear them. She pushed past Chase.

  “Bridey, shhh. They’re sleeping.” whispered Tom. He sat in the straw in the next stall, four tiny puppies snuggled on his lap.

  “I found some milk in the icebox, and fed them with a rag, like we did with Mary.” He gestured to a bowl containing a milk-sodden rag. His smile was as wide as the barn door. “They seemed to like it all right.”