She glanced at Micah, who led their procession, with Samuel riding on his back. The boy’s tousled hair bounced against Micah’s wide shoulders as he slept. Not a bad way to ride.

  What did Micah think of the coming storm? Camping in a downpour wouldn’t be pleasant, but maybe they could build a quick shelter and use the furs for protection.

  A quarter hour later, Micah stopped them with a raise of his hand. “The sky looks to snow any minute, but there’s a cave about half an hour ahead. A good place to get out of the weather.”

  Her chest surged. That would be so much better than a makeshift shelter.

  That half hour seemed to double as snowflakes began to fall. They’d crested a ridge and begun a downhill descent, which kept them moving at a faster pace than before. Micah led them at an angle, his stride sure as he began to weave around boulders, finding a trail that would have been impossible to discover under so many layers of snow.

  At last, he stepped sideways, leading them into a crevice in the mountain. The opening became a cave, and Jackson’s hooves clicked on the stone floor as they passed through the entrance.

  “Look, Mama. An outlaw cave. Do you think there’s hidden treasure?” Samuel’s voice rang loud in the small enclosure.

  “I don’t know, son. We’ll look after we make camp.” Joanna’s voice dragged with weariness. She’d handled more than her share of cooking and camp chores—not to mention climbing mountains for three days now.

  “The cave doesn’t reach much deeper than we can see. Go ahead and settle in. I’m going to gather wood.” Micah turned back toward the entrance and stepped out into the falling snow.

  Joanna set to work with her usual efficiency, assigning Samuel simple tasks. When she asked him to pour corn for the donkey, the boy plopped down on the stone floor. “I’m tired, Mama. I don’t wanna feed Jackson.”

  Here was a chance she could help. Ingrid leaned forward. “You know what? Your little donkey is so smart, I bet we can teach him a trick or two.”

  “A trick? Like magic?” He sat up straight, then struggled to his feet.

  While she entertained Samuel with the donkey, Micah brought in three loads of wood, forming a large pile near the fire Joanna was kindling to life.

  After dropping the last of the sticks, he brushed the snow from his coat and turned to scan their camp. His attention hovered on the boy, who now sat with Handsome in his lap. Something in Micah’s eyes looked almost haunted, but then his gaze shifted again, landing on her. Or rather, her leg. His focus roamed the length of her propped limb before coming back to meet her eyes. “Would you like to stand for a minute?”

  Hope surged in her chest. Could he be sincere? “Yes, please.” She pulled the furs aside, ignoring the blast of icy air that hit her lower half.

  He stepped beside the cart as he still studied her. “I need to adjust the splint first so your foot can rest on the ground. We’ll need to move you out of there so you can sit flat on the floor.”

  “What can I do to help?” Joanna appeared at Micah’s side, wiping bark from her hands. Twin lines formed between her brows, a sure sign of worry.

  “Let’s raise her out, just like before. You support her legs.” He stepped around the cart so he was on the side of her good leg, then bent low, his face coming near hers. “Wrap your arm around my neck.” His breath heated her face, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

  She did as he asked, while he fit one hand around her waist and the other under her good leg. He was merely her doctor, assisting her to a more comfortable position, yet the gentleness with which he touched her made her feel cherished.

  Until her broken leg shifted, and a knife plunged through the bone. “Oh.” The sound slipped out before she could clamp her jaw shut, and she clung to Micah.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured in her ear, his breath fanning her hair. Then his voice shifted. “Let’s ease her down.”

  The stone floor was hard and cold, but she did her best to ignore the sensations as Micah knelt beside her broken leg. He fiddled with the cloth wrappings for a minute, then wrapped his hand around her ankle as the wood pieces fell away from either side of her limb. The release of pressure sent another pang through the injured area.

  She fought the sting pricking her eyes, then pressed them closed as tears threatened harder. After inhaling a deep breath, she paused, then exhaled, focusing on releasing a steady stream of air.

  When she forced her eyes open, Micah was studying her, worry creasing his brow. “Does that hurt a great deal?”

  She shook her head. “Not a great deal.” Not as much as those first few days after the crash.

  Slowly, he released her ankle. “Sit exactly like this for just a minute while I cut the wood shorter. Don’t move at all, understand?”

  She nodded, afraid to unclamp her jaw lest the tears spring up again.

  He stepped away, taking the two boards with him, then the sound of a hatchet on wood echoed through the cave.

  “What’re you doin’, Mr. Bradley?” Samuel’s little boy voice blended with each blow.

  “Cutting these shorter.” The hatchet blows ceased, then Micah stepped back to her side and knelt again.

  “What’re you gonna do with those?” Samuel crouched beside Micah like a shadow.

  “I’m going to tie them next to Miss Chastain’s leg so the bone heals straight.” His tone stayed calm and relaxed, as though he was perfectly accustomed to explaining his every action to a child.

  “Samuel, come help me lay out the blankets.” Joanna’s voice interrupted the boy’s next question.

  “Aw, Mama. I’m helpin’ Mr. Bradley now.”

  “I can handle this for a bit. Best help your ma.” Micah placed the wood and wrapped the first cloth around her leg.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Samuel released a long-suffering sigh as he pushed to his feet and ambled toward his mother.

  Ingrid braced a hand on either side of the wood pieces to help hold them in place while Micah tied. “You’re good with him.”

  One corner of his mouth tipped. “It’s hard to have so much energy sometimes.” He spoke as though he’d experienced such.

  “Was that the way you were as a child?” She kept the question soft, gentle so he didn’t feel like she was prying.

  His mouth lost any sign of a smile, and he was quiet for several heartbeats. “My daughter was like that.”

  She froze, searching his face for what emotion might show there. He didn’t take his focus from his work as he fastened the second tie. “She sounds like a special girl.”

  The corners of his mouth flicked. “She was.”

  “What was her name?” Maybe she shouldn’t press for more details, but he might like the chance to talk about her.

  “Rachel. She had red hair and freckles just like Samuel. She used to scrunch her nose like he does, too.”

  Her heart panged as an image formed of a little girl with copper curls and Micah’s dark eyes, snuggled in his lap while he read her a book. “She sounds adorable. How old was she?”

  “Seven.” The light left his eyes, and he pulled the cloth snug, then straightened.

  The tight line of his jaw proved she’d pushed too far. She should have focused on happy times, not asked a question that would remind him of her death. “I’m sorry, Micah.”

  “Ready to try standing?” He rose, then stepped around behind her. “I’ll lift you. Don’t try to use the broken leg, just let it rest.”

  She did her best to obey, working her good leg underneath her as he lifted under her arms. The injury ached, and her damaged ribs let themselves be known, too. But she forced herself to move past the pain as she rose to a full standing position.

  The cavern swirled around her as she reached a height she’d not experienced in well over a week. She grappled for something to hold on to, especially as Micah’s grip on her loosened.

  Before she could inhale a breath, she felt herself falling.

  fifteen

  Ingrid grasped for Micah’s arm.

  “I’ve got you.” His hand shifted to her waist, wrapping around her as he came to stand at her side. “Keep your weight on your good leg.”

  She gripped his shoulder, reaching up much farther than she’d expected. “You’re tall.” This was the first time she’d had the chance to stand beside him. Her gaze roamed up to his face, landing on his jaw. His beard looked shorter than before, barely covering the strong lines of his face. When had he trimmed it? How could she not have noticed before this moment?

  “I like this shorter.” She reached to brush his chin.

  He shifted, turning to look at her with those dark, penetrating eyes.

  Her breath stalled. What had she been thinking to say such a thing? And to touch him?

  She dropped her hand to his shoulder, moving her gaze to that same spot. “I’m sorry. I think the altitude must be muddling my mind.”

  He chuckled—actually chuckled—and if she wasn’t mistaken, it felt as though his hand at her waist gave a gentle squeeze. “How does your leg feel?”

  The words shoved the ache to the forefront in her mind. “Hurts a little. Not bad.” Not so bad that she would tell him anyway.

  “Hmm.” His tone gave no hint as to whether he saw through her light words.

  “Look, Miss Ingrid. Handsome wants to play with me.” Samuel’s high voice broke through the shroud that had seemed to separate them from the others.

  She turned to the boy, who was playing a game of tug with the pup using one of the furs. “Yes, he is. See if he’ll pull on a stick instead of the pelt. We don’t want to damage one of Mr. Bradley’s animal skins.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Samuel grabbed a piece of bark and waved it in front of the dog’s nose. “Here, boy. Bite this.”

  Of course Handsome ignored the wood, tugging harder on the white pelt locked between his teeth.

  “It’s not a problem.” Micah’s voice rumbled low in her ear.

  She braved a glance at his face. That corner of his mouth twitched as he met her look. Gracious, he was attractive. More so than any doctor had a right to be.

  Dropping her eyes, she scrambled for something to say. “I think I should sit now.” That wasn’t quite what she’d been looking for, but maybe some distance between them would be good.

  “All right, then. Let’s lower you to this pallet Samuel did such a fine job laying out.” He eased her down the same way he’d lifted her, his strong arms doing all the work. She hated relying so completely on him, but he seemed more than capable of bearing whatever she couldn’t.

  When he had her settled, Micah moved to the cart and began sorting through the supplies they’d need. Joanna, of course, kept busy with meal preparations and ten other things. Indeed, the woman could accomplish more in half an hour than most people could in half a day.

  “What can I help with, Joanna?”

  Her new friend looked up. “Are you close enough you could stir this while it simmers on the coals?”

  “Of course.” She scooted forward a few inches to make sure of it.

  While she performed the simple task, her gaze drifted toward Micah, as it did far too often these days. He’d completely emptied the supplies from the cart and appeared to be reorganizing everything.

  “How long do you think we’ll stay here?”

  He slid a glance to her from the corner of his eye. “Restless already?”

  Heat surged to her face. “I guess I meant how long do you think the snow will last.”

  He accompanied that sideways glance with a raised brow. Did he know that wasn’t really what she’d meant? Part of her wanted desperately to hear him say they’d not stay a moment past the end of the snow. They had no time to waste.

  “It’s hard to say about the snow. Hopefully it will have stopped by the time we wake in the morning. Then I need to do some hunting to keep our food stores high. We’ll leave as soon as that’s done.”

  She eased out a breath. He knew what she’d meant. And his plan was good. She’d have to be content with the short wait.

  Silence fell over them, except for Samuel’s steady chatter as he played with the dog. Handsome had done more to keep the boy occupied than she ever would have imagined. What a blessing for them all. She still kept an eye on them, but Samuel showed a remarkable gentleness with the dog that seemed at odds with his spirited approach in every other part of his life.

  “Mr. Bradley, can we sleep in a cave every night?” Samuel lay back on his blankets, propping his hands behind his head.

  Micah pulled the tie closed on the pack in his hands, then pushed it aside. “That’d be nice, but I haven’t found that many along our path.”

  “How’d you find this one?”

  “I stayed here for a time last winter.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. “There was a lot of snow, and I had to stay in here for days at a time, so I taught myself some things to make the time pass. You wanna know what they were?”

  “What?” Samuel sat upright, leaning forward in the exact position Micah held.

  Micah opened his mouth, but the bleat that came out made her jump. It sounded like a cross between a calf and a sheep.

  “What was that, Mr. Bradley?” Samuel sat up excitedly on his knees.

  “That’s the exact sound the mountain goats make. Then there’s this—” A high-pitched keening filled the cave, turning hoarse as the call ended. “The sound of a bull elk.”

  “I can make that, too.” The boy cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed.

  Even Micah winced at the ear-piercing sound. “That’s close, but there’s a funny way you hold your tongue so it doesn’t sound as much like two cats fighting.”

  For the next quarter-hour, man and boy sat beside the fire, Micah showing the steps to make sounds for a bull elk, a mountain goat, a wild boar, and even a honking goose.

  Samuel studied each movement, absorbed each word, and accomplished each animal noise. At least somewhat.

  After one attempt at a boar pitched higher than he intended, he flashed his mother a toothy grin. “Did you hear that, Mama? I sound like a baby pig.”

  “The perfect baby pig.” Joanna attempted a smile for her son, but the weary turn of her eyes belied the look. “How about some stew and corn bread for you piggies?”

  Tonight Ingrid needed to bear more of the load Joanna tried to take upon herself. She may be trying to forget her sadness, but working herself to exhaustion would be far worse for them all.

  Micah stepped out into the steadily falling snow the next morning. This wasn’t a good time to hunt, but he couldn’t stay closed up in that dark hole for another minute. Ingrid’s presence had become too strong in the place.

  He never should have wrapped his arms around her when he helped her stand the night before. Getting so close . . . well, he’d not been able to clear her from his mind since. Even when she slept, he was tempted to just sit and watch her.

  Maybe a good, icy shave would clear his head. And no, he wasn’t doing it because Ingrid liked his beard shorter. He was doing this to purge her from his head, not mire his thoughts deeper around the woman.

  After clearing the bristle from his face—and nicking himself several times in the process—he took a few extra minutes to hike along the frozen creek at the base of the mountain. If the willow trees were still there, he could replenish the supply of bark for Ingrid’s teas. Her leg appeared to be healing straight, which was a wonder with all the jostling he’d put her through.

  She made light of the pain, but anyone could see the lines of strain around her eyes and mouth and the way she eased through any movement, as though even turning her head too quickly would send a bolt of agony through her. And after a mere hour on the trail, her face usually lost its color.

  If only he could take the pain from her. Bear the weight of her suffering—both the physical agony and the anguish of losing her father. It didn’t seem right that she should be forced to endure both crushing blows at the same time.

  Nothing about this life was fair.

  By the time he climbed back up to the cave, the falling snow had lessened to a few final flurries. As soon as he had a bite to eat, he’d head back out to see what game might be venturing from their shelters.

  As he stepped into the cave, his eyes took a moment to grow accustomed to the dim interior. When he could finally see more than utter darkness, he was able to make out the form of Mrs. Watson kneeling by the fire—preparing food, most likely—and the boy sitting with Ingrid. The pair were occupied with the dog, and Samuel’s steady chatter filled any possibility of silence.

  Honestly, the only time the boy wasn’t making noise, he was sleeping. The constant talking was still hard to get used to. So different from the quiet he’d been surrounded with for the past five years.

  But he couldn’t be angry with the lad. Not with the way he brought back so many memories of Rachel.

  He set the bark in a safe place on his bedroll.

  “Micah, you’re back.” Ingrid glanced up at him with a strained smile, then her eyes grew wider.

  “You’re just in time to eat.” Mrs. Watson held a plate out to him.

  “What happened to your face, Mr. Bradley?” Samuel, too, was staring at him.

  “Samuel.” The boy’s mother sent him a furtive glare. “That was unkind. Apologize to Mr. Bradley, then come sit beside me to eat.” She darted a glance at him, then focused on the food again.

  Micah brushed a hand against his cheek, his fingers finding one of the places where the blood had dried. “No harm done. I simply wasn’t careful with my knife.”

  He forced himself not to look at Ingrid, instead focusing on the beans and corncake on his plate.

  “Sit, Micah. It’s not healthy to eat while standing.”

  He raised his gaze to Ingrid. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Dr. Faulkner, a friend of my father’s, says it often. He and my father are partners in their medical practice. Or . . . they were.” Her voice dipped, fading a little at the end. “He was always telling Papa to take dedicated times for eating. Says it’s unhealthy for the digestion to eat while standing.”

 

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