She turned and hurried to the house while they followed more slowly with the injured man.
Morwenna opened the door and stood back. Shayne and Bobby staggered toward it, and paused in the doorway, catching their balance.
She looked at Bobby. “Well, this will be different,” she said softly. “I can’t help but wonder just who in the hell we’ve invited in for Christmas?”
Chapter 2
“What in the name of—” Mike MacDougal began, hurrying into the parlor as his sons stumbled in with the bleeding stranger.
Morwenna looked at her father; she was worried about what they were doing, herself, but to avoid a family argument over Shayne’s absolute determination to be a physician at all times, she waved a hand in the air.
“This guy was out there hurt, Dad,” she said. “We have to help him.”
Stacy, drying her hands on a dish towel, came hurrying into the parlor as well.
“Oh, no! The poor man. Get him onto the sofa, Shayne. Oh, he’s bleeding! I’ll get a clean washcloth and warm water. I’ll—” Stacy began.
“Hey!” Mike protested. “Bleeding, in the snow, in the middle of nowhere? How the hell did he get here? How do we know he’s not an escaped convict or mass murderer?”
“That’s what I said, Dad,” Morwenna replied, setting a hand firmly on his chest. “But your son, the physician, refused to allow anyone to bleed to death. Now, Dad—move, please!”
Mike groaned, staring at the man on the sofa. “If you saw everything that I saw, you’d be more careful,” he said.
“Dad?” Shayne said.
Genevieve and Connor appeared in the kitchen doorway—just their little heads popping out.
Morwenna hurried toward them. “Hey, little ones. Want to do me a favor? Run upstairs to my bedroom and bring me one of the pillows off my bed. And a blanket, huh? Can you do that?”
They both nodded at her gravely. “Don’t worry,” Connor told her. “My father will help that man.”
“Of course he will,” Morwenna said.
She went into the kitchen. Her mother was already filling a basin with warm water; she walked to the pantry and found a stack of fresh linens. “Mom, can I take these?”
Her mother glanced at her. “Of course! You can take anything. The guy’s bleeding!”
Stacy was ready with the basin. Morwenna grabbed the towels and they returned to the parlor. Shayne nodded his gratitude and took the basin and the towels. “Looks like he took a good wallop to the side of his head … and there, on his temple. I’m going to need my bag. It’s still in the car.”
“I’m on it,” Bobby said. He turned and exited by the front door.
“Don’t just hover!” Shayne said, looking up at Morwenna and his parents as he began to dab carefully at the stranger’s wounds. “I think he needs to breathe, too, you know?”
They all stared blankly at him for a minute, and then took a step back.
The kids came clunking down the stairway, bearing a blanket and pillow.
“Good, good, let’s get his head propped up,” Shayne said. He glanced at his sister, perhaps surprised she’d asked that one of her pillows be used for the cause.
She shrugged and watched her older brother as he moved the stranger’s head carefully. “His vital signs are growing stronger. I think the blow weakened him and the cold did the rest,” he told them. “Of course, I can’t make sure he hasn’t suffered any serious head trauma until we get him to a hospital.”
The stranger stirred. By now, Shayne had washed away the little trails of blood that had streaked down his face.
It was a good face, Morwenna thought. Nicely chiseled, a bit like the statues she’d seen of Greek and Roman gods. Except, of course, he had a slightly more rugged appeal. Actually, he was a very nice-looking stranger.
And still a stranger! she warned herself.
They needed him out of their house.
His eyes flew open as she entertained that thought. He was looking straight at her.
She was surprised when she knelt down and touched his cheek. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re all right. We’re the MacDougal family. We found you outside in the snow. Do you know who you are? Do you know what you’re doing up here? You’re hurt.”
“Morwenna,” Shayne said. “One question at a time for the poor man.”
The stranger struggled to sit up and winced. Shayne pressed him back down by the shoulders. “Don’t try to get up yet. Let’s see how you do. Someone hit you good.”
He eased back for a minute, closing his eyes again. “Yeah, someone hit me good. Um … my name is Gabe.”
They all looked around at one another. “I’m Gabe,” he repeated. “Gabe Lange.” He winced, and opened his eyes again. “Could I possibly have some water, please?”
“Water, of course,” Stacy said, and turned toward the kitchen.
“Move slowly, and when the water comes, take your first drink slowly,” Shayne instructed.
Stacy returned quickly with the water. Morwenna thought that actually, it must have been pretty scary for him to open his eyes, to find all of them looking down at him as if he were an unknown wounded creature they had dragged in.
But, then again, he was.
She glanced at Bobby, who seemed to be a step ahead of her. “Hey, urchins!” he said to Connor and Genevieve. “Let’s give your dad the doc some space. I need some help upstairs with presents.”
“But … is that guy going to be okay?” Connor asked.
Genevieve’s little lips were trembling. Morwenna turned toward her niece. “Yes, of course, my darling. Go on up with Uncle Bobby. The nice man just needs some rest.” She glanced at Shayne. Was that all he needed?
“Come on, Lady Niece, Lord Nephew!” Bobby said.
The kids followed him up the stairs.
Morwenna suddenly found herself thinking all kinds of horrible thoughts. He wasn’t all right; he was bleeding internally, and he was going to die on her mother’s sofa on Christmas.
She lowered her head quickly. What a horrible concept! A man’s life could be in the balance, and she was thinking that his death might affect their Christmas!
The stranger’s gaze was on her when she raised her head again. A small smile tugged at his lips as if he had read her thoughts. “I’m strong, really. I’m feeling better already.”
“Well, lie still until I’ve gotten that wound cleaned up,” Shayne said firmly.
Gabe winced when Shayne laced the wound with disinfectant, but he didn’t let out a sound. “The thing is, you probably do have a concussion,” Shayne told him. “You’ll need to be careful.”
“One of us can stay with him and keep an eye on him,” Stacy said.
“I’m going to call an ambulance,” Mike told her, speaking up. “Any objections?” he asked. He wasn’t speaking to the stranger; he was looking at his wife, daughter and son.
“Not to an ambulance,” Shayne assured his father. “What the heck happened to you?”
“Obviously, he got into a fight!” Mike jumped in, his voice harsh.
“I’m with the Virginia State Police,” Gabe said. “I was after a man.