“He came out of nowhere, Marshal.” The teamster jumped down from his wagon. Panic-stricken, the man dropped to his knees beside the still body. “He’s just a little tyke. He ran in front of my horses. Couldn’t stop ’em in time.”
“Are you okay, boy?” Elijah brushed the muddy snow from the mired street off the boy’s face. Lashes blinked up at him as the child tried to stir, but he slipped back into unconsciousness. Just a little guy, maybe eight years old. Somebody’s son, somebody’s loved one. He laid a hand on the boy’s chest, relieved at the steady heartbeat.
“He’s still breathing.” Christina knelt beside him with a swish of her skirts. Distress wreathed her lovely face. She ran tender fingers across the child’s forehead. “He has quite a bruise already, and a lump.”
“My horse done it.” The teamster’s face twisted, torn up. “Must have hit him with a hoof when he reared up in surprise. Will he be all right?”
“Head injuries can be dangerous,” Christina said, taking the end of her scarf and gently swiping the boy’s face with her good hand. The child moaned, stirring again. “That’s a good sign. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
The boy’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them. Small, scrawny, scared, he was a ragamuffin who could use a good meal. Poor kid.
“Anyone know who he is?” Elijah asked.
“I don’t, sorry, Marshal.” The teamster shook his head.
“Never seen ’im before.” Les from the lumberyard ambled over. “I saw the whole thing. The boy ran out of the mercantile like a rabbit being chased by a coyote. Didn’t even stop to look for traffic.”
“He darted into the road,” agreed elderly Mrs. Thompson from inside her covered carriage. “I don’t recognize him, and I know everybody in this town.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He scooped up the boy carefully, cradling him in his arms. “Anyone else hurt?”
“Nope.” The teamster’s concern remained carved on his rugged face. “I’ll check in with your office later. See how the boy’s doing.”
“I’d appreciate that.” The weight of the boy in his arms reminded him of his new mission. The doc’s office wasn’t far. He turned to the woman at his side. “I guess this is where our paths part again.”
“You’re wrong about that.” Her chin hiked up as she gripped her satchel’s handle with her good hand and accompanied him around the maze of stopped vehicles. “I want to help you with that little boy.”
“But what about your intended?” He stepped onto the boardwalk. “You might miss him.”
“Tom and I will find each other. I believe that is God’s will for us.” It felt easy to think so in this small, cozy town graced with white. She loved the way snow made everything fresh and new. This is what she hoped to make of her life, to recover it and start again. Thanks to Tom, she had the chance to belong and find a real home, to have a husband and one day a family. Helping the wounded boy felt like her first act in this new life. Do the right thing, her adoptive mother used to say, and it will always work out right in the end. “Right now, this boy needs us.”
“He does.” Elijah led the way down the opposing street, walking with quick certainty. Masculinity radiated from him with quiet assuredness.
He seemed like a man comfortable with who he was, a man sure of what he stood for. Soft feelings rose within her, but that was only natural. It was impossible not to admire a man cradling an injured boy in his arms, keeping the child tucked safely to his chest for warmth.
Yes, simply a little admiration, that’s all, she told herself, praying Tom would be like Elijah—good, decent, strong and caring. A man who would cradle their children in his arms one day.
“What is a child that age doing running around on his own?” she asked as they hurried down the boardwalk. “Why didn’t his parents come running?”
“Good question. Maybe they are busy in one of the shops.” He nodded in recognition of a man in a dark coat riding a fast-moving horse in the direction of the wagon accident. A star glinted on his chest. “There’s the sheriff. He’d spot anyone searching for a missing child here in town and send them on to the clinic.”
“Oh, the boy’s waking up.” Christina leaned in closer with her soft lavender fragrance and sweetness. Her gleaming hair held highlights of cinnamon in the late day’s light. As the brim of her blue hat brushed his jaw, places long dark in his heart brightened.
He didn’t feel the weight of the boy or the cold of the wind or hear the clatter and chaos echoing down the street. All he could see was her. The cute slope of her nose, the big wide blue eyes focused on the child in his arms and her caring expression burnished her, making her more incredible than anything in their snowy surroundings.
“Hello, there.” She smiled into unfocused, blinking eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”
The boy groaned in pain and rolled against Elijah’s chest, burrowing closer as if to his parent. Perhaps the boy was confused. Not surprising he would be after being hit like that. Elijah ignored a stab of longing. The promise of a son had died with his fiancée long ago.
“What is your name?” she asked gently, not wanting to startle the child.
No answer. The boy took one look at her and hid his face against Elijah’s jacket.
“That’s quite a lump you have on your head.” Her gentle attempt to talk to the boy garnered nothing. The child didn’t move.
Was he crying? Or just trembling from the cold? Elijah couldn’t tell. He glanced down the street, half expecting to see a worried mother dashing down the boardwalk after him. Nothing.
“Guess he doesn’t want to talk to us,” Elijah quipped. “Must be a good sign?”
“Must be. Does your head hurt?” she persisted.
Nothing. The boy was probably just scared, Elijah thought.
“You’ll be all right,” he reassured him. “We’ll get you looked at. Doc Frost’s a nice doctor. He’s got two girls about your age.”
Still no response. The boy wasn’t bleeding and he didn’t seem badly hurt. All good things in his favor.
As Elijah glanced over his shoulder one more time, he spotted something else beyond the crowd of onlookers. A man strode across the street coming from the direction of the train depot. His jaw set, his posture stiff, his quick steps angrily stalking toward the hotel.
Tom Rutger? He winced, not wanting it to be so. The foreboding lodged in his chest told him otherwise. Christina’s groom had come to claim her. The man stalked into the hotel and disappeared, but likely he’d reemerge in a minute or so. That was all the time he had left with Christina.
“Maybe this is where we go our separate ways.” He stopped in front of the clinic door. “Go on back to the hotel.”
“But I want to stay until his parents come.” Torn, she set down her satchel and ran her fingertips across the boy’s head. The child wouldn’t look at either of them, stiff with tension.
“He needs a doctor now.” He clutched the child to him, taking a step back. “I can manage it from here.”
“But I feel as if I should do more.”
“I know, but the child is my duty now. Look, your Tom is coming.”
“You’ll let me know what happens, right? I’ll be at the hotel. You could drop by and tell me his parents found him.” She scooped up her satchel. “I want to make sure his story gets a happy ending, too.”
A happy ending sounded nice, but stopping by to see her? Not a good idea. He opened the door instead of answering