Glancing in the immediate area, he spotted his chisel nearby. He breathed a sigh of relief.
As he reached for it, his balance precarious, the can tipped, almost falling to the floor.
Why must his leg ache so? He wiped at his forehead. Why was he sweating so profusely? This was not difficult. And it would not beat him.
Chisel in hand and the can of stain once again settled on his good leg, he let out a breath. Time to go to work opening it. If he only had a mallet.
It lay on the opposite side of the cradle.
Dare he set the things he did have to the side and go for the tool he needed? Did he have the stamina left? Would Susie’s nap last this long?
He frowned. Was there a way around it?
Maybe he could angle the chisel and use his fist to created the force needed as leverage. It may not be the best plan he’d ever had, but it was his best option at the moment.
Pulling on his injured leg until his knees were parallel, he secured the can between them. He gritted his teeth at the fresh pain shooting through his leg. Why should he acknowledge it? The more he admitted it to himself the more real it was. If he pushed it to the outskirts of his mind, it would lessen, wouldn’t it?
He set the chisel’s cutting edge between the lid and the lip of the can. And, angling his fist just so, he hit the handle with as much force as he dared.
The blow vibrated through his legs.
He yelped. The lid released as his leg gave way. Turning, the container fell. Despite the pain, he attempted to catch it.
But the can poured out it’s contents. His pants, the floor, and even his hand, bore the effects of his miscalculation.
None of that mattered as much as the intensity of the pain coursing through his leg. He cried out, wishing for words that were no longer in his vocabulary.
Why must he be thus infirmed? And just when he saw a glimmer of hope, it was snatched away. Why? Would he be forever plagued by this…this useless limb? To always be a burden? How much longer?
Turning his regard toward heaven, he silently fumed. This Christmas season may be one of remembrance of God’s greatest gift to earth; but for Wyatt, it was becoming a struggle to remember that God had his best interest at heart.
* * *
Katherine was eager to see her family. She had decided that the town could do without her for the rest of the day.
She wanted the comfort of her husband.
She needed the comfort of her husband.
And she longed for the joyfulness of her children.
Not to mention there were things around the homestead to be done. Numerous things.
Why did that make her whole body ache? Was she so weak? It was but a few hours past noon. This couldn’t be the way of it.
Still, she reminded herself that she carried a heavy load. Not just the weight of the baby, but the responsibility of his or her safety and nourishment. That taxed her body in more ways than she could count.
Wyatt would enumerate them to her well enough if he had any thought about her weariness. Dare she let on to him the depth of her fatigue? Or disguise it? Was that even possible?
Doubtful. Every part of her body seemed sore.
With great effort, she climbed the stairs up to the porch. Had they doubled in number since the last time she had been home?
She paused at the top, setting a hand to her rounded stomach and sucking in breaths. If only she could fill her lungs. But the child made that impossible.
When her body was as satisfied as it could be with what air she could draw in, she stepped to the door. She forced a smile onto her features and opened it.
Silence greeted her.
And an empty house.
What was this? Had Wyatt gone elsewhere and taken Susie? Why? And how?
Was there some emergency forcing him to?
She stilled.
A gentle snoring came from the great room to the right. She turned and spotted Wyatt’s dark blond hair peeking out from the back of the armchair.
Stepping toward him, she circled around and approached toward his front. He seemed so peaceful. His features were placid, and his legs had sprawled out somewhat. One hand lay across his stomach and the other had dropped. Below it a book sat askew on the floor.
Ah, so he had tired while reading.
She leaned in, tempted to press her lips to his. Yet as she bent, the movement put extra pressure on the small of her back. Awareness of how unwise this was shot through her.
Jerking back up, she attempted to right herself. Only to lose her balance and pitch forward.
No!
She stuck out her arms to catch herself. An iron grip stilled her.
Icy blue flashed before her.
“Wyatt.” She struggled against his hold.
His hands were hard on her, his fingers digging into her flesh. Did he think she attempted to hurt him? Had she hurt him?
The steel blue of his eyes softened. “Katie?”
His grip loosened and he shifted as he maneuvered her sideways. Then she sat across his legs, cradled by his arms.
“Are you all right?” She laid a hand to the side of his face, her thumb moving over the grimace on his lips.
“I am well enough. Are you hurt?” His practiced gaze scanned her body.
Her other hand laid over her stomach. “No. I don’t think so.”
His embrace warmed her. She was tempted to remain there, soaking it in. But something was off.
She met his eyes. “Why did you grip me so hard? Were you having a bad dream?”
He looked toward the fireplace, the muscles in his jaw moving under his skin. “No.”
A thinly veiled lie. But would she accomplish anything if she pressed the issue now?
She swallowed. “I should get up. This can’t be good for your leg.”
He turned to face her once more, tightening his arms around her. “I like you just as you are.”
A smile touched her features. “As do I. But we have more to think on than our rathers.” She pulled against his arms.
His hold did not relax.
She pushed out a breath and looked at him. “And what must I do, sir, to purchase my freedom?”
Blond brows shot up. “Naught but a kiss, milady.”
Angling her head, her lips met his. She moved her hand from his face to his shoulder as his hand moved to her back and pulled her closer.
She broke the kiss for breath. “Please let me relieve your discomfort.”
He shook his head slowly, perhaps not in refusal so much as in dissent. That was her assessment.
One of his hands went to her cheek.
She picked it up and pressed a kiss to the palm. But something caught her eye. A splotch on his hand?
Pulling his hand back slightly, she focused on it.
“Something amiss?” His voice felt deep as it vibrated through her body.
“I don’t know.” She concentrated on his hand. Where was that mark?
She turned the hand over.
“I thought I saw something.”
And suddenly, his hand was gone. He had pulled it away.
She looked at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Only some dirt. I should wash up.” He helped her slide from his lap and onto her feet.
Turning this way and that, she sought out the hand once more. Either hand. But his movements were too quick.
He rose and walked to the sink.
She followed. “Wyatt, what is that on your hands. It doesn’t look like dirt. It—”
“I said it’s nothing.” His voice was light but had a tightness underneath it.
She needed to back off. But why would he be so secretive about something on his hand? It wasn’t like him. And she didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
* * *
Wyatt sat in his dining chair and watched Katie move about the kitchen. He hated himself for it. Why did he let his stained hand keep him from helping? Was the secrecy so important?
Hadn’t he rested plenty today? He’d even secured a nap. And now here was Katie, rushing around after her wearying day, preparing their supper.
She paused by the stove, checked a pot, then took a moment for herself. Lifting a towel to her forehead, she patted at the perspiration that had covered her face. Then she put a hand to her stomach. Was she well?
“Katie…” He rose, leaning on his crutch as he took a step toward her.
Jerking her head in his direction, she held up a hand. “Not one more move, Wyatt Sullivan.”
“But—”
“Or one more word.” Her eyes flashed. “You will get off that leg if I am forced to tie you down!”
There was no questioning the veracity of her statement. Or the forcefulness behind it. She was intent. It made him wonder which of them was the healer?
But he knew—she was the nurturer of the two of them. And that had developed quickly in her these last couple of years. He dare not challenge it.
As he shrugged, he took his seat once more. Only then did he glance back toward the children.
Jack’s wide eyes had followed their interaction.
Wyatt wasn’t so proud that he minded his son seeing him bend to his wife’s better judgment. Perhaps it was a good thing for Jack to see—that the boy’s mother cared and could sometimes be wiser.
As the tension stilled and dissipated between him and Katie, Jack returned to his play with Susie.
Now Wyatt didn’t know where to direct his eyes. Should he continue watching Katie? Or would she fear he scrutinized her every move? Perhaps he should mind Jack and Susie’s playtime. He passed the next several moments with his attention on them.
They were endearing. It was difficult to imagine that they had almost been separated from each other after their mother died. If Katie hadn’t been so stubborn, and cared more about them than her own desires, they wouldn’t be together right now.
Thank God for her stubbornness.
A whimper came from the kitchen.
Wyatt whipped his head around.
Katie’s arms were wrapped around her midsection as she hunched over the edge of the sink, her face a contorted mess of pain.
“What?” He was on his feet, pushing forward as fast as he could manage.
She looked at him, but as she opened her mouth, a cry escaped.
Muttering a curse, he dropped the crutch and dragged his leg, ignoring the searing heat coursing through it.
As he came upon her, his arms went around her.
She clung to his shirt. Tears flowed. “I…don’t know…what is happening.”
He saw the naked fear in her eyes.
Could she see it in his? He fought to put up that mask, the one he wore when he entered terrifying, life-threatening situations. But in that moment, it seemed impossible to raise it. Panic took hold of him at his very core, surrounding his heart, squeezing it.
But he couldn’t give way to it. That wouldn’t help the situation. Someone had to remain calm. He needed to get Katie to her bed. And he couldn’t do it alone.
“Jack,” he called.
The boy appeared at Wyatt’s elbow.
Jack’s eyes were wider than before.
Wyatt put a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to be brave.”
Jack nodded.
“We must get Ma to her bed.”
Jack bobbed his head again, a single motion.
“Can you help her? Let her lean on you?”
Susie cried then. There was no way to hide the uneasiness in the room. And she could sense it.
He would have to deal with that later. Right now, Katie needed his full attention.
Chapter 5
Tinsel Tensions
Katherine opened her eyes. All was still. What had happened?
The baby!
Putting hands to her stomach, she breathed out her relief at the swell of her child.
She whispered a prayer of gratitude and did not try to stop the tears that fell.
“Katie,” a soft voice said as the mattress gave a little to the side.
Closing her eyes, she took in the comfort of her husband’s love.
Wyatt wiped her tears and smoothed a hand over her hair.
“Wh-what happened?” She shuddered.
He sighed and continued stroking her hair.
Opening her eyes once more, she sought his gaze.
His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her face. There was peace there for her. But also turmoil. Was everything well?
“Wyatt?” Her voice rose. She lifted her head.
“Be still, love. Don’t try to move.” His tone remained flat. It did not invite discussion.
Her lip trembled. There was something he wasn’t telling her.
His brows furrowed. “Don’t fret so.” He leaned down and kissed first her forehead and then her lips.
Neither distracted her, however, from what might have occurred. Was that his purpose?
As he pulled back, her gaze caught and held his. “Wyatt.” She drew in another long breath and blinked.
Realization hit her. Her baby hadn’t moved since she awoke.
“Please.” Tears threatened to overcome her again. Could she even try to fight them? “Tell me.”
His eyes softened. “You went into labor.”
She bit her lip. But that did not stop her shaking.
He rubbed her arms. “I was able to stop it.”
“The…baby?” It took a moment for her to force the word out.
“There is no reason to think the baby is unwell.” His words were a lifeline. She clung to them.
“Truly?”
He nodded. Was there moisture welling in his eyes? They shone.
“But…” She licked her lips. Why was her mouth so dry? “I haven’t felt the baby move.”
No hint of surprise registered in Wyatt’s features. Why? What did he know? She appreciated his tenderness, but she would go crazy, for certain, if he didn’t come out with it.
“The baby may be resting from the labor. He or she needs sleep, too.” His mouth turned up at the corners. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
She didn’t find it comforting.
He intertwined their fingers. Why did his eyes display such sorrow if everything was truly all right? Dare she enter that place or continue as she was, in ignorance?
That would not work for her.
“If we are well as you say, then why does your face tell a different story?”
He drew in a long breath and released it slowly. Then he moved closer to her. “Can you imagine how afraid I was?”
She kept her eyes latched to his. He? Was afraid?
“I…” He choked. With emotion? Was he so caught up? “I could have lost you.” He squeezed her hand.
She held his with a firmness that defied her condition.
“And our baby.”
Nodding, she felt more tears making their way down her face. Still, there was hope. “But you are a good doctor.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “I’ve lost patients before. Even infants.”
What could he mean?
“I can do everything right and still lose laboring women. And their babies. It’s happened before.” His voice seemed hollow. That was the doctor taking over.
Did he know with certainty that he had done what he could? That even he couldn’t save everyone.
But now the husband and father saw it from a new perspective.
She reached a hand to his face, touching his cheek. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die.”
He jerked away. “Those are fine words, but I am powerless to honor them. I’m not God.”
Her hand dropped and she felt the full foolishness of her statement. How childish, how strange they seemed to her now. And she couldn’t un-speak them.
* * *
How many hours passed before Katie fell into blissful s
leep? It was best. How had he been able to hold himself together? But he had been determined not to give in to his emotions as he held her hand, caressed her face, her hair.
Now that she slept, he found himself in desperate need of respite. Only…
The children.
Jack had calmed Susie and put her to bed. His eyes had been so worn, so tired when Wyatt informed him the danger was past. Had he then gone to bed, as well?
Hobbling the few steps down the hall to Jack’s room, he pushed the door open just a crack. A light illuminated the room. Jack sat on his bed, poring over one of his books. He didn’t even look up at the sound of the door hinges squeaking.
“Jack,” Wyatt whispered into the quietness.
The lad’s head popped up. “Pa? Everything all right?” Fear marred the boy’s expression.
“Yes.” Wyatt held a hand up to still the boy. “Ma is well. I just…wanted to thank you for your help. And tell you it’s time for some shut-eye.”
Jack nodded. He placed a bookmark between his book pages and set the volume to the side. Then, reaching up and putting the lantern out, he maneuvered farther under the covers.
Why didn’t Wyatt just back away and leave the youngster to his rest? Did he have more to say? Searching his heart, he was uncertain of himself.
Jack leaned up on an elbow and faced the doorway. “Pa?”
“Yeah, Jack?” Had the boy sensed Wyatt’s hesitation?
“Did you need something?” The boy’s features were difficult to read.
So Jack had noticed his hesitation. What did the boy think caused it?
Wyatt opened the door wider and stepped through, allowing light from the hall to spill in and illuminate his path.
Sitting on the edge of Jack’s bed, he measured out his words. “The way you helped with your Ma and your sister tonight…” Wyatt’s voice broke.
Jack nodded. “I know, Pa.”
“You made me proud.” He wanted to press his mouth into a smile for Jack, but it wouldn’t come.
The boy fidgeted with his fingers.
Wyatt lowered his brows. “Something wrong?”
“I just…I don’t want you to think…”
Christmas In Cripple Creek (Hope In Cripple Creek Book 2) Page 5