Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

by Leigh Greenwood

  A shot of pain ricocheted through him so sharply that he cried out. He squinted into the unfamiliar surroundings, trying to get his bearings. He tried to sit up, but strong hands held him back.

  “Shhh,” a woman whispered. “You need to lie still, Colin.”

  And then he remembered—the shingle, the voice too familiar, the sudden warmth of a fire and covers to stop his shivering.

  Evie.

  He collapsed back onto pillows, remembering everything. “You should send for Doc Williams,” he croaked.

  * * *

  Evie stepped back, her fists clenched. How dare he! She was a doctor—there was a piece of paper hanging on the wall above her desk and a shingle outside the door to prove it. All the struggle she’d faced trying to get her practice started roiled through her, firing her fury—and her defeat. Who was she kidding? No man—even this one—would ever accept that she could possibly know what she was doing.

  She had excelled in her studies, determined to earn the respect of her fellow students and the doctors who had taught her—all of them male. At her graduation she’d been offered a teaching post at the school, but she had turned that down in favor of coming back to Sagebrush where she felt she was needed, given Doc’s age and his wife’s poor health.

  She stood next to Colin as the tears of frustration she’d held at bay for months burst like a dam. They fell unchecked onto the covers he clutched as once again a fit of chills overtook him. She tucked the quilts tight around his shoulders and neck, and finally he relaxed into sleep.

  This was a man she had once loved—had never stopped loving. This was a man who had wanted her to give up on her dreams, and when she didn’t, he’d walked away. And this man’s life was possibly now in her hands. She would show him. She would show them all.

  She leaned close, her hand resting on his cheek and then forehead. His fever was down. The next time he woke, she would take his temperature. “Don’t you dare die on me, Colin Foster. You owe me that much.” She swiped away her tears with the backs of her hands and tended to the fire before going to stand at the window. It was snowing harder now, covering the empty streets. At this rate, nothing would be moving by sunup. Hers was the only lamp still burning as the rest of the town slept.

  She went over the pattern of Colin’s symptoms since she’d brought him inside, taking pencil and paper from her pocket to make notes. Three hours had passed. Fever, then chills, then raging fever that bordered on delirium. When had she administered the first dose of aspirin? She recalled the church bells and wrote midnight on the paper. Given that he seemed calmer and was sleeping, maybe the aspirin had eased things for him. If she set up a timetable for dosing him, maybe that would help break the fever. She went to her examining room and measured the remaining powder. Half a dozen doses maybe. Every four hours? And he would need to eat something—some broth at least. Yes, liquids. He was seriously dehydrated, of that she was certain. She rested her hands on the windowsill and her forehead against the coolness of the glass.

  She could do this. She would do this.

  Three

  Colin squinted. His eyelids felt as if they were crusted shut. He smelled the putrid odor of whatever covered his chest. He heard only silence and the occasional shifting of a log. He saw the glow of a dying fire—and Evie.

  She was asleep on a hard wooden chair, her shawl pulled close around her shoulders, her hair coming free of the pins and combs she used to control it. Even through his blurred vision, she was beautiful.

  The room was cold—the remaining heat of the fire unable to keep pace with the falling temperatures. Outside it was dark and yet light, the snow creating a glow of its own. Colin pushed himself up to rest on one elbow and forced his eyes fully open. His breathing was shallow, and yet, he had to do something about the fire or they would both freeze to death. He shoved back the quilts Evie had used to cover him.

  Had he imagined her also covering him with her body?

  He shook off the thought and eased his legs over the side of the bed, taking a moment to overcome a wave of dizziness and noting the woodpile was empty. No doubt Evie had meant to bring in more wood but had exhausted herself hauling him around instead. Colin placed his stocking feet firmly on the floor and reached for the bedpost to pull himself upright. Recalling he’d seen wood stacked near the side door when he’d tried to hide from her in the alley, he held on to the doorframe and furniture pieces as he made his way from the bedroom, around the corner, and into the kitchen.

  As he passed through the short hallway, wind howled and rattled the glass in the front entrance to the office. He could see the silhouette of snow mounded against the front window and hear the squeal of the shingle with her name on it. Gripping the kitchen doorframe, he mentally measured the distance from there to the back door and the woodpile.

  And just as it came to him that he hadn’t the strength to open the door, much less carry logs, his knees buckled and he slid to the floor and rolled to his side.

  * * *

  Evie woke in a panic. How could she have allowed herself to sleep—again? There was so much to do—refill the wood bin, prepare the next dose of medicine for Colin, try to get him to eat something or at least swallow some broth. She scrambled to her feet, knocking over the chair she’d moved closer to the bed as she pulled free of the shawl she’d wrapped herself in. Locks of her hair had come undone and now blocked her vision, but she felt the chill and knew the fire was almost out. Gathering her hair, she pulled it away from her face and over one shoulder as she looked first to the bed.

  Empty.

  “No,” she whispered, hurrying to the far side, expecting to see Colin huddled on the floor. He wasn’t there.

  Panicked, she turned in a circle. Where would he have gone? She spotted his boots. Surely that was a good sign.

  A low moan. Was it the wind? No—it was human.

  “Colin?” She rounded the corner to the kitchen and saw him, lying on the floor, shivering violently. “Oh my stars,” she muttered, racing back to the bed and grabbing as many quilts as she could. “What were you thinking?” she demanded as she covered him, rolled him to his back so he was lying on the quilts instead of the bare floor, and then wrapped them tight around him.

  “Wood,” he murmured. “Fire.”

  “You could simply have called for me—wakened me.” She fumed as she struggled to haul him to a sitting position, thinking the less he was in contact with the cold floor, the better. Once she had him propped against the doorframe, she continued mummifying him with the covers.

  He smiled a goofy smile. “Angel,” he whispered. “Beautiful angel.”

  Some angel.

  The truth was, Evie was not upset with Colin, but with herself. What if he’d made it outside and wandered off? What if she hadn’t wakened? She’d fallen asleep and put her patient at risk in more ways than one. Satisfied that for the time being he was as protected as possible, she began heating broth. It seemed only logical that getting something warm down him might help.

  “Drink this,” she instructed, holding the cup to his lips. He slurped in a mouthful and swallowed. “More,” she said, tilting the tin cup higher.

  Unable to swat her away with his hands trapped in the covers, he swung his head side to side. “No,” he protested. “Hot!”

  Evie was aware of the beverage burning her hand through the cup. She’d made it too hot and caused him even more pain.

  “Sorry,” she muttered as she set the cup aside and opened the kitchen window. Snow tumbled into the dry sink. She dropped some in the hot liquid and the rest in a bowl. “Try this,” she urged. “Better?”

  He didn’t turn his head so she figured she had her answer. “Now stay here while I rebuild the fire and stock wood.”

  Colin leaned back and closed his eyes. From the office, Evie heard the chime of her clock and kept count. Four bells.

  Aspirin.<
br />
  Forgetting all about the need to get wood and rebuild the fire, she rushed to her office and measured out a dose of the miracle powder. Mixing it in the leftover melted snow, she fed it to him as she had before, clamping his mouth shut until he swallowed.

  “Dang it, woman,” he sputtered.

  Evie allowed herself a moment of pleasure. His temper was a good sign. Colin had always been frustrated by her determination to overcome his objections and do things her way.

  But then his eyes drifted shut and he clutched at the covers, shivering so much his teeth actually chattered. Evie wrestled the kitchen door open and hurried to the woodpile, where she removed the tarpaulin that kept the fuel dry and loaded four logs in her arms, even as the blowing, icy snow stung her cheeks and hands. Once back inside, she kicked the door shut so hard the glass rattled. She hurried to the fireplace in the bedroom. In minutes, she had the fire going again. Now the problem was to get Colin closer, then get more fuel, then make sure there was wood for the stove in the kitchen, then…

  “Evie?”

  His voice was weak, but how many times had she lain awake nights wishing just once she could hear him calling?

  “Right here,” she assured him as she knelt by his side. “We have to get you back to my bed,” she added.

  It was a measure of how sick he was that he didn’t smile at the double meaning of her words. “Yeah,” he whispered.

  She eased him down so that he was fully resting on top of the quilts. He fought her at first, protesting the loss of warmth when she spread them flat. But she needed those covers to move him. “Lie still,” she ordered as she grabbed the corners above his head and began pulling him slowly toward the bedroom.

  Mentally, she calculated the difference in their size. He was over six feet and probably close to a hundred and seventy-five pounds—most of it muscle. She was strong, but she was also a good eight inches shorter and probably fifty pounds lighter. On top of that, there was no way he could lighten the load for her, so getting him off the floor and onto the bed would be impossible. Inch by inch, she tugged the covers, stopping to get a better grip as she made it through the doorway and on toward the fireplace. Finally, she gave one last tug and settled him in front of the fire.

  Sweat lined her forehead, and her breath came in short, urgent gasps as she stood over him, hands on hips, deciding whether he was too close to the hearth or not close enough.

  Now for the wood.

  Making sure he was covered again and pushing an extra pillow under his head and shoulders, she hurried back outside, returned with a stack, and added two fresh logs to the fire. Then back again and again until she had enough wood to not only see them through the rest of the night, but the following day as well. The storm showed no signs of letting up, and that meant getting out to do normal chores or errands would not be possible. Evie sat on the edge of the bed to catch her breath.

  As the wind howled around the building, rattling doors and windows as if trying to find its way inside, she studied her hands—fingertips numb and nearly blue. Her hair lay in snow-soaked strands plastered to her cheeks and forehead. It felt as if she might never be warm again. Given the way the snow had settled in piles and drifts, she wondered if it would ever stop, or if by morning the doors to the office and her living quarters would be iced over and nearly impossible to open.

  She moved closer to the fire, stretching her hands toward the warmth. She was exhausted. Colin finally seemed to be breathing more easily. She sat cross-legged near the hearth, waiting for her breathing to slow and allowing the fire to warm her. They would both need to eat. Fortunately, she had stocks of food thanks to local townspeople who had welcomed her return to Sagebrush with baskets filled with food supplies, although they would travel miles to see a male doctor in another town rather than allow her to treat them or their families. The few patients she had seen had also paid her with food.

  Sitting on the floor with her damp skirt spread around her, she studied Colin. He’d changed since she’d first set eyes on him that June day, now six years ago. He’d come to town to buy supplies for the ranch where he worked. She’d just left Doc’s office on her way to Gibson’s mercantile, a list clutched in her hand. She was still living with her pa, but came to town every day to help Doc and Mrs. Williams, using the money they paid her to buy food for her father’s supper.

  She and Colin had arrived at the entrance to the store at the same time. He’d opened the door for her, offering her a small bow and a devastating smile.

  Was that the moment she had realized there would never be anyone else for her but Colin? If so, he’d seemed equally smitten. He’d completed his business in the store and waited outside for her. He’d introduced himself, stumbling over the words and further endearing himself to her with his lack of brashness—a trait most men in the West seemed to have in abundance. He’d invited her to take a buggy ride with him the following Sunday, and without hesitation she had agreed. And they had been inseparable from that day until she’d received her acceptance to medical school—the night Colin had proposed.

  That Christmas Eve he’d looked especially handsome—his dark hair tamed from its usual tousled nest of waves, his face clean-shaven, and his eyes sparkling as he drew her into the shadows outside the church just as the bells tolled the dawn of Christmas Day.

  “Evie, let’s get married. Let’s not have another year begin without us being together as man and wife.”

  For reasons she could never explain, his choice of words had given her pause, her quick and always questioning mind examining their true meaning.

  Man and wife.

  Had he said husband and wife, there would have been the flavor of equality—a partnership in life. Somehow, man and wife posed a hierarchy where decisions would not be shared.

  When she hesitated, Colin continued to make matters worse. “I’ve decided this is the best way forward, Evie.”

  I…I…I…

  She remembered how he’d held her hand and smiled, sure of himself and her agreement.

  “We can’t.” She’d felt his grip loosen as she handed him the letter announcing her acceptance to medical school in Kansas City. Colin had always taken her ambition to become a doctor seriously, unlike most others in town. “We’ll need to wait. I’m to begin classes on the second.”

  To this day, she could still vividly recall the look that had crossed his face. It began with an uncertain smile as if he thought she might be pulling a joke that he didn’t quite get. Then he’d stepped closer to the light still spilling through the open church doors and studied the letter. His smile wavered. “It’s the news you’ve waited to hear, Evie,” he said slowly. “Still, if they have a place in January, it’ll be there in spring as well. I can look for work closer to Kansas City, and we can find a little place and…”

  “That’s not how things work, Colin. There are schedules to be kept, and if I turn this down, then they will question the seriousness of my intent.”

  Carefully, Colin had refolded the letter—its thick parchment crackling in the cold. “And what of our schedule, Evie?” He hadn’t looked at her.

  “Don’t you see, Colin? With a medical degree, we can make a solid start. We can…”

  She’d seen his shoulders tense. “You’re doubting that I can provide properly for you?”

  “No! It’s just once I find a position, it will come with housing—a place of our own where we can start a family and…”

  He was quiet for so long that Evie realized everyone had left the church and the priest had closed the doors. The darkness that surrounded them suddenly felt like much more than a deserted street at midnight. She felt something slipping away.

  “Nothing’s really changed, Colin,” she’d said, knowing that everything had.

  “It’s late. I’ll see you back to Doc’s.” He’d taken a light hold on her arm—a stranger’s polite hold—and started w
alking.

  “Can’t we talk about…”

  “Seems to me you’ve made up your mind,” he muttered.

  She’d jerked free of him, snatched the letter from his hand, and stood at the end of the lane that led to her room above Doc’s office and living quarters.

  They’d argued, him telling her no one would take her seriously as a doctor, while she accused him of not truly loving her. They’d said things they didn’t mean but could not take back.

  “I’m going,” she’d said defiantly.

  She had never forgotten the look he gave her—his eyes narrowing, his smile gone. He’d turned his back to her, tugging his hat lower. “Then I guess I am too,” he’d said, adding, “I hope you get everything you want, Evie.” He’d walked away, shoulders hunched against the wind, his footprints a lonely trail in the fresh snow.

  Now as she watched him sleep, she realized his wish for her that Christmas had only been half-fulfilled. She had gotten everything she wanted—except him.

  * * *

  Christmas…

  They’d been so young—not yet twenty. He and his friends had rented a wagon and called for Evie and her friends. Together they boarded that sled wagon filled with hay and blankets, and all evening they rode around the countryside serenading neighbors with carols. They ended up back at the church by eleven, in time for midnight services, and just as the church bells rang in a new Christmas Day, Colin was planning to propose. Not only that, but he was planning to suggest they marry one week later on New Year’s Eve. He saw not one single reason for delay. Starting a new year together was the perfect plan.

  He’d had no doubt of the outcome. He’d imagined it all in detail—Evie all bundled up in that red-plaid coat worn over a solid wool dress of green as deep as a forest of evergreens at twilight, her cheeks rosy with the cold, her laughter competing with the bells the team of horses wore to announce their coming. She would rest her head on his shoulder, snuggled into the curve of his arm as the group made their way back to town.