She ran her fingers through the thickest part in the back one final time, relishing the luxury of it. Then she stepped away. “All right. Go look in the mirror and see if you like it.” She pulled the cloth from his shirt and carried her tools to the work counter. After standing so close for so long, a bit of distance was a good thing.
“It’s fine. Much obliged, ma’am.” He walked out the door.
~ ~ ~
CATHLEEN PULLED THE fur cap tighter on her head as she slipped into the barn later that afternoon. Reuben had gone to the neighbor’s to check the cows, but he’d mentioned a mare in the barn whose foaling could be eminent. Something about the way he’d said it pressed concern into her chest. And since Mrs. Scott seemed to be deeply entrenched in a nap in her chair by the fire—Reuben’s dog nestled by her feet—a quick check on the mare couldn’t hurt.
She slipped down the row of stalls, peering into each one. All the animals looked to be in the corral, as they should be. The stalls were cleaned, the hay stacked in a corner of each for the night’s feeding. Reuben did keep the place neat, that was for certain. Much more than she had before his arrival.
The mare was the only horse in the barn and stood dozing in a back corner of her stall. “Hey, girl. I hear you’re going to have a baby.” As she watched, the horse shifted from one back foot to the other, like she couldn’t quite get comfortable under the weight of her hefty abdomen. But her head stayed in that sleepy, lowered position.
Cathleen wanted to slip into the stall and pet the mare, but would the animal object? From the look of things, she was docile enough. She raised the bar holding the door closed and slipped inside.
The horse’s thick wool-like hair was softer than Cathleen had expected as she ran her hand down the reddish-brown neck. “What’s your name, girl?” The mare answered by bringing her head around to nuzzle Cathleen’s elbow. She’d not spent much time around horses in the past. Mostly buggy rides back in Boston and the few times she’d ridden since she came to Butte. And of course that five hour ride up the mountain to this homestead. This horse seemed different than the others she’d ridden, though. She had a mellowness that was relaxing, yet the keen look in her eyes bespoke intelligence.
Cathleen ran her hand down the horse’s abdomen, taking a step back to eye the whole of her. A flash of white pulled her eye, down in the shadows of the mare’s hind legs. She leaned closer, but not so close she was in danger of being kicked by those powerful limbs. Drips of white liquid fell from the mare’s udder and splashed on the dark hair below. The horse was leaking milk? Was that normal? She’d never been close to a female horse right before birth. If the mare kept this up, would she have enough milk to feed the foal when it arrived?
Stepping back, Cathleen gave the horse a final pat on the shoulder, then slipped from the stall. Who knew when Reuben would return, but maybe Mrs. Scott would know what to do. Surely the woman had seen enough foals born to have the process deeply engrained in the recesses of her memory.
In her more lucid moments, Mrs. Scott had shared some sweet—and sometimes humorous—memories from the early days of their time in these mountains. Some even included Reuben’s adventures. Like the time he’d sneaked away early one morning, riding atop one of the plow horses. He’d been five at the time, and Mrs. Scott had thought him merely sleeping late. It wasn’t until Mr. Scott missed the plow horse that they discovered their son gone also.
It took two hours to find him that morning, and even after he was returned home safe and sound—although a little sore on his rump—that first taste of freedom had stuck with him. Of course, he didn’t ever leave again without telling them goodbye. Mrs. Scott’s face had held a mixture of pride and sadness with those last words.
Cathleen’s chest squeezed as she thought about the mother’s love that was so obviously strong in Mrs. Scott, even in her confusion.
After stomping her boots on the front porch to clear the snow, she lifted the latch string and pushed open the cabin door. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, especially after the brightness of sunlight on snow outside. As Cathleen peeled off her wool gloves, her gaze searched out Mrs. Scott’s chair.
Empty. She scanned the room, but no movement stirred.
“Mrs. Scott?” Cathleen surged forward to check the woman’s room. She’d been sound asleep just minutes before, but maybe she’d awoken and wandered into the bed chamber to retrieve something.
The cool room was utterly still. No Mrs. Scott in sight. Cathleen bobbed around the wall into her own chamber.
“Mrs. Scott?” The concern planted only moments before now flamed into panic. “Mrs. Scott, can you hear me?”
Slipping her gloves back on, Cathleen charged toward the cabin door and pushed outside. On the porch, she stalled, scanning the yard around her. The snow was still six or eight inches deep in most places, but footprints marred the surface everywhere she looked. Where would the woman go?
The outhouse. She leapt off the porch, skipping the steps completely so their slippery surface didn’t slow her down. She’d become adept at maneuvering through the snow and made it to the outhouse door in seconds.
She was panting, though, and had to swallow hard to get enough moisture in her mouth to speak. “Mrs. Scott?” She banged on the door. “Are you in there, ma’am?”
No answer. No sound at all.
She gripped the handle and pulled. Empty.
“Oh, God, where is she?” Panic clawed in her chest like a wild animal, fighting for release.
She started for the chicken shed. Maybe the older woman had gone to collect eggs or kill a chicken for supper like that first day Bryan found her. But if she wasn’t there, where else could Cathleen look?
“Mrs. Scott!” She yelled as loudly as she could while running.
Then a horrific sound filled the air. Barks or the cries of wild animals or something. Cathleen’s heart stopped as she veered that direction, a prayer rising to her lips. “Oh, God. No!”
Chapter Eight
THE SOUNDS DIDN’T stop, and echoes filled the woods on the back side of the cabin. Cathleen plunged into the trees, praying with every frantic beat of her heart. Visions swam through her mind of Mrs. Scott lying in a pool of blood, North bravely defending her to his death. How had she let this happen?
Movement filtered into view through the trees ahead. The wild growls, barks, and yelps sounded like they came from dogs…several dogs. Wolves? She could only see a flurry of gray and white through the brush. And then a taller brown figure, looming over them.
Mrs. Scott.
Cathleen’s fear gave way to a scream as she plunged through the last of the saplings hiding the group.
Mrs. Scott held a stick in both hands, slamming it down onto two animals writhing on the ground. The ferocious noises coming from the dogs had risen to a deafening scale, and the woman was close enough to be knocked over and dragged into the mix.
One of the creatures was, indeed, North. The other was a flurry of gray hair, half the size of North, but quick and wiry. She caught a flash of white teeth from the beast, just before Mrs. Scott landed a hard blow on its head.
It yelped, and Cathleen grabbed the stick from the woman and took over the attack. She screamed and yelled, but she couldn’t even hear her own voice amidst the din.
The creature had a solid hold on North’s flank with its powerful jaw, and she swung blow after blow at its head. One of her harder efforts connected with the side of the creature’s muzzle, and it yelped, then it released the dog and leapt backward.
She honed in on the victory with something akin to a battle cry, slashing at the creature with all her might. It slunk backward, just out of reach, but baring its teeth in a growl that seized her chest.
But she didn’t relent. Another blow swiped within a few inches of the animal’s head. It yelped again, then spun in a low crouch and sprinted away.
When it disappeared through the trees, an eerie silence took over the area. She was shaking, a
nd she had to lock her knees to keep from collapsing. But the worst was probably yet to come. She turned back to face the damage behind her.
Mrs. Scott leaned over the furry form of North, the white dog almost blending into the snow except for bright patches of crimson. The woman murmured shaky words to him as her fingers prodded the bloody fur.
Cathleen dropped to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong, boy?”
He raised his head, and those trusting eyes had a sheen of sadness over them. A whine drifted from him, even as his tail thumped the slightest bit in the snow. At least he was breathing and aware.
She glanced up at Mrs. Scott to make sure the woman hadn’t been injured in the fight. A swipe of blood marred her hand, but that could be North’s blood. Otherwise, she appeared to be whole.
Forcing her hands to stop trembling, Cathleen slipped them into North’s fur and began to investigate the bloody areas. He had a patch of missing skin on his nose, probably from claws. A bit of blood at the throat, but that wound didn’t look as deep as she feared. It’d not hit a vein, at least. The worst of it seemed to be his rump, where several missing chunks of hair revealed deeper layers of inner flesh, and maybe even muscle. Blood oozed out of him in steady secession, but at least dogs didn’t have major arteries in that area. Did they? She had to get him back to the house.
She eyed their surroundings to get her bearings, then glanced at Mrs. Scott. The woman had at least remembered to grab her coat and shoes, although no gloves or hat. This frigid air couldn’t be good for her feet, nor any other part of her.
Her gaze tracked back down to North. The dog had to be more than half her weight, and came almost to her waist when he stood on all fours. No matter how she carried him, she wouldn’t be able to stop it from being painful. But she’d have to do her best.
Slipping off her coat, she draped it over the animal, wrapping it under him as she positioned her arms at his chest and hindquarters, then lifted. His soft whimper was almost lost in her grunts as she struggled to stand upright with the load. More than half her weight? The dog stood a better chance of carrying her than she did him.
But she gritted her teeth and started walking. “Let’s get him back to the house, Mrs. Scott. Can you walk with me?”
The woman followed, but their progress was slow with her unsteady steps through the deep, virgin snow. Cathleen watched for tracks that might show the trail Mrs. Scott and the dog had taken to get to this place, but saw only her own frantic strides. How long had they been out that they’d wandered this far? And what would have happened if she’d arrived even minutes later?
The muscles in her arms had turned to mush by the time they stepped into the clearing. Cathleen glanced at the woman beside her. “I’m going to take the dog inside the house. Will you come help me tend him?” She couldn’t keep up this slow pace much longer, and maybe Mrs. Scott would follow her inside if she felt an urgent need to help.
The woman waved her forward. “Go on, dearie. I’ll be right there.”
Relief washed through her, and she trudged forward as fast as her tired legs would carry her. After stumbling up the steps and through the cabin door, Cathleen aimed for the open area in front of the fire. North seemed to be shivering, although she couldn’t be sure if that was from cold or pain.
After easing him down, she peeled back the coat she’d wrapped around him. The cloth came away bloody where it had touched his haunches. She parted the thick white hair to get a better look at the wound, but the dim light of the cabin made it difficult.
She stroked a hand over his head. “Stay here, boy, while I get a lantern.” After lighting a lamp and gathering her medicine kit, Cathleen glanced at the door. She’d better go make sure Mrs. Scott made it inside before she tended the dog.
But a soft tread on the porch saved her the trouble. Cathleen opened the door and helped the woman inside. “Will you sit and talk to the dog while I warm some water to clean his wounds?”
“You do what you need to. North and I will be just fine.” At least Mrs. Scott remembered the dog’s name. Cathleen helped her into the chair near North’s head and moved to the stove. She still wasn’t sure whether the injuries were life-threatening, but she’d need clean water no matter what.
With a light to see by and supplies gathered close, Cathleen cleaned the dog’s wounds. The rump was definitely the worst part. The skin had been ripped away to reveal a goodly portion of muscle and deep flesh tissue. Her stomach churned at the sight, but she pressed the feeling down. She had to think like a doctor here. Clinical. A whine from North nearly sidetracked her intentions, but she forced her focus back on the injury.
After cleansing and sprinkling powdered cayenne pepper in the wound, she covered it as well as she could. Dad and both her brothers said the pepper worked wonders to stop bleeding and start the healing process. Lord, please let it work this time, too.
North lay with his head on her coat throughout her ministrations. His quivers gradually subsided to panting, which tugged at her heart even more. She stroked his head and neck. “I’m sorry, boy. You were so brave.” His eyes, dark and soulful, met hers, but he still didn’t raise his head. She stroked his favorite spot behind his ear, careful not to get close to the wounds at his neck.
What a special animal this was. Loyal to the bitter end. He’d stopped panting now but lay with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes at half-mast, like it was a struggle just to be awake.
A knot formed in her throat, burning its way up to sting her eyes. “You can’t die on me, boy. I know it hurts, but you have to pull through.”
He didn’t raise his head, but his tail stroked the floor in a half-wag. Which only brought the tears closer to the edge of her control. What could she do to ease his suffering? Maybe a bit of stewed beef from supper last night would be a welcome treat.
She rose to get it, and when she returned, Mrs. Scott had taken up a steady humming. The woman swayed to the rhythm as she sat in her overstuffed chair and picked at the blanket on her lap. The tune was familiar, one they’d sung so many times at her church in Boston. “Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me.”
The melody washed over Cathleen as she knelt beside the dog, and she could feel the easing of her tight shoulder muscles. But when she held the bowl of broth and beef under his nose, North gave it only a tiny lick, still not raising his head from the floor.
“Come on, boy.” Her voice cracked on a sob, but she forced the emotion back down inside. What else could she try? One of her herbal teas from the kit Bryan left? While her mind played through the possibilities, she stroked the sweet dog’s head over and over. He started panting again, although it was more of a gentle tongue lolling as his head still relaxed against the floor.
Had he gone into traumatic shock? If only she’d spent more time helping her brothers in the clinic these past months. She would know the signs better. She’d know what to do to help this poor animal who’d given of himself completely to protect Mrs. Scott.
A noise sounded on the porch, and Cathleen’s shoulders tensed. For the quickest of seconds, the image of that wild animal flashed through her mind, skulking back for revenge.
But no. It had to be Reuben. The waning daylight through the small window meant it was time for his return. And maybe…just maybe he’d know what to do to help this hurting dog. A glance at the animal’s cloudy gaze revealed the depth of his pain, and it brought a fresh burning to her eyes. She was supposed to be the nurse here, but she had no idea what else would make him feel better.
The cabin door opened, and she glanced up to catch Reuben’s expression. How could she tell him she’d allowed his ailing mother to wander through the snowy woods, be attacked by a savage animal, and now his courageous dog may not live because of it? All because of her.
His gaze swept the room as he pulled off his hood and gloves. His focus stalled when he saw her crouched over the furry mass of North’s body. The concern that settled over his face—nay, the fear—broke through the defense she’d built against
her tears.
“I’m sorry, Reuben.” Her words were barely audible even to her own ears, and she turned back to the dog as the depth of her anguish spilled down her face.
He was by her side in a second. “What happened?” He stroked the dog’s head, pushing back the thick white fur to examine each wound.
“It was a wild dog, or wolf, or some kind of creature. I’d just gone to the barn to check the mare while your mum was asleep.” Sobs interrupted as the story poured out of her. “I wasn’t out long, I promise. But she was gone and I looked everywhere. Then I heard this awful commotion.”
Emotion wrenched from her as she told about the creature attacking North and how long it had fought until finally skulking away through the woods.
Then the extent of North’s injuries. She sniffed hard to control some of her tears and steady her voice. “I washed and treated his hip with cayenne powder, but he seems to be in so much pain. I just…” Another sob broke through, and she closed her eyes against the flow.
Her tears might seem irrational to him, maybe childish and unnecessary. But the weight of all the uncertainty she’d fought since coming to this homestead pressed down on her. She’d worked so hard, yet still there was so much she didn’t know. So many things she still got wrong. She should have never left Mrs. Scott alone. That one choice could have cost the sweet woman her life.
And now that the torrent had started, she was powerless to stop it.
“Hey.”
Strong fingers touched her chin, and her eyes flew open. Intense blue met her gaze, earnestness smoldering there.
“It’s not your fault, Cathleen. You’ve done everything he needs.” A softening found his eyes. “I’m not even sure I would have thought of using the pepper.”
She inhaled a sob, wiping underneath one eye with a sleeve. The heat from his hand warmed her face. “It’s a remedy I used a lot in Boston.”
The Lady and the Mountain Call (Mountain Dreams Series Book 5) Page 7