A Doctor's Vow

by Lois Richer

  “Yes, Pa.”

  She stuck the shotgun behind the counter just as Pa moaned and crashed to the floor.

  Chapter Three

  Holt saw Mr. Tate’s eyes roll up into his head. Holt sprang forward but not quickly enough to keep the other man from folding into a heap on the oiled wooden floor. Holt reached his side at the same moment as Lizzie. They bumped into each other, backed away. Embarrassment fluttered through her eyes and then she turned to kneel at her father’s side. “Pa.” She nudged his arm. “Pa.”

  Holt pushed aside a rush of wishes. Life would never include the things a man wanted—home, a woman to smile in greeting as he walked in the door. Not while he was a hunted man. But the alternative was to face biased justice. His false accusers had left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Holt was guilty. Not that a soul had been looking to defend his innocence.

  He knelt beside Lizzie, studying the inert man. “He’s passed out.” He shoved one arm under Mr. Tate’s shoulders and the other under his knees, grunting as he lifted him. “Show me to his bed.”

  Lizzie considered the request for barely a second before she nodded. “Right this way.” She led him to the doorway that Emma had scampered through such a short time ago and into their tiny living quarters. It was as cold as a barn in the cramped room.

  “The fire’s gone out,” he observed.

  She nodded and led him to a narrow cot in the corner. The covers were rumpled. “Emma, come out of there. Pa needs the bed.”

  The quilts wiggled like a worm and Emma emerged, her light brown hair a tangled crown. “I’s trying to keep warm.”

  “Crawl into our bed.” Lizzie tipped her head toward the narrow loft at the other end.

  “It’s cold. Pa had this one warm.”

  Lizzie smoothed her hands over Emma’s hair. “You’ll have to make the bed warm yourself. Now scoot.”

  But Emma stayed close by, shivering despite the layers of sweaters she wore.

  Holt lowered their father to the bed, thinking that he was far too light for a man of his frame. And he understood why Emma liked her father’s bed. The man was fevered. Holt got him comfortable then stepped away for Lizzie and Emma to hover at his side.

  “Pa, wake up.” Lizzie rubbed his wrists and patted his cheeks.

  “How long has he been ill?” Holt asked.

  “Long time,” Emma said, her little face wreathed in worry. “Is he gonna die?”

  “Of course not.” Lizzie’s voice dared such a thing to happen.

  Mr. Tate moaned. Saw Lizzie. “You’re safe.”

  “Yes, Pa. I’m safe. So is Emma.”

  “I should...” His voice drifted into blankness.

  “He needs something hot to drink.” Holt looked about for firewood. Saw three sticks in the box and a lump of coal. “Show me the woodpile and coal shed and I’ll get some heat into this place.”

  Lizzie rose slowly and faced him. In the depths of her violet eyes he read regret and determination. “We haven’t enough fuel to keep both fires going.” She meant the stove in the store as well as the cookstove in the living quarters.

  Holt realized Mr. Tate had been ill long enough to cut into their winter store.

  The man signaled Holt to draw closer. Holt did so, bending low to catch Mr. Tate’s softly spoken words. “I’m too ill to care for my girls.” He tried to lift his hand to grasp Holt’s shirt but lacked the strength. “Mr. Perry, you seem a decent man. Promise me you’ll stay and help them prepare for the cold weather.”

  Holt knew then and there that God had spared his life for one purpose. He would trust God to protect him from his pursuers while he achieved it. “I promise, I’ll help.”

  He had two days’ advantage on the men on his trail—three at the most—but now he had given his word and whatever the risk to himself, he would help these people.

  Chapter Four

  Lizzie heard the stranger pledge to help her family. It would be a relief, but Lizzie wouldn’t acknowledge how desperately they needed his charity.

  “We’ll manage,” she said to him. Hadn’t God promised to take care of them? She clung to the idea. Otherwise her legs would buckle at the thought of how fast the coal pile had been depleted. “Pa is improving every day.”

  She spoke more from stubborn determination than truth, but she was uneasy about a stranger hanging around. Even one who had defended her and carried her father gently to his bed. She turned from Pa and Holt. “I’ll tend to your order now.”

  “Lizzie.” Pa’s weak voice brought her back to his side. She knelt so she could hear his words. “I prayed for help. I have to believe this is God’s answer.”

  Although his words were but a whisper she knew when she glanced up at Holt that he’d heard them. Again Holt’s gaze was riveted to hers. Silently saying he wanted only to help.

  She longed to believe it. But her natural caution warned her to be careful.

  “Ma’am, at least let me get the chill off this place. I won’t use any more of your wood and coal than necessary. And if you’d be so kind as to share your meal, I’ll sleep in the livery station tonight. Tomorrow...” He pulled at his lip as if considering his options.

  Even as she considered hers. She had precious few.

  “I’d be pleased to make sure you have a fair stock of fuel. Might take me more’n a day, though. If that’s a problem...?”

  Emma stood shivering at the foot of Pa’s bed. Lizzie ached to give her little sister the warmth of home and the security Lizzie had known when she was six. Instead she had only a cold room to offer. Trying to run the store and care for everything left her scant time to play mother to her sister.

  It was the look of hope on Emma’s face that made up Lizzie’s mind.

  “I’ll feed you and provide your travel supplies in exchange for a winter’s store of fuel.”

  Holt grinned. “It’s a deal.”

  He offered his hand to make it official. Lizzie hesitated, suspecting that she might regret this agreement as much as she needed it.

  Slowly she lifted her hand to his, let him grip it. Solid. Strong. She withdrew her hand. Couldn’t decide what to do with it. Press it to her waist? Wrap her other hand around it and share the heat? In the end, she unnecessarily tidied a lock of hair, tucking it into her bun.

  He rubbed his palms together. “First things first. Let’s get a fire going and make this room cozy.”

  Emma followed him to the cold stove. “We’re going to be warm?”

  “Soon, little Emma. Very soon. And I’ll make sure you’ve got enough fuel that you can be snug as a bug all winter.”

  Emma gave him a smile full of sweet trust. “I think I like you.”

  He grinned at the girl. “What’s not to like?” He shared the smile with Lizzie, and she felt as if the sun had dawned in her chest. It frightened her.

  “A man from no place. On his way north. Not the sort of man to like too much, Emma.” Lizzie warned herself as much as her little sister.

  Chapter Five

  “A man from no place. On his way north. Not the sort of man to like too much, Emma.”

  Holt recognized Lizzie’s caution for what it was—a warning to her little sister to remember this was temporary. He wished he could assure her it was misplaced. But it wasn’t. For his own safety he had to keep moving.

  But for now, he intended to honor his promise to Mr. Tate. The door to the store opened and Lizzie slipped away. The fire began to thaw out the room. “I’m going to see about more fuel,” he told Emma and stepped outside. There was only enough wood for a month or less, he thought as he examined the woodpile. He moved to the coal shed. A small heap in the middle of the floor. No wonder Lizzie was rationing it so tightly. It would take him more than a few days to provide a winter’s supply. Might even t
ake a week. He grinned. Didn’t seem such a bad prospect.

  Then he thought of his pursuers, just days behind him. He rubbed at his throat at the specter of being caught and taken back. Holt shrugged off the thought. He had given his word, and he wouldn’t break his promise.

  He chopped wood for kindling then filled a coal bucket and carried it inside. But Holt drew to an abrupt halt as he entered the living quarters. The room glowed with hominess. A pot simmered on the stove, filling the air with a pleasant aroma. Mr. Tate reclined on his pillows as Lizzie helped him drink from a cup. Emma sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, playing with a doll.

  The scene filled him with sharp regret; a man on the run could never enjoy such pleasures. But this temporary taste was a gift from God. He would enjoy every minute of it and cherish the memory in the future. “It smells like home in here.”

  Lizzie glanced up. “I just made tea. Do you want a cupful?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get it.” But by the time he hung his hat and shucked out of his coat, she had placed a steaming cup on the table for him. “Thanks.”

  Emma sat across from him. “Where’s your home?”

  Holt felt Lizzie and her pa’s silent interest in his answer. “Used to be Ohio. Before my pa died.”

  “My ma died, too.”

  “I’m sorry. But you got your pa and your sister.”

  She nodded, her eyes bright. “They love me.”

  “What’s not to love?”

  She giggled at his question. Then tipped her head to study him more. “So why didn’t you stay with your ma?”

  “I did some, until she married again. My stepfather didn’t much like having a sixteen-year-old boy hanging about. So I left.”

  “Aww. That’s sad.”

  He let her mull it over as he sipped tea that cheered his insides.

  “So where you going now?”

  “Nowhere in particular.”

  “Then how do you know you aren’t there already?”

  Emma’s innocent question hung in the air. Holt couldn’t tell her that staying wasn’t safe, no matter how much he might want to. He had no wish for them to get mixed up in his troubles. Regret boiled through his insides, scalding them with loneliness and desperation. “I just know.”

  Chapter Six

  Lizzie heard the longing in Emma’s voice. Understood it. With Holt there, the room was warmer and more secure than it had been since Pa fell ill in the summer. But Holt wasn’t the answer they needed...although she couldn’t deny the deep gratitude and relief she felt at his offer to make sure they had enough coal and wood to get them through winter.

  Pa indicated he’d had enough tea and she moved to the stove to stir the soup. Rationing fuel had meant restricting her cooking to what she could prepare on the pot-bellied stove in the store. But now she’d be able to make better meals. Surely Pa would then start to improve.

  She studied him. He seemed to be resting peacefully. Praise the Good Lord.

  Her eyes continued on to Holt. Emma had brought out her rag doll and was chattering to him about “Miss Ellen’s” adventures. Holt nodded and made appropriate comments, appearing to take the child’s imaginations seriously. Everything inside Lizzie tilted sideways at the sight of the big man bent close to Emma, his over-long black hair brushing his strong jawline.

  He turned, noticed her watching and grinned. “Miss Ellen has been a busy young lady. She’s visited several cities I haven’t seen. Even been to the ocean.” His coffee-colored eyes filled with amusement. And something more that drew her into her own dream world.

  She found herself longing for things she would not allow herself to confess—a home such as she’d known as a child. Security. Love. She gave a mental snort. Not that she wasn’t loved. But that wasn’t the sort of love she meant. In the most secret places of her heart, she yearned for a love that cherished her as a woman.

  But her responsibility to her pa and little sister made such romantic notions impossible. The few men who had shown any interest in Lizzie had made it plain they didn’t want to be tied down by her family.

  She jerked her attention back to the simmering pot. Her imagination was almost as rampant as Emma’s. “The soup is ready. Emma, would you set the table?”

  “Okay. Holt, you hold Miss Ellen.”

  Lizzie expected the man to protest. When he didn’t she had to steal a look. He sat with Miss Ellen on his lap, his big hands cradling the rag doll as gingerly as if it were china. Try as she might she couldn’t contain a chortle.

  Holt grinned at her. “It’s a rare occasion that I get to hold someone’s best friend.”

  Their gazes locked. Did she see interest in his eyes, or was it only her own hopes she saw? She tore her eyes away.

  He was a stranger. She couldn’t possibly have feelings for him in such a short time. Yes, he was kind to help them, but he was only passing through. Likely, as Pa said, on the run. She’d had enough of young men who had only leaving on their minds, who expected she should abandon her family to join their wild pursuits. This man was no different. The sooner he moved on, the better, she decided as she began to ladle out the soup.

  He waited until she sat down. “Do you want me to say grace?” At her nod, he did so. He spoke as if he and God were on a friendly basis.

  Which was no reason to allow herself even a thread of attraction. Words easier said than obeyed.

  Chapter Seven

  “How long do you think it will take to restock our coal and wood?” Lizzie asked him.

  Holt tasted the soup, stalling. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed anything this good—might be a good while before you have enough fuel,” he teased.

  His response was an evasion, but Holt had no intention of answering her question about how long he’d be around. Somehow he couldn’t bear the thought of how she would look at him once she found out he was a wanted man. But if it weren’t for his pursuers, he’d be tempted to stay the winter.

  Emma giggled. “It’s only soup. We eat it a lot.”

  “How fortunate for you. Sure beats fricassee rabbit.” He smiled at Lizzie. “’Preciate your inviting me for supper.”

  She laughed, easing the tension that scraped along his nerves at the way she shied away from meeting his glance. “Seems you invited yourself.”

  “Are you insinuating I’m not welcome?” He put his spoon down in mock protest.

  Emma almost jumped from her chair. “No, she didn’t meant that, did you, Lizzie?” The girl’s eyes grew wide, pleading. “Say you aren’t going.”

  But he kept his gaze on Lizzie, silently demanded a response from her.

  “Calm down, Emma. Of course he’s welcome.”

  Holt grinned, far more on the inside than the out. The admission had cost Lizzie a dose of pride but he decided it was worth it.

  “So tell me about Buffalo Hollow.” He listened keenly as they described the frontier town and the people living nearby. The information might prove valuable should someone come hunting him. And he knew they would. They were on his trail even now. He could only pray something would delay them.

  They finished the soup. While Lizzie washed the dishes, Holt insisted on drying them. “I do my share,” he said when she would have refused his help.

  “Very well.” There was a shrug in her voice, but he caught a flash of something in her eyes that made him think she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended. He allowed himself a bit of joy, a moment of dreaming, before he pushed reality to the fore.

  “Emma,” Lizzie said, “Get ready for bed.”

  Emma looked ready to argue then sighed like a martyr and climbed the ladder to the loft. “It’s nice and warm up here.”

  Mr. Tate had slept through the meal, but as Holt dried the last bowl, he stirred. “Lizzie?” His frail vo
ice barely reached the stove.

  Lizzie hurried to him. “I’ll get your soup right away, Pa.”

  “Wait.”

  She hovered at his side as he struggled to find words and the strength to say them.

  “Is he still here?”

  Holt moved to the bed. “I’m still here. I’ll stay until there is enough fuel for the winter.” Had he forgotten Holt’s promise or did the man need something more? “Is there anything else?”

  “Lizzie will give you money for the coal. Borrow the wagon from the livery man. He’ll direct you to the nearest coal mine.”

  “I’ll do so.” He waited but Mr. Tate seemed to have nothing more to say.

  Lizzie brought a bowl of soup and pulled a chair close to feed her father.

  Emma climbed down the ladder, Miss Ellen tucked under her arm and a book in one hand. Seeing that her sister was busy, she turned her attention to Holt. “Will you read me my story?”

  Her question jolted through his insides. He sucked in air and tried not to see the room—cheery, full of love and family. Everything he wanted, and now because of the lies about him, could never have.

  Chapter Eight

  Lizzie saw the way Holt’s mouth grew flat. Sensed a stiffening of his spine. Bad enough Emma demanded he hold her doll. Now to ask him to read her a story...

  “Emma, don’t bother him. I’ll read to you as soon as I’m done with Pa.”

  Holt shuddered so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking carefully. “Not a bother.” He reached for the book.

  Emma took his hand and led him to the rocking chair that had once been Ma’s. The girl waited for him to sit then indicated she had to perch on his knee.

  Lizzie watched anxiously, torn between allowing her sister this pleasure and wanting to protect her from a man who would walk out of their lives as suddenly as he’d walked in. Someone they knew next to nothing about. But she remembered how she’d sat on Pa’s knee as he read to her. How could she deny her little sister this simple happiness? So Lizzie only observed, prepared to intervene if needed.