Kaki Warner

by Miracle in New Hope

  Yet he knew. He knew like he knew the beat of his own heart. Like he knew the truth of his own mind. He had found Lacy’s daughter.

  Thank you, Lord.

  “Hannah,” he said when she stopped before him. “Do you know who I am?”

  She looked at him, then at the doll in his hand.

  He held it toward her. “Do you remember your doll?”

  She studied it for a moment, then smiled. “Miss Peep,” she said in a voice so soft he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it or only imagined it. Unaware of his astonishment, she took the doll from his grip and tucked it under her arm. “What took you so long, Daniel?”

  Jesus. “You’re talking,” he blurted out, wondering if he was hearing her thoughts or her words.

  “Can we go home now?”

  Daniel stared, his mind reeling. He tried to speak, couldn’t, cleared his throat and tried again. “Sure. All right.” He reached out an unsteady hand.

  But instead of taking it, she pointed at his stomach. “Why are you red?”

  Confused, Daniel looked down, saw the blood on his jacket, and only then realized he’d been shot.

  ***

  It was twilight when Lacy and Tom rode into New Hope. In the week they’d been gone, more repairs had been completed on the Mercantile, and most of the shops had bright bows over their doors, garlands of holly and fir in the windows, and candles on the sills.

  Turning to her brother, Lacy asked what day it was.

  “The nineteenth, I think.”

  Hannah had disappeared last year on the seventeenth. How had she let that anniversary slip by unnoticed?

  When they stopped in front of her house, she studied it with a critical eye. The faded black ribbon above the front door proclaimed it a home still in mourning. The dead plants in the window box and the pine needles piled in the corners of the porch, along with the lack of yuletide decorations, screamed a message of despair: Go away, leave me alone, I don’t care.

  This, then, was her legacy to Hannah? To a child that had brought such joy into her life?

  No. She had to do better. She had to find a way out of this hole she’d been hiding in for the last year and face life again. And she would start by finding a proper way to honor her daughter’s memory.

  “What’s the matter?” Tom asked when he saw her still sitting on her mare.

  She swung out of the saddle. “We need to spruce the place up.”

  He gave her a look. “I’m a little tired right now . . . ”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she fell into step beside him as they led the horses to the barn and paddocks in back of the house. “I’ll make some bows. You and Harvey can cut boughs for a garland. And find a tree. We need a tree.”

  “Next you’ll want a Christmas goose.”

  She poked his shoulder. “There’s your Christmas goose. But a turkey would be nice. Or several grouse. We should invite Doctor Halstead, don’t you think? Try to make a celebration of it.”

  Celebrate the happiness that Hannah had brought them. Not the pain.

  He put his hand on the paddock gate, hesitated, then turned toward her, a speculative look on his face. “You think Hobart might show up?”

  “It’s Christmas, Tom. And I don’t want every Christmas for the rest of my life to be about the worst day of my life.” She smiled. “But if Daniel showed up, that would be fine, too.”

  “You told him not to come around anymore, to stay away from New Hope and out of your life. Remember?”

  She did. And heartily regretted it. “Maybe he’ll come anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time a man disregarded a woman’s wishes.”

  ***

  Unwilling to risk another bullet by checking his injury so close to the cabin, Daniel took Hannah back through the trees to where he’d tied Merlin and Roscoe. Now that he knew he’d been shot, his side started burning like a son of a bitch. But it didn’t seem to be bleeding much, and judging by the hole in his jacket, it was low on his side and well away from anything important. Or so he hoped. While Roscoe and Hannah traded kisses, he untied the sack of dry goods he’d purchased in Volker’s Crossing. He pulled out the wool poncho, both blankets, the wool mittens and scarf, then held up Hannah’s new coat.

  Luckily, it was several sizes too big and fit easily over the old brown coat she was wearing. He’d forgotten how squirmy children were but managed to get her buttoned and mittened, then pulled the poncho over her head, which covered her legs and dragged on the ground. Next, he wound her new wool scarf around her head several times, and finally wrapped her in one of the blankets.

  “How’s that?’ he asked, stepping back to study his efforts.

  “I’m hot.”

  He removed the blanket. Then, ignoring the burst of pain in his side, he lifted her into the saddle. After instructing her to hang on to the saddle horn, he turned his back and examined the wound.

  The bleeding had already slowed. But there was no exit hole in his back, which meant the bullet was still lodged inside. That would cause a problem. He figured it would be all right until he got Hannah out of the canyon and away from the Reinhardt’s. Even fifty yards from the cabin, he could still hear Mrs. Reinhardt wailing and calling for Anke. He didn’t want Hannah to be in the area if she broke out and started shooting again.

  He pulled a shirt from his saddlebag, tore off a section, and laid it over the hole, then tore more strips and tied them around his waist to keep it in place. That was the best he could do for now. Teeth gritted against the pain, he swung up onto Merlin. After wadding up the blanket to make a seat for Hannah in front of him, he made sure the poncho covered her legs and the scarf was secure. “All set?” he asked once she’d finished squirming around.

  She nodded. And with Miss Peep tucked under her arm and her wool-wrapped head bouncing against his chest, they started down out of the canyon.

  Because of the tracks he’d laid down earlier, it was easier going out than coming in, and they made it back to the Frio River while it was still light. Knowing he couldn’t ride the additional fifteen miles to New Hope that night, he rode on until he reached the same spot where he and Lacy and Jackson had camped that first night out of New Hope a week ago.

  He slid stiffly to the ground. “Gather some firewood while I set up camp.”

  She blinked at him, eyes round.

  “It’ll be all right. Roscoe will go with you.”

  By the time he’d tied the canvas between the trees and gotten a fire going with the sticks she’d gathered, he was shaky with fatigue and loss of blood.

  “You hungry?” he asked, setting beans and jerky on to warm.

  She nodded and sat down beside him—so close he had to watch his elbows—and began to twist Miss Peep’s yarn hair into rough braids.

  A strange kid, he thought, studying the child who had haunted his dreams for weeks. Beautiful like her mother. Same blonde hair, same blue-green eyes, and a smile that reached into a man’s chest and wrapped around his heart.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d found her. Or that she was talking. And although there was still no rational explanation for either, at least now he knew he wasn’t crazy. “Your ma told me you didn’t talk.”

  She continued braiding. “I can’t talk to her.”

  “But it’s okay to talk to me?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “You won’t go away if I say something mean.”

  “And you think she will?”

  “Daddy did. I like your dog.”

  Guessing that was all he was going to get on that subject, he tried another. “Your ma misses you real bad.”

  This time she looked up. “She does?”

  “Sure.”

  “She’s not mad at me?”

  “Why would she be mad at you?”

  She shrugged and resumed braiding. Miss Peep’s hair looked like a tangled bird’s nest and was getting worse by the minute. “She gave me to the lady.”

  It was a moment before Daniel could spe
ak, and when he did, it was hard to keep his voice even. “No, she didn’t. She would never do that. Ever.”

  “But the lady said—”

  “The lady was lying,” he cut in, too angry to watch his words. “Your mother never stopped looking for you. Or missing you.” His hands curled into fists, and he wished he had the Reinhardt woman’s throat in his grip.

  She stopped twisting the yarn. “Then why didn’t she come get me?”

  Seeing the tears in her eyes brought a sting to his. To hide it, he put his arm around her and pulled her against his uninjured side. “She tried, sweetheart.” He pressed his lips against her silky blonde hair. “She just didn’t know where you were.”

  “Oh,” She leaned against him for a moment more, then pulled away to peer into the pot on the fire. “Can we eat yet? I’m hungry.”

  ***

  Daniel had a bad night and awoke shivering in bitter cold, his side wet with blood. Earlier, after Hannah had fallen asleep curled against Roscoe, he had cleaned the wound as best he could, then packed it with a strip of boiled cloth and covered it with a fresh bandage. But somehow during the night, the plug had come out and now the hole was bleeding again.

  He was in trouble.

  Knowing he had to get Hannah home while he could still ride, he didn’t bother breaking down camp, but saddled as quickly as he could. After a quick breakfast of canned peaches, jerky, and rock candy, they left for New Hope under a leaden sky that smelled like snow.

  Within an hour, the first flakes began to fall.

  By noon, he was riding blind into driving snow.

  ***

  Lacy was perched on a crate, hanging one of her mother’s imported glass ornaments on the Christmas tree, when she heard scratching on the door. At first she thought it was just the wind rattling the windowpanes. A storm had come through early that morning, and wind and icy pellets had been buffeting the house all day. But this sounded different.

  She looked over at Tom and Harvey, toasting their toes by the fire. Apparently, once they’d brought in the tree, they figured their work was done.

  Another scratch.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  Harvey yawned. “Hear what?”

  A sudden sense of peril gripped Lacy, a wave of fear so intense it made her slightly light-headed. “Something’s happened.” On shaky legs, she stepped from the crate, but could go no farther. “Open the door.”

  Tom glanced over at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s someone on the porch.”

  Both brothers rose and headed for the door. Tom reached it first. As soon as he opened it, an animal rushed inside in a swirl of snowflakes. “What the hell?”

  Lacy stumbled back, then blinked in astonishment at the snow-covered dog whining and circling at her feet. “That’s Roscoe. Daniel’s dog.” Shoving the hound aside, she rushed after her brothers onto the porch. “Is he here?”

  “Go inside, Lacy.” Without waiting to see if she obeyed, Tom started down the steps, Harvey close on his heels.

  In the yard, a figure sat on a weary horse. Both were coated with snow. The man was slumped in the saddle, his head sagging to his chest, one arm locked over his bulky midsection, the other hand holding the reins.

  Daniel.

  ***

  He was dimly aware of motion around him, then a voice calling his name. Blinking snow-coated lashes, he lifted his head and saw Tom Jackson and his brother walking toward him. Tom was saying something, but Daniel couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in his ears.

  “Coat,” he mumbled through cracked lips. He fumbled with the canvas poncho draped over his chest, but his gloved hands wouldn’t bend and nothing seemed to work right. Finally, he shoved it aside and jabbed his numb fingers at the buttons on his duster.

  “Unbutton.”

  He had to say it three times before Jackson understood and reached up to loosen the buttons.

  As soon as the top was freed, Daniel reached inside. “Wake up,” he croaked, and nudged the small body curled against his chest. “We’re home.”

  Hannah squirmed, shoved the coat aside and looked out.

  “Jesus, it’s Hannah!”

  Harvey started shouting as Tom lifted her away, loosening a blast of cold air across Daniel’s chest where her warmth had been. Pain rolled over him, and he sagged, struggling to maintain balance.

  Darkness pressed against him, but he held on, needing to see her face.

  As if from a great distance, he watched Tom carry Hannah toward the house, Harvey crowding his heels. Saw Lacy run down the steps, sobbing, her arms outstretched. Watched her take her daughter in her arms. Then, weeping, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

  And there it was—that connection he craved—the look of joy he’d been waiting to see.

  He let out a shuddering breath.

  It was done. Hannah was safe.

  He hadn’t failed this time.

  The world narrowed to a pinprick of light, then he began to slide.

  ***

  He broke through the blackness on a wave of terror. Hannah!

  With a gasp, he started up, then fell back, twisting in pain.

  Warm breath fanned his eyelashes as a voice murmured beside his good ear. Instinctively, he turned toward it, felt something warm drip on his face, slide down.

  “Don’t you die on me, Daniel. Don’t you dare leave me.”

  A hand stroked his forehead, sent the terrors away.

  He lay shivering, his side burning like fire, until darkness pulled him down to where Hannah danced with a one-eyed rag doll and a calico cat.

  ***

  Sunlight awoke him in an unfamiliar room. A woman’s room. He licked chapped lips and thought of water.

  Then an image burst into his mind. Hannah!

  Grabbing for the brass head rail, he struggled to sit up. Pain drove him back down. Once he caught his breath, he tried again. This time he made it. Looking down, he saw a bandage wrapped around his middle.

  Clean. No blood.

  Below it, he wore wool unions he didn’t recognize, and nothing else. He dimly remembered being shot. Riding through a blizzard with Hannah wrapped against his chest. Did she make it? Was she safe?

  Teeth clenched, he pulled himself to his feet, then clung to the rail with both hands until the spinning slowed. Then he shuffled over to the door and flung it open.

  The Jacksons and Lacy gaped in surprise from their chairs around a dining table. No Hannah.

  “Where is she?” His throat was so dry it came out a croak.

  “You’re awake!” Lacy lurched from her chair and threw herself against him.

  He clung to the door frame for balance, his legs wobbling beneath him. “Is Hannah all right?” He felt disoriented, his mind slow to take it all in.

  “Yes. She’s perfect.” Lacy pulled back, her eyes wet despite the smile lighting her face. “Daniel, you did it. You found her. You brought her back to me like you said you would. Thank you, thank you.” Kisses on his cheeks, his chin, his nose and eyes. He swayed, starting to feel dizzy again.

  “She’s all right? You’re sure?”

  “She’s fine. You kept her safe, Daniel.”

  “Thank God.” Weak with relief, he took one hand from the door frame and pulled her hard against his chest, as much for balance as the need to hold her. “And you? Are you all right?”

  “I am now.” Another kiss sent new strength singing through his veins.

  Tom Jackson muttered something.

  “Jesus, you two,” Harvey scolded. “We’re trying to eat here.”

  Laughing, Lacy stepped back, her cheeks pink. “Are you hungry? You can eat at the table or I can fix—”

  “Maybe later.” He looked down at his state of undress and felt his own cheeks grow hot when he saw his body’s reaction to her kisses. “I’m kind of dizzy right now.”

  “I’ll help you.” Her arm slid around his back just above the bandage.

  They barely mad
e it to the bed before his mind spiraled away.

  The next time he awoke, light was fading behind the curtained window. Muted voices came from the other room. The smell of cooking food made his stomach rumble. He struggled up, banged into the night table as he flailed for balance, then winced when a book thudded to the floor.

  The door flew open. “Wait. I’ll help you.” Lacy rushed in, a calico cyclone, and wrapped herself around him again, like she could actually keep him from falling if he started down. He hung onto her anyway, because he could. Had she really kissed his entire face?

  “I washed your clothes.” She carefully eased him back onto the side of the bed. “They’re on the chest at the foot of the bed. Shall I help you put them on?”

  “For crissakes,” Jackson called from the other room.

  Daniel looked back, saw her brother scowling from his chair, and couldn’t help but grin. “Sure.”

  “Like hell. The man can dress himself.”

  Sadly, he could, and a few minutes later, he shuffled into the dining room, wearing his own clothing and a strained smile—even the small amount of energy he’d expended in dressing had left him exhausted, his side throbbing with a pulse all its own.

  Apparently, Tom and Harvey had finished eating; the only things left on the table were coffee cups and empty dessert bowls. In the adjoining kitchen, Lacy stirred pots on a stove. He gingerly lowered himself into the chair across from Tom and Harvey, then slumped back, breathing hard.

  “You look like hell,” Tom said.

  “I feel like hell. Where’s Hannah?”

  “Gathering eggs.”

  Lacy came in with an overflowing plate. Ham, potatoes, carrots, pickled beets, three biscuits. In her other hand was a bowl of stewed apples. She set it before him. Not sure he could eat all that but willing to give it a try, he waited for her to take the seat beside him, then picked up his fork and gave it his best.

  “Who shot you?” Harvey asked.

  “Crazy lady. Thought I was stealing her daughter.” Between bites, he told them about the Reinhardts and their own child drowning. “They either took Hannah to replace the one they lost, or it happened like we thought, and she stowed away on their wagon by mistake and they decided to keep her. I didn’t stay around to find out.”