RNWMP: Bride for Jonathan (Mail Order Mounties Book 8)

by Amelia C. Adams

  Jonathan pondered for a moment. “No,” he said at last. “And I do feel that we did what needed to be done. My attitude regarding it could have been better, though. More professional.”

  Wesley nodded. “That shows me a lot and reflects very well on you, Jonathan. I’d be very surprised if you’re not put in command eventually. You’re a natural leader.”

  “First we have to see if I’m able to remain a Mountie,” Jonathan replied. He said it so casually, Elaine wasn’t really sure he’d spoken the words until Wesley’s head swiveled and he met eyes with her. She gave him a slight nod.

  “What do you mean?” Dermot asked. “Why wouldn’t you stay?”

  “We’re not sure if I’ll be able to use my arm again. The doctor says we’re waiting to see.”

  Preston shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know what to say. That’s . . . that’s really bad news.”

  “It’s only bad if it actually happens,” Elaine said. “For now, we’re staying positive.”

  “I won’t believe you’re leaving until I see the papers on my desk,” Wesley said. “I’m moving forward as though you’re simply recovering from a backache.”

  “Me too,” Dermot chimed in, and Preston nodded his agreement.

  “Well, I need to get to the office and turn this in,” Wesley said. “Not only that, but I’m sure our wives are wondering where we are, eh, Preston?”

  “Absolutely sure of it.”

  The men filed out one by one. Elaine closed the door behind them, then turned to face her husband. “Are you ready for more broth?”

  “Did you see the looks on their faces?” Jonathan asked, acting as though he hadn’t heard her question. Maybe he really hadn’t. “They think I’m not going to recover.”

  “They’re stunned,” Elaine said. “They weren’t expecting to hear that you might have to retire. Give them some time. They’ll come around.”

  Jonathan held out his left arm, and she came to his side willingly and snuggled up next to him. “I’m not sure what other careers I’m suited for,” he said. “Being a Mountie is all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “We’ll figure that out if the time comes,” Elaine said. “In the meantime, I want you to rest and heal. Did you know that the Indians are still standing vigil outside? You mean a great deal to them.”

  “They are?” Jonathan turned his head toward the door as though he could somehow see them through the wood. “They mean a great deal to me. I hope they know that.”

  “I think I’ll make them some bread. Would they accept it?”

  “Most likely. And if they don’t, I’ll be hungry enough by then to eat it.”

  She grinned. “I have no doubt of that.” She did doubt it, though. The pallor that covered his face was disturbing to her, and she didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep up her cheerful disposition without breaking into a mess of tears. Perhaps that was another reason why the Indians had built a fire outside—so she’d have a warm place to cry.

  ***

  “There’s no sign of infection,” the doctor said as he inspected the wound. “I believe the skin will heal up nicely, with only a minimal amount of puckering. It’s the nerve damage that remains a mystery. You could regain use of the arm in a matter of days, or a number of weeks, or possibly not at all. It’s a waiting game, son, and there’s no way to speed it up.”

  “I understand,” Jonathan said. “And I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I’ll try not to be impatient.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Everyone gets impatient from time to time while they’re healing. It would be completely unnatural if that weren’t the case, so don’t be too hard on yourself. Now, you’ve been resting for the last twenty-four hours, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve barely moved a muscle.”

  “Good, but now it’s time for you to get up. I’m going to put this arm in a sling so the weight of it won’t pull against the wound, and then I’ll have you stand up and move around the cabin. If you feel a bit dizzy, sit down and rest, but we need to get the blood flowing equally throughout your body so you don’t develop clots.”

  Jonathan sat up, aided on one side by the doctor, who then helped him slide his arm through a sling. Elaine was trying to stay out of the way over by the table, but he knew she was watching his progress carefully.

  “I think . . . I think I am a little dizzy,” Jonathan said, closing his eyes against the whirling motion that had suddenly taken over.

  “There are a number of contributors to that,” the doctor explained. “First is the amount of blood you’ve lost. Your body will regenerate that in time. Second is the fact that you’ve been lying down for over a day—the body is used to lying down and standing up at regular intervals. Third is a possible side effect of the morphine.”

  “So it shouldn’t be long before the dizziness passes entirely?” Elaine asked.

  “That’s right. This is temporary.” The doctor waited until Jonathan felt a little more normal, then he helped him come to his feet. “You can use a chair for stability and push it around in front of you as you walk,” he suggested. “As you get stronger, say, in a day or two, you won’t need it.”

  Elaine brought a chair over, and Jonathan had to admit, it did make him feel more secure.

  “All right, I’ll be on my way. You should still have enough morphine for a few more days.”

  “We do,” Elaine confirmed.

  “Very good. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m leaving for the north in a week—your timing on this injury was perfect, young man. Another time and I might have been out of reach.” He bid them goodbye, then went on his way.

  “I’m not so sure about walking around just yet,” Jonathan said. He lowered himself onto the chair he’d been using for support. “I’m so dizzy.”

  “Take it a little bit at a time,” Elaine said. “It’s good to see you out of bed.”

  “It’s good to be out of bed. I’ll tell you what’s driving me nuts, though, and that’s knowing that the other men are out there looking for Dubois and I’m stuck in here tottering around like a baby on shaky legs. I should be out there supporting them.”

  “No, you should be in here supporting yourself.” She knelt down and rested her head on his knee. He stroked her hair with his good hand, marveling at how soft it felt. “We’re not in a race, Jonathan. We can take this as slowly as we need to.”

  “And I did promise the doctor that I’d be patient.” Jonathan pulled in a breath. “In those stories you’ve been reading me, the ones you were using to get me excited about reading, isn’t the hero the one who’s supposed to lasso the bad guy? I’m the one who got shot—aren’t I the one who should catch Dubois?”

  She laughed. “So, you figured me out, did you? Yes, I hoped that reading you something exciting would help your motivation. As far as the other . . .” She sat back on her heels. “You’re right. In adventure stories, the wronged person usually does go forth and save the day. Sometimes, though, he needs to rely on his friends, just as they’ve always been able to rely on him.”

  He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a wise woman, Mrs. Mountie.”

  “Why, thank you.” She flashed him a smile. “Are you ready for some more broth?”

  “Yes, I believe I am.”

  ***

  The next few days passed slowly, quite possibly the slowest days Jonathan had ever experienced. He wasn’t used to forced inactivity. He remembered back to when he was a little boy and his mother would insist that he sit for thirty minutes in the parlor on Sunday afternoons so she could read the Bible aloud to the family. He hated Sunday afternoons—he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin before she finally let them go. And then his brother Samuel would make it worse by asking for additional stories . . . He shuddered just thinking about it. This was far worse than Sunday afternoons because there was no clock on the mantle to tell him when his torture would be over.

  When he felt a little steadie
r on his feet, he opened the front door and stepped outside to thank his Indian friends for their support. They left shortly thereafter, knowing he would be all right, and he missed knowing they were out there. He agreed with Elaine—there had been something soothing about their presence. He would remember this gift of their kindness for the rest of his life, and it made him all the more determined to get well so he could continue serving them as their Mountie.

  Dermot came by the afternoon of the third day and brought them some supplies Elaine had requested. Jonathan laughed when she lifted out the first package and showed it to him.

  “Is that a steak?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is. And some potatoes, too. I think you’ve been brought along on baby food long enough, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” He followed her over to the stove and watched as she put some lard in the frying pan, laid the steak inside, and rubbed salt and pepper on both sides. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful—my lovely wife cooking me a giant steak. This has to be heaven.”

  “Oh, just wait until you see what else I’ve got planned,” she replied, a wicked smile on her face.

  An hour later, full to the brim with steak, potatoes, and apple pie, Jonathan sat back and sighed. “You make being injured almost fun.”

  “Do I? That’s quite a compliment.” She smiled again, but her face grew serious. “Have you had any feeling in your hand today?”

  He looked down at the sling. “No, not any. I’m getting a little worried.”

  “Don’t forget—the doctor said that tomorrow we could remove the sling for a few minutes at a time and begin flexing and extending the arm. That will help, don’t you think? It will get the blood flow moving all the right directions?”

  He looked at her hopeful face, and his heart swelled with love for perhaps the hundredth time since he’d met her. If this continued, his chest would surely pop. “We’re going to give it a try, and we’re going to do every exercise he recommends. If that doesn’t work, we’ll figure out something else. There are some Mounties who work exclusively in offices and handle the administrative side of things . . . but then again, they have to be able to read and write to do that.”

  The reality of what he was saying hit him. For the first time since being injured, his resolve crumpled, and a wave of genuine fear washed over him. “Elaine, what am I going to do?” he whispered as his shoulders began to shake.

  She came around the table and wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t say anything for a long minute, but just held him until he could breathe normally again. Then she looked him full in the face, and he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed as well. “I’m scared too,” she told him softly. “I’ve always loved adventure, but I’ve never liked feeling uncertain.” She brushed a lone tear from his cheek. “There’s one thing I promise you, Jonathan Murray. We’re going to do this together. You’re alive, and that’s the most important thing. Everything else is just details.”

  “Having a one-armed husband is just a detail?” He shook his head. Sometimes she could be a little too optimistic.

  “You still have two arms, and don’t you forget it.” She bent down and kissed him. “One day at a time. One challenge at a time. I didn’t marry you because of how many arms you had—in fact, I was quite ready to marry you despite that.”

  “What?” He was thoroughly confused.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that while I was on the train, I thought you might have three arms. But you don’t—you have two, and you still have two, and we’re going to be grateful for that. Now, enough of this silliness. It’s time for your reading lesson.”

  He looked up at her, astonished. “My reading lesson?”

  She put a hand on her hip. “You’ve had a couple of days off. I think it’s time we stopped slacking, don’t you?”

  He opened his mouth again, ready to argue, but he knew he wasn’t going to get far. He didn’t want to be treated any differently, and if she was going to insist that they get back on track, he could only admire her for that. He was done feeling sorry for himself. He’d taken a moment to let it out, and now it was time to regroup and get back to the business of healing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elaine set a new batch of bread dough to rise, then picked up the bucket handle and walked toward the door. “I’m going to get water,” she called out. “Back in a minute.”

  “Now, just wait there one minute,” Jonathan said, coming to his feet. He used his left hand on the kitchen table to brace himself, but he seemed steady. After four days of recovery, that was such a blessing. “I can carry a bucket.”

  She looked him up and down, considering him. “I don’t know. The way you’ve been lounging around here, being waited on hand and foot . . .”

  He lunged forward and caught her around the waist with his left arm. “Lounging?” He kissed her neck, and she giggled. “Lounging? No such thing, missy. Now give me that water bucket. I’m carrying it.”

  “Fine.” She shrugged. “But I’m coming. I want evidence of these newfound muscles of yours.”

  He gently swatted the back of her dress with the bucket, and she laughed again. Oh, she loved this—seeing him feel well enough to joke and be himself again. These were the moments that convinced her that everything would be all right, even if his arm never did heal properly.

  Ann was waiting for them near the well. At least, she appeared to be waiting—she was standing there, and when they arrived, she took a step forward, her hands in front of her and her head bowed.

  “Good morning, Ann,” Elaine greeted her. “Where is Susan?” She was so used to seeing the little girl clinging to Ann’s skirt that it was rather startling that she was gone.

  “With a friend.” Ann took another small step forward. “Jimmy is waiting there, in the trees. He would like to speak to you, but he worries that you don’t want to speak to him.”

  “Of course we want to speak with him,” Jonathan said. “He’s our friend.”

  Ann turned and motioned toward the trees, and Jimmy came out. Elaine had seen him when Jonathan was injured, but this seemed like a more formal visit.

  “It’s my fault you were shot,” he said, his voice low and mumbling. “I should not have bought whiskey from the Frenchman, and now he can’t be found.”

  Elaine’s eyes flicked to Jonathan. It was true that he’d been shot while taking down the still, but she’d never followed the links of cause and effect back to Jimmy. She didn’t like placing blame on people, and she wondered how these events had injured Ann and Susan.

  Jonathan didn’t reply, but nodded as though to encourage Jimmy to continue.

  “I’m a good tracker, and I want to help you find Dubois.”

  It was silent for a long moment, and then Jonathan replied. “Thank you, Jimmy. Dubois is a dangerous man. He hurts people with his whiskey, and now he has injured me. He must be found. We appreciate your help.”

  Jimmy nodded. “I will come to the Mountie office tomorrow at dawn.” He turned and walked back into the trees, his head held just a bit higher than it had been when he first arrived at the clearing.

  “Why do you Mounties always ride off at dawn?” Elaine asked, watching Jimmy leave.

  “It’s more dramatic that way,” Jonathan replied. He turned back to Ann. “Thank you, Ann. You and Jimmy are good friends.”

  She gave a nod as well, then followed her husband.

  “I certainly wasn’t expecting that when we came out here,” Elaine said, leaning on the side of the well. “I’m glad Jimmy is recognizing his mistakes and wants to make up for them.”

  Jonathan was still staring in the direction the Indian couple had gone. “It surprised me as well, but I’m very pleased about it,” he said at last. “This type of repentance, if that’s what you want to call it, means that he’ll be less likely to falter down the road. I believe he’ll be a changed man.”

  “Your injury has brought about some good after all,” she said, wrapping her arms ar
ound his waist and giving him a squeeze.

  “Yes, I believe it has. Now, how about that water? You were just lecturing me about lounging around—I have some laziness to live down.”

  ***

  “Of course I’ll ride into Moose Lick and let the others know,” Dermot said, crossing one booted ankle over his other knee. “Nothing like a brisk ride in the dawn hours to wake up one’s blood—I’m sure they’ll be all for it.”

  “Why don’t you stay the night in Moose Lick and save yourself another ride in the morning?” Elaine suggested as she refilled his tea.

  “Because that would make entirely too much sense.” He grinned at her after taking a sip. “Excellent thinking. Isabelle feels confident enough to stay the night in the cabin alone—I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

  “And I can ride over and check on her,” Elaine said.

  “For that matter, I could probably ride as well,” Jonathan added. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve always grabbed the pommel with my left hand when I mount—I don’t see why the loss of my right hand should affect anything.”

  Elaine turned to him, a spark of joy in her chest. He loved riding, and if he could still do it, that would be one less thing for him to miss and mourn. “That’s a wonderful idea. We should give it a try. I can saddle the horse.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Dermot said. “Why haven’t you ever named your horse?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t know. I never got around to it, I guess.”

  Dermot shook his head, looking almost disgusted. “Well, don’t tell that to Star. It’s a lousy excuse, really. Every living thing should have a name.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” Jonathan promised.

  “See that you do.” Dermot finished his tea, then stood. “I’ll go tell Isabelle that I’ll be gone overnight, but that you’ll stop by. Then off to Moose Lick for me.” He put his hat back on and strode out the door, pulling it closed firmly behind him.

  “I have to admit, I’ve never really thought about naming the horse either,” Elaine said. “We’ve been a little busy since I got here.”