Guarding the Mountain Man’s Secret (Brothers of Sapphire Ranch #7)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A s Miles rode out with his brothers, he couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to the woman in the surveying group. Who was she? What was her story? He needed to focus on the task at hand, but he couldn't shake the image of her luminous eyes from his mind.

He had to, though. She had to be married.

But to whom? He’d not spent much time studying the men in the group, other than the fellow in front. He had to be fifty, at least, and grizzled from plenty of time in the sun—as a surveyor would be.

The others had also looked far too old for a lady like her, hadn’t they? Maybe one of them could be within fifteen years of her age. That taller man who rode just in front of her could be in the range.

Once more, his middle tensed. So maybe she was married. Not that it should bother him, but with all the pairing-up his brothers had done in the past couple of years, he couldn’t help his mind going there.

The ranch had more than enough womenfolk. His brother’s wives and intendeds. Not that he was looking to take a spouse anytime soon. He’d just turned eighteen last spring. He had plenty of life to live and time to find the person God had in mind. If God had a wife in mind for him.

On the far side of the creek, he could barely make out figures moving in the flat spot he’d told them about. When they approached, his gaze landed on the woman, kneeling beside the fire. She stood out from the other drab brown forms.

She cut vegetables into the large pot that hung over the flames, glancing up as they approached, her expression guarded.

Jericho rode straight to the man who appeared to be in charge, the older fellow with the grizzled beard who’d led their group on the trail. "I'm Jericho Coulter," he said without preamble. "This is Coulter land you're on."

As Jericho spoke with the man, who introduced himself as Emmett Holloway, Miles scanned the area. A couple of men worked at setting up tents, one tied a packhorse to a tree near the grass, and the oldest fellow in the group carried a load of wood toward the fire.

Miles’s gaze kept slipping back to the woman. Every now and then, she’d look up from her task, her eyes studying him and his brothers. Each time they landed on him, his mouth found the makings of a grin.

And each time, she returned it before turning back to her work.

Now, she laid her knife aside and took up leather pads to grip the handles of the pot that sat in the blaze. Was she going to try to move that thing herself? It had to be heavy, full of water and cuttings.

Sure enough, she rose and wobbled a bit under the load. Before he could react, the older man stepped forward, motioning for her to back away as he took the pads and reached for the pot himself. She smiled at him, the affection in her eyes unmistakable. Her father, perhaps? Maybe she’d joined this group because of him, not a husband.

The idea gave him way too much pleasure.

Suddenly, the fellow stumbled, the weight of the pot throwing him off balance. He shuffled for his footing, finally righting himself by lowering the pot to the ground.

Water sloshed over the side and onto his gnarled hand.

His agonized scream pierced the air as he lost his grip, the pot crashing to the ground.

The woman sprang to his side. "Uncle Hiram!"

Miles leapt from his horse and sprinted, his brothers close behind. He crouched beside the fellow. “How bad is it?”

The man cradled his hand with his other and folded into himself in silent agony.

The lady gripped his shoulder. “Can I see it?”

Her uncle straightened enough for daylight to fall on the fire-red flesh. Blisters were already forming on the angry wrinkled skin.

She gasped, reaching for his cuff. “The fabric is still hot.”

As she unfastened the clasp and rolled the sleeve, Miles scanned the campsite for something that might help the burn. But of course, there was nothing. “Do you have water?” Too bad they didn’t have snow to numb the pain.

“Here.” Another man scooped up a bucket and brought it to them. Creek water, but it looked clean enough.

The woman eased her uncle’s damaged hand into the liquid, and he seemed to be fighting a cry of pain as his injury submerged.

Miles’s gut twisted. That kind of pain would slay some men.

He looked around for Jericho and met his oldest brother’s eyes. “We have to take him to the house.”

Jericho gave a sharp nod, then turned to Holloway. “Can you saddle a horse for him? My wife’s a doctor. He’ll need medicine or that burn will fester. He could lose the hand.”

“I’m going with him.” The woman spoke up, though she kept her frowning focus on her uncle’s injury.

“I will too,” said Holloway.

As Miles helped the old man to his feet, his niece assisting on the other side, he caught her gaze. Up close, her eyes were a striking green, glimmering with worry. "My sister-in-law is the best doctor in the territory."

She pulled her bottom lip in. “I hope so.”

Her desperation hung thick in the air. Was this uncle her last bit of family? Maybe, once Dinah had him in her care, Miles could learn more about how this intriguing lady ended up in the wilderness.

C lara positioned herself as near as she dared to Uncle Hiram's chair at the massive dining table in the log cabin, careful not to get in the doctor’s way.

A female doctor.

Rare, indeed, and especially in this wild territory.

One of the specialists her father had taken Mama to near the end had been a female. She was said to have performed studies about unusual cures for consumption. None of her efforts with Mama had worked.

Would this lady doctor do better with her uncle’s injury? Surely a burn wasn’t nearly as dangerous as the awful lung disease that had wasted her mother until she had no strength left to draw breath.

Clara had heard stories of how a small wound on this dirty frontier could take a limb or even a life. And Jericho, the older, formidable man with the brooding, suspicious eyes, had suggested Uncle could lose his hand.

It could be even worse. Without proper salves and bandages, a simple cut could fester and eventually poison a person’s blood. A simple injury could kill a man.

She couldn’t let herself think about Uncle Hiram dying. She loved him so much. And if he did pass, she’d be alone, miles away from civilization with nobody but a band of surveyors to protect her.

If this woman was any kind of doctor, surely she’d know how to treat a simple burn. She had to. Clara willed her breathing to slow. Once Uncle was treated, she could take over his care back at camp. She would do everything possible to heal her dear uncle.

There was a crowd in this main room of the Coulter cabin. The man they’d first met on the trail stood nearby, waiting to help as needed. He’d introduced himself as Miles Coulter, and he appeared to be the doctor’s assistant or something, fetching whatever she required.

Did he normally assist? Or did he feel beholden to them because he’d been the one to meet their party first?

Jericho’s glares and the questions he’d spit at Holloway proved he suspected the group of surveyors, though of what, she had no idea.

Did Miles feel the same way?

A red-haired woman and a blond girl worked by the cookstove, and several men and a third dark-haired woman stood near the fire crackling in the hearth. Their presence didn’t feel intimidating. Something about this place felt…peaceful. Rustic for sure, but between the rich aromas, the warmth of the fire, and the kindness of the people bustling around, it felt like a haven from the biting weather and the endless dirt and discomfort that came from living outdoors.

Even Dr. Coulter possessed a quiet confidence as she worked, which eased a bit of tension in Clara’s chest. Would she be competent enough? Maybe Uncle Hiram’s hand and arm would heal quickly. Lord, help the injury heal quickly.

What if it didn’t? What if he lost his job with the surveyors? She would also lose hers, for she couldn’t cook and draw maps for a group of men without a chaperone. Holloway would just as soon hire a man to replace her than have Uncle Hiram tag along without a purpose. The two of them would be stranded in this vast wilderness with no food or shelter.

Dr. Coulter’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Keep your hand as clean as possible.” She tied off the bandage she’d wrapped over the salve-soaked cloths on the burn. “The dressing should be changed twice a day at first, so I want you to come back tomorrow morning and evening. If we keep infection at bay, your recovery will go much faster."

Her uncle nodded.

Perhaps they should return to Fort Benton, the largest town she'd encountered out West thus far. Surely, a doctor there would be more competent than a housewife secluded in the mountains, one who didn’t even have a clinic. Clara could find work while her uncle healed, couldn’t she?

Maybe once Uncle Hiram healed, the two of them could leave surveying and mapmaking behind. They could travel farther west to California, find a quiet town to settle in. She could find work as a governess while Uncle Hiram enjoyed a slower pace. A simple existence...together, they could be content.

What other choice did she have? She’d never go back to Baltimore where Nathaniel MacGregor lived.

Holloway cleared his throat. "Mrs. Coulter, I was hoping Hiram and his niece could stay here a few nights. Until the burn starts to heal. Do you have a room available?"

Clara jerked her gaze to him. Why would he ask that? This was a home, not a clinic. And didn’t he need her to cook for the crew?

Yet the lady nodded. "That’s Dr. Coulter, and of course. We have room for them both."

Tightness coiled inside her. As much as she’d love to stay here in an actual house and have a doctor care for her uncle, why would Holloway send them away when she at least could still do her work?

As though he could hear her thoughts, Holloway locked eyes with her, his usually stern expression softening. "We'll survey the area while Hiram heals, then you two can rejoin us, and we’ll all move on as before."

Was he being kind? Or getting rid of them already?

It seemed suspicious, coming from the man who kept everyone working well past dark each night, ensuring every last task was completed. But he didn’t seem to be giving her a choice.

"I can still cook,” she insisted. “I can bring meals to the camp every day." Surely, she could manage that much.

Holloway nodded. “Fine.” He turned to the door. “I’d best get back.”

As he stepped outside, Clara inhaled a long breath and released it, forcing out as much tension with the air as possible. For now, she and her uncle were safe under the Coulters’ roof—secure enough for a brief respite. Then she’d have to take on whatever challenges lay ahead on their journey.