The Wilderness Bride (Oregon #1)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T he next morning, Ashley Carver left his cabin, which was tucked along the hill that bordered the small Oregon town. With the rain finally over, he could get the rest of the wood he had cut up the other day.

“Sorry to drag you through all of this,” he told his horse as he led the steed on the muddy trail. “If I could carry the load myself, I’d let you stay in the barn.”

The horse neighed in response. Ashley would like to think the horse was reassuring him that it didn’t mind being out here, but he suspected the horse was annoyed. The horse had been happily eating the hay in the warm, dry barn. Now it was forced out here.

Ashley found the ribbon he had tied to one of the trees and rounded the corner that led to the stack of wood he had already cut. The wood was soaked. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he had hoped the trees would have protected it better. So much for his plan to stack the wood by the workshop. He was going to have to erect the canopy then stack the wood on a platform so it would dry. What a lot of extra work. He sighed. Standing here and moping about it wasn’t going to get things done.

He secured the gloves on his hands and started moving the wet wood to the travois that was behind the horse. He was halfway done with the task when a Black-capped chickadee let out a high-pitched warning and flew close to his head.

“Watch it!” he called out and brought his hand up to protect his face.

The Black-capped chickadee landed about twelve feet away from him in one of the bitterbrushes that surrounded a tree. It grew quiet.

Ashley heard a screech coming from above. Glancing up, he noted the hawk that was circling above them in the air. Ashley relaxed.

He was used to birds getting close to him. All kinds of birds, and other animals, made their home in the forest. He wasn’t afraid of birds, but he would be very happy if none of them ever got that close to him again. Shaking off the jolt of adrenaline that pulsed through him, he turned back to the wood.

The Black-capped chickadee sang a quieter tune. He arched an eyebrow at it. If he was a small bird, he wouldn’t sing anything until the hawk was gone.

Ashley began to shake his head when he noticed something sticking out from between the bitterbrush and the tree. He had lived in this forest for five years, and he’d never seen anything like that before.

He gave the horse a pat on the neck. “Stay here, Sam.”

The horse neighed as if to ask him, “Where would I go?” The horse was smart. Ashley gave it food and shelter. The horse was a good one, but it didn’t want to worry about finding those things on its own.

Ashley approached the beige object peeking out from behind the bitterbrush on the forest floor. At first, he thought it was some small animal, but it didn’t move. If there was one thing he had learned from being out here, it was that wild animals instinctively stayed away from humans. Eyebrows furrowed, he stepped around the bitterbrush.

And jerked back in shock.

A person was lying on the ground!

The cloak covering the person from head to toe was wet. The person was on his, or her, side, and the edge of a black boot stuck out from under the end of the cloak. He hesitated for a moment. The person could very well be dead. But then, the person could be alive.

He leaned over the person and nudged what he believed to be the person’s shoulder. “Pardon me. Do you need help?”

What a ridiculous question. This person was stranded out in the middle of the forest, soaked in their clothes. Of course, this person needed help. If the person was still alive. The person didn’t offer a response.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself for the worst, he grabbed the person’s shoulder, winced, and then rolled the person over so the person was facing him. The hood of the cloak fell from their face. The person was a young woman. Nineteen. Perhaps twenty. Her red, wet hair was plastered to the side of her face, and her skin was unusually pale. She was still alive, but she was unconscious. It was no wonder she hadn’t answered him.

Never mind where she came from or what she was doing all the way out here. He had to get her to a dry, warm place.

Without thinking, he scooped her up into his arms. She barely weighed anything. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was too thin for her clothes. Once he secured his hold on her, he returned to his horse.

The horse neighed and shook its head as if to say it didn’t want to carry her.

“I know she’s wet, but you have to do it,” he told the steed. “I can’t carry her all the way back to the cabin.”

He shifted her in his arms until she was angled just right. Then he tossed her toward the saddle. He tried to be gentle, but he heard her land on her stomach with a loud thud. He grimaced. It was probably good she wasn’t awake. He adjusted her legs and arms so that she wasn’t going to fall off the saddle once they got moving.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. That took more effort than he expected. Even so, between the two of them, he was much better off. He couldn’t be sure she was going to make it. Her skin was uncomfortably cool to the touch. He wasn’t a doctor, but that couldn’t be good.

He glanced at the remaining pile of wood waiting for him to put on the travois. He would have to get to that later. Right now, he had to take this woman to his cabin. Thankfully, he had enough dry wood to keep the place warm.

He tugged on the horse’s reins, and the horse obediently followed him down the path from which they came.

* * *

Laughter from a childhood that seemed to have taken place in another lifetime filtered through Ashley’s dreams. Images flashed through his mind. Gene with his black boots. The bright sunny day. Snowballs. A sled. Then the laughter came again, and this time it was accompanied by a, “I bet I can hit you with this snowball even if you run away from me with that sled.”

There was no smooth, continuous movement or sounds within the dream. They all came in bits and pieces. Ashley had trouble seeing the past clearly. It had to be broken up into fragments for him. But those fragments served a purpose. They kept the full effects of the past at a safe distance.

Ashley woke up with a tear falling onto the rolled-up towel he had been using ever since he gave his pillow to the woman. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his nightshirt. Sometimes the hardest part of the night was when the dreams came. Dreams were uncontrollable. And even the good dreams could be difficult.

He sat up on the pelt from a bear he usually used as a rug. In his bed, on the other side of the one-room cabin, was the woman he had brought here yesterday afternoon. He studied her in the soft glow of the firelight. She was still asleep.

That was something at least. She hadn’t died. He had worried that when he woke up, she would be gone. He had done everything he could think of for her. He had removed all of her clothes, done his best to dry her hair, and had placed her in his bed with its thick blankets. Then he had warmed potatoes on the small cookstove before wrapping them up and placing them on her chest and stomach. Having lived out here, he had learned a thing or two about surviving in a wet and cold environment. The first winter he was here, he almost lost a toe.

His gaze went to the window. It was still dark out, but he had dreamt. That meant some time had elapsed since he put his head down to sleep for the night. But how long had he slept? How long would it be until morning?

He hated the night. At times, it went on for much too long. It was easier to be distracted during the day when there was plenty to do.

Well, he supposed there was something he could do to help pass the time right now. He scrambled to his feet. Ignoring the twinge in his side, he made his way over to the woman. He lifted the top blanket then touched the potatoes that were resting on the bottom blanket. Though still warm, they had cooled to the point where he should get more potatoes ready.

He went to the cookstove and slid a piece of wood into the firebox. It kept the stove going but didn’t make it too hot in the cabin. Setting a fire in the fireplace after he placed the woman in the bed might have been unnecessary, but he worried that if the cabin was too cool, then she might not recover. It was better for him to sweat than for her to die.

He retrieved three more potatoes from the shelf and set them on the cast iron skillet to warm them up. Afterward, he went to the window and peered up through the trees until he got a glimpse of the sky. The stars were still shining brightly. There wasn’t a hint of sunlight anywhere. Day wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. He sighed in disappointment.

But maybe this was good. It might be in the woman’s best interest if he was awake to put warmer potatoes on her. He wiped the sleep from his eyes then grabbed the pitcher of water. He poured himself some water and sipped it. He did have a pocket watch. He supposed he could look at it. Then he would know exactly how long it was until dawn would finally arrive.

He quietly made his way to the mantle above the fireplace and retrieved the family heirloom. He opened it and saw that it was only 2:43. Now he felt worse than before. This night was never going to end. He put the pocket watch down. He doubted he would get back to sleep on this particular night.

Usually, he would read on a night like this, but considering he had someone to watch over, he thought better of it. It wouldn’t do to get lost in a book on a night like this. The potatoes would take a little longer to get warm enough to help the woman, so he decided to go outside to check the condition of her clothes. They were still damp. He wasn’t surprised. The trees offered far too much shade for the sun to get through sufficiently. Her clothes had been soaked. They would take another day to dry.

He paused and took a moment to contemplate what had brought her into the forest. Few people ventured past the city limits of Ocean City to come all the way up this hill. Not that he was at the top of the hill, but this area was pretty secluded. One had to want to escape everything in this world to venture up here.

He wasn’t a doctor. He had no way of telling how serious her hypothermia was. All he knew was that people could die from that up here. It was to her benefit that she hadn’t come here in the winter. At least she had a chance.

A howl in the distance reminded him that it was best if he didn’t linger outside too long. He hurried back to the cabin and secured the door. He found some clean rags and went to the cookstove. After he wrapped the potatoes in the rags, he carried them over to the woman. He removed the top blanket from her.

He set the old potatoes aside then set the new ones on the bottom blanket, focusing on where her chest and abdomen were. He did not lift the bottom blanket. Yes, he had removed her clothes to get her to dry off, but he wished to preserve as much of her modesty as possible. He reached for her hands. Then he felt her legs and her feet. They were still cool to the touch.

He recalled a doctor once telling him one could damage the extremities by trying to warm them too soon. He had to make sure the chest and abdomen were warm first. Then the blood would flow better to the hands and feet. He checked the color of her hands and feet. The skin didn’t look blue, brown or black. That was promising. He tucked her arms close to her sides then wrapped her legs in the blanket.

He carried the old potatoes to the shelf and set them down. He would warm them on the cookstove when it was time to swap potatoes. For now, all he could do was wait.

He hated waiting. If it was dawn, he could at least do something productive. All he could do at this point was sit. Forcing aside his frustration, he settled into the rocking chair and, since there was nothing else of interest in the cabin at the moment, he watched as the woman slept.