Where was he?
“So you’re awake.” An angel’s face bent over him—violet eyes, edged with long, black lashes, creamy skin, framed by dark curls. Alvar searched his awakening memory—yes, she’d doctored his leg. At the time, he’d been in too much pain to notice how pretty she was.
He found his voice. “Where am I?”
“In our house—in my brother Mason’s room, but that’s all right because he doesn’t stay here anymore.”
When he looked puzzled, she continued. “My mother showed up after I’d finished bandaging your leg. Once she heard what had happened, she thought it best that we take you home and keep you here for a day or two.
“My mother’s the real doctor in the family,” she added. “After we brought you here, she disinfected your wound, stitched it up, and changed the dressing.”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“You wouldn’t. You fainted from the pain when I pulled that splinter out of your leg. Before we moved you up here on the cart, my mother gave you more laudanum. You’ve been sleeping it off since then.”
He glanced at the window. The angle of the light coming through the glass told him it was almost sundown. “My family—” He struggled to sit up as the realization hit him. “They’ll be worried sick if I don’t come home.”
She put a light hand on his shoulder to ease him back. “It’ll be all right. My brother’s gone to tell them what happened. He should be getting there about now.” She stood looking down at him, her face luminous in the rays of the fading sun. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. Would you like some soup and maybe a sandwich? It’ll help you get your strength back.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.” He really was hungry.
“No trouble at all. And I think we might have some leftover oatmeal cookies. I’ll be right back.” She flitted out the door.
Alvar settled back onto the pillow, feeling strangely out of place. The grand house, which he’d only seen from a distance until now, the cushiony bed, the enchanting girl—it had been generous of the Dollarhides to take him in. But his being here wasn’t a good idea. It would only serve to make him see how other people lived—and to desire things he had no right to want.
* * *
A blazing sunset cast its glow over the ripened wheat fields as Blake sighted the Anderson homestead—the low-slung tar paper-covered shanty, the nearby shed that sheltered the horses and wagon, and the chicken coop that looked as if it could be blown away in a high wind.
Come winter, they were going to need a proper door to keep out the cold, a roof that could bear the weight of heavy snow, and some kind of barrier on the shed to protect their animals. He would mention the need to Lars. And when Alvar went home, he would send the boy with a wagonload of spare wood, in the hope that the big, stubborn Swede wouldn’t be too proud to accept it.
He’d never meant to take the Anderson family under his wing. But after rescuing Hanna and hiring her brother to work at the mill, it seemed natural to be concerned about all of them. They were so ill prepared for this wild country where survival could never be taken for granted, and any life could be snuffed out like the flame of a candle.
They had seen him coming. The younger children, who’d been outside, were waving. One of them ran into the house. Seconds later, Lars, Inga, and Hanna came rushing outside. They would already be braced for bad news about Alvar. Why else would Blake have come here?
As he rode into the yard and dismounted, Lars strode out to meet him. “Has something happened to my son?” he demanded. “I told him that job was a bad idea. He should have listened. If he has been killed—” He loomed over Blake as if ready to strike him down.
“Alvar’s all right,” Blake said. “But there was an accident that gashed his leg. He’ll recover and be fine, but my mother wanted to keep him at the house for a day or two to make sure he was healing all right.”
“He belongs at home,” Lars said. “Fool boy, I should not have let him go to that dangerous place. He doesn’t know his own mind.”
“Alvar isn’t a boy, Papa.” It was Hanna who stepped forward and spoke up. “He’s a man. He made a choice to help our family in his own way. You should accept that choice, just as you accept the money he brings home.”
“Hanna!” Inga’s face had gone pale. “How dare you speak to your father in such a way?”
“Because it’s the truth. Since Alvar isn’t here to speak for himself, I will speak for him. He doesn’t deserve to be called a foolish boy. He deserves your respect and your gratitude.”
Blake had paid Hanna scant attention when he’d ridden in. Now, looking at her, he sensed that something had changed. Her air of childlike innocence had faded, to be replaced by a sharpness he’d never seen before. She was like a young hawk—fierce and defiant, as if a current of anger were flowing through her slender body.
“But you say that Alvar will be all right?” Inga had stepped in to defuse the tension between her daughter and her husband. “That’s what is really important. Isn’t it, Lars?”
Lars sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is. When will he be coming home?”
“I’d say late tomorrow or the next day. My mother has taken good care of him. But she wants to make sure there’s no infection before he leaves.”
“So when will he be able to work again?” Lars had changed his tune.
“He won’t be strong enough to work at the mill until his wound is healed. But he should be able to do some light work around here.” Blake paused, hoping Lars wouldn’t resist what he was about to say. “Your house won’t hold up to winter weather without some reinforcement. I’ll be sending a load of spare lumber with Alvar when he goes home. You can use it to shore up the walls and roof and make a solid door. The snow and wind will blow right through that hide you’ve got nailed over the doorway. And you’ll want to put a front on the shed to protect your animals.”
“I hear there are wolves that come in the winter.” The pitch of Inga’s voice betrayed her fear. “Back in Sweden, wolves killed a boy from our village.”
“That’s been known to happen here in Montana. Mostly the wolves are afraid of people. But they’ll take animals and any stored food they can get to. And if they’re desperate enough . . .” Blake trailed the words off, letting the silence speak for itself. He wanted to make sure these people understood the importance of fortifying their home for the winter.
“I have a gun and I know how to use it,” Lars said. “You can keep your wood. We’ll buy what little we need. We don’t accept charity.”
Blake shook his head. “I had a feeling you’d say that, Lars. But think about your family. Which is worth more? Seeing them warm and safe, or nursing your blasted pride?”
Inga laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “Please, Lars, take the wood. What we don’t use, we can share with our friends.”
The big man’s chest rose and fell as he sighed. “I see I am outvoted here. Very well. But I won’t be beholden to any man. Next week we’ll be harvesting the wheat. When I get the money for my crop, I will pay you for every stick of that wood.”