Inga had told him about her foray into the storm last night. The bad chill she’d taken must have driven congestion to her lungs. If he didn’t get her to his mother in time, he could lose her—a thought that opened a dark hole inside him. Little by little, whether he’d willed it to happen or not, she’d become a part of his life.
But all that mattered now was keeping her warm and getting her home fast.
He’d brought two buffalo robes in the sleigh and now hung them by the stove to warm them. When Hanna had finished the soup, he helped her mother put socks and boots on her feet and a shawl over her head. Then they bundled her in quilts. Blake carried her outside, set her on the sleigh bench where she’d be close to him, and covered her with the warm buffalo robes.
“Send word when you can.” Inga stood with clasped hands beside Lars and the children as Blake climbed into the driver’s place and, with a nod and a wave, clucked to the horses and drove the sleigh out of the yard.
The powerful draft horses had had a strenuous push getting through the knee-deep snow, but they’d be going home on the trail they’d already broken, so the going should be easier and faster. It would have to be.
Slapping the reins on the horses’ backs, he urged the team to a brisk trot—the fastest he dared take them with the sleigh. The runners hissed through the snow. Hanna huddled beside him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. The cold, fresh air seemed to revive her spirits a little, but she still coughed every few minutes, and her breathing was still shallow.
“How did you come to have this sleigh?” she asked, speaking with effort.
“My father ordered it made after he built our house. We’ve used it every winter, for years. Ask him about the time he saved Benteen Calder’s life in this sleigh. It’s quite a story, and he enjoys telling it.”
“I like your father.”
“I know. And he likes you. You’ve made a conquest.”
She said little else as they followed the trail along a fence line. Cattle in the field were standing up to their bellies in snow, bawling with hunger. These animals wore the brand of the Snake M, the ranch Hobie Evans worked for. Was Hobie still there? he wondered. Or had he fled with his cohorts after the dynamiting of the house and the death of Ulli Swenson’s daughter?
One of the cows tangled in the barbed wire had died in the night—a blow to the Dollarhide Ranch. The snowstorm had wiped out any tracks or other evidence of foul play. But Blake knew better than to believe the downed fence had been an accident. Somebody out there was still making trouble, and now they’d made him a target, probably because he appeared to have sided with the homesteaders.
Now that his marriage to Hanna had become common knowledge, the list of suspects had grown. Ruth would have told the Calders about the marriage. But pulling down fences wasn’t their style. The Calders were fiercely ambitious but never petty or underhanded. His money was still on Hobie. But without proof, there was little he could do. And he still had no idea who was bankrolling the deviltry.
Hanna had fallen silent. Her head sagged toward his shoulder. Controlling the reins with one hand, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. She settled against him with a sigh.
“Don’t worry, girl,” he said, his lips brushing her hot forehead. “I’ll get you home. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or your baby for the world.”
She didn’t reply—maybe because he’d said your baby instead of our baby. He was trying. But he still hadn’t come all the way to accepting the child that was really Mason’s.
“Hanna,” he said, changing the subject, “what the devil were you thinking, going out in the middle of the night to fight a pack of wolves in a blizzard? Hell, you could have died. You and the baby.”
“I know.” Her strained voice was barely above a whisper. “But the mare—I heard her screaming. I couldn’t let her be torn to pieces by those wolves.”
“But she was safe in the shed, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. She was just scared.”
“Damn it, I get scared, too, just thinking about what you did. We could have lost you.”
I could still lose her, Blake thought. All for a damn fool horse that I gave to Alvar because it was too old and slow to work cattle.
* * *
Blake drove the sleigh into the yard, tossed the reins to a stable hand, and lifted Hanna in his arms to carry her into the house. Her eyes opened—their expression scared, questioning, and vaguely lost.
“Don’t worry, Hanna,” he murmured. “You’re safely home now. You’re going to be all right.” If only he felt as confident as he’d tried to sound.
As he went up the steps, his mother and sister came rushing out onto the porch. “What’s wrong?” Sarah demanded. “What’s happened to her?”
“Pneumonia, I think.” Blake strode past her, hurried through the front door, and laid Hanna, still bundled in blankets, onto the couch. “Her mother said she had a cold. Then last night she got a bad chill. Now she’s burning up with fever.”
Hanna had closed her eyes again. Sarah laid a hand on her forehead, frowned, and nodded. “I think you’re right. Kristin, get my medical bag. Then make some tea—you know what kind and how to do it. Hurry!”
Hanna opened her eyes again, clutching at Sarah’s hand. “My baby!” Her voice was a raw whisper. “Is my baby all right? Do you know how to tell?”
“Let’s find out.” Sarah laid back the quilts to expose Hanna’s nightgown. Reaching into the black leather medical bag that Kristin had brought her, she lifted out her stethoscope and inserted the earpieces. “Lie still, Hanna. Hold your breath if you can. That makes it a little easier.” She placed the opening of the bell on Hanna’s belly, moving it here and there as she listened. After a moment, she nodded. “Your baby appears to be fine. The heartbeat’s strong and regular, just as it should be.”
“Oh, thank heaven!” Hanna breathed the words.
“When you’re feeling better, I’ll let you listen—you, too, if you want, Blake.”
“It can wait until Hanna’s out of danger.” Blake felt a prickle of discomfort. Was he still hesitant to accept Hanna’s baby as his own? But that question could wait. For now, nothing mattered except saving both their lives.
“Now I need to listen to your lungs, Hanna,” Sarah said. “Can you sit up?”
“I’ll . . . try.” She struggled but she was too weak. Blake lifted her, holding her upright as his mother placed the bell of the stethoscope on her back.
“Deep breaths if you can—no, never mind, I can tell it hurts.” Sarah listened, moving the bell from the left side to the right. She shook her head. “We’re going to have to steam her.”
Kristin had brought the tea and set the cup on the coffee table. Sarah nodded toward it as she put her stethoscope back in the bag. “Blake, you get some tea down her, as much as she’ll take, while Kirstin and I set up in the kitchen.”
The tea, Sarah’s own remedy, was made from willow bark, honey, and lemon. Having been dosed with it in his growing-up years, Blake knew that, although the flavor was odd, it was good for reducing fever.