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Gold Rush Baby
Dorothy Clark
She didn't come to Alaska for its gold. Viola Goddard is seeking something much more precious–a fresh start.Now, entrusted with the care of an abandoned baby girl, Viola is finding new purpose and joy. And when missionary Thomas Stone is injured while saving little Goldie, Viola insists on nursing him back to health. What she mustn't do is confess her growing regard for his strength and gentle compassion. Her shameful secret could destroy his ministry. Unless this little gold rush town can give them both a chance to heal, to hope and to trust.



A lady like you.
Thomas’s good opinion of her would quickly change if he knew the truth. As would the opinions of those in Treasure Creek who had befriended her in spite of her standoffish attitude. Tears clogged her throat. She wanted so much to draw close to them all, to be a true friend to them, but friendship meant questions and confidences that she dare not invite.
Guilt, sorrow and regret formed a heavy weight in her chest, pressed down on her already aching heart. She did not truly belong with these good people. Certainly not with a man of faith and integrity like Thomas. She could only live on the fringe of their friendship, returning what help and service to them she could in exchange. She blinked the film of moisture from her eyes and stole a sidelong look at Thomas from beneath her lowered lashes. Perhaps she could help him with his missionary work in some way. Perhaps that would help atone for her past.
ALASKAN BRIDES:
Women of the Gold Rush
find that love is the greatest treasure of all.
Gold Rush Baby—Dorothy Clark, June 2011

DOROTHY CLARK
Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark lives in rural New York, in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. When she is not writing, she and her husband enjoy traveling throughout the United States doing research and gaining inspiration for future books. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing stories for Love Inspired Books. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers and may be contacted at dorothyjclark@hotmail.com.

Gold Rush Baby
Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And Jesus looking upon them saith,
With men it is impossible, but not with God,
for with God all things are possible.
—Mark 10:27
This book is dedicated to editor Emily Rodmell,
who skillfully walked me through the process of
writing a book in a continuity series.
Thank you, Emily, for your patience and good humor
in answering my many questions. And to the other
authors of this Alaskan Brides continuity series,
Allie Pleiter and Linda Ford…what can I say?
You are both very talented and gracious ladies.
I count it an honor to have worked with you.
“Commit thy works unto the Lord,
and thy thoughts shall be established.”
Your word is truth. Thank You, Jesus.
To You be the glory.

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion

Chapter One
Treasure Creek, Alaska, August, 1898
Her heart pounded. Her lungs strained for air. Viola Goddard ignored their screaming need, held the hem of her long skirt out of the way of her feet and ran on. Impervious to bumps and shouts, she dashed around and through the press of prospectors and townspeople on the board walkway, driven forward by the horror of the note crushed in her hand. The baby! Goldie’s father had trusted her to care for his baby and now— Please, God, let Goldie be all right! Please keep her safe until I— “Oh!”
She crashed into a solid, lean body, bounced off and staggered back, trying to get her balance. Strong hands clamped around her upper arms, steadied her. Viola wrenched her shoulders, pushed against a hard chest. “Let me go!”
“Steady, Miss Goddard.”
Miss Goddard? Who… She looked up. The handsome man staring down at her frowned, tightened his grip on her upper arms.
“Are you all right, Miss Goddard? You seem distressed.” His green eyes darkened. “Is it the baby? Has her health taken a turn for the worse?”
Goldie’s health? A memory flashed. Thomas Stone. Yes, that was his name. He was the missionary who had brought the injured stampeder into the clinic, when she took Goldie in to be examined.
“You’re trembling, Miss Goddard. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps I can help.”
The concern in his voice squeezed at her throat. “It’s Goldie—” Fear choked off her words. “Goldie?”
She took a gulp of air, nodded. “The baby. She—she’s been kidnapped!”
“What?”
People near them on the street stopped, stared. A low murmur started, hummed against her ears.
Confusion leaped into the green eyes looking down at her.
“I found this in her cradle.” She bit her lip to stop a rush of tears, and shoved the ransom note at him. “Do you know where Mack Tanner is? He’s not in his store and I have to find him. He has—” His hand slid down her arm, tugged. Her heart sped. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to the sheriff.”
The murmur grew louder. “Let me go!” Viola dug in her heels and pulled at his strong hand gripping her elbow as he ushered her down the street. Her resistance was no match for his strength.
A roar of laughter went up from a group of prospectors, who split to allow them passage on the walkway. “You show the little lady who’s boss, mister!”
Viola caught her breath. I can’t have you running away, Viola. You will give my other girls ideas. I warned you. Now my men will have to show you Richard Dengler is boss. She shuddered at the memory, yanked against Thomas Stone’s grasp.
He shot her a look and tightened his hold. “I am trying to help you, Miss Goddard. This is a dangerous situation for both you and the baby. You need the sheriff, not Mack Tanner, even if he is the mayor of Treasure Creek.” He opened the door of the new log building that served as the sheriff’s office and jail, and tugged at her elbow, urging her to step inside.
She shook off the memory, grabbed the door frame and tried once more to resist. “I do need Mack! He has the gold.”
“Gold?” The sheriff’s growl stopped her struggle. “What’s going on, Viola? Is this about Goldie again?”
She looked at the giant man leaning back in his chair, with his booted feet propped up on a desk he made look much too small, and the last of her strength deserted her. She stepped inside. “Yes, she—”
“Don’t people ever give up!” Ed Parker shook his head, motioned her closer. “Who’s been trying to claim the baby and get their hands on those gold nuggets this time?”
“No one. She—” Her throat closed on the words.
“The baby has been kidnapped, Ed.”
Hearing Thomas Stone say the words made it worse…more real. She sagged, felt him grip her elbow again, support her.
“Kidnapped!” Ed Parker’s feet hit the floor with a thud. “Close that door.”
There was a click behind her. Her knees wobbled as the missionary led her to the only chair in the place. She sank onto the hardwood seat and fought for composure as he laid the crumpled paper on the sheriff’s desk.
“That’s the note the kidnapper left her.”
Ed Parker smoothed out the paper and read it, his broad face darkening into a scowl. He fastened his gaze on her. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
Viola tightened the grip of her folded hands in her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying. “Goldie has been fussy, and I have been up day and night with her. She developed a fever today, so I took her to Dr. Calloway’s clinic this afternoon. I was afraid she had come down with the cholera that spread through the Indian village. Teena Crow examined her and told me Goldie is…is teething and her gums are inflamed. She gave me an herbal balm to…to take away the pain.” She would be in pain. Oh, Goldie, baby, I’m so sorry!
She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders. “The balm worked. Goldie calmed and fell asleep. Hattie insisted I go to her room and catch up on my sleep while she watched over Goldie, and—” And it’s all my fault! I should have stayed with her. She took a deep breath and pushed her fingernails in deeper. “When I woke, I went to my bedroom to check on Goldie. Hattie was asleep in the rocker and…and the cradle was…was empty, except for that note. I ran to Tanner’s store to find Mack Tanner and get the gold nuggets he is keeping safe for Goldie, but he wasn’t there. I was running to his home when I collided with Mr. Stone—” she shot him a look that let him know how little she appreciated his interference “—showed him the note and he brought me here.”
She rose, bracing herself, lest the missionary try to push her back down on the chair. “Sheriff Parker, please—I will answer all of your questions later. Right now, I have to find Mack Tanner and—”
“I’m here.”
Viola whirled toward the door. Mack Tanner stepped into the small office, pulled the door closed and fastened his gaze on her. “Harold Goodge came to the schoolhouse to get me. Said he was on the street and overheard you tell Thomas you were looking for me because Goldie has been kidnapped. Said he saw Thomas bringing you here.” A frown creased his forehead, his gaze shifted to the missionary, then returned to her. “Is it true about Goldie being kidnapped?”
She caught her breath, nodded.
“I suppose, like all the other greedy louts who have tried to claim her for their child, they are demanding the gold nuggets Goldie’s father left for her care?”
“Yes.”
“It’s always about gold!” Mack’s face tightened. “On the way here, I heard a couple of men talking about the Tlingits being behind the kidnapping. Any truth to that?”
“The Tlingits?” Ed Parker scowled. “You didn’t tell me that, Viola.”
“I cannot tell you something I do not know, Sheriff. The kidnapper did not sign the note.” She took a breath, smoothed the asperity from her voice and held out her hand in entreaty. “Could we please stop talking and—”
“The kidnapper left a note?”
The sheriff nodded at Mack Tanner and snatched up the paper on his desk. “Got it right here. It says… ‘Leave the gold at midnight at the creekside entrance to the fenced-in cemetery. If you do, you’ll find the baby soon thereafter. If you don’t, the baby dies.’” He rubbed his big hand over his long chin, looked back over at Mack. “Nothing there makes it sound like the Indians.”
“No, but some people believe the baby is Indian, because of her dark hair and those moccasin booties she was wearing.” Mack scowled. “I knew those booties were going to be a problem the day Viola brought the baby to me and told me how she’d been left on her doorstep. And, of course, it’s common knowledge that the Tlingits are angry because Teena Crow is working at the clinic with Dr. Calloway. And with the cholera having hit their village so hard and the town being spared…” Mack turned toward the missionary. “Your work is with the Tlingits, Thomas. What do you think? Would they—”
“What does it matter what he thinks?” Viola shoved the words out of her constricted throat. She was beyond caring if Mack Tanner was the founder and mayor of Treasure Creek and the keeper of Goldie’s gold nuggets. He was wasting time. “Goldie is in danger. We cannot simply stand here talking about it! The note says—”
“Calm down, Viola.” Ed Parker’s voice was kind, but firm. “There is time to meet the kidnapper’s demands. And we can do that best if we know what we’re up against.” He looked beyond her. “What do you think about the Tlingits being involved, Stone?”
She might as well be invisible! Viola glanced up at the missionary, found his gaze on her. She was not invisible to Thomas Stone. A shiver slipped along her spine. He looked calm and decisive. And strong. She lifted her hand and rubbed the spot where he had gripped her elbow as he’d propelled her along the street. All those forceful men at Dengler’s had— He glanced down at her hand. She froze and he looked back at the sheriff.
“I think the rumor is ridiculous, Ed. The Tlingits are honest traders. Kidnapping a baby for gold or revenge is not their way. And no Tlingit would use the wording in that note. But Teena Crow would know for certain. Why not ask her about this?”
Yes. Decisive and strong was the perfect description of Thomas Stone. But not calm, as he appeared. There was a little muscle jumping along his jaw. A sure sign a man was angry. She knew all the signs. She turned, using the movement to create more space between them. “Sheriff Parker, I don’t care who the kidnappers are. It doesn’t matter if they are white men or Tlingits. I only want to get Goldie back.” She whirled and took a step toward Mack Tanner. “Could we please go get the gold nuggets now? I have to take—”
“Not you, Viola.”
She whipped back around to face the sheriff. “But I must! I—”
“Nope. It’s too dangerous. The note just says ‘leave the gold’, it doesn’t say who should take it there.”
“But—”
“No arguing. You go on home and let us men handle this.” Ed Parker pulled a gun belt from a drawer, strapped it on and came around the desk. “I think Stone’s got the right idea. Let’s go talk to Teena Crow, Mack. You come, too, Stone. We’ll see if she agrees—”
“I am not going home.”
The men stopped at the door, turned their heads and frowned at her. Viola drew her shoulders back, lifted her chin and faced their displeasure. “Goldie was left on my doorstep, along with a note from her father asking me to care for her until he returns from the gold fields. I am responsible for her, Sheriff Parker. And I am going with you.”
“Now see here, Viol—”
“Her point is a valid one, Ed. And there is no danger to Miss Goddard at the clinic.” The missionary’s quiet words interrupted the sheriff’s growl.
Ed Parker scowled but said no more, simply snatched his hat off a hook on the wall, slapped it on his head and opened the door.
A group of men clustered on the walkway looked up. “What’s goin’ on, Sheriff? We heard—”
“You men go on about your business now. There’s nothing here that concerns you. If I need help, I’ll come find you.” The sheriff stepped outside, using his giant size to force the men to move. Mack Tanner followed.
Thomas Stone took a step back. “After you, Miss Goddard.”
Viola stared at the missionary. Why had he argued in her defense? Why had he insinuated himself into this situation in the first place? She had not asked for his help. A shudder traveled through her. In her experience, men always had some nefarious motive for their actions. And it was usually costly for a woman. But she hadn’t time to concern herself with that now. Saving Goldie was what mattered.
She stiffened her spine and swept by the man, out onto the plank walkway, and hurried to catch the sheriff and Mack Tanner. If Thomas Stone did have a base motive, if he thought he could collect some personal “favor” for helping her, he was very much mistaken. Richard Dengler and his thugs were back in Seattle. She had escaped his grasp and was through with a life of prostitution forever. And no man…no man would ever touch her again. Not even to save Goldie. She would listen to their plans and then she would find another way. One that kept her at a distance from Thomas Stone. She did not like the hint of admiration she saw in his eyes, though at the moment, she was grateful for his tall, muscular presence beside her, blocking her from the crowd forming in their wake as they walked toward the clinic at the other end of town.

Thomas strode beside Viola Goddard, close enough to protect her from the crush of the swelling crowd following them, but far enough to maintain a respectful distance. A safe distance. He had felt a drawing, a connection to the woman when their gazes had met earlier at the clinic, and he wanted nothing but the most distant and casual of relationships with her. He had vowed to himself, when his wife and baby died, he would never love or marry again. And he’d felt no interest in any women for the past three years. But there was something about Viola Goddard….
He glanced down, swept his gaze over the sacklike thing covering her hair, that was gathered in a mass at the back of her head, studied her pale, tense face. She was staying strong in insisting she have a part in the kidnapped baby’s rescue, but her strength was born of desperation. There was a vulnerability in the depth of her eyes that tugged at him, made him want to help her, to protect her. An odd thought. It was the baby who was in danger.
The anger born when he’d learned of the baby’s kidnapping surged again. He’d been helpless against the pneumonia that had claimed his baby’s life, but he could fight the kidnapper that was endangering this one. He clenched his jaw, focused his gaze on the sheriff. He would ask Ed Parker to deputize him. That would be best. But one way or another, he would help get the baby back alive.

“That is…it’s…untrue.” Teena Crow’s dark eyes shadowed with hurt. “What have my people ever done to the whites of this town that they would say such a thing?”
Viola moved over to stand beside her friend. “People do not always deserve what is said about them, Teena. But—”
“But what, Viola?” Teena turned toward her, her dark braids and the small strings of beads dangling from her ears swinging from her quick movement. “Are you saying your heart believes my people have taken Goldie from you?”
“I did not—”
“What’s going on, Teena? I could hear voices in the other room.”
Viola jerked her gaze from the soft smile of delight that warmed Teena’s face, to the doorway. Dr. Jacob Calloway stood there wiping his hands on a towel and scanning the room. A frown line appeared between his dark brows. “I thought I heard your voice, Sheriff.” He looked at her. “Is this about the baby, Viola? Mavis Goodge told us she had been kidnapped. Have you found her injured? Do you need—”
“They think some of my people have taken Goldie.”
Viola shook her head. “That is not true, Teena. None of us have accused the Tlingits. We only came seeking your opinion of the note—though why it matters is beyond my understanding.” She lifted her hands and rubbed at the throbbing in her temples. “I don’t care who kidnapped Goldie. I only want to get her back. And we are wasting time with all this talking!”
“You are right, Viola. To save baby Goldie is what is important.” Teena gave her a quick hug, then crossed to the sheriff. “There are good and bad in all peoples. I will speak the truth. What do the words on the paper say?”
Dr. Calloway stepped behind Teena and gently rested his hands on her shoulders. It was a loving, protective gesture. Or was it? Perhaps it was possessiveness. Viola looked away. The sight of a man’s hands made her stomach queasy. She stared at the floor and tried not to think about Goldie being hungry or afraid or hurt, while the sheriff read the note.
“Those are not words my people would know to use.”
Ed Parker nodded. “That’s what Stone said.”
At last! Now perhaps Mack Tanner would get her the gold and she could go to the cemetery as instructed. Viola glanced up. Thomas Stone was looking at her, compassion in his eyes. But again, that hint of admiration lurked in their depths. In the world she’d come from, that meant only one thing. She straightened, refusing to reveal the twinge of fear that streaked through her. Fear revealed weakness, and the men she had known grew meaner and more demanding when they sensed fear.
“I agree with Teena and Thomas about the note. And the Tlingits I have met are not dishonest. Nor do I think they would threaten harm to a child. I suggest you look for a white man, Sheriff.” Dr. Calloway’s voice was strong with conviction.
Viola shifted her gaze, saw Teena look up at Jacob, her dark eyes wide and soft with pleasure. Oh, Teena, don’t trust him. Never trust a man.
“And I suggest you step outside and tell that to the crowd. It’s getting larger.” Thomas Stone jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the window behind him.
“Confound it! I told those men to go home. I was afraid something like this was gonna happen.” Ed Parker jammed the note into his pocket and looked over at her. “You stay here with Teena, Viola. It might not be safe for you to be walking home alone now, with the crowd thinking about gold. And we men have got things to do.”
Viola stiffened. But before she could reiterate her intentions of taking the gold to the cemetery, the sheriff was barking out orders.
“Mack, the people in this town hold you in high regard. You come outside with me while I send this crowd packing once and for all, then go get the gold nuggets and take them to the cemetery at midnight, like the note says. Thomas, when the crowd clears, you get to the woods by the cemetery and find yourself a good hiding place. I want you there just in case there are some Tlingit involved. And if you see a good chance to grab the baby, do it. No telling what this guy is planning. I want you there, too, Doc. If there’s any shooting…”
Shooting! Viola didn’t wait to hear more, she slipped out of the room and hurried toward the back door. Soft footfalls whispered on the floor behind her.
“You are going home?”
“No. To the cemetery.” She turned. “Don’t tell them, Teena. Please. I cannot sit here and wait. Goldie may—” she swallowed back the fear pressing on her throat “—she may need me.”
Teena nodded, her gaze solemn. “I will not tell them you follow your heart.” She glanced over her shoulder, stepped closer. “Go to the back of the school, then beyond the cabins to Dunkle’s farm—where the goats are penned. Walk straight to the trees on the mountain. There is a path in the woods my people use to go to the waterfall. You will not be seen.”
“Thank you, Teena.” Viola gave her a quick hug, then opened the door and stepped outside.
“I will pray.” The door closed.
The soft words brought comfort, hope. She walked through the back lots toward the school, slipping in and out of the dusky light as the shadows of the buildings covered her. The sound of the sheriff’s voice, the mumblings of the crowd trailed after her. She shivered, wished for a jacket, though the night was not cold. The chill was inside her.
At the school she paused in the shadows, swept her gaze over the cabins, then stepped out into the fading luminance and crossed the open area toward the Johnson brothers’ cabin. There would be no eyes gazing out of windows there. Last week she had mended a rent in Uriah Johnson’s tent so he could take it with them on their trek up the Chilkoot Trail to the gold fields. She kept to the left side of the cabin, using it as a barrier to hide her from the Tucker cabin. If Frankie looked out a window and saw her, she would come to investigate. And she could abide no more delays. She moved on past the Monroe home, and once beyond the cluster of cabins, quickened her steps to the Dunkle farm.
The goats gamboled over to the fence to greet her. Tears clogged her throat. Goldie’s feeding bottle was at home. How would… She forced down her imaginings and ran to the edge of the woods at the foot of the mountain, then stepped into the welcome darkness. Silence pressed in on her. Help me find the way, Lord. She moved forward slowly, searching through the dim light for the Tlingit path. The feel of forest loam pressed firm beneath her feet, assuring her she had found it. She turned and followed in the direction of the waterfall.
She had to reach the cemetery before the sheriff and the others arrived. Before the kidnapper came.

Chapter Two
The water roared over the mountain ledge in a silver deluge that washed the face of the layered rock, foamed over and slithered through the piled boulders, then whispered its way into the creek flowing toward town.
Toward the cemetery.
Viola shivered, studied the deep shadows beneath the towering firs. She spotted no one lurking in the depths, and moved forward until the woods opened onto a small clearing and she could see the fence. And the gate.
She should have stayed and made the sheriff listen to her. What if the kidnapper was expecting a woman? What if he saw Mack coming and sensed a trap? Bile burned its way into her throat. She leaned back against the massive trunk of a tree, its branches laden with yellow leaves, and closed her eyes. Please, Lord. She’s a helpless little baby. Please protect her.
A violent shaking took her. Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath, blinked them away, and opened her eyes and stared at the gate. If there was one thing her past had taught her, it was that tears never helped. The light grew dimmer, slid toward deep purple. Twilight back home. Nearly midnight here.
A figure emerged out of the shadowed distance, strode across the cemetery and stopped by the gate. She watched Mack Tanner sweep the woods with a long, searching gaze, willed him to hurry and do what the kidnapper asked. He pulled a small bag from his pocket, held it aloft, then bent from the waist and placed it on the ground at the foot of one of the gate posts, turned and walked off the way he had come.
It was done. Now they had only to wait. Where were Thomas Stone and Dr. Calloway and the sheriff? She scanned left and right, saw nothing but trees and rocks and shadows. Where was the kidnapper? What if he didn’t come? What if he’d seen one of the men? Or her? What if he left with Goldie? The shaking took her again. She shouldn’t have come. She should have listened to the sheriff and stayed at home. Maybe…
Movement at the edge of the woods caught her eye. Her heart jolted. Was that him? She stared into the shadowy gloom formed by the thick growth of trees, made out the blanket-wrapped bundle the man carried, a gun in his other hand.
Lord, don’t let him see me. Keep Goldie safe.
She pressed back against the tree trunk, felt the rough bark bite into her palms and back, the pulse throbbing at her temples and the base of her throat. Footsteps neared, turned away, stopped. Where was he?
She strained against the silence, broken only by the sibilance of the creek flowing by. Her ears failed her. So did her lungs. They were as frozen as the glaciers atop the high mountains. She inched her head to the left. He was there, crouched behind a pile of huge rocks, looking toward the cemetery.
Time stopped. She dug her nails into the bark to hold herself from running to him and snatching the baby away. She stared at the bundle. It was quiet…still. Why wasn’t Goldie moving? Or cooing? She loved to wave her little fists in the air and chatter her baby talk. Fear seized her, dropped like a rock into the pit of her stomach. Rage burned away the ice in her lungs. She took a deep breath, clenched her hands. If he had hurt the baby…
She jerked, yanked her head back. He had glanced her way. Had he seen her? She checked to make certain her long skirt was hidden, inched her head to the right and peered around the opposite side of the tree trunk. What was he doing? Heart pounding, she watched as the man rose to a half stoop and moved toward a dead tree beside the pile of rocks. He placed the bundle in the hollow base of the tree, gave another scan of the area, then, gun raised, stepped into the small clearing and walked toward the cemetery.
She held her breath and waited. I’m coming, Goldie. Oh, baby, don’t be afraid. I will get you as soon as he is far enough away that I can get across the clearing. No! She jerked her gaze toward the movement on the right, saw a man slipping through the trees toward the stones. Toward the bundle. They had set a trap. There were two of them! They had never intended to return Goldie. Could she reach the baby first?
She grasped her skirts, lifted the hems, then let them fall and leaned back against the tree again. The distance across the open area was too great. She would follow the man. She glanced toward the kidnapper. He was opening the gate, reaching down for the gold. When he turned back, she— Her thoughts froze, focused on the sheriff who was edging around the small building in the middle of the cemetery.
A stone flew out of the woods and crashed against the pile of rocks. She jumped, gasped.
The kidnapper looked up, spun around and raced back toward the stones.
The sheriff shouted and gave chase.
Goldie! She had to get her! Viola whirled, saw a man break from the woods and sprint toward the rocks. Thomas Stone!
The kidnapper stopped, raised his gun.
“No! Don’t—”
The report of a shot slammed against her ears, echoed off the mountain. Thomas Stone lurched, ran forward, grabbed the bundle and ran back into the woods. He had saved Goldie! Joy flooded her. She grabbed her skirt, lifted her hems. Another shot rang out. The kidnapper staggered, fell. She turned and ran. Shouts, grunts and curses followed her to the woods.
Thomas Stone was sitting with his back to a tree, the unwrapped baby in his arms. He smiled when she skidded to a stop, dropped to her knees and reached for the baby. “She’s all right.”
Viola nodded, clutched Goldie to her breast and looked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Stone. I—” She stared. The left side of his shirt was soaked with blood. “He shot you.” The whispered words brought a crooked grin to his face.
“It appears so.” He tried to rise, grimaced, sank back and closed his eyes. The blood stain spread.
Her heart clutched. “Don’t move, Mr. Stone. I’ll get the doctor.” She put Goldie on his outstretched legs, lurched to her feet and ran.

“He’s coming around, Viola. He’s going to be all right.”
Her lungs emptied in a long sigh. “Thank You, Lord.” She fought back grateful tears and brought up a smile. “And thank you, Dr. Calloway.”
He shook his head. “You were right the first time—thank the Lord. If that bullet had been a little closer to…” He stopped, smiled. “But it wasn’t. I was able to extract it safely.” The smile morphed into a frown that knit his brows together. “The problem now is his recovery. He lost a lot of blood before we got him here to the clinic, and more during the operation. He’s going to be as weak as that baby you’re clutching as if you’ll never let her go. And he won’t be able to move for a few days, and not use his left arm normally for weeks. He’s going to need constant care. I don’t know where we will find that for him. The clinic is full. And there is no place—”
“He’s not married?”
“No. And it’s certain he can’t go live in that hut of his on the Chilkoot Trail.” Jacob Calloway shook his head, sighed and massaged the back of his neck. “I’ll keep him here in the clinic overnight of course, but then I’ll need the room for other surgical patients.” The frown returned. Then he gave her another tired smile. “Why don’t you go home now and get some sleep. Morning will be here soon, and when the laudanum that thug gave Goldie wears off, she is going to be demanding a lot of attention.” His smile widened. “You can put her down, you know. She’s safe here.”
“Not yet. It’s for my sake I’m holding her.” Viola kissed the baby’s silky, dark hair, squelched the war raging inside her. It was clear what she must do. “You said Mr. Stone is ‘coming around.’ May I see him?”
He studied her for a moment then nodded. “All right. He keeps muttering about a baby. It will likely do him good to see you holding the baby safe in your arms. But you can’t stay but a minute. Like I said, he’s lost a lot of blood and needs rest.”
“I understand.” Viola rose, and hugging Goldie close, followed Jacob Calloway through his small surgery, to the tiny room where his surgical patients recovered, her steps reluctant but determined. She smiled at Teena Crow, stepped to the bed and looked down at Thomas Stone. Her heart almost stopped. She had never seen anyone so pale. Only his eyebrows gave his face color. Even his blond hair seemed to have paled.
“I didn’t realize he was so… I will thank him tomorrow.” She took a steadying breath, looked up at the doctor. “You said Mr. Stone will need care and a place to stay, Doctor. I have room. Please bring him to my cabin when he recovers and—”
“No.”
Viola glanced down. Thomas Stone had opened his eyes. Though his voice was weak, the look in those green eyes left no doubt that he meant exactly what he said. The tension left her. She had offered to care for him. Her obligation was satisfied. It was not her fault the man refused. Still, she stood rooted to the spot, unable to walk away. The man was in dire straits and most likely not fully aware of his situation. “This is no time to stand on pride, Mr. Stone. I am in your debt for saving Goldie, and Dr. Calloway has said you will need constant care—until you are recovered. Staying at my cabin is the sensible solution. I live close by, and the doctor will be able to come visit you daily.”
“No.” His voice was weaker this time, but the tone just as adamant. “Woman…repu…ta…tion…” His eyelids closed, fluttered, but refused to open.
“You’ll have to leave now, Viola. He needs to rest.”
She nodded, stared at Thomas Stone’s pale, still face. Surely, he hadn’t meant he was concerned for her? Of course not. It was his own reputation as a missionary he was concerned about. “No one’s reputation will be sullied, Mr. Stone. Hattie Marsh lives in my home and will help me care for you. Now, rest well. And I will see you tomorrow.” There was no response. She must have put his worries over his reputation at rest.
She looked up at Jacob Calloway. “As I was saying, Doctor, please bring Mr. Stone to my cabin when he is sufficiently recovered. I will have a bed ready for him.” She glanced at Teena, mouthed “thank you” and left the room.

“No.”
“Don’t be foolish, Thomas. If you don’t go to Viola Goddard’s, where will you go? You need care.”
Dr. Calloway sounded decidedly exasperated. Too bad. He was not going to spend a couple of weeks under Viola Goddard’s care. He wouldn’t do it. In spite of what she said, there was her reputation to think of. And there was the baby. Thomas mustered what little strength he could find and opened his eyes. “I’ll go to…my hut.”
“That’s ridiculous, Thomas. You’re too weak to even lift your head off the pillow. How do you expect to— Stop that!”
Jacob gripped his good shoulder and held him pinned to the bed. He hadn’t strength enough to push the restraining hand away, let alone sit up with one arm. Not that he wanted to try again anytime soon. The agony that shot through his upper chest at his movement was enough to hold him still.
“I told you not to try and move, Thomas. Any strain could start that wound bleeding again, and if that happens, I doubt I could save you. Here, swallow this, it will help with the pain.” The doctor held a spoon to his mouth. He swallowed. “Good. Now, stay quiet. I am keeping you here the rest of the day. But this evening, Sheriff Parker is coming to help me move you to Viola Goddard’s cabin. There is no choice here. You need care.”
He had no strength left with which to argue the matter. Time enough for that tonight, when he would be stronger. He closed his eyes and waited for the knife-like pain to subside. Felt the darkness slip over him….

“Here is the quilt from my bed, Hattie. The coverlet is fine for me.” Viola rushed from her bedroom into the living room, the quilt overflowing her arms. “If we double it, you should be nice and warm here on the settle.”
Hattie stopped tucking the sheet around the thick, feather tick that padded the seat of the long, wood settle, faced Viola and fisted her hands on her ample hips. “Stop fussin’, Viola! I been takin’ care of myself for close to seventy years, and I reckon I can do so now. This mattress we’ve fixed up here on the settle will make as fine a bed as any I’ve e’er slept on. Now, go on with fixin’ up that bed for Mr. Stone, and leave me get my work done.”
“You are a pure gem, Hattie!” Viola hugged the short, round woman, then dropped to her knees beside Goldie, who was lying on her back on the braided rag rug, waving a rattle and cooing. “And so are you, little Miss Goldie.” She grabbed the baby’s free hand, kissed the tiny palm and then kissed her way up the pudgy little arm to her round, rosy cheek. The baby squealed, laughed and kicked her feet.
A knock on the door stopped the play. “That must be Mr. Carson to pick up his mending.” Viola rose and shook out her long skirt, brushed back a curl that had escaped her snood, and went to answer the door. “Oh, Mr. Foster. I was not expecting you until tomorrow.”
“I know I’m early, Miss Goddard, but I got a chance to join up with three other men going up to Dawson today. Heard tell there’s been some new sites opened up, where the gold is just laying on the ground waiting for someone to scoop it up. I aim to be that someone.” The wiry little man grinned. “I’m hoping I don’t have to go without those shirts you was mending for me. That blue one is my lucky shirt.”
Viola nodded and stepped back to let him come inside. “Your lucky shirt is ready. As are the rest. I’ll get them for you.”
She walked to the large wardrobe where she kept her sewing work, and pulled out the shirts tied up in a neat package. “Here you are, Mr. Foster. I hope your blue shirt works for you.”
“It will.” The man took the package, glanced up at her. “Having you sew it up will make it doubly lucky, Miss Goddard. Tell you what— When I strike it rich I’ll give you half!”
Viola stiffened. She wiped the smile from her face and cooled her voice by several degrees. “Fair payment for the mending is all I want, Mr. Foster.”
He nodded, looked down. “I reckon I know that by now, Miss Goddard. My payment is in the scale.” He made a little bow. “Good day to you. And to you, Hattie Marsh.” He walked away whistling.
“And to you, John Foster! You old fool.” Hattie’s voice was rough with hurt. “Go on and join the others who risk their lives o’er and o’er, just cause some miner gets drunk and starts spinnin’ tall tales about gold just waitin’ to be claimed.” The elderly woman snapped the quilt through the air, folded it and jammed one side down between the mattress and the back of the settle. “Old fools ne’er learn! But at least that one doesn’t have a wife to leave behind, lonely and grievin’ when he don’t come back.”
“Oh, Hattie.” Viola rushed over and put her arm around the plump woman’s shoulders. “Your husband never meant to leave you.”
“I know. None of them do. That’s why they’re old fools! And him no better than the worst of them. Sellin’ all we had to outfit hisself for minin’ gold. Then dyin’ up there. And me left with no one to care about me, nothin’ in my pocket and nowhere to go. It was a blessin’ when you took me in and gave me a home, Viola Goddard. A true blessin’.” Hattie patted her hand and smiled up at her. “You’re my family now. You and little Goldie. Now, go put the dust from the scales in your poke, and get back to work on that bed. No tellin’ when Dr. Calloway will be bringin’ your patient.”

Chapter Three
Pulsing pain pulled him out of the darkness. Thomas tried to move his left arm, gritted his teeth at the sudden stabbing anguish in his chest. He gathered his strength against it, opened his eyes and stared up at the rough board and beam ceiling. A soft cocoon of warmth held him. A hint of roses, coming from the bedding, encouraged him to breathe deeply, to capture more of a distant memory of his mother sitting on the lawn, doing needle-point while he played at her feet.
The dusky light of a midnight sun cast an ambient glow over the room, softening the edges of the rocks on the chimney climbing the opposite wall to the ceiling. He slewed his gaze left, toward the window that ceded entrance to the purple and gold twilight. Curtains softened the hard lines of the frame. Where was he? He frowned, willing the fuzziness away.
A rustle of fabric, soft footfalls interrupted his effort, cleared his head. He didn’t have to look their way, didn’t want to look their way. He knew who was there.
Viola Goddard stepped into his line of vision, glanced down at him. The connection he’d felt the first time their gazes met burgeoned. “You’re awake, Mr. Stone. Would you like some water?”
What he would like was to be in his hut. But judging from the pain and the weakness in his body, that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. “Please. My mouth…dry…”
She turned away.
He closed his eyes, summoned physical strength for the effort to lift his head and drink the water, and inner strength to resist the pull of his emotions toward this woman caring for him. He’d never felt so helpless. For an ungracious moment, he wished the kidnapper was miserable. There was a clink of glass, a small gurgle.
“I shall have to give you the water from a spoon.”
He opened his eyes, stared up at her.
“Doctor’s orders. You’re not to move.”
He couldn’t stop the frown.
She didn’t comment, merely held a napkin against his chin and offered the spoon. He fought back the urge to turn away and parted his lips. She parted her own and leaned forward. The spoon touched his mouth, water moistened his tongue. He felt the soothing coolness trickle toward his parched throat and swallowed, tried to keep his attention focused on the sensation. It was an abysmal failure. When half the glass was gone, he gave up the fight. He’d had enough. Not of the water, but of the sight of Viola Goddard leaning over him, her violet-blue eyes warm with sympathy. He closed his eyes, heard the soft rustle of her dress as she straightened and moved away, the soft clink of the glass as she set it down. Help me, Lord. Help me to fight this sense of connection, and feel nothing but gratitude for this woman. You know I made a vow to never—
“Mr. Stone, please open your mouth once more. The doctor instructed me to give you a dose of this medicine as soon as you awoke. It will ease your pain.”
He considered feigning slumber, but the agony in his chest and shoulder overruled the idea. He opened his eyes, took the medicine and closed them again. There were soft footfalls, the creak of caning in a chair and the whisper of rockers against the floor. He tried to will away the image of Viola Goddard’s beautiful eyes, fringed with dark-brown lashes so long and thick they looked like velvet, her full, rose-colored lips and the wisps of dark red curls brushing against her forehead. He failed, and slipped into oblivion, wondering if her porcelain skin was as soft and smooth to the touch as it appeared.

Viola smiled and lay her sewing aside. Goldie had rolled over again, and one shoulder and pudgy little arm were uncovered. She rose from the rocker and stood a moment, looking at the adorable baby face, the tiny button nose and the small rosebud mouth moving in and out in little sucking motions. Tears welled in her eyes. She leaned down and moved Goldie back to the center of the cradle and tucked the covers around her, blinked the tears away and brushed the back of her finger over the baby’s silky, brown hair, her warm, rosy cheek. She blinked again, straightened and turned away, shaken by the strength of the love that filled her.
What if she had lost her? What if the kidnapper had harmed her? No. She would not dwell on that. She shuddered, wrapped her arms about herself and waited for the trembling to pass. It would. And every day the memory would become more dim, the trembling would lessen, and someday she would be able to look at Goldie and not think of what could have happened. Or remember that it would have been her fault.
The thought set her stomach churning. How would she ever have explained to Goldie’s father? She looked out the window, studied the shadows of trees clouding her yard. Where was Goldie’s father? Would he ever return? The selfish part of her hoped not. The unselfish part prayed he would. Girls needed fathers to shelter and protect them.
As she would have been sheltered, had her father and mother not died in that carriage accident. If her father had lived, she never would have been forced out onto the streets of Seattle by foreclosure on their home. And Richard Dengler would never have found her sitting on that park bench crying.
Oh, how innocent and trusting she had been! Believing Dengler when he told her she reminded him of his dear dead daughter. And that he was lonely and it would please him if she would allow him to provide for her, that she could stay in his dead daughter’s bedroom until she found work by which she could support herself. How shocked she’d been when he presented her with a bill for her room and board and made her that oh, so magnanimous offer to allow her to work off her debt in his house of ill repute, knowing full well she had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to for help and no skill with which to make a living.
Her chest tightened. Sickness washed over her—the same sickness she felt that day she succumbed to the circumstances and agreed to work for him. The day she sold her innocence and youth to pay for her keep.
She clenched her hands into fists, forced air into her constricted lungs. One thing was certain. If Goldie stayed in her care, she would make provisions for her. She would never leave the child without means. But neither would she ever marry. Never! The very thought of a man’s hands on her again revolted her.
Viola whirled from the window, fighting the memories pushing to the surface, took a slow, deep breath to ease the churning and knotting in her stomach, the tightness now inching up her neck into her face. Her gaze lit on Thomas and the knotting and the tightness increased. Had she gone mad, having the man in her home? He was weak and helpless now, but what about when his strength returned and he still needed care because of his disabled arm? He was strong. Very strong.
She shivered, rubbed her elbow where his hand had gripped her. When he was stronger, she would give his care over to Hattie. He had saved Goldie, and in gratitude and thankfulness, she would shelter and nurse him. But she would not be a victim of a man’s wants again. Not ever again.
She walked back to the rocker, pulled a blanket up over her shoulders and leaned her head back and closed her eyes, fighting for breath. Almighty God, cleanse my mind of all the bad memories, I pray. Take them from me and cause me to forget….

“Got the oatmeal fixed, Viola. I’ll sit here with your patient, whilst you eat.”
Viola took the empty bottle from Goldie’s mouth and set it aside. “I’m not hungry, Hattie. I’ll stay with him.” I owe him that much. She dabbed a drop of the sweetened goat’s milk from Goldie’s little mouth and handed her a wooden dog to play with.
The elderly woman frowned and stepped to the bed. “Handsome one, ain’t he? Even if he does look like death is just a-waitin’ to claim him.” She chuckled. “Guess I don’t blame you for wantin’ to stay with him.”
If you only knew the truth. “Do you realize he might wake and hear you?”
Hattie turned from the bed, the wrinkles in her face deepened by a wide grin. “Which part don’t you want him to hear? The part about his bein’ handsome and death waitin’ to claim him…or the part about you not wantin’ to leave him?”
“All of it.” It came out sharper than she intended.
Hattie’s grin died. “Wouldn’t hurt you none to take an interest in someone, Viola. It ain’t right, a beautiful young woman like you being satisfied to do nothin’ but work and spend her time with an old woman and a baby.”
“I’m not.” Viola summoned a cheeky grin, offered it as penance for her sharp tone. “I go to church, too.”
“Hmmph.” Hattie stepped in front of her and held out her arms. “Leastways, let me take this one and feed her some of the oatmeal. Lest you want her growin’ up to be a slender slip of a thing like you.” She lifted Goldie, propped her on her round hip, grabbed the bottle and headed for the door. “It wouldn’t hurt you to put some flesh on them bones, you know. Men like somethin’ they can get ahold of.” The parting comment floated over her round shoulders as she walked away.
“Which is exactly what I do not want!” Viola pressed her lips closed on her vehement whisper and lifted her hands to rub her fingertips across her gritty, tired eyes. Since moving in with her, Hattie had become aware of her lack of social life and was beginning to probe as to the reason. And the woman was not satisfied with her casual answers. She was pushing harder.
She rose and crossed to look out the window, absently rubbing at the scar on the outside edge of her left hand. The one where Dengler had cut her with his knife the last time she had run away. Perhaps it had been a mistake to take Hattie in. But she couldn’t simply ignore the woman’s homeless state when her husband had died. Please help me, Lord. Please give me the right words to say to satisfy Hattie’s curiosity. You know I can’t tell her the truth of my past, nor can I lie to—
“How’s our patient doing?”
She gasped and spun toward the doorway.
“Sorry, Viola, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Dr. Calloway smiled. “I knocked, but the door was open, so I came on in. I thought you must have heard me at the door.”
“No. I—I was thinking.” And remembering. She forced a smile. “Come in, Doctor.” She stepped back to allow him ample space to pass her in the narrow room. “I’m afraid Mr. Stone is still sleeping.”
“I’m…awake….”
She jerked her head toward the bed, looked into those penetrating green eyes. How long had he been awake? Had he heard Hattie’s comments? And her whispered retort? What if she had prayed aloud? Her body went rigid. She looked away. “I’m going outside for some fresh air while you examine your patient, Doctor. I shall return shortly. If you need anything meanwhile, Hattie is in the kitchen.” She turned and walked out the door.
The doctor stared after her a moment, then looked down. “That is one beautiful woman. But I guess you’ve probably noticed.”
“A man would have to be…blind not to.” Thomas frowned. What had caused that flash of fear he had seen in Viola Goddard’s eyes before she turned away?
Jacob grinned, set his bag on the end of the bed and lifted the edge of the covers. “Feeling a little grumpy, are we?” He pulled his watch from his vest pocket.
“Grumpy?” Maybe he had imagined the fear. He gave a snort, winced. “I’m feeling downright surly. And…uncomfortable.” The doctor’s fingers closed around his wrist.
“The pain is bad?”
“Beyond bad. But it’s the weakness that aggravates me.” Thomas scowled up at Jacob. “And your betrayal. I told you I did not…want to come here.”
“Ah! That is a problem.” The doctor chuckled.
Thomas turned the scowl into a glare. “It’s not funny, Jacob. And I promise I will take that smile off your face…as soon as I can stand.” He sagged into the mattress, all strength gone out of him from the long speech.
The doctor tucked his watch away and pulled his stethoscope from his bag. “All right, Thomas, you shall have your chance to do so when you recover. But that recovery depends on good care. And that is what you will receive from Viola.” He put the earpieces in place and leaned down, listened, then straightened. “I want you to drink a lot of water, Thomas. You need to get your fluids built back up. And above all, no movement! Now, tell me about the pain.” He put the stethoscope away and began to check the bandages.

“Hey, Viola.”
Viola dragged her thoughts from the past, spotted Frankie Tucker, hammer in hand, gazing at her from behind the picket fence she was building around the churchyard. An undertone of melancholy in the woman’s usually hearty voice made her abandon her walk and cross the road. She recognized loneliness when she heard it. “Hello, Frankie.” She smiled, placed her hand on top of one of the pickets. “You’ve done a good job. The fence really dresses up the churchyard.”
“It’ll be finished today. Except for the painting. Burns was going to do it, but he and his dog left for the gold fields. I just have to fancy up these end posts—round the tops off a mite. Mack didn’t want no gate. Says he’s not trying to keep folks out, just lead them in and corral them once they get here.” Frankie smiled, then frowned and ran her work-roughened hand over the taller square post at the edge of the stone walk. “Should of been finished with this job last week. Been kinda slow without Lucy and Margie helping me much. But Lucy is helping to keep Caleb’s books now. And they’ve both been busy…setting up their new homes and all.”
So that was the cause of the unhappiness in Frankie’s eyes. She should have guessed. Even in the short time she had been in Treasure Creek, she’d learned how close the Tucker sisters were. And how adamantly opposed to marriage the three of them were until Lucy had fallen in love and married. It must have been a shock for Frankie. Especially when Margie followed their younger sister’s example a few weeks later. She nodded, tried for the right tone of sympathetic understanding. It wasn’t easy. She was as opposed to marriage as Frankie, though for very different reasons. “It must be difficult to get used to both of your sisters being married in such a short time.”
Frankie snorted, jammed her hammer back into her leather belt, bent over and grabbed a tool from a bucket at her feet. “Never thought I’d see the day a Tucker girl would marry.” She slammed the tool against one corner of the post and shoved down on it, repeated the movement over and over. A blade bit off thin little bits of wood that made a small pile on the ground. “Pa must be spinning in his grave.” The shavings grew longer, wider, curled. The corner now sloped from the center of the post to the outer edge. “He raised us to be able to take care of ourselves, not need some man to do for us!”
Viola nodded. It was the best she could offer. She had nothing good to say about men or marriage.
Frankie stopped working, waved the tool in the air. “You won’t find me getting yoked up to no man.” She scowled, then started shaving away at the next corner of the post. “I’m gonna be a deputy, soon as I can convince that stubborn sheriff of ours I’m as good or better than them men he takes on to help him out when there’s a need.”
There was hurt lurking behind Frankie’s bravado. Her heart went out to the unhappy woman. At least in this, she could offer some comfort. “I’m sure you would make a fine deputy, Frankie. But what will the people of Treasure Creek do without your building skills to call upon?”
Frankie paused, fastened her blue-eyed gaze on her. “Guess I hadn’t thought about that.” She squinted at the post, ran her hand over the two sloping corners and moved on to the next. “I’ll still keep building things for folks. Being a deputy is only when there’s a need. And it seems like Sheriff Parker ain’t a very needful man.” She stopped, looked at her. “Been talking only about me. How’s Goldie? And how’s the preacher doing? He mending all right?”
She gasped. “Mr. Stone! I forgot all about him.” Guilt shot through her. She stepped back from the fence. “I have to go, Frankie. I told Dr. Calloway I would be right back.” She lifted the hems of her long skirt, ran across the road and hurried back to her cabin.

“No movement. And no solid foods for Thomas today, Viola.”
She nodded and walked the doctor to the door. “What would you advise for his sustenance?”
“A good, strong beef broth will help build his blood back to strength. If none is avail—”
“Ha!”
Viola laughed at the satisfied grin on Hattie’s face. “Hattie has already prepared a beef broth, Doctor. She was quite certain it was what you would request for him. Is there anything else?”
“No. Just keep him warm and quiet, and continue the pain medicine. Give him the broth as often as he will take it. And water. He lost a lot of blood, he needs to replace the fluids he’s lost.” Jacob Calloway reached for the door latch. “I will return to check on him this afternoon. Meanwhile, if he develops a fever or other problems, please come for me. And if he moves and that wound starts to bleed, come immediately.”
“I shall, doctor. Please give Teena my regards.” Viola closed the door, made the smirking Hattie a little bow, then took Goldie into her arms.
“Would you please bring Mr. Stone some broth, Hattie? I’m sure he must be hungry.” She turned and walked into the bedroom. Thomas Stone’s eyes were squeezed closed, his mouth was pressed into a tight line and his face looked more wan than ever in the full light of day. She stared at him, feeling sick to her stomach. If she had stayed with Goldie instead of napping to catch up on her lost sleep, the kidnapping would not have happened. Thomas Stone would not have been shot. He would not be in this pain. If only there was something she could do to make him feel better. Perhaps… She whirled around, to Goldie’s gurgling delight, and hurried to the kitchen.
“Hattie, keep the soup on the warming shelf. And please watch Goldie for me. I think, perhaps Mr. Stone might feel a little better if I wash his face and comb his hair.” She handed the baby into Hattie’s arms, then hurried to the tiny bathing room off the kitchen, draped a washcloth and towel over her shoulder, threw a comb and a bar of her soap into a washbowl and went back to the stove to ladle hot water out of the reservoir on the side.

The hot water felt wonderful on his face. The hint of roses hovered, even after she rinsed the soap away. Thomas thought again of his mother, focused on the past to keep from thinking of how soft Viola Goddard’s hands were. Or about the ache their gentle touch brought to his gut. He hadn’t known, until now, how much he missed the touch of his wife’s hands.
The softness of a towel absorbed the moisture from his skin, dragged across his whisker stubble. He had a flash of vanity, wished he was clean-shaven and looking his best.
“I’m going to wash your hands now, Mr. Stone.” Her voice sounded different, sort of tight and small. Her fingers brushed against his neck, slid beneath the edge of the covers.
“Wait!” He forgot, tried to grab the covers. White heat streaked through his shoulder and chest. He broke out in a cold sweat. “Shirt…cut…off me.” He closed his eyes, silently cursed the weakness, the bullet that had put him in this bed.
“You mustn’t move, Mr. Stone. I will do it.”
The blankets lifted, cool air washed over his right shoulder and arm. He opened his eyes, looked up at her. Her face was taut. She turned to the washbowl, wrung out the rag and soaped it. He held his breath, fought the sickening throbbing in his shoulder.
“You are quite covered in bandages, Mr. Stone. I’m so sorry for your pain.” She lifted his hand. The warm, soapy rag slid over his skin. Her hands were trembling. He saw her catch her lower lip with her upper teeth, turn to the washbowl and rinse out the rag, and swallowed hard against the churning in his stomach.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to properly thank you for saving Goldie.” She wiped the soap from his hand, took a little shuddering breath, put down the cloth and dried his hand with the towel. “I’m so very grateful.” She smiled, but there was something in her eyes…. He tried to block out the pain and nausea and concentrate.
“Your left arm is bound to your chest. To keep it still, I suppose. I shall not wash that hand.” There was relief in her voice. She pulled the covers back over him and picked up the washbowl. “You rest now, Mr. Stone. I shall take care of these things and be back in a moment with some broth for you.”
Thomas closed his eyes, yielded to the weakness. She had tried to cover it, but Viola Goddard had been upset by his bandages. There had been a fear, a vulnerability deep in the depths of her beautiful eyes that belied her cool demeanor as she washed him. A vulnerability that made him want to take care of her. He clenched his hands into fists, caught his breath at the pain that knifed through his chest and prayed for a quick recovery before falling asleep.

Chapter Four
Viola stared down at Thomas Stone’s pale, sleeping face, placed the spoon in the bowl, lifted the napkin off the quilt and carried them to the kitchen.
Hattie glanced at the bowl and frowned. “He didn’t eat but half. How’s he doin’?”
She shrugged and placed the bowl of broth on the warming shelf. “All right, I suppose. At least that’s what Doctor Calloway said. But he looks frightful to me.” She stepped to the end of the stove, out of Hattie’s way, and stood absorbing the warmth. Her growing weariness was causing an inward chill. “If only he had some color in his face. And that horrible weakness. Oh, Hattie, he hasn’t strength enough to even talk without stopping and gasping for air. And it’s my fault.”
Hattie stopped stirring and looked at her. “Your fault? How’d you figure that?”
“I should not have napped. If I hadn’t—”
“I told you to get some sleep whilst I watched over Goldie.” Hattie spooned soup from the pot into a bowl. “Guess the way you figure it, I’m the one to blame. I’m the one shouldn’t have gone to sleep.”
“Oh, Hattie, no! That’s not true.” Viola hurried to the elderly woman and put her arm around her shoulders. “I don’t blame you, Hattie. Please don’t think that. Goldie’s father left her on my doorstep. His note asked me to care for her until he returned. She is my responsibility, not yours. I meant only that. Do not blame yourself.”
“I don’t.” Hattie scooted out from under her arm and plunked the bowl onto the table. “Sit down and eat whilst Goldie and Mr. Stone are sleepin’. You’re lookin’ a mite peaked your own self.”
Viola shook her head, brushed back a curl that fell onto her forehead. “You go ahead and eat, Hattie. I’m not hungry. My guilt over Mr. Stone, and Goldie, and, well, this whole situation, has stolen my appetite.”
“Fiddlesticks! You ain’t to blame for what happened any more than I am. That kidnapper is. And I don’t need two sick grownups and a baby to look after. Sit down and eat.”
She sat. “All the same, I should have been with Goldie instead of napping.”
“Why? So you could have been hurt or worse when that man snuck in here to take the baby, so’s he could get his hands on them gold nuggets the father left for you to use to pay for Goldie’s care?” Hattie turned and walked back to the stove. “It’s likely there was two of them, you know. ’Cause that man wasn’t expectin’ to find us sleepin’ that time of day. I figure God worked things out for the good.”
Two of them. Viola stared at Hattie’s back, her nerves tingling. With all that had happened, she had forgotten about that stone thrown from the woods. It had been a warning. The kidnapper had a partner. What if he decided to sneak into the cabin and… She shivered, gripped her hands and waited for the nervous chill to pass, took a breath to remove any tremor from her voice. “I don’t see how you can say that, Hattie. Mr. Stone is lying in that bedroom too weak to even lift his head off the pillow. How is that God working things out for good?”
“He could be dead.”
“Oh. Yes. He could…” Viola placed her hand on her roiling stomach and drew another deep breath. She couldn’t understand faith like Hattie’s. She had experienced too much of evil. Bitterness rose like bile, formed a metallic taste on her tongue. “If God was involved, why would He have let all of this happen?”
“I don’t figure He did.” Hattie carried her bowl of soup to the table and bowed her head. “Bless this food, Almighty God. Use it to keep us healthy and strong and to help heal Thomas Stone. Amen.” She lifted her head, scooped up a piece of beef with her spoon. “The Good Book says there’s good and evil in this world, and because of that, bad things are gonna happen. But it also says God’ll take the bad and turn it to good for His children.”
By allowing a helpless young girl to be forced into choosing to make her living by prostitution? And then, after she escaped that life, by forcing her to bring a man into her home? By placing Thomas Stone here, in his helpless condition, where he could be killed if someone broke in again? Viola laid down her spoon, swallowed to hold back the bite of onion and peas that did not want to stay down. “Forgive me for disagreeing, Hattie. But I do not see the good in this situation.”
Hattie scooped up a piece of potato and broth, looked up and smiled. “It ain’t over yet.”
That is what I’m afraid of.

Viola looked up from her sewing as Hattie carried Goldie into the bedroom and sat her down on the rag rug. “This one’s all fed and dry and ready to play.” She straightened, glanced at Thomas Stone, then looked her way. “I’m gonna take me a walk down to Tanner’s store. I’m all out of licorice drops. You need anything?”
“Yes.” Viola handed Goldie the wooden spool she’d just emptied. “I need another spool of blue thread, and another packet of horn buttons.” She smiled at the baby and looked up. “And ask them to please order me another five yards of tent canvas. I’ve used the last of mine. Oh! And shaving supplies for Mr. Stone. He will probably want them when he is sufficiently healed to move his arms.”
Hattie nodded and started out the door.
“Hattie…”
The elderly woman turned.
Now what was she smiling about? Viola stared at her friend, then gave a mental shrug, kept a casual tone in her voice. “Please leave word that I would like Frankie Tucker to come see me.”
“What do you want with Frankie?”
“I have some work for her to do.”
Viola watched Hattie amble away, then turned and glanced at Thomas Stone to see if they had disturbed him. He was sound asleep. The pain medicine she had given him after the broth was working. She stared at his face, watching his eyes to make certain. The loose-fitting shirt she was making him out of soft cotton needed no measurements, but for the sleeves. But she did not want to ask him, for she was certain he would refuse the shirt.
She looked at the covers over his chest, watched the even rise and fall of his breathing and set aside her sewing, picked up her tape measure and hurried to the bed. As stealthily as she could manage, she lifted the edge of the covers until she could see his free arm. She measured the length from shoulder to wrist, then inched the tape around his wrist for the cuff measurement, trying her best not to see his hand. She knew well the punishment a man’s hands could inflict, and she knew the strength in his from his firm grip on her arm.
She shuddered and backed away, but could not leave his shoulder and arm uncovered. His breathing remained steady and even. She glanced at his face, stepped close and drew the covers back in place, then hurried back to her chair. He looked younger in repose. And handsome. But she had seen handsome turn to ugly very quickly.
She dropped her tape on the table and went to her knees beside Goldie, to wash away the dark memories with the sight of the baby’s sweet face. Goldie dropped the spool and grabbed for her feet, tugging at her moccasin booties, letting out a howl of frustration when they did not yield. “Shhh, little one, you’ll wake Mr. Stone.”
Viola gave her back the spool, lifted her into her arms and carried her to the chair. The rockers whispered against the floor as she cuddled the baby close and exorcized the remembered cruelty of hard, rough hands with the silky touch of the baby’s cheek against hers.

Thomas opened his eyes, drawn out of the darkness by the warm, musical laugh of the woman who gave him such cool, remote smiles. He slewed his gaze toward the rocker, saw Viola playing pat-a-cake with the baby and shut his eyes against the ache that filled his chest—an ache that had nothing to do with the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Louise, I am so sorry. So very sorry.
He opened his eyes and stared up at the rough wood ceiling to block out the image of his infant daughter in his wife’s arms when he had buried them. An image seared into his mind. He had buried them together so they would never be apart. He clenched his jaw against the memory he couldn’t stop from invading his thoughts. He was over the ravaging grief, but the guilt remained. He never should have given in to Louise’s pleas that they marry before he answered his call to minister to the Alaskan natives. And he should have stayed strong and refused when she begged to come along. He hadn’t known it then, of course, but living conditions in the Indian villages had proven too primitive and harsh for his city-bred wife. And then he had gotten her with child. All selfish acts that had cost Louise and tiny little Susan their lives. If he had known…
A soft gasp broke into his thoughts. Instinct drew his gaze toward Viola Goddard. She was peering closely at the baby who was standing on her lap, supported by her hands around her small chest. “Goldie! Oh, baby, you have two teeth!” The hushed words floated toward him on a ripple of quiet laughter that spoke of surprise and delight. The baby waved pudgy little arms, babbled sounds that made sense only to her infant ears, then gurgled out laughter.
The ache in his chest sharpened. His baby girl would never— Thomas yanked his gaze back to the ceiling, clenched his hands and set himself to battle the guilt in his heart. Forgive me, Louise, for my weakness and selfishness.
How many times had he thought those words over the past three years? How many more times would he utter or think them before the guilt went away? Would it go away? Or would he live with the shadow of his selfish acts clouding his life forever?
This time he didn’t fight the darkness that rose to claim him, but yielded to the weakness and the medicine, and welcomed the oblivion that blotted out all thought.

Viola leaned down, picked up the rattle Goldie had dropped, then straightened. “I want strong locks put on my doors, Frankie. I thought perhaps you could do that for me?”
“Sure I can, Viola.” Frankie Tucker’s blue eyes gleamed with excitement. “You figure someone else will try to break in here and kidnap the baby, now that the idea’s been planted in people’s heads? I told Sheriff Parker I thought that might happen, and asked him if I could help him watch your place. I mean, I know he shot the kidnapper dead, but what if he had a partner or something?” Frankie sighed and tucked a lock of her short, curly, dark hair behind her ear. “He refused. Like always. I don’t know why he doesn’t think I’d make a good deputy. I’m smart as any man. Smarter than Henry Duke for sure! And he uses him sometimes.”
The hurt in Frankie’s voice tugged at her heart. Viola set aside the fear that had surged at Frankie’s mention of the kidnapper’s partner, and searched for some sort of balm she could offer—remembered that awful moment when she saw the blood spreading across Thomas Stone’s shirt. “Being a deputy can be dangerous, Frankie. Look at what happened to Mr. Stone. Perhaps the sheriff is afraid you will be harmed in a gun battle, or—”
“Ha! I can outshoot any man.” Frankie’s blue eyes flashed. “Our pa took us girls hunting as soon as we were strong enough to heft a rifle. And he taught us to use pistols, too. Lucy and Margie are good shots, but I’m the best. I don’t miss. And the sheriff knows it. I challenged him to a shooting contest tomorrow, just to show him. Figure that ought to make him look favorable on me as a deputy.”
That would be amusing, if she weren’t envious. Viola caught Goldie’s baby hand before she could grab her hair, kissed its pudgy palm. “I wish I knew how to use a gun. Things would have been much different.” She bit off the bitter words, afraid she had revealed more than she intended.
Frankie grinned. “That would have surprised the kidnapper for sure.” Her face lit up. “I could teach you if you want. I got time. No reason for me to be home, with Lucy and Margie gone.”
Viola stared, shocked by the offer, then intrigued. She would never have to be afraid again. Not of Dengler and his thugs, the kidnapper’s partner, any of her male customers or any other man. She would be able to protect herself. She curved her lips in what she was afraid was a rather grim smile. “I would like that, Frankie. When Mr. Stone is recovered, I shall buy a pistol and you can teach me how to use it.”
“Good. You let me know when. Now I’ll go down to the smithy and check with Duncan. If he’s got a couple good, sturdy locks in stock, I’ll come back and put them on your doors tonight.” Frankie opened the door, paused. “If not, I’ll have him make you some. It won’t take him long, if he’s not busy. And if he is, I’ll see to it he gets to them fast as possible.”
Viola nodded. “Thank you, Frankie. You have relieved my mind a good deal.” More than you can possibly know. “Tell Mr. MacDougal to put the locks on account. I will stop by and pay him as soon as Mr. Stone is well enough for me to leave him.” She closed the door, lifted Goldie into the air and smiled up at her. “There, sweetie. Now you will be safe…and so will I.” She lowered the laughing baby to her chest, held her close and hurried to the bedroom to check on Thomas Stone.

“How are you feeling, Thomas?” Jacob Calloway set his black bag down, then pulled back the covers. “That light-headedness and nausea any better?”
“Somewhat. It’s not a problem so long as I don’t try to…lift my head.” Warm fingers circled his wrist. Thomas slid his gaze to the watch in the doctor’s other hand, waited. The watch was tucked back in a vest pocket with no information offered. “Well?”
“Steadier and stronger. It should be back to normal soon, as long as you follow my instructions and drink plenty of water and take broth often.”
“And I’ll be able to get out of this bed then?”
“It’s going to be a few days, Thomas. Aside from the weakness due to your loss of blood, you need to limit movement and give this wound time to begin to heal. I put in some deep sutures to stop the bleeding, but only a few loose ones at the surface. You’ll have quite a scar, but any infection will be able to ooze out.” Jacob leaned down, peered closely at the bandage on his shoulder. “Hmm, we’ve got some seepage here. I’ll cleanse this and apply a new bandage.” He turned his attention to removing the bandage.
Thomas sucked in a slow breath, gathered his strength to talk against the pain. “Look, Jacob, I respect your skill, but—”
“No buts, Thomas.” Jacob delved into his bag, splashed liquid from a bottle onto a clean white cloth. “Hold still now.”
The cloth touched his shoulder, cool and moist. And then the burning started. He gritted his teeth, willed himself not to flinch away.
“There, that’s got it. Now for the bandage…” Soft cloth covered his wound. Jacob’s fingers brushed against his sore flesh, secured the bandage in place. “You will stay flat on your back in that bed until I say you can move, Thomas. Unless you want to rip that wound open and make everything worse. Now, let’s take care of your personal needs, then I will go back to the clinic. I’ll come check on you again tonight.”
A few more days until he could get out of this bed. And then, how long before he could go home to the solitude of his hut? How long must he be here with the baby? And with Viola? The woman pulled at his emotions in a way he had never experienced before, not even with Louise. She was eye-catchingly beautiful it was true. But it was something else. Something he couldn’t put a name to. But it was there all the same. When he’d first looked into her eyes he’d felt that sudden, sure connection. And it hadn’t gone away. It had gotten stronger.
Thomas pulled in more air, set his jaw and stared at the chimney stones against the opposite wall. It didn’t matter how long he stayed, or how strong the draw he felt toward Viola Goddard. He had made a vow to never again subject a wife to the primitive living conditions necessary to his missionary work with the Tlingits and the men swarming up the Chilkoot Trail to the gold fields. He intended to keep that vow. Being the cause of Louise’s and Susie’s deaths was enough guilt and regret to carry.

Chapter Five
“Sorry. So sorry…”
Viola started, opened her eyes, blinked and stared into the darkened room. Who was Thomas speaking to?
“I’ll carry them— Auugh!”
“Mr. Stone, no! Don’t move!” She threw off her blanket and rushed to the bed, placed her hand on his good shoulder to stop him from trying to rise. “Lie still. You will injure yourself!” His eyes opened, his good hand lifted, clamped around her wrist. She jerked, grabbed for his fingers. “Let go of—”
“Don’t try to stop me, Seth. That’s my wife and child. I’ll bury them myself.”
He was dreaming. Viola’s panic died. She stopped pulling at his fingers, stared into his unseeing eyes. The reflected, low flame of the oil lamp gleamed in their green depths, revealed shadows of pain.
“Do you want me, Viola? I thought I heard you call.”
She jumped, glanced over her shoulder at Hattie standing in the doorway in her rumpled nightgown, her gray hair hanging down around her plump shoulders, and shook her head. “Thank you, Hattie, but no. Everything is fine. Mr. Stone was dreaming.”
“Night, then.” Hattie yawned and padded off into the other room.
Viola took a calming breath and turned back. Thomas Stone’s eyes were closed, his mouth parted slightly in slumber. She tugged gently at his fingers. His grip tightened. She fought back resuming panic, the queasiness rising in her stomach. The man was sleeping. He didn’t know what he was doing. No matter, he was injured and Hattie was near. She was safe. She took another breath, tapped his cheek. “Wake up, Mr. Stone.” He blinked, stared up at her. She held her voice steady, tapped his hand. “Please let go of my wrist.”
His gaze dropped. He stared, frowned. “What…” He sucked in a breath, pressed his lips into a tight line.
“You were dreaming. And thrashing about a bit, which has probably increased your pain. I’ll get the medicine.” She pulled at his fingers, slipped her wrist from his grasp while he was still confused. His hand dropped to the bed.
Viola stepped back, moved to the window and pulled the bottom of one curtain back a slit. A narrow streak of midnight sun spilled down the wall and washed over the commode stand. Please, Almighty God, don’t let him have hurt his shoulder. Please don’t let it bleed. She opened the bottle, filled the spoon and turned back to the bed, on his wounded side. She would not make the mistake of standing by his good arm again. “Here is your medicine, Mr. Stone.”
He opened his eyes, fastened his gaze on hers. “I’m sorry for…whatever happened, Miss Goddard. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
His voice was tight with pain. She shook her head. “You were dreaming, Mr. Stone. And I am fine.”
His eyes darkened. “No, you’re not. You’re trembling.”
The words came out from between his gritted teeth. She looked down at the quivering medicine in the bowl of the spoon. Never admit fear. “I guess I am more fatigued than I realized. You had better take this before I spill it.” She held the spoon to his mouth. He swallowed. “I will get you some water in a moment. But first I must look at your bandage.”
“No. That upsets you.”
How did he— Oh, when she had washed his hand. Viola stared down at him, uncertain of how to respond to his concern—if that’s what it was—then turned and laid the spoon on the medicine tray. “I cannot deny that is true, Mr. Stone. But this is no time for such foolish weakness.” She turned back, reached for the covers.
“Please, don’t.” He slid his good hand toward her.
She jerked back, caught herself and leaned forward. He could not reach her unless he turned onto his wounded shoulder. “I’m afraid I must. The doctor warned me that if you moved you could cause your wound to begin bleeding again. If that happens, I am to go for him immediately.” She braced herself and lifted the covers, let out a relieved sigh. “There is no sign of bleeding.”
“You’re brave…”
His words were halting, slurring. “Don’t go to sleep, Mr. Stone. You must have some water. Doctor’s orders.” She replaced the covers, poured water into a glass and picked up the spoon. She managed to coax half of the water into him before sleep overcame his will. She gazed down at his face, taut with pain even in slumber, then slid her gaze to where his hand rested on top of the covers. Had he really tried to stop her from looking at his bandage because he had noticed it bothered her? She could not remember a man ever showing concern for her feelings. Not even her father. He had been only a distant figure of authority.
She put down the glass, stared at Thomas Stone’s bared arm. She had to cover it. From the other side of the bed. His good side. The queasiness returned to her stomach. She rubbed her wrist, erasing the feel of his grip, strong even in his weakened state, and studied his face. It would be all right. He had slipped into a deep sleep. She tiptoed to the other side, lifted his hand enough to free the covers beneath it, pulled them over his arm and shoulder and hurried back to her chair. He hadn’t even blinked. He would sleep quietly until the medicine wore off.
She picked up the blanket off the floor, shook it out and covered herself, leaned back and closed her eyes. So Thomas had a wife and child who died. What had happened to them? Odd that he had never spoken of them. Of course, they were only acquaintances because of the circumstances, and they weren’t exactly having conversations. He was sleeping most of the time.
She turned her head and studied his face, shadowed by the low light of the lamp. Is that why he had helped her when Goldie was kidnapped, because he had once had a child? And had he refused her offer to come to her home and let her care for him because he felt it was a betrayal of his dead wife?
She huffed out a breath, closed her eyes again. She, of all people, should know better than that. Many of her repeat customers at Dengler’s “house” had been married men. And marriage vows had not kept them from their pleasure—not even in the beginning, when she had begged and cried.
The familiar tightness clamped around her chest, inched up her neck into her face. She forced herself to relax, to slowly pull in air. Simply because Thomas had been considerate of her feelings over the bandages was no reason to ascribe him high motives for everything. No. He may have shown consideration for her feelings now, when he was weak and needed her to care for him. But she must stay wary and watchful, and be very careful. His strength was beginning to return.

Viola bent, picked up a bright red leaf and twirled it between her finger and thumb. “I’m sorry Mr. Stone was sleeping when you stopped on your way to the clinic to check on him, Teena. But I’m glad you suggested a walk. The fresh morning air feels wonderful.” A worm of guilt squiggled though her. And that fear that never quite left her made her glance back at her cabin. “But I shouldn’t go too far. I want to be back before Goldie or Mr. Stone wakes.” Or someone comes.
“We will go only to the woods that hide my village from the town, and then return.”
Viola nodded. She would be able to keep her cabin in sight the whole way. She took a deep breath and glanced over at her friend. Teena looked as calm and serene as ever, but there was a new, happy glow in her dark eyes.
She sniffed at the air, enjoying the blended scents of the towering firs, the moist, grassy undergrowth and the dirt path they trod. “The air here is so fresh and untainted by the smells of the campfires and trash of the swarms of stampeders.” She frowned, twirled the leaf faster. “Everywhere you go in the area around town, from the harbor to the mountains, the land is covered with the garbage and discards and the broken equipment of the miners. Why is it clear here?”
“Most of the whites do not travel the path to the Tlingit village. They stay far from my people.” Teena glanced over at her. “There are only a few who come. And they are respectful of our ways and our lands.”
The happiness was in the soft lilt of her voice, the gentle tilt of her lips. The picture of Teena looking up at Dr. Calloway the night of Goldie’s kidnapping flashed into her head, and she knew. Her stomach knotted. She tossed down the leaf and looked back toward the cabin, searching for a way to put off her friend’s confidence. “Like Thomas Stone?”
Teena Crow’s long black braids glistened in the sunlight as she nodded. “Yes. Like Thomas Stone. He is good to my people. And he is good for my people. He leads them to God, so their hearts may be healed.” Teena paused at the edge of the woods and turned toward her, her face aglow. “And like Jacob.” The name was a soft whisper of love and hope and trust. “Jacob helps heal my people when they are sick, as I help him heal his people when they are sick.” She smiled, held up her hands and clasped them. “Our two hearts have become one. We are to go to Skaguay and marry. I wanted you, my friend, to know.”
Viola sucked in air, dared not speak. Teena was so quiet, so serene standing there, bathed in her happiness, she refused to destroy it with the truth of what men really were. Please don’t let him hurt her. She dredged up a smile, hugged her friend and forced joy into her voice. “I’m so happy for you, Teena. I pray you will find every happiness your heart seeks.”
“It will be so.” Teena gave a soft laugh, stepped back and placed her hand on her chest. “My heart knows this.”
She nodded, turned and started down the track toward town, searching her tumbling thoughts for an appropriate change of subject. She did not want to talk about the false hope of love. “Will you live at the clinic, or in the house with your people?”
“My father is with his ancestors. My brother will bring his bride to the house to live with our people one day. It is right that he does.” Teena smiled. “I will go where Jacob wishes to be. For that is right, also.” She gave another soft laugh. “You see, already I find that the hearts of our peoples are not far apart.”
What had Hattie said? There is good and evil in the world, and bad things happen because of it. It was no doubt the same with the Tlingit people. Hearts are the same in all people. Was there no place to hide? To be safe? She smiled as they reached the point where the road divided and Teena would continue on toward town. “Thank you again for stopping to share your news, Teena. I will tell Hattie as soon as I get home. I know she’ll be delighted for you.” She turned toward the faint path that led to her cabin, looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Come again soon. I enjoyed our walk.”

“Much better, Thomas.”
“I feel better.” Thomas watched the doctor put his stethoscope back in his bag and pull his watch from his vest pocket. “I can draw breath easily. And I can speak an entire sentence without gasping. So when can I get out of this bed?”
“Ah, it’s always a good sign when the patient becomes impatient and starts complaining. Of course, in your case, that does not apply. You have been complaining since you awoke after surgery.”
“Very funny.” Thomas looked from Jacob Calloway’s grinning face to the fingers circling his wrist. “Well?”
“Back to normal.”
He waited, frowned. “And?”
“And now I check the bandage.” Jacob lowered the covers to his waist. “More good news. There is no seepage.”
He fought the urge to grab the doctor’s shirtfront and shake an answer from him. As if he could. “Which means?”
“Which means I must speak to Viola and see if she has more pillows I can use to prop you up a bit. If you give me your word you will not try to lift yourself higher, sit up or move about.”
“Fine.”
The doctor’s left brow lifted toward his dark hair. “That sounded a little sour, and came a bit too quickly, Thomas. I will have your word as a man of God.”
Perhaps twisting Jacob’s shirtfront and choking him would be more satisfactory than merely shaking him. Thomas took a breath, nodded. “All right. I give you my word.”
“Excellent. Now let me go and find Viola and see about those pillows.”
Thomas watched Jacob go out the door, tried not to envy him the freedom of movement. There was finally some progress. Not as much as he would like. But it would be good not to have to lie flat on his back and… In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. The scripture flowed into his thoughts, brought him up short. He closed his eyes and opened his heart. “Forgive me, Lord, for murmuring and complaining. I thank You for Your care. Please heal me quickly, so I am not a burden to Miss—”
“These pillows will work perfectly, Viola.”
Thomas opened his eyes, slid his gaze toward the door, listened to the footsteps approaching. Surely Jacob was not bringing Viola Goddard in here. His bandages! He braced himself for the pain he knew would follow and groped for the covers, froze when Viola, carrying a pillow, entered the room followed by Jacob Calloway, his arms wrapped around more pillows.
Viola looked his way, her steps faltered, he looked at her eyes, followed her gaze to his uncovered chest, and clenched his hand on the edge of the blanket. Choking was not fit punishment for Dr. Calloway. He would have to think of something more dire.
“You stand there, Viola—” the doctor dropped the pillows on the bed and indicated the spot next to his wounded shoulder “—and I will go around to Thomas’ s good side and lift him. When I have his head and shoulders high enough off the bed, I want you to place the pillows—two beneath his head and one beneath his shoulders. Thomas—” Jacob looked down at him, no longer friend, but all doctor “—do not tense your body, and do not try to help. All right, everyone ready? I shall lift on three. One…two…three.”
Pain sliced across his chest, drove the air from his lungs. Thomas gritted his teeth and set his jaw, fought down a swirl of nausea. His vision blurred, then cleared to reveal Viola leaning over him, her teeth clamped down on her full lower lip, her violet-blue eyes gentle with sympathy. The soft warmth of her hands touched his back as she placed the pillows beneath him. “All right, Doctor.”
He stopped himself from tensing as Jacob lowered him and withdrew his arm. The softness of feather pillows in rose-scented cases embraced him. Cold sweat chilled him. He shivered, closed his eyes, drew a breath. The nausea ebbed.
“He can have solid food now, Viola. But I want him to continue to drink a lot of water. And he may begin moving his good arm a bit now. But only up and down slowly.”
“All right, Doctor.”
The covers were pulled up over his chest and shoulders. Soft hands tucked them under his chin—her hands, with that same faint hint of roses clinging to them.
“Give him the pain medicine with his meals, even if he says he doesn’t want it. He’s a stubborn cuss. But if you appeal to his godly side, he will come around.”
“I shall remember that, Doctor. Now, if there is nothing further, I will go and tell Hattie she does not need to fix any broth for Mr. Stone, that he will share our dinner.”
Thomas opened his eyes, watched Viola walk from the room, then fastened his gaze on Jacob Calloway. “You have a lot to answer for when I get out of this bed, Doctor. I do not want Viola subjected to such tasks again.”
“Threats? Tsk, tsk.” Jacob smiled and picked up his bag. “Remember your profession, Pastor Stone. Brotherly love and all of that.”
“No need to concern yourself, Jacob. If you do not ask Viola to do any more nursing tasks all will be well. And if you do, I will love you the whole time I am pummeling you.”
“You’re not smiling, Thomas.”
“No. I’m serious, Jacob. The sight of my bandages upsets Viola. I do not want her subjected to that again.”
“I see.” Jacob narrowed his eyes and studied him. “Methinks thou doth protest too much. The question is…why?” He lifted a hand in farewell and walked out the door.
Why?
The question hung suspended in the empty room, bald and begging to be answered. Thomas closed his mind to its challenge. He looked out the window, lifted his gaze beyond the trees in Viola’s backyard, to the mountains that enfolded the town of Treasure Creek, and thought about the prospectors climbing the Chilkoot Trail in search of gold. How foolish those men, thinking happiness rested in possessing the precious metal or the things it could buy.

Viola slipped the bottle from between Goldie’s lips, blotted away the sweetened goat’s milk pooled at the corners of her tiny mouth and rose from the rocker. She knelt on the floor, kissed the warm, soft cheek and laid Goldie in her cradle. The baby’s eyelids fluttered, opened, slid closed again. Viola smiled, drew the blankets up, then sat back on her heels and looked at the handmade cradle. Goldie would soon be outgrowing it. As soon as she could leave Thomas to Hattie’s care, she would go to Tanner’s and look through the catalogs and order a crib for the baby.
She glanced toward the bed to check on Thomas, found his gaze on her and suppressed a shiver. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
“I didn’t want to say anything. I thought I might wake the baby.”
There was sadness in his quiet words. And in his eyes. Or was she imagining it because she knew about his child? She rose, shook out her long skirt and crossed to the bed. “Goldie sleeps quite soundly for a baby…I think. I’ve no experience with babies.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’re very good with her.”
“Thank you.” She reached up and tucked a lock of hair Goldie had pulled free back under her snood. “Would you like some water? Or perhaps some bread and butter? It will be a while until supper, and you must be hungry after having only broth since you were…wounded.”
“No bread and butter. But I will have some water please. And no spoon. Now that I am permitted to move my arm, I can handle the glass myself.” He grinned, chuckled. “Foolish of me to feel that is such an accomplishment. I’ve been feeding myself for years now.”
She stared at him, taken aback by the deep, rumbly sound of his chuckle, the warm, fluttering response in her own chest. Dengler, and the men who visited her in his house, never laughed in a pleasant way. Nor did his thugs. Their laughter was cruel. The urge to smile died. She poured Thomas’s water and handed him the glass—hovered nearby while he drank it, lest he start to spill.
“Thank you.” He held out the glass.
She stared at it, empty now, with nothing to spill if he grabbed her wrist.
“Is something wrong?”
She glanced at him, met his gaze and shook her head. “No, nothing.” She snatched the glass, drew it away from his hand. “Would you like more water?”
“Not now. What I would like is for you to sit down and rest.” His gaze swept over her face. “You look tired. I’m afraid you’re exhausting yourself caring for me.”
“I’m fine.” She turned away from him, uncomfortable and tense. Why did he say things like that? She put the glass on the table and reached to close the curtains.
“Would you leave the curtains open please?”
She lowered her hands, looked at him. “You do not want them closed so you can sleep?”
He shook his head. “No, I have slept enough, and I like looking outside. It makes me hopeful. There is nothing like God’s sunshine to cheer you up.”
His smile was warm, friendly. It increased her discomfort. Thomas did not act like the other men she had known, which made her very uneasy indeed. She didn’t know what to expect from him. She went to the rocker and picked up the jacket she was mending for Ezra Paine, freed the threaded needle from the fabric, where she had stuck it for safekeeping and took another neat stitch in the row, repairing the slash in the sleeve. A knife slash. Now she understood that. She glanced at the ridge of scar tissue on the edge of her hand. She was familiar with things like knife cuts and bruised flesh. But not with a man who considered a woman’s needs. How was she to respond to such remarks from Thomas Stone? What was she to think…to believe?

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