Oh well, she’d use it to purchase an extra bag of willow bark tea. She pulled the door to her shop back open. “Come along girls. We can go now.”
They filed back outside, and she gripped five-year-old Megan’s hand in hers, then bent her head against the wind before starting down the road. “Stick close.”
“The cold makes my ear hurt.” Olivia pressed a hand to her ear, which was already covered with a scarf.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Jessalyn? Is that you?”
She looked up to find Isaac Cummings, the newly-elected town sheriff, crossing the street toward them.
“What are you doing out in this?” A scrap of auburn hair peeked out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat he wore, and his breath puffed cold little clouds into the air. He took the hand of her middle daughter, Claire, and started walking.
“I should ask you the same question.” She closed her eyes against a particularly harsh gust of wind, then looked over her shoulder to make sure Olivia followed.
“Just came from The Rusty Wagon.” Isaac jutted his chin toward the bar that sat across the street from her shop, his chiseled features implacable amidst the driving snow and wind. “Wanted to make sure things were staying calm inside.”
She nodded. The sailors, loggers, and miners that filled Eagle Harbor never needed much excuse to visit the bar, or the brothel farther down the road, for that matter. Rainstorms and snowstorms actually gave them an excuse though. But she hadn’t considered Isaac would have to work in storms such as this. Would the jail be full by the end of the night?
“You still haven’t told me why you’re out here,” he called to her. “Or where you’re going.”
She trudged through a snowdrift that rose overtop her boots. “Olivia has another earache, and I was out of willow bark tea, so?—”
He looked over his shoulder and scowled at her. “You should have waited a few more minutes. I was headed to your place to make sure you had enough firewood to get through the storm.”
He was? Though she shouldn’t be surprised. Isaac Cummings helped her whenever he could. And since he lived in the apartment above the telegraph office that sat next to her shop, those situations arose more often than a person might guess.
“I could have gotten Dr. Harrington, and then you wouldn’t need to bring your girls out in this. The doc would have paid a house call.” Isaac turned down Front Street and headedsouth along the harbor, his tall form cutting easily through the blizzard.
“We’ve survived worse, but thank you.”
“Ma, you’re going too fast.”
She turned to find Olivia struggling through a drift the wind had blown across the road, a mitten-covered hand still pressed to her ear.
“Here. You take Claire.” Isaac thrust Claire’s hand into Jessalyn’s and tromped back toward Olivia, then swooped her into his arms.
The low sound of his voice rumbled through the storm as he spoke to her oldest daughter, and her heart lurched. What would it be like to…?
But no. She’d not let her thoughts wander in that direction. What would it be like if Thomas had never left? If he were the one carrying Olivia now and not a neighbor with an overly vigilant sense of duty?
That was the better question, but she’d stopped asking herself those things years ago. After five years of not hearing from him, Thomas was surely dead. Besides, there was no sense in letting her brain wander into the land of “what if,” but only in taking stock of the resources she had and making do. Which meant a trip to Dr. Harrington’s at the moment, snowstorm or not.
Numbness was creeping into her nose and cheeks by the time they reached the doctor’s sprawling log cabin. She guided her children up the steps, and Isaac pulled open the door to let them pass, all while keeping Olivia tucked against his chest.
Warmth enveloped her the instant she stepped inside the parlor… that was filled with people despite the storm?
“Take your things off and hang them on the pegs.” She tugged at Megan’s hat and surveyed the men. Most werestrangers, with Ian Fletcher and Emmet Stone being the only familiar faces.
“Was there a shipwreck?” Isaac’s voice was rough and dark behind her.
The bearded man nearest them nodded his head. “Afraid so.”
“Is Elijah all right?” A flicker of fear laced the darkness in Isaac’s voice that time.
“Elijah?” The man gave Isaac a blank stare.
“He’s fine,” Ian Fletcher, one of Elijah’s life-savers, called from across the room. “Took a little swim, but Doc Harrington has him warming up. He’s in the sickroom while the doc looks at the passenger he rescued.”
