“I need to help him.” This time, instead of relying on his feet to obey, he shifted onto his hands and knees. He’d still need his feet to bear his weight, but this way he could ease onto them.
“Stop. Damien.” Charlotte gripped his shoulder, but he could easily pull away from her slight restraint. Once he got on his feet, he could make her see why he had to help the mule. She probably understood already but was simply worried about him. He would show her he could manage.
He did succeed in placing one foot flat underneath him,but he still couldn’t feel the appendage, and when he tried to put weight on that leg, the knee buckled forward. The numb parts of Damien’s feet simply wouldn’t do as he commanded.
“Damien.” Charlotte sounded more than frustrated now.
Braced on one knee with his hands pressed to the snowy ground, he teetered on the edge of losing his balance. His body seemed determined to betray him.
She moved in front and dropped to her knees. “I’ll go see how Gulliver is doing. If he’s up and walking, we’ll bring him to you.” She took his face in her hands and lifted his gaze to hers. The earnestness there, something like love that glimmered in her eyes . . . they arrested his heart. How could he worry her, even for Gulliver?
He nodded, and Charlotte helped him ease back down to sitting. “I’ll return soon.”
As she disappeared into the darkness, silence settled over them. Her father still knelt in the same place he’d been as he rubbed Damien’s foot. What did he think of Damien’s stubbornness? Perhaps the man assumed his mind was also still numb from the cold—too numb to reason properly.
He dared a glance at Durand. Some of the shadows had cleared from his face, allowing a better view of his expression. Still, his mood was hard to read. He certainly studied Damien. With consternation? Distrust?
Damien should be the first to speak, attempt to explain why seeing the mule for himself was so important. He cleared his throat. “He’s been a good friend to me, my mule. Willing, even when I asked much of him. It’s only right that I care for him in return.”
Durand’s chin dipped. “I understand.”
Yet his tone didn’t sound convincing. Pacifying, perhaps? Maybe better for Damien to simply take the words at face value, or he might drive himself truly mad. He’d so wanted to make a good impression on Charlotte’s father, and none of this had gone as he planned.
The older man reached for one of the furs Damien had shucked off when he tried to stand. “Let’s get you bundled back up. See if you can slip your arms in this. You’re broader through the shoulders than I am, but I think it will fit well enough.”
For the first time, Damien took a better look at the fellow. He wore no coat, nor gloves, nor hat. Though the warm chinook wind made the night’s temperature mild, the snow must chill him. He tried to slip out of the man’s coat, which was around him. “I’m better now. You wear it.”
Durand held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not the one who fell into a lake. If I don’t do all in my power to keep you from taking ill, I’ll have my daughter to face. I just found her; I don’t plan to lose her again so soon.”
What did he mean by that? Had Charlotte already spoken to her father about Damien and what had grown between them? Either that or her father assumed. If forced to make a choice, would Charlotte choose a life with Damien over her father?
The thought should give him hope, but in truth, he didn’twanther to have to choose. He wanted her to be surrounded by everyone she loved—and he couldn’t help the longing for that to include him. To be part of her community, to be accepted by them, maybe even be a permanent part of her life ... The more he thought about it, the more he craved that possibility.
Was this the time to tell her father he needn’t worry? He nearly opened his mouth to do so, then caught himself. With the voices drifting across the snowy darkness, it sounded like they wouldn’t be alone much longer.
Charlotte’s tone was easy to pick out, and the man’s baritone must belong to her brother-in-law. He strained to make out any other sounds—namely, the pained grunt of a mule. Or maybe limping hoof steps, though they would be hard to hear through the snow.
But he could decipher neither, and even the voices dropped away to leave only the quiet swish of snow.
Then, from the darkness, shadows emerged. First, the broad frame of a man, then Charlotte, and the sight of her eased the tightness in his chest. Beside her appeared the unmistakable blaze and floppy ears of his faithful companion.
Gulliver limped slowly, but that could be as much from his previously injured hoof as from the wolf attack. The mule crowded close to Charlotte, as though leaning against her for comfort.
I know the feeling, friend.
Damien started to push up to his feet, but the numbness in his legs stopped him once more. Besides, he’d all but promised Charlotte he would stay put.
He didn’t take his focus from the woman and mule as they approached. In his periphery, he registered another person on the other side of Gulliver, but he’d much rather look at Charlotte than her sister.
She led the mule all the way to him, and Gulliver dipped his muzzle to sniff Damien’s outstretched hand. He rubbed the side of the animal’s nose. “How are you, fella? Looks like you’re healing faster than me.” Gulliver dropped his headlower for Damien to run his palm up the mule’s forehead, just like he’d done hundreds of times before.
At last, Damien shifted his focus farther back on the animal, and the gash across his chest made Damien’s own belly cramp. The wolves had gone for the kill veins, but if Gulliver still lived—and lived enough to walk—they’d not succeeded.
Shadows hid the animal’s hindquarters, so he couldn’t tell if the damage continued farther back. He sought Charlotte’s gaze as he nodded toward Gulliver’s chest. “Are these the worst wounds?”
She looked over at her sister. “Brielle has done most of the tending.”
The other woman stepped farther into the light, coming alongside Gulliver’s head. She wore a noble, confident look. A person accustomed to taking charge. “He lost a great deal of blood, but he’s a strong one. He’d already slain one of the wolves when I reached them, and he fought valiantly, despite his injuries.”
