A McKettrick Christmas by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

the McKettricks were leaders in the community. Naturally, as a newcomer to town, Morgan would seek to make their acquaintance. Her heart soaring only moments before, she now felt oddly deflated.
    Morgan stood. “I’d better go outside again,” he said. “See what I can round up in the way of fuel. What firewood we have isn’t going to last long, but there’s a fair supply of coal in the locomotive.”
    Lizzie hated the thought of Morgan braving the dangerous cold again, but she knew he had to do it, and she was equally certain that he wouldn’t let her go in his stead. Still, she caught at his hand when he would have walked away, looked up into his face. “How can I help, Morgan?”
    His free hand moved, lingered near her cheek, as though he might caress her. But the moment passed, and he did not touch her. “Maybe you could rig up some kind of bed for John, on one of these bench seats,” he said quietly. “He used up most of his strength just getting here. He’s going to need to lie down soon.”
    Lizzie nodded, grateful to have something practical to do.
    Morgan left.
    Lizzie sat a moment or so longer, then stood, straightening her spine vertebra by vertebra as she did. Fat flakes of snow drifted past the windows of the train, and the sky was darkening, even though it was only midday.
    Papa, she thought. Hurry. Please, hurry.
    Lizzie made up John Brennan’s makeshift bed on one of the benches, as near to the stove as she could while still leaving room for her or Morgan to attend to him. He gave her a grateful look when she awakened him from an uncomfortable sleep and helped him across the car to his new resting place. Using two of the four blankets from the freight car as pillows, she tucked him in between the remaining pair. Laid a hand to his forehead.
    His skin was hot as a skillet forgotten over a campfire.
    “I could do with some water,” he told Lizzie. “My canteen is in my haversack, but it’s been empty for a while.”
    Lizzie nodded. “Dr. Shane brought in some snow a while ago. I’ll see if it’s melted yet.”
    “Thank you,” Mr. Brennan said. And then he gave a wracking cough that almost bent him double.
    “Is he contagious?” Whitley wanted to know. He stood at her elbow, his book dangling in one hand.
    “I only wish he were,” Lizzie answered coolly. “Then you might catch some of his good manners and his generosity.”
    “Don’t you think we should stop bickering?” Whitley retorted, surprising her. “After all, we’re all in danger here, the way that sawbones tells it.”
    “Are you just realizing that, Whitley?” Lizzie asked. “And Dr. Shane is not a ‘sawbones.’ He’s a physician, trained in Berlin.”
    “Well, huzzah for him,” Whitley said bitterly. Apparently, his suggestion that they make peace had extended only as far as Lizzie herself. He was going to go right on being nasty. “I swear he’s turned your head, Lizzie. You’re smitten with him. And you don’t know a damn thing about the man, except what he’s told you.”
    “I know,” Lizzie said moderately, “that when this train was struck by an avalanche, he didn’t think of himself first.”
    Whitley’s color flared. “Are you implying that I’m a coward?”
    The peddler, Ellen and Jack looked up from their game.
    John Brennan went right on coughing.
    Woodrow, back in his cage, spouted, “Coward!”
    “No,” Lizzie replied thoughtfully. “I’ve watched you play polo, and you can be quite brave. Maybe ‘reckless’ would be a better term. But you are selfish, Whitley, and that is a trait I cannot abide.”
    He gripped her shoulders. Shook her slightly. “Now you can’t ‘abide’ me?” he growled. “Why? Because you’re a high-and-mighty McKettrick?”
    A click sounded from somewhere in the car, distinctive and ominous.
    Lizzie glanced past Whitley and saw that the peddler had pointed a small handgun in their direction.
    “Unhand the lady, if you please,” the man said