broken my legâ¦slipped on the tracks⦠almost went over the sideââ
Morgan confirmed the diagnosis with a few practiced motions of his hands, even though his wind-stung eyes had already offered the proof. He opened the flask again, with less difficulty this time, and held it to Carsonâs lips. âIâll get you back to the train,â he said, leaning in close to be heard over the howl of the wind, âbut itâs going to hurt.â
Carson swallowed, nodded. âI know,â he rasped. He groaned when Morgan hoisted him to his one good foot, cried out when he tried to take a step.
Morgan sighed inwardly, crouched a little, and slung Carson over his right shoulder like a sack of grain. He remembered little of the walk back to the trainâit was a matter of staying upright and putting one foot in front of the other. At some point, Carson must have passed out from the painâhe was limp, a dead weight, and several times Morgan had to fight to keep from going down.
When the train came in sight, Morgan offered a silent prayer of thanks, though it had been a long time since heâd been on speaking terms with God. The peddler, Mr. Christian, met him at the base of the steps leading up to the caboose. Stronger than Morgan would have guessed, the older man helped him get the patient inside.
Lizzie had concocted something on the stoveâa soup or broth of some sort, from the savory aroma, but when she saw her unconscious beau, alarm flared in her eyes and she turned from the coffee can serving as an improvised kettle. âIs heâ¦heâs notââ
Morgan shook his head to put her mind at ease, butdidnât answer verbally until he and the peddler had laid their burden down on the bench seat opposite the place where John Brennan rested.
âHis leg is broken,â Morgan said grimly, rubbing his hands together in a mostly vain attempt to restore some circulation. He had a small supply of morphine in his bag, along with tincture of laudanumâheâd sent his other supplies ahead to Indian Rock after agreeing to set up a practice there. He could ease Carsonâs pain, but he dared not give him too much medicine, mainly because the damned fool had been tossing back copious amounts of whiskey since the avalanche. âI have to set the fracture,â he added. âFor that, Iâll need some straight branches and strips of cloth to bind them to the leg.â
Lizzie drew nearer, peering between Morgan and the peddler to stare, white-faced, at Carson. âIs he in pain?â she asked, her voice small.
No one answered.
âIâll see what I can find for splints,â the peddler said.
Morgan replied with a grateful nod. Heâd nearly frozen, hunting down and retrieving Carson. If he went out again too soon, heâd be of no use to anybody. âStay near the train if you can,â he told Christian. âAnd take care not to slip over the side.â
The peddler promised to look out for himself and left. Mrs. Halifax and the children were sleeping, all of them wrapped up together in the quilt. Mr. and Mrs. Thaddings were snoozing, too, the sides of their heads touching, though Woodrow was wide-awake and very interested in the proceedings.
âWhen your friend regains consciousness, heâll bein considerable pain,â Morgan said, in belated answer to Lizzieâs question. Her concern was only naturalâ anyone with a shred of compassion in their soul would be sympathetic to Carsonâs plight. Still, the intensity of her reaction, unspoken as it was, reconfirmed his previous insightâLizzie might think she no longer loved Whitley Carson, but she was probably fooling herself.
She did something unexpected thenâtook Morganâs hands into her own, removed the gloves heâd borrowed from Christian earlier, chafed his bare, cold skin between warm palms. The act was simple, patently ordinary and yet sensual in