The Christmas Journey

Finally the boiling eased, the current cooled and he floated aimlessly for a while. When the darkness came again, it approached as a friend, ready to wrap him in a blanket of peaceful sleep.

Ry roused reluctantly, trying to burrow back into the blessed painlessness of sleep. But his parched throat protested, urging him to full wakefulness.

He wasn’t on the horse any longer. Instead he was lying on a nice comfortable bed. Where was Josie? Had she made it back okay?

He missed the nearness of her that had been his lifeline on that long nightmarish ride—the warmth of her hand on his at her waist, the earthy scent of her that had invaded his senses, the feel of her hair as strands fluttered back to tickle his face. And finally the comforting hand at his knee, connecting him to her, assuring him he was in good hands.

A rustling sound drew him back from his drowsy state. He couldn’t see anyone, but it had to be his dictatorial rescuer.

“Water.” Had that croak really been his voice?

“Goodness, you gave me quite a start.”

Though definitely female, it wasn’t the voice he’d expected. Ry pried his eyes open to find an apron-clad woman standing over him with a soft smile on her face.

Nope, definitely not Josie.

“It’s so good to see you finally awake. And calm.”

What did that mean? Vague images returned to him, images that he hoped were merely dreams. “Miss Wylie. Is she—”

“Don’t you go getting all stirred up. Jo’s just fine.”

“I must have passed out again. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about how I got here.”

“I’m not at all surprised. Why, by the time the search party found the two of you, you were burning up with fever. You certainly gave us quite a scare.”

Where exactly was “here?” Had he been dropped off at a farmhouse along the road back to town? “I’m sorry, Miss…”

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