Chase appeared to have been caught off guard by Fergus’s vigorous display of welcome, but he soon regained himself and smiled at the old saloon keeper.

  “Tell me, when’d you two arrive?” he asked, slapping Chase vigorously on the shoulder.

  “Just now, Uncle Fergus,” Leyla responded, already feeling the warmth of her reunion with the man in front of her spreading throughout her body. “Professor Monro and the rest of the show are heading to Florida for the winter and dropped us off along the way.”

  “Good man, that Professor Monro,” Fergus said. “About as straight as a dog’s hind leg, but a good sort all the same.”

  “Happy as I am to see the both of you,” Fergus spoke, “I’m afraid my curiosity gets the better of me. Why the Devil aren’t you two wearing something warmer? Are you trying to catch your deaths of cold?”

  Leyla and Chase looked at one another sheepishly before turning to face the Irishman again.

  “Well, about that, Uncle Fergus,” she began quietly, “we were hoping that maybe we could borrow something of the clothing type a little heavier from you before we rode to the ranch. That is, if it’s not too much trouble and—”

  “Trouble nothing!” Fergus crowed, his eyes alight with the desire to help. “You two sit tight. I’ll be back in naught more than a shake.” Before either Chase or Leyla could ask anything, the older man again demonstrated the agility of a younger man and disappeared into the back of his saloon.

  “I think it’s safe to say he’s happy to see you, Leyla,” Chase chuckled, earning himself another playful punch in the arm.

  “Hush, you,” Leyla giggled, just enjoying the moment as it was. “Uncle Fergus has looked after Maggie and me before we were even born. He wouldn’t dream of letting us ride to the ranch in the cold. He’d probably be insulted if we even tried.”

  “Can’t say I blame the man,” Chase agreed. “You and your sister are something mighty special.”

  Leyla blushed at Chase’s compliment, feeling the urge to reach up and give him a kiss. However, the action was stunted as she spied her godfather reappear from the back room carrying what looked like a bear in his arms.

  What is that?! Leyla puzzled as Fergus approached with a triumphant grin stretched across his cheeks.

  MCNEAL RANCH, NEAR Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, November 1885

  Night had crept in slowly but surely as the day wore on and the occupants of the McNeal homestead settled in for dinner. Abigail had prepared a simple but hearty stew, perfect for a cold night as it was.

  Maggie sat at the kitchen table as John helped her mother fill the bowls with stew. Whenever the two had their backs to her, the brunette pouted in annoyance, her attempts all afternoon at finding some miniscule flaw in John’s preparations having proved fruitless.

  Despite having failed, her hunger was the dominant controlling power in her body at the moment, and it was beginning to be all that she could do to keep herself from bolting upright and getting some food herself.

  Just as that notion became more and more attractive, her husband turned and gently placed a bowl of the delicious stew in front of her along with a spoon.

  About time, Maggie thought irritably, her hand snatching up the spoon and digging into the meal. John, unable to help himself, let out the smallest chuckle at his pregnant bride’s action.

  Part of Maggie’s mind called out to fix him with one of her more annoyed looks, but she was far too busy enjoying the meal to bother.

  Before long, John and Abigail joined her at the table ready to enjoy the stew, but they were interrupted by a determined knock at the kitchen door.

  “Who could that be?” Maggie asked aloud just as she finished her stew. She looked to John and found him staring at her with equally puzzled eyes. A glance to her mother yielded the same result, leaving the three unsure as to who could possibly be at the door.

  The knock came again, but this time a voice followed along with it.

  “Maggie? Mama? John? Is anybody home? It’s me, Leyla!”

  Leyla! Maggie thought joyously, springing to her feet and sending her chair toppling over. The thought of being reunited with her little sister pushed her to all but run to the kitchen door and tear it open.

  When she did, though, she found herself face to face with a bear that was shorter than her.

  “HOLY HEAVENS!” Maggie shrieked as she staggered backward and tripped. She didn’t fall far though, as John was quick on the catch and saved his wife from a fall on the hard wooden flooring.

  The bear made its way inside, followed closely by another, taller bear. Margaret was frantically looking around to see if she had any firearms or sharp objects handy when the smaller bear pulled its head back and revealed her sister, Leyla. The young redhead grinned apologetically at her older sister as the bear behind her did likewise and revealed the long brown locks of Chase McAllister.

  A slew of emotions ran through Maggie in that moment, but chief among them were joy at seeing her little sister again, relief at the fact that she and Chase were not actually bears, and sheer rage at what had just happened.

  “FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE, LEYLA!” Maggie shouted, her face red with anger and embarrassment alike. “WHAT’S THE IDEA SCARING ME HALF TO DEATH LIKE THAT?! I COULD’VE SHOT YOU AND CHASE IF I’D HAD MY HENRY NEARBY! OR WORSE, I COULD’VE FALLEN AND HURT THE BABY, AND THEN WHERE WOULD WE BE?!”

  “I’m sorry Maggie!” Leyla quickly apologized, trying to soothe her sister’s anger. “We didn’t mean to frighten you like that! These old trapper skins were all Uncle Fergus had for us to wear so we wouldn’t freeze on the way here! I’m sorry!”

  John helped ease his wife back upright, his arms swiftly moving to encircle her from behind in an attempt to calm her down. Maggie, however, was having none of it and she barreled out of her husband’s embrace to loom over her sister.

  “Don’t go trying to blame this on Uncle Fergus, Leyla McNeal!” she hissed. “You could have pulled the head down before you knocked on the door! Did you ever think of that?”

  “Well I-I...” Leyla stuttered, trying to find some kind of excuse that would allow her to escape her sister’s wrath.

  “And one more thing!” Maggie said heatedly, her eyes narrowing at her younger sister.

  Leyla braced herself for whatever force her sister was about to hurl at her while the other occupants of the kitchen looked on in stunned silence, a sense of grim curiosity keeping them bolted to their positions.

  Maggie’s arms flung out and wrapped Leyla up in a tight hug, pulling the younger redhead in close.

  Everyone watched as Maggie’s body was suddenly wracked with sobs as she buried her head in her sister’s shoulders.

  “I’m just, I’m just...” Maggie sniffled, unable to control her emotions. “I’m just so happy to see you again, Leyla.”

  Leyla tentatively brought her own arms up and began rubbing her sister’s back, trying to soothe her despite still looking utterly confused herself.

  “It’s uhm, nice, I mean, uh, I’m happy to see you again too, Maggie,” Leyla answered in a shaky tone, apparently still unable to make heads or tails of everything that had happened.

  ONCE MAGGIE HAD CALMED down again, and Leyla and Chase removed their furs—but not before John had jokingly asked how the hunting up north had been—everyone was seated at the kitchen table enjoying the stew that Abigail had prepared, sharing stories of what had happened to all of them in the time that had passed.

  “If there’s one thing being married to an Irishman in the Union Cavalry taught me,” Abigail said proudly as she filled another bowl and passed it along to Chase, who accepted it gratefully, “it’s that it always pays to cook like I’m feeding an army.”

  Everyone gathered laughed at the declaration, finding humor in the reality of it.

  Chase dug into the stew with a ferocity that could have matched Maggie’s, a hum of contentment issuing from his lips as he swallowed a spoonful. “I’ve been from one end of this nation to the other, and I can safely say that there is nothing that beats a McNeal woman’s cooking,” he said.

  “You ain’t telling any tales out of school, Chase,” John agreed, his hand idly playing with the spoon in his empty bowl. “Most folks don’t know it, but Maggie here can cook just as well as she rides. Not two days after you and Leyla left, she surprised me with a beef brisket that practically fell apart in my mouth.”

  Maggie blushed brightly at her husband’s praise, unused to being lauded for her culinary skills.

  Chase, however, didn’t appear to be taking it lying down. “Leyla’s no slow hand herself, John,” he countered with a smile. “I believe it was right after our first night in Truckee this little old lady dropped off a bushel of apples. Next thing I know, Leyla’s asking for knives, flour, and a jug of cider from Bull. If that wasn’t one of the finest apple pies I’d ever had, then I’ll eat my hat.”

  Leyla’s cheeks matched her sister’s but no one noticed, as a chuckle from Abigail caught everyone’s attention.

  “My husband may have taught my daughters how to ride,” she said in an amused manner, “but I taught them how to thrive.”

  A slight cheer sounded around the table at that, everyone agreeing.

  The night carried on in much the same jovial way, even when Leyla tentatively asked if Chase could stay and work through the winter, a request that was swiftly granted unanimously by her sister, mother, and brother-in-law.

  “Of course,” Maggie said with a grin, “John’s old room is available, if you’re interested in having him stick around, Leyla.”

  Leyla and Chase’s faces burned brightly, while everyone else continued laughing uproariously.

  And when Leyla countered with a comment about how much her sister was eating, setting the two bickering once again, it truly started to feel like good old times on the McNeal Ranch.

  Chapter V: Fever in the Morning

  McNeal Ranch, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, January 1886

  A lone figure mounted on a horse sat atop McNeal Hill, their eyes roaming over the land covered in snow and frost beneath an overcast sky.

  It may be a hindrance, Maggie thought, but there’s something to the beauty of winter out here on the plains.

  As was becoming more and more frequent, her free hand moved to rest atop her now far more noticeable belly, feeling its warmth through the heavier coat she wore. November and December had seen her gain more weight to help nurture the life growing inside her. While she was certainly larger than she had ever thought herself possible, she knew that she still had a ways to go before she gave birth.

  These are probably the last few weeks I’ll be able to ride, she thought sullenly, her other hand reaching forward and patting Apollo between his ears.

  The horse bridled slightly at her touch, one of the ways he often expressed his displeasure with his rider.

  “Hush you,” Maggie hissed, her breath appearing in the cold air before her. “I’m still plenty fit to ride for the time being, and I know that you know better than to try and stop me.”

  Apollo huffed in response, the steed’s gust of breath hanging in the chill air as well.

  “I said hush, Apollo,” Maggie snapped. “I’ve only got a few more weeks before I can’t ride any longer, and if you’re going to be difficult about it, then I’ll just use another horse.”

  The threat of using another horse seemed to quiet the Apollo, his ears pulling back in defeat.

  Maggie grinned in victory. “That’s what I thought,” she said, pulling the brim of her hat low over her eyes. “Now let’s get a move on and check the herd one more time before we head on back.”

  With a jab of her spurs into his sides, Maggie set Apollo forward down the hill, the mount carefully choosing his footing as he and his rider descended the snowy incline.

  “Easy, Apollo, easy,” Maggie soothed, trying her best to guide him safely toward the base. “There may not be much snow on the ground, but neither of us can afford to take a tumble right now.”

  Apollo whinnied.

  Even though McNeal Hill wasn’t especially tall, there was still a method to descending the ridge, especially with its sides slicked with snow and frost.

  For a moment, Maggie’s mind took her back to the first winter she’d lived through after her family had moved out to the Wyoming Territory. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself as a little girl mounted on Grimjaw in his younger days, the two of them trying to navigate their way down the same snow-covered hill.

  With the memory came a gentle throbbing in her left arm as she remembered Grimjaw’s hooves digging into the snow without warning, the skidding motion throwing Maggie off balance and causing her to fall from the horse and break her left arm.

  Maggie shivered at the memory, rotating her left arm just to reassure herself that it wasn’t broken.

  Never again, she thought solemnly. I promised myself back then that I’d never lose control of my horse again, and I meant it.

  Once she and Apollo reached the base of the hill and more level ground, Maggie couldn’t help but release a sigh of relief. She was glad that no one else was around to see her momentary lapse in confidence. With another gentle prod of her spurs, she directed Apollo toward the northern pasture where she knew she’d find her husband and a few of the ranch hands.

  In the time since the preparations for winter had been completed, Maggie had given up on her attempts at finding fault in John’s work. Whether it was due to her pregnant mood swings slightly receding or from her acceptance of John’s efforts being spot on even she couldn’t tell any longer. She was just content that the ranch had been expertly prepared for the colder temperatures and weather and was holding up marvelously as a result.

  However, she found that where her concerns about the ranch were being resolved, her concerns about the child growing inside of her increased as each day passed. Although her most recent check up with Dr. Wilson—in which the doctor had happily visited the ranch instead of having Maggie come to him—showed that she was progressing smoothly and that the child within seemed to be healthy, Maggie couldn’t stop herself from having her own doubts.

  Shouldn’t I have felt the baby kick by now? she repeatedly questioned herself, her hand once again moving to inspect the curve of her stomach, trying to sense some form of movement that would indicate that her child was healthy and strong. Mama said that it’s usually around the fifth month that the baby starts kicking.

  But all she could feel was the rhythmic clopping of Apollo’s hooves in the snow as they made their way to the northern pasture.

  With each day that passed without any sign that her child was safe, Maggie began to doubt some of her choices.

  Maybe I should’ve stopped riding a month ago, she worried, trying to find some rational explanation as to why her child wasn’t showing any activity. But that’s silly. Dr. Wilson said I’m in fine condition, didn’t he?

  Her attempts to try and calm her concerns were proving ill equipped to overcome the wall of her anxieties. Even her pride found itself useless against the concerns and worries whirling through her mind at a fever pitch.

  For a moment, Maggie felt as though the world was starting to spin around her, her body starting to wobble from its position in the saddle. Sheer force of will and hands strengthened from years of riding were all that kept her planted firmly on her horse’s back.

  The dizzy spell passed as quickly as it had come, but Maggie couldn’t help but place her hand against her head as she tried to force the world to stop spinning.

  “I thought I was done with the nausea,” she groaned, trying to make sense of whatever had just run through her. “At least, I think that was nausea.”

  Maggie couldn’t help but notice that, unlike her previous bouts of nausea, this one didn’t feel centered in her stomach nor did it cause her to feel the need to vomit. Instead, she felt as though her body was too close to a fireplace, the heat roiling over her body in waves and making her sweat despite it being the heart of winter.

  But again, like the nausea, the heat spell dissipated as swiftly as it arrived, leaving the rider confused as to what exactly was happening within her own body.

  That was...peculiar, she thought absently, unable to come up with any reason for the odd sensation that had swept through her like an errant wind. Maybe I should just return to the homestead and—

  But, before she could finish the thought, her pride clamped down on it with an anvil’s weight, refusing to allow her to give in so easily.

  It’s probably just nothing, she rationalized. I’ve maintained this ranch with bleary eyes and a nose that could’ve clogged a moonshine still; whatever that was, it was probably just something minor.

  Refusing to give the matter any further thought, Maggie continued her journey to the northern pasture, where she would be able to check on her husband and the herd he was tending. Though she had convinced herself thoroughly that she was still in good health, doubts lingered in the back of her mind.

  “THE SNOWS AND WIND back in Kentucky can’t hold a candle to this weather,” John Baldwin proclaimed as he wrapped his arms around himself for further warmth. The men huddled around the fire they’d built, murmuring in agreement with the ranch boss.

  Chase McAllister nodded with John’s assessment, but he didn’t appear to be as cold as the rest of the group. Of course, he’d begun crafting a thick brown beard around his muzzle that likely functioned better than even the thickest wool scarf when it came to protection against the frigid gusts and snow.

  “Can’t say it’s pleasant out here, John,” he said, scratching the side of his beard thoughtfully, “but I still think it was far colder back in Illinois when I was growing up. I remember this one time in Chicago, the temperatures dropped so low that the giant lake right next to the city froze up solid as a block. Folks, horses, and wagons were all slipping and sliding about on it like it was a regular festival.”

  John laughed at the tale, despite the thought of it making him feel all the colder. “Did you go out on it?” he asked with a doubtful glint in his eyes.

 

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