The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) Read Online Free Page B

lane.
    A buckboard. A man was driving with a young woman beside him. A little boy sat in the back.
    The woman turned toward, caught sight of Soonie and gripped the man’s arm. Blond hair wisped from beneath her smart straw bonnet. “Connor,” she shrieked.
    I know her. “Claire!” Soonie cried out. “Claire Blakeman? It’s me, Soonie. Remember? We went to school together.”
    “Oh, yes.” Claire’s brow furrowed.
    I must look a fright . Soonie glanced down at her blood-spattered, torn dress.
    The man beside Claire frowned. “Do you know this woman?”
    “Y-yes.” Claire lowered her eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
    The boy dangled his feet of the back of the wagon and stuck his tongue out at Soonie.
    “Please,” said Soonie. “My husband is hurt. If you could just give us a ride to town. He needs to see a doctor.”
    “Of course.” Claire tapped her fingertips against her lips “Connor, could you go take a look?”
    The man handed the reins to Claire and ambled down from the wagon.
    “Oh, thank you so much!” Soonie beckoned for him to follow. “He’s right under this tree.”
    Lone Warrior had slid down to the ground all the way now. His eyes were closed and his head lolled to one side. His long braids twined around his shoulders like curled snakes.
    “Oh.” Connor stopped short. “I didn’t realize . . .” He squinted at Soonie. “Ma’am, I was forgetting my horse, she’s been acting a bit lame and I think the added weight might be too much for her to pull.”
    “I’ll walk beside. Surely you can help me?”
    Connor moved quickly back to the wagon and spoke to his wife in low tones Soonie couldn’t understand.
    Claire glanced back at Soonie, her lips pale and her face white. She nodded.
    They aren’t going to help. They’re going to leave us here. Soonie felt as though her insides had plummeted to the ground.
    For the second time that day, she watched helplessly as the wagon rattled out of sight.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

4
Grits and Grit
     
    Z illia squinted at the tiny lines of writing wobbling over the yellowed paper. She’d managed to sneak Grandma Louise’s recipe book from her pie safe, but she hadn’t realized the recipes would be in Swedish.
    “It’s no use.” She sighed and closed the book and turned back to her wash basin full of dishes.
    Wylder came in, carrying Margo. “What’s the matter?”
    He sat the little girl in his lap and slid a tin plate close enough for her to reach it. “Eat your grits, Sweetheart.”
    Zillia looked up and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let her eat on her own, she makes such a mess.”
    “A little mess never hurt anyone. She needs to eat some real food, not just milk all the time. Why, when I was her age, I could polish off a side of ham in five minutes flat.”
    I’m sure you could. Zillia opened the recipe book again.
    Margo grabbed a handful of grits and spread the mush all over her face. The yellow, grainy substance dripped down her cheeks.
    Wylder gave Zillia a slanted look and wiped Margo’s face with a flour sack. He gestured to the recipe book. “I haven’t seen that book in a while. Grandma never makes Swedish recipes. I suppose it’s too hard for her to find the right ingredients here. Did you borrow that from her?”
    “You could say that--only she doesn’t know I took it,” Zillia looked down at her hands. “I thought maybe I could find one of her recipes from Sweden and make something special for Christmas. She’s always talking about how much she enjoyed the holiday when she was a little girl.”
    “Hmm.” Wylder took the book with one hand, trying to hold it away from Margo as he examined the pages. “Can’t help much there. I know more Comanche than Swedish. Maybe Grandpa could make out some of the words.” He glanced up at her. “It’s a nice idea, but even if you can get the recipe translated it might be too tricky to make. Especially considering your—ahem—past cooking adventures. Didn’t