On Eagles' Wings (Wyldhaven Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  THE WYLDHAVEN SERIES

  by Lynnette Bonner

  Not a Sparrow Falls - BOOK ONE

  On Eagles’ Wings - BOOK TWO

  Beauty from Ashes - BOOK THREE

  Coming soon.

  Consider the Lilies - BOOK FOUR

  Coming soon.

  OTHER BOOKS BY LYNNETTE BONNER

  THE SHEPHERD’S HEART SERIES

  Historical

  Rocky Mountain Oasis - BOOK ONE

  High Desert Haven - BOOK TWO

  Fair Valley Refuge - BOOK THREE

  Spring Meadow Sanctuary - BOOK FOUR

  SONNETS OF THE SPICE ISLE SERIES

  Historical

  On the Wings of a Whisper - EPISODE ONE

  Lay Down Your Heart - EPISODE TWO

  Made Perfect in Weakness - EPISODE THREE

  A Walk through the Waters - EPISODE FOUR

  The Trail of Chains - EPISODE FIVE

  The Joy of the Morning - EPISODE SIX

  Find all other books by Lynnette Bonner at:

  www.lynnettebonner.com

  On Eagles’ Wings

  WYLDHAVEN, Book 2

  Published by Serene Lake Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 by Lynnette Bonner. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design, images ©

  www.bigstock.com, File: # 178105501

  www.depositphotos.com, File: # 34346217

  www.depositphotos.com, File: # 87443482

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942982-08-1

  On Eagles’ Wings is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  To All who are Hurting:

  People fail. They wound with words or actions that cut

  deep and leave scars.

  But know this…

  There is One who never fails.

  He loves you more than any other.

  So much so, that He even knows the number of hairs

  on your head at any given moment.

  He is constantly good and loving.

  He notices when sparrows fall, yet loves you more.

  He is worthy of your heart.

  Worthy of your service.

  He created you because He wanted to deeply and

  intimately, as a closest friend, fellowship with you.

  Do you know Him?

  If not, but you would like to know more

  please visit:

  www.peacewithgod.net

  ISAIAH 40: 30-31

  Even youths grow tired and weary,

  and young men stumble and fall;

  but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

  They will soar on wings like eagles;

  they will run and not grow weary,

  they will walk and not be faint.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dixie Pottinger rinsed the last of the soap suds from the sink and wrung out her rag good and tight. She glanced around the kitchen. Satisfied to see that everything was cleaned and put away as it should be for the night, she pressed both hands into the curve of her aching back.

  Thankfully, they had no guests in the boardinghouse tonight, so the dinner crowd had been light, and now she could go up to check on Ma.

  Even though Ma had taken to her bed for the past two days, she’d still been coughing something fierce, and Dixie feared she hadn’t been sleeping much. She hoped rest had not eluded her this evening.

  She’d really missed Ma’s help for the past couple days. The work of cooking and cleaning for the boardinghouse was much harder on her own, but Dixie hadn’t minded. She was just glad Ma had finally agreed to try and rest.

  She tugged a tea tray from the cupboard. Opening the warming drawer on the oven, she withdrew the bowl of chicken broth and the biscuit she’d set aside earlier. Adding the pot of tea that had been steeping while she cleaned, a slice of lemon, and the jar of honey that Washington Nolan had come around selling last week, she hefted the tray and headed upstairs.

  She could hear Ma’s hacking cough even before she reached the door to their rooms. Carefully balancing the tray, she twisted the door handle and pushed inside. The main room was just large enough for a settee and a rocking chair. Ma’s chamber lay to the right, and Dixie’s own small room to the left. The only other room in their little suite was the small lavatory that sat between the two bedrooms, a luxury Dixie was even more thankful for now that Ma had grown so sick.

  She nudged Ma’s door open and stepped into her room, then set the tray on her dresser and approached the side of her bed. “How are you feeling tonight? I’ve just finished with the cleanup and brought you some soup. Does that sound good?”

  The only response she got was a low moan and another round of rasping coughs. That sent her pulse skyrocketing. Ma had always been a hardy soul. Dixie never remembered seeing her this sick before.

  She laid a hand to Ma’s forehead and her alarm rose even more.

  Burning with fever!

  That did it. Whether Ma would be upset or not, she needed to fetch Flynn.

  Just the thought of seeing him eased some of her concern.

  Dixie gritted her teeth at her impropriety. Had he worked his way so far into her affections that she was thinking of him as a comforter now? She must banish that propensity, post haste!

  She lifted two handfuls of her skirts and hurried down the stairs and out the front. An icy wind whipped along the street, making her glad she only needed to step next door. She folded her arms and huddled into her shoulders. Clouds, a telling color of pasty blue-gray that indicated snow, hung low and menacing above the evergreens that surrounded Wyldhaven. Dixie was thankful to escape the chill as she pushed into McGinty’s.

  The alehouse was always quite busy at this time of day. Several men played cards at a table in the corner, a bottle of rotgut making the rounds and liberally shared by all. Several others lounged at the bar chatting with Ewan McGinty, the proprietor.

  Dixie hung back by the door until she caught Ewan’s eye.

  As usual, his gaze lit up and then drifted a lazy sweep down the length of her.

  It made her stomach curl. Mostly because a look like that might have at one time turned her head. In fact, had at one time turned her head, and look where that had brought her.

  Ewan aimed a stream of tobacco toward the spittoon he kept behind the bar. “Dixie darlin’, wha
t can I do for you?”

  Dixie fiddled with the brooch pinned at the base of her throat. “Is Doc in? Ma’s powerful sick.”

  “Doc!”

  Dixie jolted. She should be used to the fact that Ewan never went up the stairs to get Doc from the room he rented, but simply hollered at the top of his voice. Yet she never seemed to be prepared when he did.

  Flynn, dark hair disheveled and a liberal growth of scruff shadowing his angled jaw, appeared on the landing at the head of the staircase a few moments later, doctor bag in hand. He was still shrugging one shoulder into his coat. His red rimmed eyes and a huge yawn proved Ewan’s call had woken him.

  Dixie felt sorry to have disturbed his sleep. The poor man always snatched bits of slumber at odd times of the day due to the long hours he put in caring for the sick.

  He finger-combed his curls as he descended the stairs rapidly, searching the room for whoever might be in need of his services.

  His steps slowed for just a moment when he saw her by the door, but he quickly recovered and hurried to her side. “What is it?” A furrow of worry grooved his forehead and darkened the hazel-blue of his eyes.

  Dixie felt a tremor course through her, and to her surprise, tears stung. She blinked hard. She shouldn’t be so unaccountably relieved to see him. “It’s Ma. I need you to come check on her. She’s been sick for a few days. But her fever…” The words choked off and she couldn’t seem to say more.

  Flynn quickly shucked off his coat and swept it around her shoulders. Then he held a hand toward the door and stretched the other, holding his bag, behind her to urge her forward. “Lead the way. I’m glad you came for me.”

  She really ought to refuse his coat, but she didn’t have the energy for that battle at the moment. Dixie swiped at the tears, which had now spilled over. Her fingers, which barely protruded from the ends of the coat’s sleeves, trembled.

  Doc walked beside her, his worried gaze fixed on her face.

  She huffed. “I’m sorry. I just… If I lose her…”

  “Hey.” Flynn settled his hand in the middle of her back, directing her around an ice-crusted puddle in the street. “I’m going to do my very best not to let that happen. Don’t borrow trouble and all that, aye?”

  Dixie nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He opened the door of the boardinghouse for her, and she nodded her thanks as she stepped through. “I just got a little flustered. I don’t like to see her this way.” She lifted her skirts and took the stairs ahead of him.

  Ma was coughing when they stepped into the warmth of the apartment. Thankful that she’d paid Kin Davis to fill her wood box earlier today, Dixie shrugged out of Flynn’s coat. She laid it across the settee and hurried to add more wood to the stove. Cold as it was outside, she dared not let it go out.

  It only took her a moment and then she led Flynn into Ma’s bedchamber. She went around to the far side of the bed. “Ma, I’m here. I’ve brought Dr. Griffin.”

  Flynn took charge the moment he stepped into the room. He set his bag on the bedside table and leaned over Ma so she could easily see his face without having to turn her head. He smiled in that special way he had with the infirm.

  “Hello, Rose. It’s me, Doc. I’m just going to listen to your lungs and do a little poking and prodding, alright? Don’t mind me.” He rested the back of his fingers against her forehead, then lifted Ma’s wrist in one hand, his pocket watch in the other.

  Dixie’s fingers plucked nervously at the pin on her blouse. There wasn’t much space, but that didn’t stop her from pacing, first one direction and then the next. She kept her study focused on Flynn’s expression, wanting to see if there would be any hint of despair or sorrow, but for now his face remained frustratingly impassive.

  From his bag he pulled a device that looked like a clamp of some sort with a bell on one end. He put the two prongs of the clamp into his ears and then bent over Ma and placed the bell-shaped end against her chest. He listened, first in one area, then moved the device to another area and listened again, then again, and again.

  Dixie was practically holding her breath by the time he straightened and tugged the tubes from his ears. She studied his face, willing him to look at her. But his gaze was still trained on his patient.

  Finally, after a long moment, his shoulders slumped and he lifted his gaze.

  Her heart threatened to stop. She’d seen that look in his eyes before. She’d seen it on the day that Hiram Wakefield’s son had been crushed by the logging wagon and died only moments after arriving in town. She’d seen it the day that the Kings’ newborn had come into the world, still, blue, and lifeless.

  She shook with denial, feeling the tears stacking up against her lids like thunderclouds on the horizon.

  Flynn tilted his head and reached a hand to grip the back of his neck, so much pain reflected in his eyes that they appeared more brown than blue. With a jut of his chin, he indicated they should talk in the other room.

  All she seemed capable of, though, was covering her mouth with one hand. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.

  Flynn stepped to the foot of the bed and stretched an arm toward her, compassion and regret filling his expression as he motioned for her to join him.

  There was something in the look that lent her strength, and she angled past him and out into the sitting room of their chambers.

  She heard him come to a stop just behind her. With a sigh, he set his doctor bag on the floor near his feet, then stepped around to look her in the face. “I believe she has pneumonia.”

  Dixie pulled in a breath. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  Flynn sighed and folded his hands. “It’s not good. We’ll have to keep her as cool as possible for the next few days to make sure her fever doesn’t get any higher, while at the same time keeping the room warm. We’ll also have to keep fluids down her so she doesn’t dehydrate. And we’ll need more pillows to prop her up. Some medical journals I’ve read say there are better survival rates when patients are made to sit up in their beds. Steaming the room is also said to help. So we’ll need to keep hot water going round the clock.”

  Relief eased some of her tension. “When I saw your expression, I thought…” She was unable to finish the sentence.

  Flynn settled his hands on his hips. “Listen, I don’t want to give you false hope. The mortality rate for pneumonia is one in four. But I will be here every moment that I can and will do my very best to bring her through this.”

  Her relief was so great that Dixie threw her arms around his neck. She felt him stiffen, but then he chuckled and returned her embrace. Dixie lurched back, face flaming. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just—she means so much to me, and…”

  Flynn folded his arms and tilted her a lazy smile. “Far as I’m concerned, you can throw yourself into my arms any time you want. But I think you know that already.”

  Dixie felt her mortification rise and clapped both hands to her cheeks. This secret of hers had carried on long enough. Especially where Flynn was concerned. “Dr. Griffin…I’m terribly sorry that I’ve never told you sooner. But the truth is…I’m a married woman.”

  Flynn’s eyes widened. He stepped back and propped his hands on his hips. “You’re what?!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Flynn noted Dixie’s fingers curled tightly into the material of her skirt. Anger surged through him. How could she have left such a vital piece of information a secret? He’d been pining over her for months! And her, a married woman! The thought made him a little sick—though he wasn’t able to pin down if it was because he’d been harboring feelings for a married woman, or over the fact that her marriage had obviously been so painful she’d felt the need to flee it. The thought of anyone hurting her clamped his teeth so tight the hinge of his jaw hurt.

  He scrubbed one hand around the back of his neck and paced away from her.

  He heard her take a little breath. “Yes. You heard me right. I’m married. At least I think I am.”

>   His jaw ached, and he took another step away from her. Without facing her he asked, “How can you think and not know.” His voice rose a notch with each word he spoke, and he deliberately unclenched his hands. Forced himself not to storm from the room.

  When she remained silent, he turned to face her, needing to read her expression now that he’d had a moment to digest the news. She plucked at her bottom lip, as though searching for words to give him.

  But he wasn’t willing to wait a moment longer. “I’d like an answer.” The demand emerged louder than he’d intended it to.

  Dixie held a finger to her lips, giving a little nod to her mother’s door. “I’ll run down and fetch some hot water now.”

  Oh no. She wasn’t going to get away with that. “Dixie!” His hand shot out and settled around her forearm.

  She spun back to face him, eyes wide.

  He gentled his grip and took a calming breath. “What do you mean you think you are married?”

  She pulled away from him and rubbed her hands in a nervous little gesture. “I mean that I’m not sure if my husband is still alive. The last time I saw him he was lying on the floor of our home bleeding profusely from…a b-bullet wound.”

  With that she turned and fled, and Flynn was too shocked by the news to do anything other than stand there and stare at the empty space she’d just vacated.

  He roughed one hand through his hair and gave himself a little shake. Her explanation had raised more questions than it had answered, but right now he had a patient to attend to. He stepped back into Rose’s room and pulled the vial of acetylsalicylic acid from within his bag. Carefully, he poured a half cup of tea and added a drizzle of honey. Then he measured acetylsalicylic acid into the cup and stirred. He pulled a chair from the corner of the room over near Rose’s bedside and sank into it. Placing one hand behind her head, he urged her to rise up a little. “I have some medicine I need you to take, Rose. Just a few sips, hmmm? You’ll be feeling better in no time.”

  She sipped weakly at the rim of the cup, and he felt his anxiety climb. Dixie should have called for him days ago. Father, please, mercy for this daughter of yours. Healing, I ask. “Good, Rose. Well done. Rest now.” For the time being, he let her lay back down, but he needed to get her propped up as soon as possible. He also needed to fetch basins for hot water and a large cloth so they could tent her bed and keep steam close to her lungs where it could do its work.