A Widow With Triplets, Left To Die In The Blizzard, Until a Cowboy Made Her His Wife

Chapter 5

When Elena opened her eyes, she was in an unfamiliar bedroom.

The room was warm, lit by a crackling fire in a small hearth across the space. Heavy quilts covered her, and a lamp burned low on a bedside table. For a moment, she was utterly disoriented.

Then memory flooded back, bringing with it a surge of panic.

“My babies!”

“Right here, ma’am.” Mrs. Whitmore’s voice was steady, calm. “All fed and sleeping peacefully.”

Elena turned to see a large cradle placed near the bed, close enough that she could reach out and touch it. Inside, the triplets slept side by side, their faces peaceful in the firelight, each wrapped in a soft blanket.

Relief made her dizzy. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly six hours.” Mrs. Whitmore rose from a rocking chair and approached the bed. “You were half frozen and exhausted, Mrs. Reed. Mr. Blackwell was quite concerned.”

Elena flushed, remembering how the rancher had carried her and her children through the blizzard. “I need to thank him.”

“There’ll be time for that come morning.” The housekeeper picked up a mug from the bedside table. “For now, drink this broth. You need your strength.”

The rich smell of chicken broth made Elena’s stomach clench with sudden hunger. She accepted the mug gratefully, taking a cautious sip.

“The babies — you said they’ve been fed?”

“Found some goat’s milk in the springhouse. Not what they’re used to, I expect, but it’ll do for now.” Mrs. Whitmore’s expression softened. “The little girl, Abigail, was struggling a bit, but she’s taken some milk and seems stronger now.”

Elena’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how to thank you. If you hadn’t found us —”

“Best not to dwell on what might have been.” The housekeeper’s voice was practical but kind. “Mr. Blackwell has a knack for being where he’s needed. Providence, some might call it.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Mason entered carrying a tray with more food. “Mrs. Reed,” he said, his expression lightening with relief. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Elena managed, suddenly conscious of her disheveled appearance. “Mr. Blackwell, I can never repay what you’ve done for us.”

“No repayment necessary.” He set the tray on a small table. “Any decent person would have done the same.”

But they both knew that wasn’t true. Many would have passed by a stranded wagon in such a storm. Many more would have balked at the responsibility of three infants.

“Your driver, Mr. Collins,” Mason continued, his expression grave. “My men found him about two miles north. He’d taken shelter in a stand of pines, but he was badly frostbitten.”

Elena’s hand flew to her mouth. “Will he recover?”

“Doc Tucker’s with him now. He’s hopeful, but…” Mason left the sentence unfinished.

The news sobered Elena further. Mr. Collins had been kind throughout their journey, speaking often of his own grandchildren back in Illinois. The thought that his desire to help her might cost him so dearly was another burden on her conscience.

“The storm’s still raging,” Mason added, moving to look out the window. “Likely will for another day at least. You and your little ones are welcome to stay until it’s safe to travel on.”

“Thank you,” Elena said, the simple words inadequate. “I had hoped to reach my cousin in Helena before nightfall.”

“Helena’s still a good thirty miles from here,” Mason observed. “Even in fair weather, that’s a challenging journey with three infants.”

The gentle observation held no judgment, but Elena felt the weight of her decision. She had been foolish to attempt such a journey with the triplets, especially as winter approached. Daniel would have been more cautious, more prepared.

“You’re welcome to send word to your cousin once the trails clear,” Mason added. “Let her know you’re safe.”

Abigail stirred in the cradle, her tiny whimper building toward a cry. Elena moved to rise, but Mason was already there, reaching into the cradle with surprising confidence to lift the smallest triplet.

“Hello there, little one,” he said softly, cradling Abigail against his broad chest. “Found your voice again, have you?”

Elena watched in astonishment as her normally fussy daughter quieted almost immediately, regarding Mason with solemn eyes.

“Do you have experience with babies?” she couldn’t help asking.

A shadow passed over Mason’s face. “My sister lived here with her children for a time after Rebecca passed. Her youngest was just a babe then.” He gently transferred Abigail to Elena’s waiting arms. “I’ll leave you to tend to them. Mrs. Whitmore will be nearby if you need anything.”

He was almost to the door when Elena called after him. “Mr. Blackwell.”

He turned.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “For saving my children’s lives. For saving mine.”

Mason nodded once, his blue eyes holding hers. “Get some rest, Mrs. Reed. Tomorrow’s soon enough to worry about what comes next.”