Disclaimer: Hi Folks at CBS, Beth Sullivan and all involved with our beloved DQ. Just borrowing them again, they will be returned in perfect condition I promise!
Author's note! I'm just trying something new, called Chapters! Hope I managed to load this right! And I hope you enjoy, please read and review! Rianne x
Frozen Fires.
By Rianne.
Chapter One.
"Matthew…Matthew!" Colleen's exasperated voice rang out. She stood at the top of the homestead steps wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron, a frown appearing across her face. "Matthew!" she tried again, her only response being the faint echo of her own voice as it rebounded from the barn and surrounding out buildings. She threw her hands up in frustration and growled through gritted teeth as she turned on her heel and stormed back into the house. A sudden wind slammed the heavy door behind her.
"Did you hear something?" Matthew whispered into Ingrid's hair as he reluctantly lifted his head from the curve of her neck where he had been raining soft kisses.
"I do not think so." She responded slowly catching her breath, her flushed cheek warm against his ear. "I think I should go now." She pulled her wool shawl back into place up around her shoulders.
"Awwww, don't do that," he moaned, stealing another quick kiss this time from her lips.
"I must go," Ingrid stated more firmly, lightly pushing on his shoulders. "I must make supper for Jon and my sisters."
Matthew sighed slowly, caressing her loosened hair from her face. She was serious now so he nodded and took her hand helping her up from their nest in the hay.
"You forgot your hat!" she said with a shy smile as she scooped it up and placed it back on his head. He grinned widely as they crossed the barn, he slipped the latch and eased the heavy door open a crack and peered out. The coast looked clear. Taking Ingrid's hand he snuck them out through the gap, returning the latch to its place as quietly as he could.
"Where you been!"
Brian's voice almost caused the guilty pair to jump out of their skins. Without waiting for an answer Brian continued in earnest, his sincerity making him all the sweeter. " Colleen's been lookin' for ya, she's real mad."
Matthew caught Ingrid's eye as they shared a private smile.
"Where?" Brian demanded again.
Matthew reached out and scruffed Brian's hair. "Nowhere, little brother, go tell Colleen I'll be there in a while. Gonna take Ingrid back to town."
Brian hovered, feeling like he was being left out of something, something important. Yet again.
"Well…go on!" Matthew said, his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter.
Brian scuffed his boot in the dirt, as he turned with a sigh, slumped his shoulders and went back into the homestead. He was going to get it from Colleen now. Yet again. He hated being the youngest when Dr. Mike was away.
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Michaela was bone tired and she was struggling to hide it from Sully. Soldiering onwards, images of the children playing across her minds eye and driving her forward. At the homestead she imagined little Brian on tiptoes peering out of the window, always the worrier, whilst Colleen would be busying herself, but sharing concerned glances with Matthew, as they did their best to comfort their brother and reassure him that Dr. Mike would be fine. After all she was with Sully, and side-by-side they could, and had, survived everything that had been thrown at them before.
A heavy gust of wind, that almost knocked her off her feet, brought her sharply back to the reality. The heavy hanging clouds were sinking lower and lower, their looming consistency darkening to an ashen grey. They both knew that it was of the utmost importance to find shelter, they had to keep moving to keep their body temperatures up, had to find a way to start a fire. She turned her head against the force of the gaining wind. All it took was a moments meeting of Sully's expressive eyes to comfort her and reaffirm her strength.
He had to force a reassuring glance in her direction. She looked so fearful as she peered at him from underneath the hood of her crochet woollen shawl, whilst the wind scratched at the escaping tendrils of her beautiful hair. When she turned her gaze away from him he released the fears he had held back from her and they played perfusely across his face. He returned to his task of scouring the rough country; now even more desperate for anything that would serve as an escape from the encroaching storm.
The wind was violent now; whipping their visible breath like smoke huffed out, as they began to scale a slope in the landscape. Michaela having to resort to using her hands to scramble up the natural embankment. Sully climbed behind her, supporting her when necessary as they meandered their way up the frost hardened earth.
Reaching the top she crouched a moment to allow Sully to catch up. Glad for the greater freedom of movement her riding bloomers allowed her, even if they didn't provide as much warmth as her usual layers of petticoats and skirts. When Sully drew up on a level with her; he reached out and encircled her back with his heavy animal skin covered arm, drawing her close so that he could speak to her in their exposed position over the roar of the wind.
"Are you alright?" He shouted, pressing his lips to the wool against her ear to be heard. He pulled back to register her response. Her lips were too cold to speak, so she simply nodded, still breathing heavily from the climb.
"We have to keep going." He stated, the warmth of his lips against her ear again, and then he was forcing her onward. Sliding his hand under her furthest arm to help her stand. She curled her gloved fingers into the edges of his coat drawing herself up until they stood, close enough that the tip of her nose brushed his.
There it was again, dancing in his eyes, that reassuring smile she drew so much strength from. She nodded to let him know that she was ready to continue. Then something cold landed softly on the bridge of her nose. Both raised their faces upwards as yet more and more flakes of snow began to drift downwards until they were caught in the updraft of the wind and tossed away. Michaela gasped in surprise at the beauty of the moment. To Sully it placed a deeper, heavier weight in his chest. They had to find shelter and now.
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Horace Bing, the Telegraph operator, was all a fluster when he came crashing out of his Telegraph office, a scrap of his notepaper flapping in his out stretched hand.
"What is it now Horace, sale on pencils over in Denver?" growled Hank Lawson, from his usual chair on the stoop of his Saloon, his low voice filled with lazy sarcasm.
"Storms comin'!" shouted Horace. To panicked to register that Hank had even spoken. "Just got me a wire from the Telegraph in Denver. Folks there said it's real bad."
"Real bad?" shouted Loren Bray, stalking over from his General Store, with Dorothy Jennings on his heels, her reporters notebook already to hand. The Reverend who had been buying candles for the church from the store closely followed the pair.
"Real bad," confirmed Horace with wide eyes. "Seven inches of snow in some parts already and only goin' to get worse, so folks say."
"Oh Lord! What about Dr. Mike and Sully?" Myra broke in. Meeting Hank's 'Do not defy me' glare head on as she slid through the Saloon doors wrapped in a ratty excuse for a shawl.
"Dr. Mike and Sully?" Dorothy questioned, ignoring Hank.
"Yeah," Myra nodded breathlessly, unused to being such a source of information. "They was heading out Denver way to the Reservation land a few hours ago. Dr. Mike said so when she stitched up Old Jimmy this mornin'"
"What about the Children?" The Reverend asked. "Were they going too?"
Myra shook her head.
"Grace and Me'll go and check on them at the homestead, bring'em into town with us for the night " Robert E's deep voice spoke up, he and his new wife had seen the commotion and gotten worried.
"We'd be glad to." Grace chimed in.
"Glad to what?" Jake Slicker demanded as he emerged from his barbershop wiping his razor on an old towel. He'd caught only the end of the conversation and as always had to be involved.
"Dr. Mike and Sully went out to the Reservation and we're worried. Horace got a Telegram from Denver saying that there is a storm coming." The Reverend filled him in stumbling over his words in his usual well-meaning way.
"Storm?" Jake repeated. "Loren, you got any extra candles and blankets?" A man always looking out for himself alone he began to root through his pockets for change. Loren Bray's eyes lit up as he quickly assessed that there might just be a way to cash in on this latest piece of misfortune.
"Gentleman!" Dorothy almost shouted, the disbelief clear in her voice. "Michaela and Sully, we have to warn them."
"Owwww Dorothy, don't you fuss, I'm sure they made it to that damned Indian Reservation just fine. They'll be shacked up in some teepee doing some funny ceremony with drums and peace pipes and war cries. You mark my words, if we go out looking for them we'll get caught in the storm and end up lost, or frozen, or worse," he said his voice trailing off into his trademark scowl.
"He's right!" shouted Jake, leaping up onto his usual metaphorical soapbox.
"They'll be fine," Hank slurred calmly. He tossed the end of his finished cigar into the water trough with a sizzle, and bringing his boots down to the wooden stoop with a loud thud said, "Loren, gonna need me a few things at ya store."
And with that the group began to disperse, leaving only Dorothy and Myra standing in the dusty street with concerned faces. Grace and Robert E headed to the livery to saddle up their horses, Jake, the Reverend, Hank and Loren crossed over to the General Store and Horace rushed back to his post in the Telegraph office to send wires to other local towns, always serious in his duty to his country.
"They'll be okay Dorothy," Myra reassured, squeezing Dorothy's arm. "I'm sure Mr. Bray's right, well not about the war cries," She smiled a little, turning back to the saloon.
Dorothy nodded. "I hope you're right," she said softly to Myra's back as she watched the sweet saloon girl sashay back through Hank's swinging doors. "I hope you're right."
Dorothy shivered drawing her woollen cloak tighter. Maybe it was just the knowledge that a storm was coming, but she could have sworn that the temperature had just dropped rather suddenly.