The Parson's Christmas Gift Read Online Free PDF

horse to a trot farther along the stream before heading home. It was too nice a night to head back early.
    A cry broke through the night. He grabbed the Spencer gun holstered behind his saddle. He hadn’t heard any talk of bobcats in the area, but it sure sounded like a woman’s scream coming from the stand of trees ahead. He edged Malachi closer, picking his way into the darker night of the woods. What would a woman be doing out at this time of night?
    He slid from the saddle and readied the gun in case he’d guessed wrong. A whinny sounded to his right as he drew closer, and it didn’t take the brightness of the moon to find the broad, crooked path of broken twigs. Zane followed.
    The thrashing horse caught his attention. The mare’s eyes rolled back to white in panic as she neighed and struggled to get up from her side. He ground-tied his own mount, then moved toward the frightened animal.
    “Easy, easy there, girl.” He slid the halter off, stroking her wide brown head. The horse seemed to quiet, kicking only occasionally with her hind hooves.
    He patted the heaving side, continuing to comfort the horse in low tones as he slid his other hand along her right foreleg. He grimaced when the bone shifted beneath his touch. Busted.
    A soft moan drew his attention to the still, small form lying nearby. Peering through the dimness, he found a floppy brimmed hat lying against a tree trunk. The same one he’d seen on the woman Abby had introduced earlier. Journey? What was she doing all the way out here?
    If not for the unnatural angle of her left leg, Zane could’ve believed she’d fallen asleep. She lay on her side, head cradled on her outstretched arm. A few loosened curls draped over her shoulder. He dropped down beside her and eased her over to her back. A bruise formed near her temple, stark against her pale skin. She moaned again and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling her tattered skirt down from where it bunched at her knees.
    “Journey? Miss Smith?” He tapped her cheek. “Journey, wake up.”
    She tossed her head once to either side as if to refuse him. “Don’t touch me. I—I mean it.” Her voice slurred.
    “Journey? Ma’am, it’s me, Zane—Reverend Thompson.” Her eyes fluttered. “That’s it. Come on now.”
    He watched her eyes slit open, and she struggled to sit up. He saw her grind her teeth rather than cry out at the pain the movement had to have caused her leg.
    “Gypsy?”
    He guessed she meant the horse by the way she searched about with her deep brown eyes. She blinked at him as if he’d just appeared. She moved to touch the lump on her head, but he pulled her icy fingers away and held them in his hand.
    “Hold on, there.” Zane stayed her with a hand at her arm, not quite touching. “Let’s check you out, first. How many fingers am I holding up?”
    Squinting, her head wobbled slightly. “Four. How’s my horse?”
    “Three. And she’s not good,” Zane said. He slid down and picked up her left foot in both hands. “Neither are you. I need to check your leg.”
    She didn’t protest, only turned her head and squinted in the direction of her whimpering horse. He slid the tattered fabric back to just past the smooth knee. Moving his hands along the leg, he felt the bone move beneath the stockings, much as the horse’s had. Fortunately for her, unlike with the horse, it wasn’t a fatal injury.
    She shivered. Wind blew through the trees. “Journey? Are you with me? Your leg’s broken. We need to get you inside.”
    “My horse…”
    Her white skin glistened in the moonlight, like some ghostly beauty from an old story. Her head bobbed with no particular rhythm as she scanned the space around them.
    Zane grabbed a blanket from her now-still horse. He balled it up and placed it under her head.
    “Ma’am, my house isn’t far from here if we cut straight through the field. It seems best if I carry you there, then go for the doc in town.”
    “I need my horse,” she said,