The Barefoot Bride by Joan Johnston

Kendrick stood
barefoot
drinking punch and laughing with Ethan. For the first time, Patch admitted a grudging respect for the formidable adversary who was now her stepmother. Molly Gallagher Kendrick had gumption all right. But that didn't mean Patch had to like her—or obey her.
    “I thought you said Mother wouldn't come to the wedding barefoot,” Whit muttered into Patch's ear.
    Patch turned wrathful eyes on him. “A
real
lady wouldn't have come.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Figure it out for yourself!”
    “You take that back,” Whit hissed.
    “Make me!”
    Patch was spoiling for a fight, and it appeared Whit was willing to give her one. She was two years older and wiser, but he was a good three inches taller. As far as she was concerned, that made them about evenly matched. Only, when she put up her fists, Whit just laughed.
    “I can't fight a girl/’ he protested.
    Her knuckles rapped him in the nose and rocked his head backward.
    He yelped in surprise as blood spurted down his face. “Hey! Stop that!”
    Patch walloped him in the stomach with a fist, bending him over double.
    Whit forgot chivalry and fell on Patch like a tomcat in an alley fight. Only, when he swung, she stepped out of his path and his fist floated through thin air. He sagged as she belted him again in the stomach. He grabbed for her and used his greater weight to force her down. He heard her cry out in pain when her head hit the wooden floor.
    Abruptly, the two combatants were yanked apart. Ethan held Whit by the shoulders, while Seth pulled Patch to her feet. Reverend Adams and his wife stood staring in disapproval. Molly was stuck holding Nessie, who'd been thrust into her arms by Seth as he ran to stop the fight.
    “Oh, Whit! How could you?” Molly cried.
    “What's going on here?” Seth demanded in a harsh voice.
    “See, Pa!” Patch said. “I warned you he'd be trouble.”
    “She started it!” Whit shouted.
    “I did not. I was minding my own business—”
    “Liar!” Whit said.
    “I am not! I—” Patch suddenly crumpled. If Seth hadn't been holding onto her, she would have fallen.
    He lifted her limp body into his arms, thinking that she was pretending. But she couldn't be faking the total lack of response he now felt in her body. “She's unconscious,” he said with astonishment. “What did you do to her?” he demanded of Whit.
    “I didn't do anything,” Whit said in a tremulous voice. “She hit her head when she fell.”
    “A concussion?” Ethan speculated.
    Molly saw that Seth was rattled. He hadn't moved, and he hadn't taken his eyes off Patch's motionless, pale face. He was acting more like a parent than a doctor. Molly found that the most encouraging sign she'd yet seen that he would make a good father for her children.
    “Seth,” she said in a calming voice, “take Patch over to the settee and lay her down.” Once she got him started in the right direction, he was fine.
    Molly turned to the preacher and asked, “Reverend Adams, could you and your wifeplease have the hotel manager arrange for me to get a bowl of cool water and a cloth?”
    As the preacher and his wife left the room, she turned to Whit and said, “Go sit down on that chair beside the settee. Tilt your head back and pinch your nose until it stops bleeding. Ethan”—Molly tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear while she thought what else needed done—”can you find Seth's medical bag?”
    “It's in the buggy. I'll go get it,” he volunteered.
    “What about me?” Nessie asked. “What can I do?”
    “You can give me a hug,” Molly said. Nessie was more than willing to comply. Molly found the feel of Nessie's tiny arms around her neck a comfort. She could imagine the horror Seth must be experiencing as he watched over his unconscious daughter.
    “Nessie, it would be a big help now if you would go and stand by Whit and make sure he keeps his head tilted back. Could you do that for me?”
    “All right,” Nessie said as