As she tucked the other bundles back in the pack, the feel of something hard at the bottom caught her notice. The stiff leather felt almost like a book. Her fingers slid along the surface until they slipped over the edge, brushing the feather-like pages of a thick volume.
She shouldn’t look any further, but she was too exhausted to fight her curiosity. Slipping her fingers around the edge of the book, she eased it out. In the glimmer of moonlight, faded gold lettering on the worn cover read Holy Bible. A glance inside revealed tattered pages and tiny handwriting in some of the margins. A well-used guide, which explained some of the reason why this man seemed so solid.
Closing the book, she slipped it back in the pack, but her fingers brushed another volume as she replaced the Bible. Two more, actually.
She couldn’t help but pull them out. What more would they tell her about this man in whose care she’d placed her life—and the well-being of her son and friend? The first was The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Not as worn as the Bible, but the spine definitely showed wear. The second, Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, looked to have journeyed with him longer than Hawthorne, with dog-eared corners and finger smudges throughout its pages.
What kind of man traveled with his own library? Especially out here, where books were hard to come by. She knew that well, as she’d not had more to read than her own Bible and a couple of well-worn novels by Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë. She’d brought them when she’d first come west with Robert. Samuel had only been a year old then.
It seemed like another lifetime.
The sound of quiet footsteps on stone brought her back to the present, and she quickly tucked the books back in the pack, then set to work assembling the meat and biscuits for a quick meal.
Mr. Bowen eased down on one of the stacks of blankets, then took the food she handed him.
“I didn’t look for plates.” This was hardly the table her mother had taught her to set. She’d be appalled at her eating food with her hands, no serviette or any other form of civility. Still, it was all she had the energy to muster after the long day. She sank down on her own bedding and took a bite of her biscuit.
“No need. Anyway, I’m afraid I only have one set of tin dishes. Hope you don’t mind sharing when we need them.”
“Of course not.” As she chewed, she glanced up at the few remaining stars in the sky. “What time do you think it is?”
“Maybe an hour past midnight.” As long as her day had been, his had probably been just as trying.
A blanket of remorse slipped over her. “I’m sorry I kept you from going home tonight. How long did you say you’ve been gone?”
“A couple weeks.” His voice held that relaxed quality that made her wish she could have so few troubles. “And no worries about the delay. Doesn’t matter much if the trip is extended a day or two—and we switch to hunting weasel.”
The last words caught her off guard, and if she wasn’t so exhausted, they might have summoned a smile. Just now, that felt like too much effort, but she did manage a long overdue offering. “I want you to know how grateful I am for your help.” She looked over at the man so the scant remaining moonlight would show the earnestness on her face.
He nodded. “Lord willing, this will all be over tomorrow.” Then he shifted to pull the blankets from underneath himself. “Best get to sleep. Dawn won’t be far off.”
As she lay on her own bed pallet, she gazed up into the cloudy sky. This seemed so strange, lying only a short distance from a man she barely knew. When she’d risen that morning, her primary concerns were how quickly she could escape the drudgery of the boiling washpot.
Now, she’d give anything to wake tomorrow with only those same worries. With her son tucked in close beside her in their little bed. His mouth usually hung open as he dreamed, often accompanied by a circle of moisture on the pillow, giving evidence of how deeply he slept.
Bring my boy back, Lord. You know I couldn’t bear it if I lost him, too.
FOUR
Everything hurt.
As Joanna forced herself to rise the next morning, the act of standing took every bit of her willpower. The pain in her neck felt like a knife each time she tried to turn her head, and every part from her waist down protested her ability to walk. She reached for a nearby boulder to steady herself before she attempted the feat.
At least Mr. Bowen had already risen, so her weakness wasn’t being flaunted before him. He was already doing so much to help her; she would not become a burden to him.
Which meant she’d best take care of morning matters, then put together a quick meal that they could eat in a hurry. Maybe he’d even agree to break their fast in the saddle as they continued the journey.
By the time she returned from her morning ministrations and refilling their canteens at the creek, Mr. Bowen was already back at their little camp, refastening his bedroll.
She dropped to her knees beside the food pack. “How are the horses?” That must be where he’d been when she woke.
“Fine. I hiked up a ways to see what path the tracks took over the mountain.”
How early had this man arisen? There was just now enough light to say dawn had officially arrived. Perhaps the tension pulled as tightly through him as it did her own exhausted body. They had to catch up with the kidnappers today. Her son and friend may not last much longer with those blackguards.
She handed Isaac several cherries, then a piece of roasted meat. “I haven’t gone through all the food bundles to see what’s here, but can we eat the rest on the trail?”
He pushed to his feet with a faint groan. “That’s best. I’ll go saddle the horses.”
She made quick work of pulling out food and repacking the bundle, then shuffled down the slope to where he’d tied the horses. The least she could do was saddle her own mount, despite the ache in every part of her body.
Within a few minutes they were on the trail, and her backside threatened to mutiny as her mare settled into the same rocking gait she’d used the day before. How long since Joanna had spent so much time in the saddle? Too long.
Not since she’d been mounted on a mule, riding behind this same man as he and his father led their little group through the snowy mountains to Settler’s Fort over six months before.
Even that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Her son had ridden with Mr. Bowen on that journey. And now, once again, she was trusting Samuel into this man’s care.
Except not exactly. First they had to find those horrid kidnappers, then get Samuel and Laura away from them. She hunched low over the saddle but couldn’t seem to block out the spinning in her mind. What were they doing to her boy? Had they taken him and Laura because the two had witnessed the murder of Sheriff Zander? She could imagine they might have kidnapped Laura for another reason—and was trying hard not to think of what her friend might be enduring.
But a five-year-old boy? It wasn’t as if Joanna had a great deal of money to pay a high ransom. And they were taking the pair away from Settler’s Fort without demanding anything.
“Mr. Bowen?” Her voice broke the silence that had settled between them this first half hour. Maybe she shouldn’t ask, but she had to.
He glanced back at her. “Call me Isaac.”
His unexpected response jolted her, and she let out a breath. “All right.”
He turned back to the trail, guiding his horse in a route that wound around the side of the mountain.
Now she had to reassemble her thoughts so they’d come out in a coherent question. “Isaac?”
He didn’t turn this time. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Why would they want my boy?” Her voice probably broadcast her fear, but she couldn’t seem to control it.
For a long moment he didn’t answer. Maybe it wasn’t fair to ask such a question of him. The answer couldn’t be pleasant.
But if he had any idea, she needed to know. Knowing would be better than this awful twist in her belly that sent her imagination do
wn horrible paths.
At last, he spoke. “I suspect Miss Hannon and your son saw something they shouldn’t have, and the men are trying to cover their tracks.”
His words did nothing to calm the roiling in her middle.
“Do you think they’re hurting him?”
He looked back at her again, and the compassion in his eyes only made her feel worse. “Mrs. Watson.”
The way he spoke her name was like a gentle chiding mixed with a warm hug. And he was right. She’d best not dwell on what she couldn’t control.
But the quicker they moved, the sooner they’d free her son. She leaned forward and nudged her mare faster over the mountain.
A thick layer of clouds covered much of the sky that night as Isaac reined in his mount and packhorse. “We’ll stop here. This footing is too treacherous for the horses to pick their way in the dark.”
Tracking in the thick blackness was no longer a problem, because he was fairly certain where the men were going. This trail was so remote, so hard to travel, there was really only one way through, and he knew it well enough to follow with his eyes closed. He’d traveled the same path to their hideout during those early wayward days, riding through here more times than he could count, chasing the demons he thought would make him happy.
Now, the occasional fresh horse droppings confirmed this was the trail the kidnappers had taken. When he and Mrs. Watson reached the cave mid-morning tomorrow, if he found signs the men had slept there, he’d be fairly certain they were part of the gang as he’d suspected. The one he’d started with his two closest friends over a decade before. That hole in the mountainside was so well hidden that only he, Aaron, and Nate could know about it, aside from a mountain lion or two. Probably also aware of it were those two good-for-nothings whom the brothers had joined on with after Isaac had finally washed his hands of that life. The thought churned hard in his gut.
A heavy sigh drifted from the woman behind him as he dismounted. She’d been quiet much of the day, not voicing a single complaint. The least he could do was acknowledge her unspoken desire.
He turned to her. “I know you’d rather keep moving, but the men who have your boy will have to stop, too. We’ll be ready to ride out at first light.”
She offered a weak smile and a nod, then leaned forward to dismount. Each of her movements was slow and made his body hurt just to watch. This journey couldn’t be easy for her, a woman not accustomed to riding all day. Add in the lack of sleep the night before and fear for her son and friend, and she must feel like all the worries in the world weighed her down.
There wasn’t much he could do to help her, other than take care of as many chores as he could. After untying the pack behind his saddle, he carried it to the flat spot where they would sleep. Mrs. Watson followed him.
“I’d say it’s too risky to light a fire. There should be some fruit tucked down in the bottom, though. That, along with meat and corn bread, will have to do for our meal.”
Too bad he’d not had time to finish purchasing his supplies at the mercantile. They could have had fresh bread and preserves instead of his dry skillet corn bread.
She sank down to the hard ground, her shoulders slumped, not reaching for the pack. “I’ll take care of it.”
He patted one of those shoulders to offer encouragement. The womanly softness of her nearly snatched his breath. He’d forgotten how different a woman felt from his own hard lines. So rarely had he ever let himself touch a female, and only in the most innocent contact. At least, for the last ten years.
Maybe he’d kept himself too far from women, for this one simple touch shouldn’t affect him so strongly. He’d best put some space between them. “I’ll settle the horses, then be back to help.”
While he watered and fed the animals, his mind had too much time to wander. If the gang moved to the old hideout after stopping at the cave, it’d be another six days before they reached it. Certainly he could catch them before that.
The men were moving fast, though. As hard as he’d pushed today, it didn’t seem like he and Mrs. Watson were gaining on them by even a minute.
In some ways, that was good news. If they kept riding every minute they could, they weren’t taking time to enjoy their female prisoner. His stomach churned at the thought, but he had to be honest about it. At least to himself.
He couldn’t imagine Nate or Aaron doing something so vile to an innocent young woman, especially not Nate. Perhaps Aaron had been hardened by the two men they’d added to the gang when Isaac dropped out.
He’d heard stories of some of the gang’s actions in recent years that made his blood boil. And heaped on another layer of guilt for his part in starting the group.
But that was behind him. He’d been forgiven by his father—both his heavenly and earthly fathers. And the last thing he wanted now was for his past misdeeds to be brought to life.
Especially in the presence of a proper woman like Mrs. Watson. Hardworking and strong, yet with a grace about her that caught his notice time and again. Not a woman who would ever pay heed to a man like him, forgiven or not.
How shameful he’d feel if she came to know his past. His connection with the men who’d taken a young woman. And her son.
Was it possible to face down this gang without making his past known? Only time would tell.
Laura Hannon huddled low in the saddle against the rain falling in steady rivulets down her face. Not only did she not have a bonnet, but the hat of the man riding behind her regularly dumped its load of water down the back of her neck.
If only that were the worst of her troubles.
This was their third morning in the saddle, and she had no idea where these men were taking her and Samuel. By that first night, she’d established they were some kind of outlaw gang, and from the off-color comments and looks that made her want to shrink underneath a heavy blanket, she was quite certain what they wanted from her.
Yet none of them had made advances. Not even Aaron, even though she’d been riding for two days with him, pressed much closer than she liked.
The two men riding in the lead were the ruffians who worried her. The taller brute had been the one to attack the poor sheriff with such savage blows while the other sat nearby on his horse, rifle pointed and face a stoic mask. Until he pulled the trigger.
Her eyes had been glued to the beaten man. The sound of his cries still haunted her ears, the image of his body jerking as the bullet slammed into him at such close range pulsing through her mind. She didn’t remember crying out, but she must have. How else would the men have known she and Samuel were hiding below the edge of the riverbank?
Remnants of fear clutched her chest again as her mind brought back the memory of the massive brute charging down the embankment faster than she’d thought possible for someone his size. His grip around her arm had stopped all blood flowing to her hand, and Samuel’s cry had stilled her heart the same way.
She hated that the boy had to ride with that beast of a man. Maybe she should ask to switch places with the lad. Samuel was being so brave, although he still talked and wiggled enough to keep himself always in their awareness. He’d only cried once as they’d bedded down the night before, his oversized tears sliding down freckled cheeks as he pleaded for his mother. Her own tears had joined his, but she couldn’t let that happen again. She couldn’t show weakness, even in the dark of night.
She shifted in the saddle as they rode down a muddy incline. It took all her strength not to lean back against the man behind her while they descended the steep hill, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Yet her lower body ached with a fierceness that would take a long time to overcome. The day before she’d finally gone numb from the pain of sitting against the saddle horn for so many hours. If only that numbness would come again now.
Please save us, Lord. Get us away from these men somehow.
Out here in the middle of the mountain wilderness, with rain streaming down her face and saturating all her clothing, she strugg
led to believe the Almighty heard her tiny cry.
If only she could find a way for her and Samuel to escape these ogres tonight. Before something worse happened.
“We’ll stop here for the night.”
Joanna had been expecting those words, and as desperate as she was to push on and find her son, relief slipped through her, stealing a bit of her strength. The rain had drenched them for hours—all day really—only slowing to a misty drizzle a little while ago.
Isaac dismounted from his gelding, moving with an easy grace that must mean he didn’t ache everywhere from the long day in the saddle. Must be nice.
“It should be safe to start a fire if we can find any dry wood. With that mountain between us and the men we’re chasing, and the clouds blocking out all the starlight, I don’t think they’ll see our smoke.”
“Good.” She leaned forward and let her weary body slide from the horse’s back. Isaac may have expected more enthusiasm from his announcement, but this was all she could muster. Her ankles nearly buckled when her feet hit the ground, and she clutched the saddle to keep herself upright.
“We’ll need to dry out some things in the packs once we get the blaze going. It’ll be nice to have something warm to eat, too.” Isaac approached, leading his two horses, and took her mare’s reins.
In the darkness, she couldn’t see much of his face. “Might help to walk a little and look for dry wood in those trees.”
Walking sounded too painful just now, but she had to let go of the saddle so he could take her horse.
Maybe her posture gave away too much of her thoughts, for he added, “Or you can sit and rest for a minute.”
She gathered her strength and stepped away from the horse, squaring her shoulders as she moved. “I’ll look for wood.” Joanna Watson did not shirk her responsibilities, no matter how exhausted and worried she was.
As she scrambled along the base of the mountain toward the trees, she gathered every stick and log that seemed to have a chance of burning. She didn’t find much wood dry enough to start the fire, but there was plenty they could set out around the blaze to dry for use later in the night.
Love's Mountain Quest Page 3