She could appreciate Isaac’s caution from the night before, especially if it helped them sneak up on the kidnappers. But the idea of a fire to stop her shivering and dry out the twenty pounds of water weighing her skirts sounded too wonderful. Isaac had no idea how much easier the day had been for him in his waterproof buckskins.
There were several times during the worst of the deluge that she’d almost asked if he had an extra pair of the leathers. If it rained again tomorrow, she very well might.
What a sight she’d be then. Mama would swoon with one glance.
But her mother wasn’t around to chide her. She would never be. Not since the train accident that took both her parents and her sister—her entire family—in the space of a single hour. That had been the end of the happy life she’d first known. The beginning of a new life of hard work and struggle.
And it seemed like the losses just kept coming. But she couldn’t let herself get bogged down in those miring thoughts.
She had work to do.
When she’d finally gathered enough wood to start a decent blaze, she traipsed back to camp, her skirt dragging in the mud. It didn’t take long to find the flint, steel, and tinder Isaac kept in his pack—she’d become quite familiar with the contents of that case. Maybe tonight she’d ask him about the selection of books her fingers kept rubbing against. Did he carry those specific titles for a reason, or did he have an entire library he rotated through?
Her mind had spent more time than it should imagining details about this man’s life. But at least those wonderings kept her thoughts from drifting to Samuel and Laura, a harrowing topic she couldn’t seem to stay away from for long. But she had to distract herself. If she didn’t, if she allowed her imagination to walk those paths, she’d go mad.
“The horses are liking all the grass in that valley.” Isaac’s strong voice made her jump as he stepped from the darkness and dropped to his haunches beside her where she was laying out the tinder. “I can start this fire if you have something else that needs doing.”
“I have it.” There was a great deal that needed doing, but she’d begun this task and she’d see it through to completion. “If you’d like, you can gather a load of wood to dry beside the fire’s heat. I think I’ve found enough to get a good blaze started.”
Without a word, he rose and disappeared into the darkness again.
He was a quiet man, Isaac Bowen, but that was something she appreciated about him. He honed in on his work and noticed details most people would miss. She’d seen all this when they’d first met on that other journey, but spending so much time with him now—just the two of them—gave her a much closer look at his character. She could only be thankful he was the one God had laid in her frantic path as she first sought her son.
By the time Isaac returned, she had a small flame devouring the kindling, with a few bigger logs encircling it, ready to catch fire. Now for something warm to eat. Stew would take a while, but they both desperately needed the hot broth to thaw their insides. Scooping up the pot, she marched down to the creek.
While Isaac tended the fire, she put together the stew, then set to work laying out their wet things. The leather pack had done a remarkable job keeping their bedding dry, but there were still a number of items that had been saturated by the continuous downpour. Unfortunately, the clothes she wore would have to dry on her person, for she had nothing to change into.
She was just hanging out the last few items when Isaac’s voice rose over the crackling fire. “Joanna, come and sit. Your stew’s ready and you need to rest.”
He’d used her given name several times that day, but the sound of it in his warm voice gave her pause every time.
“Just let me finish hanging these.” She should probably gather another load of firewood before she sat, too. As she worked, her mind wandered to the new worry that had taken up residence in her exhausted mind. “Do you think the men Mr. Lanton sent will find us tonight?”
“Maybe.” His tone didn’t sound any too confident.
She shot a glance over her shoulder to check the expression on his face. Weary lines were cast in shadows as he stared into the firelight. Surely the men were coming. They wouldn’t leave her and Isaac to take down the kidnappers alone, would they?
When she turned to head back down the mountain for another load of firewood, Isaac snagged her skirts. “Sit, woman. You’re running yourself ragged for no reason.” She might have been affronted by the way he addressed her were it not for the gentle teasing in his tone.
She paused and turned to him. “I’m going to bring one more load of wood so it can be drying.”
He rose to his feet, standing at least a head above her, and close enough that her chest ceased drawing breath. His hand settled around her elbow, and she wished she could see more than the glimmer of firelight reflecting in his eyes.
“Joanna, sit and eat. Let yourself rest.” The low gravel in his voice slipped around her shoulders like a warm blanket. “I’ve brought in enough wood to last half the night, and I’ll gather more before we turn in. Wearing yourself out isn’t going to bring us to your son any quicker. If you get sick, it’ll only make you more miserable. Slow us down, even.”
She eased out a long breath, forcing out as much of her pent-up angst as she could muster. He was right. She made herself meet his gaze. “I have a bad habit of keeping myself needlessly busy when I’m worried.”
He chuckled, a sound that eased her nerves even more. “I’m not sure that’s a bad habit all the time, but we’d best keep a check on it tonight.” With a gentle pressure, he turned her toward the fire. “Let me scoop you out a cup of stew. You’ll feel better with something warm inside you.”
She had to sit on her hands to keep from helping as he spooned out a generous portion. She couldn’t remember the last time someone else had served her. Robert had been gone these seven months. And even when he still lived, she’d been the caretaker in the family.
Although it was hard for her to accept, the fact that Isaac cared enough to help warmed her insides as much as the stew.
FIVE
The night hung thick and muggy around Laura, laden with the remnants of rain as she listened once again for the sounds of breathing from the men. It was a wonder they couldn’t hear her heart ramming against her chest. Tonight was her chance to get free. To escape with Samuel before something awful happened.
The scoundrels had tied her and Samuel both to a tree—as they’d been doing every night—but she’d been working for hours with the somewhat-sharp edge of a rock to cut the leather strap binding her. Though her arms ached and no doubt her wrists bled, only a few fibers still held. She scraped the leather across the rock once more. Then again.
With a jerk, her hands broke loose.
She wiped her bloody wrists against her skirt. The pain would be worth it if only she could finally get Samuel and herself free. Hopefully the thick cloud cover would help with her escape plans. She had no idea how they’d get back to Settler’s Fort, but hiding would be the first order of business. Somewhere so discreet not even these seasoned mountain men could find them.
Then each night, she and Samuel could cover as much distance back to town as they could manage in the dark. She could probably form some sort of map in her mind from watching where the sun set and rose, along with the patterns of the stars. And Joanna must have summoned help from town to look for them. It might take a day or two—or four—to find the search party, but she would make it back to town with this boy. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Or to her own honor.
This wasn’t the first hopeless situation she’d pushed through, not after the downfall of her family. Losing her mother when she was only seven. Having to practically raise little Henry and keep house for Pa and Will. Of course, Will wasn’t any trouble. If anything, her older brother had been the one light in all those dark days. Without his teasing, the times he’d stolen her away from the heavy weight of responsibility to go exploring, she may not have surv
ived those days.
The knife of grief pierced sharply, straight in through her ribs. Will. Never again would she see his lopsided grin. Henry’s passing had been hard, and Pa’s a shameful waste, but the grieving would have been much harder if she hadn’t still been numb over losing Will. The long-familiar burn crept up her throat, threatening her eyes. Threatening her control.
She clenched her teeth and forced herself from the memories. This was to be her new life. Her fresh start. And if it took her dying breath to accomplish it, she’d get Samuel away from these beasts.
The first step required escaping from camp without waking her captors. Listening once more for the breathing of all three men, she checked off each in her mind. The light snore came from the man named Aaron, who’d shared a saddle with her. Rex, the man whose lecherous glances made her want to cover herself, snored like a drunk. But Bill, the one who was liberal with his fists, barely made a sound at all.
She honed in on the light breaths that had to be coming from Bill, breathing so steady, he must be sleeping. And the volume hadn’t grown or lessened in the hours she’d been listening.
Easing herself upright, she tucked her still-damp skirt into her waistband. Not decent by any stretch, but she’d have to do some crawling to free Samuel, and this was better than letting the fabric slow her down.
Aaron slept nearest her, and she knew from experience he wore his knife at his side, whether waking or sleeping. The bruise on the inside of her elbow could well attest to hitting the bone hilt too many times as she was forced to lean backward going down mountain slopes.
Every contact with the man required her to lock her jaw to keep from squirming, but soon she wouldn’t have to worry about him again. Or any of them.
Creeping toward Aaron, one tiny breath at a time, she shifted her focus between the man’s face hardened in sleep and the knife stored at his waist. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and a chiseled profile. Thankfully, he wasn’t as large as the oaf, Bill.
But as she stole toward Aaron now, her gaze lingered on those large hands. And thick muscular arms. One hard blow from him could knock her out. God, don’t let me wake him. Please don’t let me wake him.
When she was just close enough to reach the knife, she extended her hand and closed two fingers around the hilt. The handle was cold, and the blade would likely be even colder. She’d seen that blade flash in the sunlight, then glimmer in the firelight as he wiped it clean after a meal. That very night, he’d even sharpened the metal to a wicked point.
Perfect timing if her plan succeeded. A deadly coincidence if she failed.
She withdrew the blade one fingertip at a time and didn’t breathe until the knife was fully extracted. The man’s low snores never changed. Good work, Hannon.
Now for some food. She had to be prepared for her and Samuel to travel through the mountain wilderness for several days. She’d never hunted with only a knife, and she wasn’t sure she could keep them both alive without bringing along something to eat.
Unfortunately, tonight’s evening fare had been stew, the remnants of which still sat in the pot by the barely glowing embers. Not something she could easily carry. But she’d seen the pack where they kept their food supplies. It was near Rex, so hopefully his snoring would cover any sound the rustle of the bag made.
She crawled toward the man, forcing herself to take as much time as she needed to keep quiet. When she’d closed half the distance to him, his snoring ceased.
Her heart ceased its beating, too.
Then, with a snort, the sound started up again, with just as much gusto as before. She waited a full minute to make sure the rhythm stayed even, in case he was faking.
He was definitely asleep.
She started forward again. When she reached the pack, a decision faced her. She could either pull out the smaller satchel that contained food supplies, which would risk waking the men with the sounds of the bags brushing. Or she could take the entire outer pack, which would make it harder to crawl back to Samuel and sneak away from the camp.
Better to chance removing the smaller satchel under cover of Rex’s snores.
She reached into the pack and only had to fumble for a moment before her hand closed around the smaller leather bag that she’d seen the men handle. It was heavier than she expected. She opened the larger bag wider to extract the food satchel.
So far, so good.
Turning back toward Samuel, she attempted to crawl his way. But that was impossible to do silently while holding both the sack and the knife. She’d have to walk. And maybe that would be quieter anyway.
As she pushed up to her feet, she stepped on a piece of her skirt that had come untucked from her waistband. Throwing her free hand out for balance, she barely kept herself upright. She inhaled a deep breath to steady herself, then released it in a slow stream.
Now to cut Samuel loose, then get him out of here. Should she wake him so he could walk? Or try to carry him quietly?
He was such a big boy for his five years; she’d probably do best with the former option. Besides, the last thing she needed was for him to wake in her arms and start asking questions aloud. The child did love to talk and had no concept of a whisper.
She focused on watching every place she stepped to keep from crackling a branch or leaf or kicking a stone. How horrible it would be to wake one of the men now, when she’d almost achieved her—
A blow slammed into her temple. The force knocked her sideways, sending her to the ground as light exploded in her head.
She clutched at her skull, trying to hold in a scream as a boot struck hard in her side. Pain blasted through her body, and she curled her legs up, trying to shield herself from another hit.
Voices sounded above her, but with the pain radiating through her head, she could barely make sense of them.
Samuel. Where was the boy? She had to protect him from the brutal attack that could potentially strike him next.
She forced her eyes open. Dirt and rocks skittered against her legs from the activity around her. She had to know what was going on. Had to get to the boy.
The way she was curled, seeing anything required lifting her head. The movement launched a fresh wave of light flashes behind her eyes, and she pressed her lids shut until they stilled.
By now, rough voices were penetrating the fog of pain. First Aaron, then Rex.
“Hands off, Carlton. We’ll restrain her, but there’s nothing to be done to her or the boy until we get home. No force. No hands. Nothing.” Aaron spat the last word as though he couldn’t stand the man he spoke to.
A few mumbled curses filled the air, and it took her a moment to find the source. The man she’d thought was named Bill lay on his back, glaring at Aaron, who stood over them.
She slid her glance to Samuel, who lay by the tree where he was still tied, the whites of his eyes wide even in the darkness. Did she dare scoot over to him to ease his fears? Her side felt like a fire licked it with every breath she took. Had she broken a rib? Maybe more than one. If something happened to her, who would look after Samuel? She clenched her teeth, then crawled to the boy.
“Miz Laura?” Samuel inched as close as he could and put his hand on her arm.
“I’m all right, honey. Nothing to worry about.”
“Did he hurt you?” She could hear the fear in his little voice.
She squeezed the boy’s leg. “I’m not hurt. We’d best be quiet and try to go back to sleep.”
As one of the men bound her hands with a fresh cord, she let her eyes drift shut and willed the pounding in her head to cease.
Tomorrow she’d be stronger. She’d be smarter and more observant. She had to be. Samuel’s life and her own depended on it.
SIX
Joanna’s spirit churned under the burning sun the next afternoon. The rock-strewn incline they traveled down only made the air seem hotter, devoid of any breeze to cool her sweat-dampened neck.
Even the birds seemed far away, with the only trees around
way off in the distance. Only the clatter of the horses’ hooves against the rocks echoed in her ears, melding with the squeak of saddle leather. The same sounds she’d heard for days, and she’d be happy if she never heard them again. At least not under these conditions.
She should be more content now since it wasn’t pouring rain today, but how could she feel anything except misery while her son was in the hands of those kidnappers?
Three days now and they still hadn’t caught up. When would they reach them? And the men from town hadn’t appeared yet, either. Maybe Mr. Lanton hadn’t sent anyone. Or maybe the rescuers had turned back after the first day or two. In truth, she couldn’t blame them. Being away from work and responsibilities for days on end, not knowing if they’d even find the kidnappers, was more than she could expect from mere acquaintances.
Which made her even more grateful to the man riding in front of her. It may be just the two of them left, but at least Isaac Bowen showed no signs of deserting her.
That morning, he’d said he thought they were still a couple of hours behind the outlaws. Did she dare ask him again? His strong profile, those broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist and the way he carried himself tall and capable in the saddle, bespoke a man not accustomed to his authority being questioned. She didn’t want to anger or frustrate him, but she had to know. So yes, she would ask, but maybe she would wait until they reached the bottom of this mountain and he could hear her better.
Her mount stumbled, sending Joanna’s heart into her throat. She jerked upward on the reins to help the horse keep her head up. “Easy, girl.” The mare scrambled, and—for a heartbeat—it felt as though they were both about to tumble headfirst down the rocky mountainside.
God, help. If she died in this fall, what would happen to her son?
Love's Mountain Quest Page 4