Love's Mountain Quest

by Misty M. Beller

  A blast lit the night sky with a flash so brilliant, she squeezed her eyes shut. The acrid burn of gunpowder assaulted her nose. Thank you, Lord, that the gun didn’t backfire.

  She forced her eyes open to see what damage she’d done. To prepare in case the wolf still had any fight left in it.

  Her own body was just about spent, but she couldn’t stop until the danger was gone. A lump lay on the ground in front of her, almost within reach. Unmoving.

  A sound drifted from her left. From the injured horse. A kind of straining noise.

  The third wolf wasn’t around the horse, but she had to find and destroy the beast before she could see the extent of the damage to the mare. She scanned the area behind the horse, her eyes seeking movement in the darkness. Nothing that she could see, but it was too much to hope that the wounded horse had killed the wolf on its own.

  She scrambled to reload the rifle, her attention split between the task and searching for the wolf. Just as she finished the job and pushed to her feet, a motion behind the horse caught her focus.

  Maybe it was just the wind waving the tall grass. No, that was a dark body, just the size of a wolf. Slinking away from them.

  She raised the rifle and aimed down the barrel, but the grass had already closed over the wolf. The tops of the weeds swayed where the creature must be passing through, trotting away. The canine would be foolish to continue the battle with its companions dead, and it must have accepted the fact.

  She inhaled a long breath, then released it, the gun weighing heavy in her hands. Was the danger really gone? After the fury of the attack, this quiet seemed too much to believe.

  A rustle from the horses behind her pulled her focus back to the most urgent need. Lowering the rifle so she could hold it in one hand, she approached the injured horse. The sweet bay mare from the livery. Wolves usually attacked the weakest member of the herd, and they must have sensed this horse was already vulnerable from its sore hoof.

  “Hey, girl.” She extended a hand to the mare, stroking its mane. One ear flicked toward her, but otherwise, the horse didn’t respond. Joanna could see bits of hanging skin on the underside of the neck, but in the shadows, she couldn’t decipher the extent of the damage.

  She moved around to the other side, where the sliver of moon would shed some light. The hair was matted dark with blood, and a section of pale flesh shone against the darkness around it. She’d need to get the mare back to camp where they could light a fire and better inspect the wound. At the very least, the area would need salve, but probably much more.

  Joanna stepped back and scanned the rest of the horse. More shadowed areas around the haunches were probably bloody, but none of them showed the white of underflesh. Hopefully the mare could walk to the trees, at least.

  Isaac must be stewing terribly since she’d not come back. Then he’d have heard the three rifle shots. She had to get back before he did something foolish like attempting to hobble out here.

  “Come on, girl.” She untied the rope, then sent another look to the geldings. “I’d better take you boys, too.” She couldn’t leave them out where they’d be so exposed again. They needed to graze, certainly, but if that wolf came back with more friends . . . They couldn’t afford another injured horse. Not when they were so close to town.

  So close to help.

  SIXTEEN

  The mare limped along beside Joanna, but at least the horse was able to walk. The two geldings trailed behind on their longer ropes.

  When they neared the trees, Isaac’s voice sounded across the open ground. “Joanna?” So many questions hung in the word. Anxiety so thick she could almost touch it.

  “I’m not hurt. Three wolves attacked the mare, but I stopped them. I’m bringing her in so we can care for her wounds. The geldings, too.” She could barely see him, only a shadow among the tree trunks, but she kept talking. Maybe knowledge of the situation would help him feel less out of control.

  Or maybe she spoke to calm her own nerves.

  “We need a fire or some way to get enough light to tend her injuries. She has a large gash on her neck, and I think some on her flanks. It’s hard to see much out here.”

  “You’re not hurt?” The rasp in his voice sank all the way through her. Drew her in.

  Her feet stepped nearer without her consent. Close enough to reach out to him if she chose. “I’m not hurt.”

  She could see his face now. The lines across his brow, the solid lock of his jaw. Yet his eyes were still shadowed. Impossible to read the expression there.

  She could feel his need. Feel his urgency to touch her. Feel his restraint. Even if he had no desire for something permanent between them, he needed to know with his own hands that she was unhurt.

  Dropping the mare’s rope, she reached out and pressed her palm to his chest. The muscles tensed under her skin and the intake of his breath was loud enough to hear.

  Yet he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t even breathe again, as far as she could tell. The pounding of his heart under her fingers was the only sign that her nearness affected him half as much as it did her.

  Every part of her wanted to draw closer, to press her lips to his. To force him to wrap his free hand around her.

  Maybe touching him had been a bad idea.

  But then he reached out. Gripped her arm and pulled her closer. Pressed his mouth to hers with a hunger so strong it ricocheted through her body. It would be impossible to deny him, even if she wanted to.

  But she didn’t.

  As he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, she dropped the rifle and the gelding’s ropes, then slid both her hands up to cup his neck. Her fingers brushed against his hair, its silky curls drawing her in. She wove her hand through its thickness, relishing in the sensation as the power of his kiss drove all the way through her.

  He was everything her heart craved. A protector. Someone to carry the load when she couldn’t. And she couldn’t remember ever being so affected as this man made her feel at this moment.

  His lips strayed to her jaw, and she tilted her chin up. A tiny moan slipped from her mouth. Pure pleasure.

  But the sound seemed to still something inside him. His mouth pulled away. Not too far, just enough to rest his forehead on hers. His ragged breathing drifted over her like a warm mist.

  Part of her regretted the end of that kiss. That powerful, all-consuming connection. Whether he wanted something permanent with her or not, they fit together like two sides of a magnet.

  He drew back, putting more space between them. Breaking their physical connection completely. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I just . . .” He didn’t meet her eyes, but dropped his head and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

  She knew exactly how soft those curls were. Her skin still tingled with the feel of them, ached to pull his hand aside and take its place. She clutched hers into a fist at her side. Just to make sure it stayed put.

  “It’s all right, Isaac.” Since they were clearly both of the same mind—that pursuing any more physical connection would be ill-advised—she at least didn’t want to make him feel bad about what had just happened. “Let’s get a fire started so we can see about this mare.”

  Oh, God, take these feelings away from me. Isaac tried to focus on the deep gashes in the mare’s neck, but with Joanna so near, it was hard to think of anything but her. He wanted so badly to tell her how much she’d come to mean to him.

  The attraction between them was impossible to deny. Yet there was so much more. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known. Way too special for the likes of him.

  And he was going to have to tell her why. Tomorrow.

  A part of him wanted to tell her now. Explain his actions. To share how much he truly respected her. That his esteem for her was why he’d pulled away. And, once again, to apologize for touching her in the first place. Just another mistake of many.

  If he could work up the nerve, maybe he should tell her tonight. After he doctored t
he mare.

  For now, this poor girl was in rough shape. He doused the wounds with water from one of their canteens. He couldn’t remember how far it would be to the next creek tomorrow, so he didn’t dare use much. Just enough to flush out the blood and any loose dirt.

  “Here’s the salve. What’s in this exactly?” Joanna stepped up beside him, holding out the jar of healing cream he always carried with him.

  He took the medicine, careful not to look at her face or touch her in the exchange. His gaze didn’t miss her slender fingers, though. Beautiful, every bit of her.

  Clearing his throat, he forced his mind onto her question. “Pa makes it from several different herbs. To be honest, I’m not sure what all he puts in there, but he keeps us stocked.”

  A pang hit his chest at the thought that had been rising too often of late. “I suppose I should ask him the ingredients. I might need to know someday.” Because Pa wouldn’t be around forever.

  She was quiet as he scooped out a fingerful and rubbed the cream into the wound. At last she spoke, her words soft. “You’re blessed to have him so near you.”

  With a jolt, her earlier disclosure came back to him. She’d lost both her parents and a sister—her entire family—in a train accident. And here he was bemoaning just the thought of losing his father, when no real possibility of that event loomed before him.

  He looked over his shoulder to offer an apology in his smile. “You’re right. I am blessed. I guess I should do a better job of enjoying his company now.”

  Her eyes were soft, shadowed as they were by the firelight brushing her cheek. “He seems like a good man.”

  Isaac nodded and had to swallow down the lump in his throat before he could manage to speak. “The best of men.”

  What was it about this night that had his emotions in such a stir? Turning back to the horse, he forced his mind to think about what should be done next. “I don’t suppose we have any bandages left? This needs stitched, but it’ll have to wait until I can buy needle and thread. A wrap will keep the skin together and clean until then.”

  “I’ll find something.” Her dress swished as she stepped away from him, withdrawing the power of her sweet presence.

  He moved back to the mare’s flank to clean the other wounds while Joanna looked for cloth. The sounds of her riffling through the packs rose over the crackling of the fire. Then a ripping noise sliced through the air. He spun to see what she was doing, but her back was to him, hiding her actions.

  She was bent over something. Her skirts?

  “Joanna, I didn’t mean for you to tear up your clothing. Any bit of leather or an extra shirt would be fine. Or I could tie the satchel around her.”

  “This will work best. Just . . . turn away, please.”

  He obeyed, but his unrest only grew. As much as she’d already given up on this journey, she shouldn’t have to give what little else she had for this horse. He wanted to make things better for her, yet he was so helpless with this broken leg.

  “Here you go.” Her voice was nearer than he expected, and when he turned, she held out a bit of fabric unlike anything he’d seen on this trip. The soft cotton had probably started off closer to white, but now had more of a beige look. Both side edges were ragged. “The ruffle was too muddy, so I had to tear that part off.”

  He nodded, doing his best not to think about the fact that this was her underskirt as he wrapped the cloth around the horse’s neck.

  She was quiet as he worked, and he was more conscious of her presence than he should have been. Maybe he should say something to break the silence.

  But before he could summon words, she spoke. “I think I left the shot bag out where the wolves attacked. I’m going out to get it.”

  Another spurt of frustration pressed his chest. He shouldn’t be sending her back out there, not when a pack of wolves had just attacked in that very spot. The carcasses from the two she’d shot would bring all kinds of animals, from vultures to mountain lions to more wolves.

  He could limp along to the edge of the trees, but going any farther than that would require him to lean on Joanna, which would only add to her load. And what could he do without a gun anyway?

  He tied off the knot in the bandage and turned to her. “Take the rifle with you.” His words came out in more of a bark than he meant them to, but she obliged, dipping to grab the gun before stepping into the darkness of the woods around them. The thick blackness seemed to swallow her, even with the sounds of her feet snapping twigs and crunching leaves.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair. God, I hate this helplessness. Why take away my ability to keep her safe?

  A verse slipped into his mind, completely unbidden. One he hadn’t read in several weeks. My strength is made perfect in weakness.

  Was that why this was happening? Why he’d been brought on this journey, thinking his help, his strength would make the difference in finding Joanna’s son and friend? Why he was now so helpless he couldn’t walk on his own, couldn’t tend his own horses, couldn’t protect the woman whose care he’d thought he was being entrusted with?

  Joanna possessed an inner strength greater than most people he’d known. But leaning on her went against his grain. Yet perhaps that’s what God intended in all this. For him to learn how to rely more on others. And for that matter, more on his heavenly Father.

  And was God trying to bring him all the way from his knees to his belly with the truth he’d have to tell Joanna tomorrow?

  He squeezed his eyes shut. It’s too much, Lord. I thought you’d promised to forgive those sins. Why make me grovel now?

  My grace is sufficient for thee; for my strength is made perfect in weakness.

  Isaac pinched the ends of his hair and pulled. Would his past failures follow him around forever, then? Always be there to torment him?

  And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh . . .

  A matter of pride, then. This he could do something about.

  Resting his hands on the mare’s withers, he bowed his head, letting his chin touch his chest. I’m sorry, Father. Sorry for thinking I’m the only one to keep Joanna safe. The only one capable of bringing back her son and Miss Hannon. In truth, there’s no way I can do any of it without you. Go before us, Lord. Make our way straight. Fight the battle before us.

  He remained in that posture, soaking in the peace and the forgiveness God offered freely.

  Tomorrow he would have to tell Joanna of his past. And if she walked away from him, refused to let him help, at least she’d have God on her side.

  Paired together, there was no way they could lose.

  SEVENTEEN

  Joanna awoke the next morning with a knot in her middle. Her tension had spread through every part of her, pressing aches into her shoulders and neck.

  More aches than usual after sleeping on this hard ground for six nights now. She forced herself to sit up, her eyes still blurry from not enough rest.

  “Morning.” Isaac’s sleep-roughened tenor pulled her attention to where he sat beside the fire.

  She had to blink to clear the haze from her vision, but the sight was worth the effort.

  His rugged features sent a shiver through her, that strong chin and chiseled cheekbones now covered by more than a week’s worth of growth. And the way his buckskins outlined hard muscles in his shoulders and neck . . . She’d felt those muscles, just the night before. Knew the richness of them. The strength that made her feel treasured and protected.

  But it was his smoky green eyes that drew her, that held her, like always. Yet something was different about them this morning. Maybe their intensity soaked into her with a stronger grip.

  Maybe she just needed coffee to pry her from this sleep-starved fog.

  He turned back to the fire. “I warmed the meat to make it more tender, and I’m brewing coffee now.”

  Her mouth formed a smile of its own accord. “You must have read my mind.�
� She crawled from her blanket and began to fold it. “I guess I shouldn’t ask how you found enough water for an extravagance like that.”

  “We had enough in that last canteen for two cups. If memory serves, we’ll reach another creek an hour or so down the trail. We can restock then.”

  She glanced toward the horses, all three of them dozing peacefully in the early morning light. “How’s the mare?”

  “Better than I’d hoped now that I can see the wounds better. She’ll need some attention once we get to River Crossing tonight, but I think she’ll be able to travel today without much trouble. She may need to move slower. We’ll see.”

  His words drew her gaze back to him. “Sorry I slept so late. You could have woken me.”

  One corner of his mouth tipped up, but the sadness in his eyes kept the look from being anything like a smile. “You needed the rest. And I’ve only been up a half hour or so.”

  She reached for the pack and added her blanket on top of where Isaac had already folded and stored his. If the mare was well enough to travel, they needed to get on the trail soon.

  After tending to her morning ministrations, she stopped by the fire long enough to grab a handful of meat and a cup of coffee, then started toward the horses.

  “Joanna.” Isaac’s tone held more than a hint of frustration. “Sit and let the coffee soak in a minute before you start working. You’ll be better for it.”

  She didn’t let his words slow her. Taking a deep sip of the scalding brew, she looked for a stump to place the cup while she worked. “I need to saddle the horses and get us loaded.” With the weight of the work on her shoulders, she really didn’t have time for a leisurely breakfast.

  Something like a grunt sounded from Isaac’s direction, but she focused on saddling his gelding. Hopefully the mare could still carry the packsaddle with a few light supplies. She was pretty sure none of it would rub the horse’s injuries, and she would do her best to load the heavier things behind the geldings’ saddles.