He stilled, not quite able to take his eyes off of her. She must have sensed his presence, for she turned, her brown eyes taking him in. For a long moment, their gazes held, and he wasn’t sure what passed between them. Maybe simply an awareness. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away, not until she broke the hold as she turned to look at her daughter.
Easing back, he inhaled a lungful of chilly air. He had to get a grip on himself before he did something that would break her trust.
After filling a plate with the flapjacks and a cup with water he’d kept simmering, he turned back to Mrs. Clark. “I’ve some warm food and water here for you. Just let me know when you’re ready for it.” He couldn’t tell what she was doing in there, fussing with blankets or something, her back turned to him. He tried not to look, just in case.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Thank you. If you’ll set it down beside me, that would be wonderful.”
He did as she said, placing the dishes just at the edge of the shelter. “I’m gonna check on the horses. Call out if you need anything.”
Her attention was still occupied inside the shelter, so he stepped back, then turned and walked away. The animals had to be his focus now.
And a welcome change. Horses he knew. Women and babies were foreign territory.
SAMUEL GLANCED OVER his shoulder to look for the yearling later that morning. The horse had been growing braver as they rode, lingering back until he was almost out of sight before tearing forward to catch up. Now midway through the afternoon, the colt was still up to the same tricks.
“Is he coming?” Mrs. Clark rode beside him, little Cherry awake for once in the sling hanging from her neck.
“I think I still see him, but he’s not coming yet.” He really didn’t want to have to put the colt on a lead line. The horse seemed barely halter broken, and it would likely be a fight to keep him moving with them, even though his mother was the pack horse tethered to Samuel’s gelding.
Just then, that same mare raised her head and nickered.
“Thatta girl.” Samuel reached back to scratch the mare’s forelock. “Call your boy.”
A squeal sounded in the distance behind them. Then a speck of brown came tearing toward them, bucking as he ran. The colt loosed anther cry as he paused to rear up, his front legs striking the air wildly.
“What in the world?” Samuel tightened his grip on his reins so his own gelding didn’t get nervous from the shenanigans.
The horse tore forward again, galloping full-tilt toward them like fire was licking his hooves. When he reached them, he didn’t stop, but veered around in a high-speed circle.
“I think there’s something on his muzzle.”
Samuel saw the shadow just as Mrs. Clark spoke. Like oversize whiskers poking out from the tender flesh of his nose.
A knot tightened in Samuel’s gut. Porcupine quills.
This wouldn’t be easy. He slid off his horse and looked around for a place to tie the animal. No trees for quite a distance. And he couldn’t leave his gelding ground tied because of the mare tethered behind the saddle. Too much chance for something to go wrong.
“I’ll hold him.” Mrs. Clark reached for the reins. She already had little Cherry to worry about, but he didn’t have another choice. He had to get those quills out of the colt’s skin before he really hurt himself.
Chapter Eight
“The farther we travel, the more thankful I am that I don’t travel alone.”
~ Moriah
SAMUEL HANDED OVER the reins, then untied the rope hanging from the pack mare’s saddle. The colt had slowed his frantic circling and now charged toward Samuel where he stood beside the mare.
“Easy, boy.” He tried to catch the yearling’s neck, but the animal barged through his grip and pressed against the mare—his mother.
She squealed and kicked out when the porcupine barbs pressed against the soft flesh of her flank, and the colt jerked back as though he’d touched a hot anvil. The contact must’ve pushed the quills farther into his own skin.
Samuel sidestepped to get out of the mare’s kicking range, then turned his focus to the yearling. “Come on, boy. Let me help you.” He eased toward where the colt stood heaving, hooves spread and mouth open, as though trying to take in air that way instead of through his pain-riddled nose. His tongue hung to the side.
Poor horse. A pinch of fear slipped through Samuel’s chest. Could the colt die from this episode? As long as Samuel could get the quills out, he was pretty sure the animal would be fine. But what if the young thing’s heart couldn’t bear the strain? If he didn’t settle down, his condition could get a lot worse. And the last thing Mrs. Clark needed was to lose one of her horses, too.
Keeping one hand outstretched, he eased the rope into position with his other so he could send the loop over the horse’s head. He was close now, within five strides. The yearling made a hoarse choking sound in his throat, then turned and bolted, flinging his head with every few strides.
Determination slipped into place inside Samuel. It was time to step up his efforts. While the colt ran in a wide circle around them, bucking and trying to escape the pain from the porcupine quills, Samuel worked a loop into his rope like he’d used when catching calves for branding back on the Van Vleck ranch in California.
After he had the rope ready, it took a couple more minutes for the colt to slow and draw near enough. Samuel swung the loop in a steady circle around his own head, gaining momentum to toss it over the horse.
Those years of working on the ranch paid off. Samuel slid the rope over the animal’s head with the first throw. The loop must have brushed the spikes as it landed, for the colt jerked back, bobbing his head wildly. When he felt the tension of the loop around his neck, he exploded, jerking hard against the rope. Scrambling, almost sitting down on his haunches.
Samuel fought to hold the rope, easing forward to loosen the loop and give the animal enough slack to breathe. He couldn’t let the horse get away. The sting of the fibers bit into his palms, making him long for a pair of gloves.
As the colt struggled to keep his footing, all the while fighting to get away from this new terror, Samuel moved forward to loosen the rope. He was probably going to have to tie the colt down to remove the barbs, something he wasn’t looking forward to.
This poor animal was out of its mind with fear and pain. The sooner they got this done, the better.
By the time he finally had the yearling down, lying on the ground with three legs tied, Samuel and the animal were a sweaty, exhausted mess. The horse’s sides heaved, and more whites showed in his fearful eyes than the normal dark coloring.
Samuel eased down next to the colt’s head, then stroked his forelock and the blaze splashed across his face. “It’s all right, boy. We’re gonna get you taken care of. Hang in there for me.”
There had to be at least twenty quills stuck in the tender flesh of the horse’s muzzle, most poking an inch or so out. Samuel reached for one of the closest. The moment he touched it, the horse jerked back, bobbing his nose and opening his mouth wide again, tongue hanging to the side like before. Such a pitiful sight.
“Easy, boy.” He went back to stroking so the animal would settle, then looked up and scanned the area.
Mrs. Clark stood a dozen strides away, holding the other three horses, Cherry tucked in the sling in front of her. Concern marred the woman’s face. “What can I do?”
There was no way he was letting her or that fragile baby near this crazed animal. And he couldn’t think of anything in his packs that would help with the job ahead. A good pair of forceps would be the thing, but he didn’t have a set with him. Hadn’t expected to need them.
He shook his head. “Just keep yourself and the baby safe. And if you can keep those horses quiet, that’d be helpful too. If they put you in danger though, let them go.”
Turning his focus back to the colt, he analyzed the locations of each barb. Most of them were on the front and left side of the face, so it might
be best if he jerked the two needles on the right side out quickly, then tried to keep the horse’s head lying flat on that side.
Thankfully, both of those quills were thick enough he could get a decent grip on them. The horse jerked when he felt the touch, but Samuel was prepared for the response and used the colt’s efforts to help extract the needle.
He eased out a breath as he held the skinny thing between his fingers. Amazing how a little barb like this could send a mighty horse into a tumble. It took several moments of soothing and stroking before the colt stilled enough for him to pull out the second quill on that side.
Again, the horse jerked and bobbed its head, but some of the strength seemed to be easing out of its protests.
“Thatta, boy.” Samuel stroked his forehead again, then eased around and gently lowered his knee to rest on the horse’s neck. Hopefully, this would help the colt feel a little more secure and make him stop fighting. It sure helped with the calves during branding.
By the time he’d pulled half a dozen more quills, the colt had stopped fighting. Samuel kept up a steady crooning and did his best not to let his own nerves bunch up as he pulled spike after spike from the colt’s nose. Blood seeped from the empty holes, and it didn’t take long before they were both smeared in crimson.
At last, he pulled the final quill from the colt’s lower lip. He rubbed his hand once more over every part of horse’s muzzle to check for any he’d missed, smearing more blood in the process. His skin felt only whiskers, not the stiff fibers of the porcupine quills.
“We’re done.” He eased his knee off the colt’s neck, then stroked that part of him. “I hope you learned your lesson. I sure don’t want either of us to go through this again.”
With a final gentle pat, he pulled the rope off the horse’s neck, then moved down to untie his legs. When he was free, the colt didn’t seem to want to move. Samuel stood and shifted around to stand behind him, giving him an upward push.
That set the horse in motion, and he scrambled to his feet, then stood with feet spread, gulping in big breaths. Samuel stepped close again and stroked the horse’s neck. “I need to spend more time with you, I think. I’m sure Mrs. Clark hasn’t been able to, but you need more experience around people. It’d do you good.”
At last, he turned his weary body back to where Mrs. Clark still stood with the horses. The toll of the ordeal seemed to have settled into every one of his muscles and bones. He’d not felt this worn-out since his days on the ranch.
He strode forward, stumbling a little over his own feet as he walked. He had to pull himself together. The day wasn’t anywhere near over.
As he drew near, Mrs. Clark studied his face, her gaze taking in everything. He reached for his reins, and she allowed him to pull them from her grasp. Yet her brows furrowed as she watched him.
“I think we should stop for the night.” She reached up and touched his temple, wiping what must be a smear of blood. Her touch seared his skin, sending a tingle all the way down his back. It wasn’t a hurried touch, yet she didn’t linger overlong either.
Her gaze dropped from his face, drifting off into the distance. “As soon as we find water, we make camp.”
His body was still reeling so much from the impact of her fingers on his skin, he couldn’t have denied her if he’d wanted to. And her idea sounded perfect to him.
“All right. Are you and Little Bit unhurt?” He looked down at the babe, who lay snuggled against her mother, one tiny fist up next to her face. So peaceful.
“We’re well. Ours was the easy task.”
He looked up at her and tried to summon a smile. “I hope he learned his lesson about porcupines.”
Her smile was soft, so beautiful it made his chest ache.
With all the willpower he had left, he turned and positioned the horses so Mrs. Clark and he could mount up. Even if they camped soon, he and this woman still had a long evening ahead.
WHILE MRS. CLARK NURSED the babe, Samuel took a few minutes for a much-needed bath. Not a full dunking, but he stripped his bloody shirt off and washed from the waist up, then scrubbed out the sweat and dirt and everything else clogging the fabric. Good thing he’d brought an extra shirt, ’cause there was no way he could have stood himself in this one for another day.
When he was done, he checked the horses once more before gathering an armload of wood. The colt was stretched out in the grass near his mother, worn out from the day’s ordeal. His face was probably still sensitive. Samuel would need to keep an eye on him to make sure he ate enough while the wounds healed.
As he neared the place where he’d left woman and child, he made his steps a little heavier so she would hear him coming. When only a thin layer of trees stood between him and the camp, he stopped. “Is it all right if I come closer?”
“Come.” Mrs. Clark’s voice was always soft, but he could hear the added weariness in just that word.
He stepped between the last of the trees, his gaze taking in the woman leaning over the makings of a fire. Little Cherry lay on a blanket behind her mother, gurgling and cooing.
He eased his load of wood beside a tree where it would be out of the way. “I can take care of that.” He motioned toward the tiny flame she’d sheltered inside a tent of birch bark.
She straightened, and the weary curve of her shoulders was hard to miss.
He dropped to his knees beside her where he could continue to nurture the fire. “Why don’t you go refresh yourself at the creek? Cherry and I will have the fire built up by the time you get back.” He offered what he hoped was a competent grin, but his tired muscles had trouble holding the expression.
Her gaze searched his face. “Are you sure?”
He gripped her upper arm. “I’m sure. Take a few minutes, you’ve earned them.” In the seconds their gazes held, the realization of what he’d done sank through him.
He’d touched her. Was still touching her. He dropped his hand to his lap as heat flamed up his neck. Turning to the fire, he leaned forward and tucked a few fragments of bark into the flame.
She didn’t move at first, still kneeling beside him. He’d positioned himself too close to her. Maybe that was his first mistake. But he’d expected her to rise, leaving him in the right place to tend the fire.
Finally, she stood. “You’re sure you don’t mind watching her?”
He straightened, brushing bark from his hands. “I’d like to see her for a bit. We haven’t had much chance to visit today, have we, Miss Cherry?” He shifted closer to the little one and peered down at her.
After another moment, Mrs. Clark padded away, taking the weight of her presence with her.
He did get the fire burning, but he had to admit he spent most of the time Mrs. Clark was gone playing with the baby. That little thing didn’t have many expressions yet, but she still found a way to get her point across. She was certainly ticklish on her tiny feet, and he was pretty sure she gave a real smile at one point.
Mrs. Clark’s quiet steps slipped into his awareness, and he raised his gaze to her. In truth, she was like true north to his compass, drawing his focus no matter where she was. But this time as he looked, his breath caught in his throat. Her dark brown hair was damp and slicked back, taking on the shimmer of a crow’s wing. The weary lines around her eyes had disappeared, making her look so fresh and beautiful, his chest squeezed tight.
And the softness in her eyes as she met his gaze was almost his undoing. He sat back on his heels, scrambling for something to say. Trying to patch the fragments of his scattered thoughts back together. “I, um, can get started heating food. The fire’s hot now.”
She moved toward the pack where they’d combined their food supplies. “I’ll make stew and you sit. But don’t think you have to entertain the babe. She’s content on her own.”
Sitting here watching Mrs. Clark prepare the meal sounded just shy of heavenly. And not just because every part of his body ached. Watching this woman was like watching a deer run, all grace and agile move
ments. And every part of her beautiful.
He stretched out next to Cherry and let her grasp the strands of his hair and tug, something she’d already shown she liked to do. Sometimes she’d get his nose instead, and he pretended to eat her hand. She hadn’t yet learned to laugh, of course, but he could almost hear the giggle in the light of her eyes.
Playing with her seemed to awaken something inside him he hadn’t known he possessed. Something warm and protective that made his chest ache. If he had to put a name to it, he might call it love. This wasn’t his baby—not by a long shot—but with every passing hour, he could imagine less and less how his life would continue without her.
Chapter Nine
“I’ve learned to trust the senses God gave me.”
~ Samuel
BY THE TIME MRS. CLARK had the stew tucked in beside the fire to cook, Samuel knew he had to get up and set to work. He’d dawdled too long, although he wouldn’t have traded a minute of his time with the little angel, watching her mother prepare the food.
“All right, pumpkin. It’s time I get started on your house for tonight.” He pushed up to sitting and gave her tiny foot a last tap.
Mrs. Clark turned to him as he rose. “Thank you for playing with her. She really enjoys it.” Again, that smile. Something about her seemed so much softer this evening, emphasizing her beauty. He’d been aware of how pretty she was from their first meeting, but it hadn’t reached out and clutched hold of him every time he looked at her—not like it did tonight.
“I had more fun than she did, no doubt.” He tried to keep his words light. Tried not to betray the depth of the thoughts and feelings rooting deeper inside him.
It was high time he focus on his work. “Is there anything you need before I get started on the shelter?”
Her eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Thank you, no. The meal should be ready when you’re done.”
The thought of food brought to life the empty places in his belly. “Sounds good. I’ll work fast.” He reached out and touched her arm as he stepped by her. And it wasn’t until he’d passed her and started into the woods that he realized what he’d done.
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