Harrison couldn’t tell much difference between the mud pattern over the ground or anything else that might have crawled, hopped, or slithered by. “You sure?” He pulled the damp bandana from his neck and used it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. Squinting at where Frank indicated made no difference, but he trusted his brother implicitly when it came to tracking. He sat back on his heels, weary and heartsick. “Now what?”
Dusk had come to the lower mountain range to shroud it. Ben had brought lanterns and a few of the miners had borrowed some of the oil to fashion makeshift torches, tearing strips from a shirt one of the younger men volunteered. The oil wouldn’t burn for more than a few hours.
Please, Lord, let us find her soon. He nodded to the men. “Light up. Keep your ears open. Noises out here should echo. If anything cries or screams, we follow.”
“Harrison, sometimes animals sound almost human.”
Cutting Ben off with a slashing gesture, Harrison stressed, “We follow.” He waited until Ben gave a brief grunt.
Digging in his pocket, Harrison produced a handful of matchsticks and passed them around.
Frank held out a lantern for him to light and trimmed the wick until the flame steadied.
Harrison took it from his brother. “Let’s go.”
Frank paused, searching his face in the glow, then clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to find her.”
“Yeah.” Harrison held the lantern high as he trailed behind Frank. Anger and fear burned hot in his gut, thinking of the dangers his precious little girl might be facing at this very moment, while they stumbled around in the dark.
It hadn’t taken long to figure out which road from town Brody had used. Excitement and anticipation, hopefulness, pushed them forward. Ben walked alongside Harrison, as Dub and two other men followed on horseback at a distance, leading Beauty and Copper, pausing when Frank held up a staying hand, then moving forward at his all-clear. It made for slow progress.
Too slow.
Harrison ground his back teeth in frustration as he kept the lantern raised, enough for Frank’s experienced eyes to track the hoofprints of Brody’s horse, with its cracked and gouged, right rear shoe. Ordinarily, Harrison’s fury would have boiled up at such disregard for a horse’s safety, if not for that single shoe offering more of a chance. In the dirt of the trail, even over some of the scrub, Frank could track that distinctive print. After they discerned how a faulty shoe could affect the horse’s canter, hope had grown to the certainty the prints would lead them straight to Addie.
Rain and muck on the trail, blurring everything, had killed that hope. They’d lost the prints several times already, and even with the lantern and torches, frustration had set in.
Now, a rutted section loomed before them, as if a stampede of critters had blundered through.
Frank cursed again, one long streak of oaths, as he stopped on the trail. In the torchlight, Harrison spotted the despair on his brother’s face, and his heart dropped sickeningly. Frank held out a hand for the lantern, and Harrison passed it over, fighting to remain calm, more desperate with each wasted second.
Minutes went by with Frank on his knees, searching for the tiniest clue, the merest disturbance. Studying the ground, then moving the lantern carefully, keeping the flame as close as he could, Frank examined a growing swath of churned-up earth.
Finally, he sat back on his heels. “Nothing.” He turned and met Harrison’s eyes. “Too much here.” He indicated the scrub and grasses, the mud that hadn’t completely dried up. “This is a natural crossing for wildlife. One print scratches out another.”
Ben brought over a torch, squatting down even with Frank. “Gonna lose the light soon, unless I snuff this out and add more cloth, soak it well. What d’ya want to do?”
Harrison squinted into the deepening shadows. Another half hour and it’d be full dark. Hopelessness clung to him like painful burrs, almost dropping him to his knees as he tried to fight it off. Turning in a circle gave him nothing to lock onto other than stunted cottonwood and rough pasture.
The foothills of Cascade Mountain loomed in the distance. Jagged rocks and caves he and Frank had explored only once or twice since they’d moved here.
The caves.
He grabbed on to Frank’s sleeve and yanked him to his feet. “What if Brody took her to one of the caves?”
His brother tensed, his eyes hardening with the same knowledge flooding Harrison. What chance did a child have, abandoned? Bile rose up his throat at the thought of how terrified Addie would be. Then panic weakened his knees as he visualized a four-legged predator stumbling across her in search of its meal.
“Don’t think about it.” Frank tugged off his shirt and threw it to Dub. “Rip it up.” He snuffed out the lantern and started unfastening its bottom latch, while Harrison removed his own shirt and sliced it in half, wadding a piece around one of the burned-out limbs they’d used for torches. He waited impatiently while Frank bound it with the torn strips Dub handed over, then poured lantern oil over it.
Less than a minute later, they had two brightly burning torches that would illuminate a cave better than a puny lantern with barely any wick left. Mounting Copper, Harrison hefted the torch and took off toward the caves, leaving Frank and the rest of the men to follow.
They had to find her, alive. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate anything less. Retta would never survive the loss of her child. Blinking hard to clear out the sting from torch smoke—and his own cloying emotion—Harrison urged Copper into a full-out gallop, arriving at the caves first then kicking free of the stirrups and leaping to the ground.
“Addie, where are you, sweetpea? It’s Papa. Addie?” He rushed into the first cave, turning this way and that, searching for boot prints, little-girl prints, anything . . .
The soft snarl of something cat-like sounded from the back of the cave, and his heart broke anew. “Addie, answer me!”
“Harrison, over here,” Frank yelled, waving his torch from a cave opening that looked bigger than most of the others. “Footprints, maybe boots.”
Finding footprints shaped like boots had to be a good sign. “Go in, hurry,” Harrison snapped, sprinting across the short distance. Sending up prayer after prayer, he raced to the cave, stumbling over rocks, dodging boulders and thick scrub.
Panting, he held the torch in front of him, following the glow up ahead where Frank searched. Small, jagged stones thrust up from the cave floor, and the smell of bat droppings was heavy in the dank air.
When he heard the rush of water, he paused.
The cave split into two passageways.
“Jesus Lord,” he groaned. Which way to go? With torchlight already flickering down the left passageway, Harrison chose the right, toward the water, venturing deeper.
Then he saw the huddled form and dropped to his knees. “Oh, God. Addie.” Tossing his torch a safe distance away, Harrison scooped his little angel into his arms. “I found her,” he shouted.
Pressing his lips to her forehead, fresh panic assailed him at how still and cold she was. Shallow breaths lifted her thin little chest, and she shivered violently. In the dim torchlight Harrison spotted blood encrusted on her forehead, over her left eye. Bruises, too. “Frank, get over here.”
A few seconds later Frank knelt next to him, one hand reaching out to touch Addie’s dirt-encrusted hair. “She open her eyes?” At Harrison’s headshake, Frank motioned for Dub. “Give me your duster.”
Frank took the stiff garment Dub handed him. “Lay her in this.” When Harrison only clutched her closer, he added, “You got to let her go for a minute. We need to get her warmer, then you can carry her out.”
Sucking in a shuddering breath, Harrison waited until Frank spread out the duster, and he laid Addie on it, immediately cocooning her as much as he could before he scooped her up again.
“I’m not letting go, dammit. You’ll have to lead Copper.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.” Frank urged Harrison to his feet. “Let’s go. We’ll take her straight to Doc Sheaton.”
~ ~ ~
All during the longest night of her life, Retta had knelt in front of the altar and prayed for Addie’s safe return, promising to be a better mother and wife, and give to charity when she could. She’d never say a cross word about anyone ever again, if only God would bring her baby back to her.
Her heart lurched when a shout came from outside the church. She leapt from the pew and tore down the aisle.
Retta darted into the street along with half the townsfolk, relief flooding her as Dub and Ben rounded the corner of the blacksmith shop. Frank appeared behind them on Beauty, his fist grasping Copper’s reins.
And Harrison sat in the stallion’s saddle, his knees pressing into Copper’s sides.
Her hopeful gaze fixed on her husband, Retta swayed on trembling legs when she spied the bundle in his arms. Relief flooded her and her legs went weak. If not for Cat’s steadying grip on her, Retta would have fallen to the ground.
Cat squeezed her arms firmly. “Didn’t I tell you the Carter brothers would bring back your little girl? Good men, both of them.” She laughed. “Even if one of them is a hard-headed, stubborn braying ass who jumps to conclusions about situations he knows nothing about.”
She gave Retta a gentle nudge. “Go on now.”
Nodding, Retta lifted her skirts and ran down the street to meet Harrison, dodging smiling women and whooping miners.
As she drew near, the worry in his eyes had her expelling a strangled cry. Stumbling to a stop, she trembled and fell to her knees. Her focus riveted on the still form of her daughter clutched to his chest.
Agony burned through her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as a wail rushed out.
Harrison’s lips moved, but it was as if she’d gone deaf, unable to comprehend what he said as her vision blurred and the earth shook underneath her.
In the next instant, her husband was kneeling in the dirt with her, settling Addie into her arms. “She’s alive, Retta.” He cupped her cheek, tipping her face up. “Do you hear me? Alive.”
Retta peered down at the still form of her child, looking so pale and bruised. “Alive?”
As she cradled Addie, he lifted her to her feet. “Yes. But we have to take her to the doc, right now.”
~ ~ ~
Retta managed a faint smile of thanks for the tumbler of water Cat placed on the bedside table. “Anything else I can get you, just give a holler, all right? There’s chicken stewing in the pot, enough to feed everyone.” Cat brushed a tender finger over Addie’s cheek. “Still too pale, poor thing, though her breathing sounds better.”
“I’m not resting easy until she opens her eyes.” Retta held her daughter closer. She hadn’t left the bed since Harrison first laid Addie down. Swaddled in her favorite blanket with Lulu Dolly tucked against her shoulder, Addie slept peacefully, an occasional shiver or cough her only outward signs of distress.
She pressed yet another kiss to Addie’s forehead, noting it felt a lot cooler now that she had broken her fever. Poor mite had been burning up by the time Doc Sheaton examined her. A lukewarm bath had helped, though Addie slept right through it, and Retta cleansed most of the dirt and blood from her head, revealing additional cuts and bumps. More worrisome to Retta was the child’s inability to waken. Doc Sheaton had explained it was a normal occurrence for head-bumps, and Retta did her best to hold on to that promise.
“How is she?” Frank whispered from the door.
Retta motioned him in, and he entered slowly, eyes locking on his sleeping niece. The frown he’d been wearing changed to a look of such tenderness, it actually hurt Retta’s heart. In that instant she knew her brother-by-marriage would lay down his life for Addie.
Frank perched on the edge of the bed, one large hand stretched out to cover Addie’s curled-up legs, still wrapped in the blanket. “I ain’t never been so scared.” His throat rippled as he swallowed, hard.
Retta looked away, feeling tears gathering behind her lids at the emotion this big, rough miner showed. For a time, quiet ruled the room, the faint ticking of the clock in the parlor the only sound.
“Doc says she’ll be fine,” Retta murmured. “She’s got a few bites on her legs and under her arms. Spider bites, most likely.” When Frank’s hand fisted, she hastened to reassure him. “Frank, she probably slept right through it. God willing, Addie won’t remember a thing. She is safe, thanks to you.” Retta gulped against the emotion that instantly suffocated her. Blindly she reached out, and felt his roughened palm close around hers. “If you hadn’t tracked—”
“No. It’s nothing I did. I lost the prints, damn my own hide. I missed the trail. We’d have found her hours sooner.” Frank pulled away and got to his feet, agitated.
“You did save her, Frank.” Harrison appeared in the doorway with dark circles under his eyes and new lines of worry bracketing his mouth. His hair stuck up all over. He must have just crawled out of bed. It had taken all of her persuasion to get him to rest in the first place, and he hadn’t slept nearly long enough.
He dropped a kiss on her temple, then another on Addie’s hair, before confronting his obstinate brother. “Don’t you think for a second you didn’t do anything, you hear me? Jesus . . .” Words seemed to fail Harrison, and they glared at each other in equal measure, before Harrison’s hand shot out and grasped Frank’s arm, yanking him close enough to slap him on the back. Then he simply caught hold, hung on, an embrace when mere words would no longer do.
Watching them, Retta’s throat burned with cloying emotion.
With a final cuff to Harrison’s arm that would probably fell a weaker man, Frank propped himself against the wall. “Sheriff’s coming by in the morning, Ben says. I sent him to town for any information on Morgan. Nobody’s seen the bastard. Lang caught up with Ben and told him he wants to check on Addie.” Frank frowned. “Man’d better not be scaring her.”
“Do you think she could tell him anything?” Retta asked, stroking her child’s hair. Addie released a soft sigh, but didn’t awaken. Retta took the little huff as a hopeful sign.
“It’s possible, but we already know Brody took her. If you’re thinking she might help catch Morgan, I can’t figure Addie’s old enough to verify much.” Harrison rounded the bed and sat on the other side, slipping an arm around Retta, encompassing their daughter. “We don’t know what the hell she’s been through other than Doc Sheaton mentioning her breath smelled of laudanum.” He took a whiff close to Addie’s face as she exhaled. “I don’t smell anything. If that cur Brody poured laudanum down her throat to keep her quiet, he could have killed her.”
“I’d like to bring him back to life just to shoot holes in him again,” Frank growled.
Retta started to agree, when a piercingly high series of yips preceded Noodle down the hall. Spying Retta, he made a beeline for the bed, jumping on the mattress, all wagging tail and lolling tongue. Before Retta could think to stop him, he’d plopped his rump on Addie and was enthusiastically licking her face.
“Noodle, stop. No,” Retta scolded, trying to push the devoted pup away. Noodle’s backside pinwheeled harder.
Harrison made a grab for him but Noodle darted away playfully, then rushed back in and administered a few more licks. “Stupid dog.”
“Noo-doh,” a sleepy little voice squeaked, as Addie wriggled against Retta’s hold. With a gasp, she looked down at their precious daughter struggling to push away her dolly and the blanket in a bid to coax Noodle closer.
Biting back a protest as well as more tears, Retta clapped a hand over her mouth as Addie cuddled the puppy. Noodle flopped on his back, stuck all four legs in the air, and whined ecstatically as Addie passed her hand over hi
s exposed tummy.
“There’s the shortcake,” Frank said gruffly, sinking down on the edge of the bed. He looked as monumentally relieved as Retta felt. Addie was behaving so normally.
Addie’s face broke into a wide grin. “Unca Fank.” As Retta and Harrison looked on, their little girl batted her lashes and pointed a tiny finger at the shirt he’d run home earlier to grab. “You got lemon dops?”
“You bet.” Frank opened his arms for Addie to climb into. She cuddled against his shoulder, one hand going right for his shirt pocket, crowing aloud when she unearthed a piece of the candy he was never without. “Lemon dops, just for you. And something else.” He stood, gently dislodging Addie’s arms, grinning at her pout. “You just sit tight, shortcake, and I’ll be right back.” He slipped out the door, leaving Retta to deal with their daughter’s ire at losing her uncle’s attention.
“What’s he up to?” she whispered to Harrison as she tried to distract Addie with Lulu Dolly.
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Just then a plaintive mewl echoed in the hall outside Addie’s room, and Retta groaned, “Oh, Lord, please tell me that’s not a—”
“Kitten!” Addie squirmed in Retta’s grip, until with a resigned sigh she let go. The ecstatic tot erupted out of her covers, crawling toward the edge of her bed where Frank stood, holding a tiny orange scrap of adorableness. In his big hands the kitten looked fragile and helpless, blinking big green eyes. Until it stretched, dug minuscule claws into his palm, then latched on to his thumb with ferocious kittenish fangs.
“Yowch, dammit. Let go, you little devil.” Frank pried the kitten off his fingers as Addie reached him. Sensing an ally, the kitten made a dash for her nightgown and hid beneath it, meowing and hissing.
Addie beamed at her uncle. “Mine?”
“Yours.” He tousled her hair and tickled her under one ear. “A little girl kitty. Whatcha gonna name her?”
The Substitute Wife (Brides of Little Creede Book 1) Page 19