by Karen Kirst
What if she didn’t make it to Lillie’s wedding in two days? What if she expired from thirst or hunger instead? Her sister would never know what Delsie had endured to reach her. Or their father, either.
“You all right?” Myles nudged his horse closer to hers. He’d asked the same question nearly every hour or whenever her pace started to lag behind his and Amos’s.
She nodded, too tired and thirsty to form a reply.
As if sensing her need, which Delsie was starting to think he could, he passed her his canteen. “Here. Drink.”
“But…” She swallowed to bring moisture to her parched mouth. “We aren’t supposed to drink until we rest.”
Myles continued to hold the canteen out to her, his mouth a grim line.
With a sigh of acceptance, she took the canteen. The tepid liquid still felt glorious sliding down her throat. She allowed herself one more swallow, then passed the container back. Instead of taking a drink himself, Myles put the water away. The sight brought the sting of tears to Delsie’s eyes. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she’d find a man so loyal and good-hearted and so far from home to be her dearest friend.
He’s more than a friend, her heart argued. The press of tears increased. Yes, she cared for Myles—loved him, even—in a way that went well beyond mere friendship.
I love him.
The truth hit her with such force that Delsie sucked in a sharp breath, the moisture in her eyes gone as quickly as it had come.
“Something wrong?” Myles asked, peering closely at her.
She gulped and shook her head. She loved him, this ornery, wonderful, handsome Express rider sticking close to her side. The pure joy and giddiness of her realization was short-lived, though. Loving Myles didn’t change the fact that she had to return to her father after Lillie’s wedding. The only way she knew to fully mend the rift in her family was to return home. But when she did, she couldn’t marry Flynn—not anymore. Not when she knew what it felt like to love a man. She glanced at Myles and saw him watching her. And be loved in return.
Perhaps she would find someone else back in Pennsylvania. But she guessed it would be a very long time before she had any room in her heart for anyone but Myles.
Wiping sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, she set her jaw, determined to think of something other than food or Myles. Two things she couldn’t have. A soft prick of claws near her collarbone alerted her to Elijah’s sudden perch on her shoulder. Stunned, she twisted to face Myles.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s never done that before. Not even with Amos.”
A ripple of pride wound through Delsie. A few short weeks ago she hadn’t ridden anything but sidesaddle or known how to cook or even understood her own strength. Now she easily sat on her horse with a sparrow hawk on her shoulder.
She released one hand from the reins to brush her finger over Elijah’s soft feathers. No wonder Myles loved the bird so much. The cloud of despair she’d been riding beneath for almost two straight days evaporated under the hawk’s calming presence. She could do this—they could do this.
*
Myles eyed the distant station with relief. Even the missing roof and charred adobe were a somewhat welcome sight, a chance to rest and hopefully find some food and water. He hadn’t liked the weariness lining Delsie’s face earlier. She’d been wilting before his eyes the past two days and it scared him. On occasion he still saw that spark of life and optimism flare in her expression, as it had when Elijah chose to ride on her shoulder, but it faded all too quickly. The burden of riding so far without regular meals and water was taking its toll on her and the horses. He’d had to slow their pace to compensate.
When they reached the burned station, Myles cautiously slid from his saddle. He moved slowly, a revolver in each hand, to the cabin and pushed the door in with his boot. There was no one, alive or otherwise, inside. He blew out the breath he’d been holding. While there didn’t appear to be anything in the way of food, either, Amos had told them of a nearby spring.
“It’s empty,” he announced as he stepped back outside.
Amos nodded. “Figured as much. The spring’s back that way.”
Delsie dropped to the dirt beside her mare, while Elijah flew off to hunt. “I can taste the water already.”
The spring sat several hundred yards from the station. The horses eagerly drank, then Myles, Amos and Delsie knelt down to scoop up water for themselves. Myles removed his hat and dumped handfuls of the cool water onto his head and warm face. Delsie followed suit, laughing as tiny rivers ran down her hair and cheeks.
“How much farther will we go tonight?” she asked Amos.
Amos rubbed at his bristled chin. “I figure another twenty miles will put us just sixty more from Placerville, where your sister lives.”
Delsie’s face lit brighter than Myles had seen it in hours. “We’re that close?”
The older man nodded, a pleased smile on his face. Myles guessed the reason had more to do with Delsie’s enthusiasm than being so close to the end of their journey. “We can try and hunt up something to eat around here, then keep going before we stop for the ni—”
A bloodcurdling yell pierced the air, cutting off Amos’s explanation and sending ice-cold shivers up Myles’s spine. The horses shifted nervously, their eyes wide. Myles jumped to his feet, but he couldn’t see the source of the war cry.
“Take one of the guns and get into the brush,” he hollered at Delsie. “We’ll get the horses in the corral.”
Her face devoid of color, she accepted the gun he thrust into her hand and scrambled into the bushes to lie down on her stomach. Satisfied, Myles grabbed the reins of her mount and his and sprinted toward the corral. He sensed more than saw Amos and the other horse coming right behind him.
He pushed open the gate, grateful the fence had survived the earlier attack on the station, and led the horses inside. The moment Amos had the gate closed, Myles released the reins. “You guard the horses,” he told the older man. “I’ll take a position by the cabin.”
Amos gave a quick nod, his expression grim.
After vaulting the corral fence, Myles moved half-hunched-over until he reached the cabin. His heart beat double time within his chest and his mouth felt full of sand, as though he hadn’t just drunk his fill at the spring.
The Indians still hadn’t shown themselves, but he wouldn’t be fooled into thinking they’d left. He crept forward along the cabin wall until he reached the front corner. Five Indians on ponies were riding hard toward the station from the east, bows drawn. Had they been trailing them for some time, waiting for them to stop? Either way, they would have to ride past Myles before they reached the corral at his back.
Taking aim at the lead rider, he offered a quick prayer of forgiveness. He’d never shot a man before, but he wouldn’t let harm come to Delsie or Amos. He cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger. The blast was nearly as loud as his own heartbeat in his ears. He watched as the Indian fell to the ground.
The other men jerked away from the dead man and continued forward. Myles fired the gun again, hitting one rider in the leg. The man screamed in pain and wheeled his horse to the side, but the other three didn’t slow. Sweat dripped into Myles’s eyes, obscuring his view for a moment. He shot at one rider attempting to go around the cabin the opposite way from where he crouched, knocking the man off his pony.
Myles emptied his gun on the remaining two Indians, but they weaved out of range each time. Shots from the corral confirmed Amos, too, was trying to stop their advance.
It was time to load the extra cylinder he’d grabbed. He tried to hurry, but his hands fumbled through the task as if it was his first time. Memories of teaching Delsie to shoot filled his thoughts, but he gritted his teeth and pushed them aside. If he focused on her or his fear of something happening to her, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
He’d just finished with the cylinder when a sudden thought filled his mind. Look up. Jer
king his head up, Myles saw the Indian he’d shot to the ground earlier was back on his feet. Even worse, he had a bow and arrow trained at Myles’s heart. Myles cocked the hammer, took quick aim and fired his gun, but the Indian had done the same with his weapon. He’d released his arrow with deadly precision, straight at Myles.
Within a single heartbeat, Myles fired a second time, then twisted to shelter his chest. He heard the Indian’s death cry right before a searing pain below his shoulder tore a similar cry from his own mouth.
Red-and-white dots covered his vision as he slumped to the ground. Where were the other three Indians? He couldn’t see them.
“Myles!” Delsie screamed.
“Stay back,” he cried, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Don’t come out.”
He crawled forward, intent on reaching her, the sounds around him growing more and more distant. He thought he heard Amos call his name from behind, thought he caught sight of the other two Indians leading the injured one away. But he couldn’t be sure over the roar of the pain in his head, his back, his lungs. He only knew he had to reach Delsie, had to be sure she wasn’t hurt. But he only managed to drag himself another few feet before the agony reared up to claim him and he pitched forward into darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Myles!”
The scream left Delsie’s throat raw. She’d watched in horror as the Indian had released his arrow toward the spot where she knew Myles was crouched, then the man had fallen, unmoving, to the ground. But she couldn’t see or hear Myles. Fear pulsed icy in her veins at the thought of him hurt, or worse… She bit her lip against her rising panic. Branches scratched at her face and dress, but she waited, her eyes trained on the cabin. Please be safe. Please be safe.
Movement to her left pulled her attention in that direction. The other Indians were leaving. Relief coursed through her, but it was fleeting. She heard Amos yell Myles’s name as well, but there was no response. Where was he? She climbed slowly to her knees, her body trembling with worry. Not even the sight of their pursuers had inspired as much fear in her as the thought of losing Myles did.
Then suddenly he was there, crawling in front of the cabin. Delsie rushed to her feet, a smile working the corners of her mouth. Until she saw the arrow sticking out of his back, below his shoulder. Fresh terror washed over her as she stumbled from the shelter of the brush, the revolver still gripped in her hand.
“Myles,” she screamed again, but he slumped to the ground, his eyes shut. “No, no, no, no.” She rushed across the station yard, doing her best to ignore the dead Indian still lying there. This couldn’t be happening.
Amos reached his side right before her. Delsie dropped herself and the gun to the ground, her hands hovering over Myles’s still body. Blood wet his shirt around the arrow.
“He’s not…” She couldn’t even voice the word.
Bending down, Amos glanced at her and shook his head. “He’s not dead—just unconscious from the pain. That arrow’s gonna need to come out. Go see what they’ve got in that cabin by way of supplies.”
She willed back the tears pressing hard against her eyes and nodded. Climbing to her feet, she hurried into the cabin. What would help Myles? She turned in a helpless circle, her mind too cloudy with fear to think. “Come on, Delsie,” she chided herself.
She found a blanket under the bed that had been singed but still had plenty of workable material left to it. There was also a tin cup and a chipped china bowl. She added them both to the blanket in her arms. Her search of the rest of the cabin produced nothing else of value, so she ran back outside.
Amos glanced up as she came near him. “What have you got?”
“A blanket we could use as bandage material and a cup and bowl for carrying some of the spring water.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding.
The gravity of the situation had etched itself onto every line of Amos’s face. Still, he set his jaw and turned to face Myles again. “Will you go get some water from the spring?”
Setting the blanket next to him, Delsie obeyed. She filled the cup and bowl with as much water as they could hold, then she moved carefully but quickly back to Amos and Myles.
Amos took the filled dishes from her and placed them on the ground. “Now I need you to go over by the horses, Delsie.”
“What for?” She didn’t want to leave Myles.
The older man released a breath of resignation. “I’ve got to pull this arrow out, and I know he wouldn’t want you around when I do it.”
Delsie gazed down at Myles. His handsome face blurred with renewed tears. “All right.”
“Good girl.”
She set her sights on the corral and forced her feet to move in that direction, away from Myles’s prone figure. When she reached the horses, she walked the fence line until the cabin obscured her view of the two men. What would happen when Amos pulled out the arrow? She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
A cry so loud and full of pain it made her gasp shattered the quiet evening air. The horses even skittered at the sound. No longer checking the tears coursing down her cheeks, she wrapped her arms around the nearest fence post and hung on. Another agonized shout filled her ears. “Please don’t let him die, Lord. Please don’t let him die.”
After several long minutes, she heard Amos call for her. Delsie rushed back. The arrow no longer protruded from Myles’s back, but he was no longer unconscious, either. Hard lines of pain creased his face, and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Amos had tied a portion of the blanket over his wound, though the blood still seeped through.
“We need to get him inside but moving him is going to hurt something fierce.” Amos knelt in front of Myles’s head. “I’ll take his upper body, but I need you to get his legs.”
Delsie pressed her mouth over a fresh sob. “I can do that.” She positioned herself below Myles’s boots, praying she would have the strength to carry him and not injure him further.
“All right,” Amos said. “On the count of three, we’ll lift him together. Ready?”
She managed a nod, even as her heart beat faster against her ribs.
“One…two…three!”
She lifted Myles’s legs as Amos raised his head and shoulders. Myles cried out in agony as they slowly turned him toward the cabin. The cry tore at her heart, but she made herself focus on walking one step after the other. Once inside she helped Amos lay him, stomach down, on the tick mattress.
When she stepped back, she saw that he’d passed out again. Perhaps that was better, for now. “I’ll get more water,” she volunteered. At least it was something she could do.
She collected the bowl and cup, which had both been emptied of nearly all their liquid, and returned to the spring. Had it only been a short time ago when they’d all been sitting here happy? Delsie filled the vessels and carried them back to the cabin. Amos had pulled a chair up to the bed and was once again examining Myles’s wound.
“Is it very bad?” She hated not knowing, but at the same time, she feared his answer.
“It’s not good,” Amos replied honestly. “But we would have lost him for sure if it had struck his chest or stomach.” He stood and headed for the door. “Since it looks like we’ll be here for some time, I’m going to see what I can find for supper and get to work burying those two men outside.”
Delsie sat in the chair next to Myles. A minute or two later, Amos ducked back inside, both of Myles’s guns in hand.
“You keep one of these with you,” he said, handing her one of the guns. “I doubt those Indians are coming back tonight, but you know how to use this if they do.”
She gave a wooden nod, her eyes trained on Myles.
“Delsie?”
She turned toward Amos, standing in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I’m praying for him, too.”
His words infused her with renewed hope.
“I’ll be back.” He shut the door behind him.
> She set the gun on the floor, within easy reach, beside her chair, then she took Myles’s hand in hers. How many times had these strong, masculine hands provided comfort to her over the past few weeks? She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, willing all her strength and hope and love to reach him through her touch.
Shutting her watery eyes, she bent her head and began her silent prayers for help.
*
Bright light and immense pain registered simultaneously in Myles’s mind. He jerked awake, opening his eyes, and regretted the movement at once. The back of his shoulder roared in agony. Sucking his breath in through clenched teeth, he did his best to relax his body.
“Myles? Are you awake?” The scent of lavender wafted over him as Delsie leaned near. Carefully he turned his head to look at her. She sat on a chair at his bedside, her eyes wide with concern, her hands twisting and untwisting a handkerchief in her lap. The sight of her alive and unharmed brought him a moment of peace.
“Where’s Amos? Is he all right?”
A sheen of tears graced her long lashes, but she managed a tentative smile. “Amos is fine. He went to find some breakfast. Are you hungry? You didn’t want anything last night.”
“Last night?” Myles ran a hand over his tried eyes, trying to recall the last thing he remembered. Amos had pulled the arrow from his back—that was something he wouldn’t soon forget—then he’d been carried into the cabin. After that, he could vaguely recall Amos rebandaging his wound once or twice. “What time is it?”
Delsie glanced at the roofless ceiling of the cabin. “Probably nearing eight o’clock or so.”
“Eight o’clock?” he echoed. Normally they would have been two hours or more into their journey by now. Delsie couldn’t afford a late start—not when her sister was getting married tomorrow. “Can you help me sit up?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“Please, Delsie. Help me up.” He’d vowed to get her to the end of the trail, no matter what, and he wouldn’t go back on his word.