by Jodi Thomas
It seemed long after dark when she awoke. The room was in shadows and empty. The fire was low, but blankets kept their warmth beneath the covers.
Allie slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the desk, where someone had left a tray of food. She took a piece of bread and the glass of milk then crossed to the windows once more.
Fall’s first storm had blown in while she slept. Even if she’d planned to leave tonight, it wouldn’t be a good time. The rain could turn to ice by morning. Without warm robes, she’d freeze before she could reach her caves in the hill country.
She felt the chill of the night move across her. Winter in the hills would be cold, with endless days of looking for food and checking over her shoulder. She would only be able to risk a fire once a week to cook. The rest of the time she’d have to live on roots and sleep in a cave colder than the outside. On rainy days like this one, she’d be trapped in the darkness without a fire to warm her. In the rain or snow, she’d be easy to track, and Allie knew she’d have to move over the land like the wind if she planned to stay free.
She shivered more from the glimpse of the future than from the present. Almost running, she crossed to Wes and slid beneath the covers on the other side of him from where she’d been sleeping. For a second, she feared he might turn away from her and roll onto his wound, but he didn’t.
After a few minutes, she drew closer to him for warmth. She was only a hair’s-width away when she looked up and saw him watching her. His brown eyes told her he was still too much in sleep to question her nearness.
‘‘Allie,’’ she whispered. ‘‘My name is Allie.’’ It was the first time she’d spoken words in any language for more than five winters and the first time she’d said her real name since the day she’d run with the boy toward the trees. Since the day she’d seen her mother’s body, all bloody and twisted, piled with others. Since the day she no longer had a home.
‘‘Allie,’’ Wes mumbled. He closed his eyes and placed his arm over her, pulling her near as he drifted back into sleep.
SEVEN
WES MCLAIN PULLED HIMSELF TO A SITTING POSITION. He fought back a groan of pain in favor of a few swear words. Tugging his trousers on slowly, he stood.As the fog inside his head cleared, he glanced around the tiny space that had once been his brother’s rented bedroom in this huge house. After Adam and Nichole married, they bought the place from a widow who was in a hurry to get back East. They moved their living quarters upstairs and used the downstairs rooms for Adam’s medical practice and study. But they’d left this little room between the kitchen and the office as a spare bedroom.
The floor was cold. Wes had no idea where his boots were . . . or his shirt, for that matter. Nor did he much care. He needed a drink, maybe two, to kill the throbbing in his side and back. Only thing worse than getting shot was having a doc pull the bullet out. At least Adam knew what he was doing, even if it did feel like Adam had made what felt like a cannonball-sized hole in his back.
But the pain didn’t erase the memory of Vincent’s map or what Wes had to do as soon as he was able. Time was ticking away.
Wes stumbled to the dresser. The compass he’d carried through the war lay next to his saddlebags. He shoved the compass in his pocket and unbuckled one side of his bag. The map was still there, folded in a square of oilcloth just as it had been before the stampede. Waiting.
A wealth buried in gold, Wes reminded himself. Gold enough to make a fresh start.
Wes rebuckled the bag. The map’s secret had waited over thirty years; it would have to wait a few days more. He wasn’t sure he could sit a horse in his condition, much less ride. Vincent Edward had known the land; if he’d lived, finding the treasure would have been much easier. But Vince was dead, and Wes would have to trust the map.
Moving to the door, he shoved his hair from his eyes and felt a week’s growth of a beard along his jaw. A beard he’d shave as soon as he had the energy. Without looking, he knew the whiskers didn’t grow along the scar across his cheek. His almost-black brown hair would only make the thin lightning bolt an inch above his jaw look whiter.
He pushed away from the door frame without looking in the mirror. He was across the hall and two steps into the kitchen before anyone noticed him stumbling around.
When Nichole let out a little cry of joy, Adam stood from beside her at the table. The easy smile that always came to Adam brushed his face at the sight of Wes. Adam took a step toward him then halted.
Wes couldn’t help but grin. His younger brother knew him well. If he could stand on his own, he wanted no help or coddling.
‘‘I see you’re up,’’ Adam stated the obvious.
Wes fell into more than sat in the chair across from them. ‘‘I could use a drink.’’ He glanced toward Rose, the cook, who was openly crying with relief. ‘‘Whiskey, Rose.’’
‘‘Coffee,’’ Adam corrected. ‘‘Or better yet hot cocoa.’’
Wes frowned at him, but didn’t argue. He’d never admit it out loud, but he respected Adam more than any man. All through the War Between the States, Adam had been Wes’s only touch with family. Now, he was still Wes’s only link to what he thought living should be like. For Wes, life was an endless swing of highs and lows. He’d be rich one month and dead broke the next. Adam’s life was stable. He had a home and a wife. Everything Wes once thought would be important. But Angela’s coldness had finally convinced him. That kind of life would never be his.
Wes accepted the shirt Adam handed him. He wasn’t jealous of Adam, he wished him the best. But Wes couldn’t help but wonder from time to time why some men have to fight for every inch of ground they stand on and others don’t.
Rose brought a coffee laced with whiskey. After setting it before Wes, she wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘‘I’m so glad you’re gonna live.’’ She sniffed loudly. ‘‘I made them apple turnovers you like every day, hoping you’d smell them and wanta wake up.’’
‘‘That’s what brought me from the grave.’’ Wes winked at her. ‘‘How long was I out?’’
‘‘Four days,’’ Adam answered. He returned to his seat next to Nichole.
Wes downed half the cup, enjoying the way it warmed his throat. ‘‘I’ll eat a few turnovers if you got them ready now, Rose. It appears the knitting Adam did across my back didn’t kill me this time.’’
Adam grinned. ‘‘If you’re well enough to eat and complain, you’re fine. But you cut it close, brother. If the woman hadn’t got you here, McLain blood would have puddled a wide spot of prairie.’’
Nichole could be silent no longer. ‘‘Tell us about the girl, Wes.’’
For a moment, Wes wasn’t sure who Nichole was talking about. Then he remembered. The woman from the cage. The one who’d slept beside him and kept him warm. From time to time while he slept, his mind registered her moving near. He remembered her holding his head, making him drink once when all he wanted to do was sleep.
‘‘Where is she, kid?’’ he asked over his cup. Nichole might be one fine lady now, but Wes could still remember the Nick who rode like the wind and proved herself a friend.
Rose returned with two apple turnovers on a plate. The little cook leaned close to Wes and whispered, ‘‘That strange woman is in the laundry room taking a bath. She takes one every morning. ’Bout used the winter’s supply of soap.’’ Rose raised her nose. ‘‘It ain’t healthy, a person being that clean in the winter. But I ain’t saying a word, of course, ’cause I’m the last one on this earth to judge—’’
‘‘We’ll buy more soap,’’ Nichole interrupted with a warning glance at Rose to hold her tongue. ‘‘Except for when she bathes, she never leaves your side, Wes. We can’t get her to say a word. Not even her name.’’
‘‘Allie,’’ Wes answered between bites. ‘‘Her name’s Allie. I promised to get her to her family.’’
‘‘Her family?’’ Adam leaned forward with interest.
Wes shook his head. ‘‘If there is any. She must have been picked up during the
raids before the war. All her kin might have been killed, or decided the state was too wild and moved on. All I know is I have to try to find them.’’
Nichole leaned close and placed her hand on Wes’s arm. ‘‘I’ll help,’’ she offered. ‘‘I’ll use my connections at the marshal’s office.’’ She glanced toward the laundry room. ‘‘In the meantime, let the girl be. My guess is she’s got wounds on the inside that may take longer to heal than those we see on the outside.’’
Three days later, to Wes’s frustration, no one had been able to get the woman called Allie to talk. Texas was too big a state to search every settlement for her kin. Her name wasn’t much help, and he’d begun to question that he’d heard her say that. Maybe he’d only dreamed it.
She seemed to be changing before his eyes. If he hadn’t seen it happen, he wouldn’t have believed the creature in the cage and this shy girl were the same person. Nichole, with her limited skill as a seamstress, had managed to cut down two dresses for Allie. But the browns and dusty blues that looked so striking on Nichole faded Allie into the woodwork. She wouldn’t allow anyone to touch her hair, and the brown mass of waves always seemed to cover her face. She moved like a whisper from room to room.
On the third evening, Wes was able to sit at the supper table without feeling like he might fall over at any moment. He decided he’d had enough of her silence. His mood, never sunny, was made even worse by his injuries. Allie refused to eat with anyone. In truth, he hardly saw her now that he was awake. She kept to the background.
‘‘Allie!’’ he shouted when he entered Adam’s office and saw her by the windows.
She jumped at the sound of her name and glanced around as if looking for a place to run.
‘‘Don’t be afraid to talk to me.’’ Wes stumbled over his words as he neared. ‘‘How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going to hurt you?’’
She seemed to shrink before his eyes, melting into the dark cape she wore across her shoulders like armor.
Wes was determined not to back down. This couldn’t go on. The woman had to talk sometime. ‘‘Nichole said the marshal thinks he can help you find your family . . . if you can remember your full name. He’s already got the word out over most of Texas.’’ Wes was within three feet of her now, but he wasn’t sure she was listening. ‘‘Is Allie short for something? Allison? Alisha? Allene?’’
She didn’t raise her head.
‘‘You probably have relatives worrying about you. Do you remember your home? Were you captured on a farm, or some little settlement? If you speak English, you must remember something. Give us something to go on.’’
Wes stared at the ceiling and swore. He felt like he’d asked these same questions a hundred times. He didn’t have to look at her to know what was happening. She was shaking with fear and backing as far as she could into the corner. He’d seen her watching the rain and guessed she was just waiting for a break in the weather to run. But to where? To who?
‘‘Allie,’’ he tried again, not wanting to think of her dying out in the wild somewhere. Maybe she was just wanting to run from people. If so, a hundred deaths could be waiting for her. ‘‘Allie, listen to me!’’
He reached for her wrist and pulled her toward him, determined to make her understand.
Like a sudden explosion of dry lightning across the sky, Allie came to life. She jerked the arm he held and fought wildly to pull away.
For a few seconds, Wes’s grip tightened, pulling her closer as if to quiet the terror he saw in her eyes.
But he was the cause of the fear. Her struggle only intensified. She swung her free hand, frantically trying to hit his head. Her bare feet kicked at his legs. Her teeth bared like an animal preparing to bite.
Wes turned loose of her wrist and backed away. He felt like a fool. She was a wild creature, he could see it in her eyes. She would have killed him if she could have. And for what? For asking her full name. If he had any sense, he’d be worried about the wolves who might be unlucky enough to try to attack her. There was no reasoning with this woman. It would be better to allow her to go her own way.
Without turning his back to her, Wes walked to the center of the room. All the pain in his body was forgotten as he watched her slip back into the corner. ‘‘I know you understand me!’’ he shouted, as if somehow he could win a battle he’d already lost.
He tried to pull his nerves together. He’d never been afraid to face anything in his life. He’d always been one to ride headlong into danger, but how could he handle her? No matter what she did, he could never raise a hand against her. But he’d seen the fear in her eyes and knew she’d kill him if he ever tried to touch her again. That made him about the biggest fool on earth, because he knew he’d stand there and let her.
The memory of the woman who’d slept beside him played through his thoughts. He closed his eyes and remembered how she’d let him touch her hair and how soft and willing her body had felt against his.
‘‘I’m not going to say I’m sorry.’’ Wes opened his eyes. ‘‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Allie, only get you to talk to me. I swear I’ll help you find your family. But you’re not making it easy. You have to tell me what you know about your past. Any little detail.’’
She turned to face the rain once more, as if she hadn’t heard his words.
‘‘Can’t you even answer me?’’ He tried lowering his voice, but he’d never had much cause to sound gentle and kind.
Her head dropped slightly, and he thought he saw a tear. He didn’t move to comfort her. He’d already gotten too close once tonight.
‘‘You have nothing to fear from me. We’ll stay married so you will be safe until I find your family, then you’ll be free of me. I owe you that much for saving my life.’’
He could see her shoulders curl in as she pressed against the icy window. He had no idea where she wanted to be, but it definitely wasn’t with him.
‘‘All I ask is that you help me to help you. Nothing more.’’ Wes set his jaw. Why should helping her come any easier than anything else he tried? ‘‘I want no wife in my life or my bed. You’ve no worry or fear there.’’ He had to say the words out loud, even if he was the only one listening. ‘‘As soon as the weather clears, we’ll start the search.’’
He never wanted to see the hatred in her eyes again. But the only way he’d be rid of her was to find her a safe place to stay. He’d have an easier job finding someone to adopt a porcupine.
She avoided him the rest of the evening, acting like he was the enemy. Since he’d been feeling better and moving around, Allie had taken to sitting in the sewing room upstairs with Nichole. She seemed to like Nichole, for Nichole was the only one in the house who accepted her on face value, never asking questions, never demanding answers. Also, unlike the cook, his sister-inlaw felt little need to keep a conversation going when it was one-sided.
Wes undressed for bed and stretched out on top of the covers, not caring that the air chilled his skin. He’d felt lousy all day, but it had nothing to do with his wound. How could a woman who didn’t speak or ask a blasted thing of him make him feel so angry?
Long after the house had grown quiet, the bedroom door slowly opened.
‘‘Evening,’’ Wes said, knowing she wouldn’t answer.
Allie slipped into the room and placed clean clothes on the dresser.
‘‘You still mad at me?’’ Wes waited a moment just in case there was an answer. ‘‘Not that I care one way or the other. A man can’t go around apologizing for something he didn’t do.’’
He watched her closely, wondering where she’d sleep tonight. Since he’d been able to stand on his feet, she’d curled into the chair in the corner every night. He was surprised she stayed in the same room with him if she feared him so much.
The thought occurred to him that maybe nowhere else felt safe either.
Allie wrapped her cape around her and tucked her bare feet up into the chair as she curled into a ball and closed her eyes.
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Wes watched her for a while. She looked so tiny. She didn’t stand tall enough to reach his shoulder, and her arms looked thin to the point of starvation.
Her hair was just curly enough to look like it grew wild around her. In the firelight, he thought he could see red streaks running through it. But at dawn, he would swear gold drifted through the strands.
Wes opened and closed his hands. How he wanted to touch it again. Which made no sense, he decided, because he didn’t even like the girl. She was just one more barrier slowing him down in his quest for the Goliad treasure Vince had sworn was just waiting for them. If Wes hadn’t seen her in the cage, he’d probably have the gold in his hands by now. Gold that reminded him of her hair at dawn.
He turned away from her and closed his eyes. She was a long ride from normal and she was driving him to the same destination. They were a fine match. No woman had ever loved him, and no man would ever get close enough to love her. He fell asleep listening to a wind that sounded almost as lonely as he was.
Deep into the night, the fire in the tiny corner fireplace burned itself out, and the temperature dropped so low that rain froze against the window. Wes rolled over and saw her still curled in the chair, hugging the cape around her to keep warm.
He could feel her chill as though it were his own. Slowly, he stood and lifted a blanket from his bed. As silently as he could, Wes crossed to her chair and draped the quilt over her.
The memory of how she’d fought him was thick in his mind, as he looked down at her huddled between the arms of a wooden chair. Carefully, he wrapped the blanket around her and lifted her. Ignoring the pain that shot through his back, he carried her to the bed and placed her where his body had already warmed a place. Then, very carefully, he stretched out beside her and pulled the remaining covers over them both.
Wes lay still, expecting her to bolt at any moment. But she didn’t. After a few minutes, she stretched beneath the warmth and curled against him in sleep.
‘‘I promise,’’ he whispered as her hair brushed his cheek, ‘‘I promise I’ll never hurt you, Allie.’’