His family would love her.
Evelyn, The House
Preparing dinner kept her hands occupied and her mind busy. For two long and very lonely days she’d remained out of sight and appeared only long enough to let them see her grieving. The manipulation soured her stomach, but the ends, in this case, truly did justify the means. What good would it do to get William hurt? He’d all but told her he didn’t mind suffering for her. Loving him meant she had the right to protect him from her pain as well as his.
Checking the stew, she stirred it slowly. She’d overheard Quanto mention his dreamwalking on her way down that morning. Breakfast had been a quiet affair. She’d eaten some bread and hard cheese while drinking hot tea. William hovered and when the other men left them alone, it hadn’t been hard to lean her head on his shoulder and let his arm come around her. She’d savored the contact, another memory for her to keep.
The dreamwalker’s plans meant he wouldn’t eat very much at supper, so the combination of herbs she’d added to the stew wouldn’t affect him. They would, however, hopefully keep Wyatt and William asleep while she slipped away. She would need every hour she could muster and hopefully it would take them a long time to notice her absence.
A faint creak of wood was her only warning before William’s arms came around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. The hard wall of muscle was hot and warmed her straight through the shirt—one of his. She’d pilfered it one day and had pulled on another that morning. Surrounded by his masculine scents and the odd combination of wood, leather oil, and sweet, summer grass gave her another type of comfort.
“You’re cooking.” He didn’t disguise the happiness in his voice and she focused on keeping her breathing calm and her attention on how he made her feel—which was good.
“I thought it was time I stopped hiding away.” Another truth. “Careful.” She tapped his hand when he would have reached for the wooden spoon. The herbs needed longer to cook. Quanto told her heat diluted their potency and, after the mishap that William described with Mariska, she wouldn’t risk giving him too much of anything.
He was sensitive to such things, in fact, the shaman had described the different ways to dilute the more powerful herbs to treat all ages—and she’d chosen a children’s dose for William and by default Wyatt. Since she hoped it would work on their natural sleep cycle rather than just render them unconscious, she’d have to pray it would be enough.
A chuckle warmed her ear and he nuzzled a kiss against the lobe. “I’m glad you are. I’ve missed you.”
Her heart twisted at the admission and she set the lid on the pot carefully, and then turned around to hug him. Squeezing him tight, she burrowed her cheek to his shirt. “I’m sorry.” For everything. When she’d dealt with Harlow and his men, it would be better. She knew how to find the mountain and she would find William again.
“Shh,” he rubbed her back in slow circles. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, all right?”
The words haunted her for the rest of late afternoon and all the way up to the evening meal. William teased her about dinner, but he ate three bowls and her stomach tied in knots for each one he consumed. Wyatt ate a more normal portion and Quanto ate only some bread, he promised to try a bowl later when he finished his work. Evelyn made her excuses of having sampled the food while she cooked and for the most part, they all accepted it. She’d eaten small birdlike portions for the last three days.
By the time the house settled, Evelyn curled up on the bed next to William. He fought several yawns. When she settled her head on his chest, he drifted off into sleep. She lay there counting off the hour marks on the candle she’d left burning on the dresser, her attention wholly on the sleeping William. His breathing remained steady and his color seemed fine.
When two full hours had passed and she’d heard nothing but the wild quiet of the mountain night, she slid away to dress. Her small bag of supplies had been secreted away in the bottom of a cupboard, apparently the former occupant kept a number of little bolt holes in her room. Evelyn thought she might like Scarlett, should they ever meet.
Only when she was ready to go did she pause at the bed again and brush the tousled hair off his forehead. “I hope you will forgive me and I promise I will make this up to you.”
Pressing a light kiss to his forehead, she blinked back tears. Leaving turned out to be much harder than she’d thought. Her anxiety and emotions ran hot all the way to the barn. One thing the chores had taught her was where all the equipment was. It took her a few fumbling attempts to coax her gelding in and get him saddled, but the crescent moon tilted over the horizon as she headed down.
The dark made the passage treacherous, but Evelyn trusted the gelding’s sight and judgment. By dawn, she found they’d made it more than halfway down and their pace picked up as the land flattened out. Her anxiety slowly abated as she ordered her mind. A singular purpose had driven her to the mountain and a similar one would serve her on this journey.
The steady mantra sustained her until she reached the foot of the mountain at morning and the land flattened into a valley. She checked the position of the sun and remembered the way she’d come to this place. It took her only a few minutes to find the river where the cougar attacked her. She paused long enough to water Samson and give him a breather, but aware of how close they were yet, she climbed on his back and turned east and gave him a kick to set a swifter pace.
Her father would have justice, finally, and she would assure that the secrets of William and all the others were protected. Then, and only then, would she pursue living her life.
Please forgive me, William. I promise, I’ll be back…when it’s done.
Chapter 22
Kid, Hunting
He’d known she was gone the moment he woke to find the sun high in the sky, too high not to be late in the morning. The mild queasiness in his stomach, coupled with the dark look on Wyatt’s face when he made it downstairs to find the other man walking in the door, told him the rest.
They both looked at the stew pot. Kid wanted to kick himself. He’d told her what to do when he’d revealed how Mariska put sleeping draughts in the food and drink all those months before. But Evelyn’s fury on his behalf had been real, so why would she have used the same tactic? No sooner did the question form than he knew the answer.
She’d planned her escape from the day she’d learned about using her gift to kill. Aggravation with himself and with her reared up within him. He’d known something was off when she’d asked for the time alone, but after pushing her—after making her face what she’d hidden even from herself—he’d been unwilling to push harder.
In the barn, he pulled together what he’d need, unsurprised when he heard a familiar, weighted step in the dust or tingle of warning at the nape of his neck.
“Everyone runs, Kid.” Wyatt stated without preamble. “She can’t have gotten that far. I’ll head down after her.”
“No.” Kid shook his head and reached for his saddle. Other than a cursory pass over it when he’d headed down the mountain weeks before, he hadn’t taken care of the leather. Going over it carefully for rips and tears, he ignored Wyatt’s looming presence at his back.
“No?” He repeated in an infinitely mild tone.
“No. I’m going.” The girth was in solid shape, as were the stirrups. He’d have to replace two ties or leave a saddlebag behind. Since he could live off the land well enough, he chose to leave the saddlebag behind.
Pivoting on his heel, he headed for the door. His mare was in a field a quarter of a mile away and he’d have to bring her in, clean her hooves, and get her saddled. Wyatt blocked his path.
“What if I told you no?” Gone was subtle and in its place stood the same forbidding figure that took him by the scruff and dragged him to the mountain in the first place.
“Then I guess we’ll find out who has the more powerful gift…and I know I can get into your head.” Kid didn’t threaten. He stated fact. Wyatt didn’t te
rrify him, not anymore. Cold silence stretched between them and he met the mismatched colored gaze and held it. His shields didn’t flicker, but everything inside of him coiled at the ready.
The moment elongated and Wyatt nodded once. “Only one of us can go.”
“I know. One has to stay here to protect Quanto. You are far more suited to that task. I can take care of Evelyn.” He would take care of her.
“Can you handle it if she strikes out at you?”
Kid shrugged. “She won’t.”
“You’re very certain considering she ran.”
“Everybody runs, Wyatt.” He parroted the words with a hint of a smile. “I did. But it’s been too long since you did it…” And he no longer had any doubt that Wyatt had run once, too. “…and you have no personal stake in seeing her safe. But even if you did…you’re not the one she trusts.”
“Kid, she did something to the food to make sure we slept. She snuck out, she kept her plans concealed from you which took forethought.” Wyatt didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. He stepped aside and Kid headed out, when he returned with his mare, Wyatt waited for him. Saying nothing, he helped Kid saddle up and then attached supplies. “You’ll have to travel light.”
He nodded; it had been his plan. He added a rifle and shot and he’d already found his gun and strapped it on. The weight, once a comfort on his hip and leg seemed odd. “I’ll make do. You’ll tell Quanto?”
“He already knows,” Wyatt gave him a dry look that told him he should have realized it. “What if she doesn’t trust you the way you think?”
Ultimately, he couldn’t explain it. Maybe she’d learned to disguise her lies, but he thought back to every statement she’d used. It had all been truth, just phrased in a way to allow him to draw specific conclusions. Her intelligence had never been in question. “When I look back at my life. I see pain, mistakes, and heartache. When I look at her, I see strength, lessons I’ve learned, acceptance and pride in being me. Whatever reason she feels she had to do this on her own, I know she needs me and I cannot let her ride into that danger alone. I can’t and I won’t.”
“Go down the southeastern slope, follow the trees with the three slashes in the bark about eight feet up. It will cut your time in half and there are no traps on that trail, but it winds.” Wyatt held a bucket of water up to the mare and she slurped it. “You won’t have to rest her for a couple of days. More than enough time to catch up to her.”
“What’s in the water?” Or did he want to know?
Instead of answering, Wyatt tossed the wooden bucket into the heat of the forge, where it was soon consumed by flame. He double-checked the straps on the saddle. They led the mare out and Kid mounted. An odd sensation passed through him, he’d never wanted to come to this mountain and by the time he had—he’d thought it was to die. Now, he prepared to leave it to find a woman who might very well hold the key to his heart. It bore mentioning to the man who’d helped him. “Thank you for not killing me.”
“Thank you, for not making it necessary.” Wyatt caught the mare’s bridle and looked at him. “Southeast slope. Three diagonal lines carved into the wood, eight feet up. And, Kid?”
He arched his eyebrows and waited.
“Don’t get dead.”
“That is my plan.” Settling his hat into place, Kid smiled faintly. “When I come back, I’ll expect an answer to my question.”
“Question?”
“Yeah, exactly how ancient are you, old man?” No way in hell was he the son of the ‘first’ Wyatt, the Wyatt Evelyn’s father had presumably known. That and too many other signs indicated that despite his appearance, Wyatt was far, far older. Taking advantage of the surprise flickering over the man’s expression, Kid turned the mare and gave her a gentle kick and headed for the southeast slope…and Evelyn.
Evelyn, The Trail
Indecision waffled through her with every spine-jolting step her horse took. She’d tried to mark time watching the sun’s passage across the sky—odd how habitual that had become after even a few months on the mountain. They had candles to mark hours, but the lack of clocks or a pocket watch meant the day moved to different rhythms. The angle of the sun told her a lot and her gelding’s flagging steps told her even more. She’d paused him for restive breaks as often as she dared while still covering as much ground as possible, but they’d been on the move since the middle of the night and the horse wasn’t alone in his exhaustion.
Glancing over her shoulder, she could still make out the mountain in the distance. They weren’t quite to the desert yet, so Evelyn slowed the gelding to a walk and rose up in the stirrups to look ahead. If her memory was correct, a cool stream ran through this area and fed into the larger river due south. Water would attract predators, but it should be safe enough in the late afternoon.
According to the book William gave her, many animals in the region were nocturnal. The gelding tossed his head and slowed his pace further. Loosening her grip on the reins, she let Samson turn and angle a little to the north as they traveled east. Soon, the scent of water drifted toward her. It must have enticed Samson even more because he picked up his pace and stretched his head toward it.
The stream came into view as they angled around a copse of trees and Evelyn slid out of the saddle with a groan. Her legs and back ached. Somehow in the intervening time, she’d managed to forget the numbness in her backside, but that was back with a vengeance.
Letting him drink, she opened her own water skin and took a long restorative draw of the warm water before kneeling down to refill the travel bag. Remembering Micah’s instructions, she took time to strip the tack off the horse, lugged the saddle over to rest on a rock away from the dampness at the edge of the stream, and flipped the saddle blanket over to dry. Sweat had turned Samson’s sides foamy and slick. Hunting through her bags, she found some dry cloth to rub him down but, before she returned, the horse knelt with a slow teeter and then began to roll frantically from side to side.
Evelyn stared at the animal, a kernel of horror forming in her stomach. Was something wrong with it? The gelding thumped from one side to the other, his long legs flailing and then he lay on his left, sides heaving. Torn between going closer and having no idea what to do, she tried to recall any information about rolling and horses and all she could think of was a mare who suffered from colic on a trip her father had taken to Chicago.
They’d had to shoot that horse and the sounds had haunted her nightmares for days afterward.
“Get up,” she whispered to Samson, but the horse lifted his head and then stretched and flopped over to the other side. “Come on, get up. Please.”
A long huffed sigh and the gelding went still for several, long, agonizing moments. Evelyn started forward, she had no idea what she could do and she’d made it three steps when he wrenched over, leapt up to his feet and shook hard. Evelyn let out a startled cry and clapped a hand over her mouth. Dirt and grass coated his sweaty coat and he paced over to the water, placid and relaxed, to take another long drink.
Was something wrong with the animal or not? If William were here, he would know exactly what to do.
“He was rolling, darling. They like to do that when they are sweaty and itchy.” William’s voice was the most blessed thing she’d ever heard even as it jolted her. She whirled around and stared up at him. He sat astride his mare, leaning on his saddle horn, and stared at her with utter intensity.
“Are you real?” Had her desire conjured him? “I didn’t think I had, but Samson—I was worried…”
The corner of his mouth turned up and he swung down, dropping the reins to the ground. His steps toward her were slow and deliberate and he tugged his gloves off. A layer of dust coated his clothing and sweat streaked through the dirt on his face, though she could hardly criticize. She was likely a sight.
Stopping right in front of her, he nudged his hat up and looked her up and down. “All in one piece?”
What an odd question. “Yes.”
&n
bsp; “No injuries anywhere?” The searching look seemed to see right to her soul.
“No. He was tired. We’ve been riding since midnight and…”
“Oh, I have a fair idea of how long you’ve riding.” William nodded slowly. “You camping here tonight?” Instead of touching her, he visually examined the area. He kicked away some debris and squatted down near the stream’s edge. Disappointment edged through her at his turned back.
Uncertain, she ran a hand over her hair. The braid had frayed throughout the ride and tendrils escaped to cling to her damp forehead and cheeks. Her gloved fingers came away dirty and damp. “I thought for the next few hours. The shade and rest would be good for the horse, but I wanted…”
He’d bent down to cup some water in his palm, and washed his face first, then drank. Taking his time, it seemed forever before he looked back at her. “What did you want, darling?”
The utter calm and kindness in his manner unnerved her. She’d expected anger, impatience, and disappointment—maybe even some yelling. Instead he just gazed at her with a patient, if expectant air. He wanted her answer.
“To stay ahead of pursuit.” Shame curled through her and she glanced down at her boots.
“Ah. Well, I can make camp down stream a bit. Let you rest up for a few hours and give you a head start, if you like.” He rose in a smooth gesture, so sleek and controlled. “Did you bring food with you? Remember how to start a fire?”
“I have some sandwiches. I shouldn’t think I’ll need a fire. It’s quite warm.”
“Fair enough.” He motioned to her horse. “You should go ahead and rub him down, finish scraping away the dust and dirt. You don’t want to put your saddle back on him while he’s dirty. It can lead to chafing and sores—and take the bridle out. He’s well trained enough and tired enough not to wander. Only spread a little grain out now and give him more in a bag feeder about an hour before you plan to head out.” With that advice he headed over to his mare and picked up her reins.
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