The horses pranced and stared at the fire, the whites of their eyes showing. Pain filled Luke’s eyes as he gazed at her. “What should I do? If I go after Claire, I can’t help fight the fire. You could lose the house.”
“Go! Forget the house.” She could build another one—live in a tent—but there was only one little girl who’d stolen her heart.
He tossed the reins of Jack’s horse to her. “Get him to Jack.” He stared hard at her. “I’ll get our Claire back.”
He wheeled Golden Boy around Jack’s horse, sent her a stare that said so much she could hardly breathe, and then he slapped the reins on the palomino’s flanks. The gelding bolted forward into a gallop.
“Here.” Amos held out his cupped hands, his face blackened from sweat and soot. He boosted her onto the horse, and she turned him toward the river. “Help us, Lord. Please help Luke to find Claire and get her back.”
As she drew near the river, Jack jogged toward her, lugging two buckets. She pulled the horse to a stop and slid off. Amos ran up behind her and grabbed the buckets, and headed back to the house.
“Where’d Luke go?” Jack leaped onto his horse.
“He just realized the Powells aren’t Claire’s grandparents.”
His eyes widened. “I had a gut feelin’ something wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have forced you to give her up.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Amos ran up to him and handed Jack the empty buckets. He trotted the horse down the hill, passing Johnny, who carried the other buckets.
Sarah didn’t know what to do.
She stared at her house, knowing in her gut it was a lost cause. Too little water and manpower, and too much fire. She gasped. “My clothes!” She hurried toward the front of her home. If only they’d had rain recently, but everything was dry as old dead bones from the summer heat. At least she could save a few of her things. She hiked up her skirts and charged into the house. Surely she had time to save her clothes and the trunk of things Lara had loaned her.
The buggy wheel tracks made an easy trail to follow as they cut through the dry grass toward town. Luke scanned the area ahead between him and Anadarko, but he didn’t see the couple. They’d be harder to find in town. He’d check Dr. Worth’s office first, since Mr. Powell mentioned it, but he didn’t expect to find them there. What if they merely drove through town then headed away from Anadarko on the other side? He’d never find their tracks.
Several men on horseback galloped toward him. He hoped they weren’t looking for Lottie, because he didn’t have time to deal with that now. As he drew nearer, he recognized Dr. Worth. He rode up to Luke, looking concerned. “Some men in town said they saw smoke coming from this way.”
“It’s Sarah’s house.”
The man’s brown eyes widened. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. Can you help?”
The four other men nodded in unison and rode off toward Sarah’s at a fast pace. The doctor struggled to hold back his horse.
“Did y’all pass a fancy surrey with a well-dressed couple in it?”
The doctor shook his head. Luke didn’t like the look on the man’s face as he gazed in the direction of the smoke rising from the house. Was he concerned about Sarah because he was a doctor, or was it something more?
No time to worry about that. He nudged Golden Boy forward then slowed as they entered town. He glanced at every buggy he saw, hoping—praying—he’d see the Powells’ gray horses. He continued on First Street, peering down the side streets each way. When he reached the end of First, he rode across to Second and went through town again. People ambled along both sides of the streets, and several buggies were parked along them. He searched each one.
“Help me, Lord. Don’t let those lying kidnappers get away.” He wished there was a marshal in town, because he doubted the soldiers would be willing to help him. He reached the end of the street, trotted his horse over to Third, and started down it. He had to find Claire. He couldn’t return to Sarah without her.
He’d almost passed Hampton’s General Store when he recognized Mr. Powell coming out, carrying several cans of milk and a thick package. The man had removed his jacket and tie and showed no signs of having a bellyache. Luke’s eyes narrowed. He faced forward and kept riding, but as he passed the next alley, he flicked his gaze sideways. His heart bucked. A buggy was parked up next to a building. Mrs. Powell stood beside it, bent over. Claire’s frantic cries gutted him. Mrs. Powell yanked off the wet diaper and tossed it behind her. She stood Claire on her feet and shook her. “Hush, I said. All that racket is making my head ache.”
Luke clenched his jaw. He tapped Golden Boy’s sides, making the horse trot. Once he came to the end of the block, he reined the horse to the left, and then left again on the next street. He dismounted and tied the gelding to a hitching post in front of a lawyer’s office. The Powells were sure going to need a lawyer once he was done with them. He quickly walked to the alley where he’d seen the buggy and peered around the corner. Mr. Powell sauntered toward it.
“Hurry up, Henry. You want them to come after us? You know they will soon as they get that fire out.”
Mr. Powell belched. “They ain’t getting it out anytime soon. I made sure of that.” He set the cans of milk in the back of the buggy.
“Hurry up and open that package. I need a diaper.”
Mr. Powell did as ordered and handed her one. Mrs. Powell laid Claire on the floor of the buggy and put the fresh diaper on her. “C’mon! We need to get out of town. Fast!”
Mr. Powell spun around. As he rounded the buggy, his boot clipped the wheel and he fell flat on his face.
Luke licked his lips, tasting success. This was the best chance he’d get. He glanced around, relieved that no one else was near, then pulled his gun and stepped into the alley. Mr. Powell lay on the ground, his face to the wall. Luke tiptoed toward the wife, whose back was to him.
“Get up, you fool. We gotta get going.” She bent down and yanked on her husband’s shirt.
“Hush, woman. I hit my head when I fell.” Mr. Powell reached a hand to his forehead.
Claire’s wails slowed as she spied him. She sniffled, reaching out her hands and stealing a huge chunk of his heart. Luke reached the buggy and snatched Claire. She clutched him so hard she pinched a hunk of skin. She sobbed against his shirt, much as Sarah had done. The woman rose and glanced at the buggy then froze as she realized she wasn’t alone. Luke prayed they’d go peacefully to the army office.
Mrs. Powell snarled like a guard dog. She spun around, and faster than he could believe, drew a pistol from her waistband. She fired.
Claire wailed. Hot pain pierced Luke’s shoulder, but he held onto his precious cargo and his gun. He gritted past the pain and glared at the woman. “Drop that gun. Now!”
Her face turned several shades of red before she complied. She shook her head, finally looking as if she’d given up. “Why couldn’t you just let us go? You’ll break our daughter’s heart.”
Luke wasn’t sure what she was talking about or how he was going to handle the pair now that he was shot. Blood oozed from his wound. “I don’t know what game you’re playin’, but we both know you aren’t related to this girl.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “Our Ellen has lost three babies. She’s pining away for the want of a child. I thought that little gal would make her happy. I never counted on the lady that had her wanting to keep her so much.”
Several men rounded the corner then paused to take in the scene.
Mrs. Powell pivoted toward them. “Help us! He’s trying to steal our baby.”
The men glared at Luke, and one pulled out his pistol.
“She’s lying. That woman shot me and stole this sweet child from a friend of mine. I aim to take her back.”
“No-o-o! Don’t let him take my baby.” Mrs. Powell clutched her heart and fell to her knees. The woman should have been an actress.
“Maybe you oughta give the kid b
ack,” the taller cowboy said.
Luke lifted his chin and stared hard at the man. “Take us all to army headquarters, and we’ll get this farce straightened out.”
Mrs. Powell hopped up. She searched the ground, turning one way then the next.
Mr. Powell slowly rose, moved around to the front of the wagon, and pointed a gun at Luke. “Give my wife that girl, or I’ll put a bullet in the kid.”
Luke made eye contact with the man standing behind Mr. Powell and knew the man had finally realized the truth. The man flipped his pistol around, grabbing it by the barrel and knocked the butt into the back of Powell’s skull. Powell dropped like a steer whose back hooves had been lassoed.
“No!” Mrs. Powell cried out at her husband’s demise but turned on Luke, charging him. He back-stepped, lifting his gun and pointing it at her face. His hand shook from his wound, but he managed to hold the gun steady enough. She stopped and glared at him. “You’ve ruined everything.”
He smiled, in spite of how he felt. “I prefer to think that I saved the day.”
One of the cowboys grabbed her from behind. “Get a move on, lady.”
His friend hoisted Mr. Powell to his feet again—albeit barely. The man could hardly stand.
“Let’s get them to the army office; then I need to get home. These two set my friend’s house on fire on top of stealing this little gal.” He kissed Claire. She’d stopped wailing, but she did an odd little sniff-hiccup thing he’d seen Gabe’s kids do after a big cry. Her nose was red and her skin splotchy. The poor thing felt hot. He kissed her head again, and she leaned against his shoulder in a display of trust that moved him to the core. She barely knew him, and yet she trusted him and got comfort from being in his arms—well, arm.
“We need to get you to a doctor before you collapse.” One of the men who’d been in the back of the group approached. “You want me to carry her?”
Luke shook his head. “Dr. Worth headed out to help fight the fire. Is there another doc in town?”
“Yep. A block over.”
“I can get myself there if you’ll take care of them.”
“M’name’s Albert Owens.” He rocked his head in a backward motion. “That’s Ed Sheridan.”
“Luke McNeil. I can’t thank you enough from helpin’ me. I’d shake your hands, but—” he glanced at his bloody shoulder. He holstered his gun, managing not to wince, and gave the man a nod of gratitude.
“Think nuthin’ of it. Glad to he’p,” Ed said.
“Tell the officials that I’ll be down there as soon as I can to give a statement. They know where to find me if they need me before then.”
Luke hoisted Claire up to get a better hold. She grabbed his shirt, whimpering, as if she thought he was getting rid of her. “Not on your life, sweetheart. Hold on a bit longer.”
He tottered to the hitching post where Golden Boy waited. He loosened the reins then flipped them over his horse’s neck and started shuffling to the doctor’s office, knowing the horse would follow. Riding would be quicker, but he couldn’t mount with Claire in one arm and a bullet hole in his shoulder.
His vision blurred as he turned onto the street Albert had indicated. His gaze latched onto the doctor’s shingle, hanging two doors down. People eyed him, but no one offered to help. He stumbled as he attempted the stairs and finally fell against the door. Claire fussed at being pressed against the glass.
On the other side of the door, he saw a woman’s eyes widen as she stared at him. She yelled over her shoulder for the doctor then opened the door. The woman’s face blurred. Luke stumbled on the threshold but managed to step through the doorway and handed Claire to her on his way to meet the floor.
Chapter 20
Carson’s heart broke for Sarah as he reined his horse to a stop in front of her burning house. The right side of it was completely engulfed in flames. He doubted anything short of a downpour could save it. What a horrible loss.
Jack rode toward them fast. Carson slid off his horse and tied him to a bush a safe distance from the inferno. He followed the other men from town as they jogged toward Jack. Ted Buckner grabbed one of the buckets and tossed it onto the flames. A loud hiss rose up along with a cloud of smoke. A man he didn’t know took the other bucket from Jack and dumped it. They passed the buckets back to Jack. He quickly mounted his horse.
Two of the men grabbed charred blankets and started beating flames. Loud whacks mixed with the eerie crackle of fire and stench of smoke. One of the men Carson recognized as being a Peterson who’d help build the house jogged toward them, two more pails in tow.
Carson looked all around then at Jack. “Where’s Sarah?”
He frowned. “She was out here a while ago.”
Carson’s heart did a somersault at his sudden thought. “You don’t suppose she went inside, do you?”
“No—” Jack’s tanned complexion paled. He dropped the buckets, tossed his leg over the horse’s neck, and slid down. He threw the reins toward Ted. “Keep getting water at the river.”
He broke into a run, as did Carson. Surely Sarah wouldn’t have gone into a burning house—unless the little girl had been inside.
The front door was open and they burst through. Jack paused and looked around the smoky, empty downstairs. Then he darted up the steps. Carson covered his nose and mouth and peeked into the smoke-filled parlor. Flames had burned up one side and were spreading across the ceiling. Thank God it was empty. Sarah might lose her house, but at least she wouldn’t lose her furnishings, too.
He heard arguing upstairs and ran up to the second floor. The smoke grew thicker as he reached the landing. He yanked his handkerchief from his pocket, covered his mouth, and then bent over to avoid the worst of the smoke.
“No! Got to save Lara’s trunk.”
“We have to get out. Now!” Jack yelled.
Carson reached the door of a bedroom that held only a bed and a cot. The mattress was half off the frame. Where was the girl?
Jack stood in a face-off with Sarah, whose arms were filled with clothing. She noticed him step into the room, and relief softened her expression. “Carson can help with the trunk.”
Jack scowled at him, as if his presence had encouraged her. “It’s not worth our lives.”
“It’s Lara’s. I have to save it.”
Jack shook his head then gave Carson a hard look as he stepped around Sarah. He handed Carson a crate of diapers. “Help her downstairs. Fast.”
Jack grabbed the trunk as Carson took hold of Sarah’s arm and led her to the stairs. She coughed but hung on to the clothes she carried. They burst out into the fresh air, hurried down the porch steps, and out into the yard. He looked back at the house, as Jack ran out, his face blackened.
The flames had reached the front of the house and were eating their way toward the porch. Beside him, Sarah coughed. He bent over, mimicking her as he struggled to get fresh air into his lungs. Sweat poured off of him from the heat. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t seen the little girl. He bolted upright. “Where’s Claire?”
Sarah’s sad expression crumpled even more, and she turned toward Jack, falling against him. He wrapped one arm around her. “She’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Long story. Have to wait.” Jack eyed him with a look that said not to mention it.
One of the Peterson men jogged around the side of the house. He looked at Jack and shook his head. He strode over to them and stared at the house, too. “There’s no savin’ it now. The other men are wetting the grass in hopes of keepin’ the fire from spreading to the barn or starting a prairie fire.”
“Cody! Gotta check on my son.” Jack turned toward Carson. “Could you stay with Sarah? It’s been a hard day.”
“Of course.”
Jack gave Sarah’s shoulders a squeeze and placed a kiss on her head then backed away. “Will you be all right?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. She just stood there with her head hanging, the piddling bit of clothing she�
��d salvaged in her arms. Carson hated the conflicting emotions roiling through him. Was there more between Jack and Sarah than he first realized? And what happened to the girl? “Why don’t we move back? It’s not good for you to breathe in smoke. And let me hold those.” He held out his arms.
She shook her head, hugging the garments to her. “I should make some coffee. The men may want it”—she choked on a sob then regained her composure— “after they’re … done.”
“Cool water might actually taste better than coffee.”
She glanced up, looking alarmed. “My rain barrel is at the back of the house. We should move it so we don’t lose the water. It’s much better for drinking than the river water.”
There hadn’t been much rain lately. He doubted there would be any to salvage—either the men had used it, or by now, it would have soot in it and not be drinkable. Still, she needed to do something to help. “Let’s walk around the side that isn’t on fire yet and check on the barrel.”
She fumbled with her clothing until she held them in one arm then looped her hand through the arm he offered, and he led her around the house. He hated the way she trembled, but he had to give her credit for not crying, albeit she had every right to do so. She paused and stared wide-eyed at the rear of the house. Flames galloped across the wooden siding as if in a race to beat the blaze at the front to the far side. A window fifteen feet away exploded. He and Sarah jumped. He tugged her back, hating that this had happened to her new house.
“The barrel is gone.” The accepting tone of her voice, as if she expected everything to be destroyed, made his heart feel as if someone had encased it in plaster. “Sarah, let me take your clothes and put them in that buckboard by the barn.”
She finally nodded and held them out. He relieved her of that small burden, tried not to consider the fact that he carried not only two dresses but some of her unmentionables. He laid the items carefully in a relatively clean spot in the back of the buckboard then swung around and studied the rear of the house. Over half of it was already on fire.
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