###
Gabe eyed the pemmican lying in the dirt, and searched his brain for a way of distracting the Indians so Charity could get away. Even if he got hurt, it would be worth it for her to escape. He got a glimpse of her ducking behind a tree and wished he had said something. Anything. For her to stay safe. That he would see her later. Told her how he felt about her.
He closed his eyes, then struggled to his feet and leaned against the rough bark of a pine. He would give her a few minutes, and then, once the Indians turned restless wondering where she’d went, he’d make his move and pray for God to protect him.
Minutes stretched like hours, pulling Gabe’s nerves to the tearing point, before the Indians started talking and casting narrow looks in the direction Charity disappeared. She had been gone long enough to rouse suspicion.
“Hey!” Gabe kicked at the pemmican. “I’m not an animal you can toss food at.”
The Indians ignored him. One stood and took a few steps toward the woods. Gabe kicked harder, sending dirt and dried leaves into the wind and over their heads. “Are you listening to me?” Please, God, keep their attention on me.
The Indian scowled and continued walking.
Gabe growled and kicked out his legs, taking the other man down. Before he could register his crazy act, the other three jumped him and planted punches and kicks of their own. Gabe smiled through the pain. At least his stupidity would give Charity the opportunity she needed.
A well aimed kick filled his mouth with blood. Wonderful. Now his upper lip matched his lower one. He spit, spattering the beaded moccasin of one of his captors.
The man grabbed Gabe by the hair and yanked him to his feet, yelling something. One of these days, Gabe needed to learn to speak Crow. He didn’t think the man’s words boded well for him.
Another warrior grabbed his other arm and together they slammed him against a tree and tied him there. Gabe sighed, letting his head hang. Most likely they’d leave him for the animals morning. He prayed Charity would find her way back to the children and have a good life. It sure would be nice if he could have been a part of that life. He closed his eyes to the vision of tumbling red hair and sparkling eyes.
As the night darkened, one of the Indians pulled a bottle of whiskey from a bag. When they weren’t taking swigs, they half-heartedly searched the surrounding area for Charity. Fools. If they had no intentions of keeping a tighter rein on their captives, then why bother capturing them in the first place?
He glanced to where the dead girl lay near the horses. Thankfully, the Indians had moved her from Rogue’s back. Maybe someone put out a reward for the girl and the braves intended to collect.
He grunted as one of the braves bounced a rock off his head. If they were going to kill him, he wished they’d get it over with. He didn’t relish being tormented all night by drunks.
It looked as if Amos would win after all. The papers Maggie signed said that should Gabe die before the land reverted to him, Amos would retain all rights. He jerked upright.
Was it possible the man hired the Indians to capture him and Charity? That the dead woman wasn’t part of the plan? It would explain why the four braves weren’t overly concerned about finding Charity. Of course, they could always sell her for a pretty profit, but leaving her alone wouldn’t affect the overall goal if Amos was behind things.
The desire to free himself rose up with the strength of the increasing storm. If he could escape, he would hunt Amos down and throttle him!
Gabe’s arms ached from the pressure of the rope. The more he struggled, the more painful his wrists became as the rough fibers cut into his skin, and he bled. Yet, he continued to saw back and forth, stopping only when one of the Indians glanced his way.
The tallest, the one who initially tied up Charity, pulled a knife from a sheath at his waist, and strolled toward Gabe. He grinned and with the tip of his knife, popped Gabe’s buttons one-by-one. So the time had come. Gabe prayed he would be able to stay brave until the end.
He hissed as the other man slowly drew the blade across his chest, barely cutting the skin. The next slash came a little deeper, as if he were a child at play. Gabe kept his gaze locked on the Indian’s dark one, and forced his face to remain impassive.
Lightening slashed the sky, thunder rolled, the clouds unleashed their burden of rain, and the Indian head butted Gabe.
23
When she’d estimated an hour had gone by without hearing footsteps crunching outside her bug-ridden den of horror, Charity crawled free. She had spent the time cutting the rope that bound her wrists against a rock she’d found and took joy in tossing the frayed strands away.
Thankful for the whine of the wind and rumble of thunder to hide the sound of her footsteps, she made her way back to the camp and ducked behind a stand of thick bushes. She peered over the top in top to see Gabriel hit in the head and left slumped against the tree.
Was he dead? Was she too late? Tears welled and poured down her face, mixing with the rain. She slumped to the ground, unmindful of the cold. She had failed, again. Life dealt her one cruel blow after another. Still, she was needed, for a time. The children were waiting. Oh, how would she tell them their father was dead?
Swiping her hand across her eyes, she pushed to her feet. The least she could do was save his horse. Gabriel loved that animal. She sagged as sobs shook her body. She never had the opportunity to tell him her feelings. They rarely carried on a conversation that lasted longer than ten minutes, but Charity knew if they had the time, she would have found a kindred spirit in Gabriel. Oh, but she wanted to shoot every last one of those Indian braves, then curl up next to Gabriel and let fate win!
But she wouldn’t. The children needed her. They must be worried sick by now.
She crouched and made her way to where the horses were tied, keeping a close eye on the Indians who covered the ground like snoring piles of deerskin. Rogue nickered when he spotted her, and she clamped a hand over his muzzle. Sam’s pony, being the docile animal he was, stared with big eyes while Charity loosened his reins.
Lightning slashed the sky, illuminating the area. Gabriel groaned. Gabriel groaned! Charity scuttled to his side.
“You’re alive.” She smoothed his hair from his face and winced at the gash in his head. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“I told you to leave me.”
“Well, I was going to, but I know how much you love Rogue, and since I needed a way to get home—” She worked at the knots around his wrist. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was beaten.”
Finally, she released him from his bindings. “Can you mount?”
“Yes.” He struggled to his feet, keeping one arm tight against his ribcage.
Charity helped him the best she could, then climbed on Sam’s pony. Why couldn’t her son actually give his horse a name? If they made it home, she’d suggest Paint.
Gabriel headed into the trees, the reins to Charity’s pony clutched in one hand. They kept to a walk until a cry rang out behind them.
“Ya!” Gabriel whipped the reins. Rogue leaped ahead. Charity grabbed the saddle horn on the horse she rode and held on for dear life.
###
Gabe hadn’t seen any guns in the hands of the Indians, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He led Charity deeper into the thick underbrush and prayed the braves were too drunk to be much of a threat.
His side burned from the Indian’s malicious slicing, and his head throbbed. He also didn’t know whether he should shake Charity or kiss her. For once, he was mighty glad she chose not to follow directions, even though he thought his heart would stop for sure when he opened his eyes and saw her fumbling around the horses. She’d never seemed more beautiful, drenched hair, torn dress, and all.
Ducking beneath a low hanging-branch, he urged Rogue deeper into the forest. The rain would help hold back their followers. If Gabe made the search difficult enough, they might give up. He doubted Amos put too big a price on his head to warrant a s
earch in a winter rain storm.
He shivered, and wished they had grabbed a couple of the furs loaded on one of the Indian ponies. He swiped his forearm across his eyes, clearing his vision of blood and water.
Charity cried out. Gabe turned in the saddle. She rubbed her cheek. “Just a branch. Gave me a nasty scratch.”
They needed to remain quiet. Despite the increasing noise of the storm, if the Indians were close, they would hear. Gabe held a finger to his lips. His other hand brushed the back of the horse as he turned.
His rifle still hung in its scabbard. Why hadn’t the braves removed it? Even with his hands tied, he might have been a small threat. Obviously, they didn’t expect him to escape. Thank you, God. Their captors were definitely not the brightest. He pulled the gun free and motioned for Charity to move closer.
A thrashing in the woods to their right made him freeze. He aimed the rifle and held his breath. Lightning crashed, exposing the area ahead of them. Four figures rode past, ill-shaped under woven Indian blankets. It appeared they had given up their search, instead intent on taking the poor Indian girl wherever it was they planned to take her.
Gabe held up a hand to signal Charity to wait, then relaxed in the saddle. They might be hungry, frozen, and beaten, but they were alive, and it looked as if they would stay that way a while longer.
Charity shivered hard enough for Gabe to see the movement through the rain. He slid his gun back in its scabbard and dragged her over to sit in front of him. His breath hitched at the pain in his side, but sharing body warmth would benefit them both—not to mention how wonderful she felt in his arms.
“I didn’t thank you for saving me.” He laid his cheek against her hair and breathed deep.
She snuggled closer. “You’re welcome. We’re a team, Mr. Williams.”
He chuckled. “Yes, we are, and a mighty fine one at that.” With a flick of the reins, he set Rogue toward home, letting Sam’s pony follow.
Gabe decided he wanted to court Charity. Never mind that they were already married. He wanted to stay hitched past the springtime. He wanted babies of his own with her. Surely a strong man such as himself could win the heart of an Irish girl. She had accepted his proposal readily enough. Even a blind man could see she cared for Meg and Sam, and had settled into life on the Montana prairie.
Now, he needed to make sure she fell in love with him.
24
By the time they trotted onto the homestead, Gabe’s head wobbled as much as Charity’s. Several times he caught himself before his chin connected with the top of her skull. Even the horses seemed to have barely enough energy make their way to the barn.
Charity barely stirred back to life when Lady and Prince barked a welcome. Light flared behind the window, and the front door swung open. Sam and Meg, followed by the Stoltzes rushed out.
“Oh, my heavens, she’s dead.” Mabel clapped a hand to her mouth. “And you look like you should be.”
“We’re both alive.” Gabe swung his leg over and slid to the ground, keeping Charity tucked close. “We’ve had a bit of an ordeal, but we’re home now.”
“Come on in the house and let me take care of you.” Mabel bustled back inside, followed closely by the others. “We’ll get you cleaned up straight away and into bed. That gash on your head might need stitches.”
Gabe gently laid Charity on his bed and slumped next to her. She might raise a fuss when she woke to find him next to her, but Gabe was too exhausted to worry about that now. He wanted her close in case she felt poorly in the morning. The Stoltzes most likely figured out he and Charity hadn’t shared a bed up to this point, and Gabe didn’t care. All he wanted was to stretch out and lose himself for several hours.
Before he could fully relax, Sam and Meg plastered themselves to each side of him. Meg smoothed back Charity’s hair. “She ain’t gonna die, is she, Pa?”
“No, sweetheart. She’s plumb tuckered out. Your ma saved my life tonight.” Gabe wrapped his arms around his children, thanking God he had the opportunity to lay eyes on them again.
“That’s a story I’ve got to hear.” Hiram handed him a cup of hot coffee. “I laced it with spirits.” He held up a hand to ward off Gabe’s protest. “My woman is about to poke your head with a needle. You’ll need that drink. Once she scrubs your head wound, what little scabbing started is going to pull free and it’s going to bleed something fierce and hurt like the dickens.”
“Guess it won’t harm me to imbibe this once.” Gabe took a sip and grimaced. “Takes like medicine.”
Hiram clapped him on the shoulder. “It is, my friend. Now, move into that kitchen chair and let my wife tend to you. When she finishes with you, she’ll take care of your wife.”
He wished they’d worry about Charity first, but was smart enough to realize his injuries were more serious. Charity’s problems were stress and exhaustion. Without Gabe feeling well, the ranch couldn’t function, and the children wouldn’t be safe. He pushed to his feet and moved gingerly to the chair by the table.
Now that he took the time to pay attention to his injuries, every move pained him. He’d bet his bottom dollar he had a broken rib or two, not to mention the gash in his head and the cut on his chest. If he looked in the mirror over the mantel, he’d most likely scare himself.
He allowed Hiram to pour more “medicine” in with his coffee, took a big gulp, and laid his head against the hard chair back. These weren’t the first stitches he’d ever received so he knew they were going to hurt, and he didn’t cotton to the youngsters watching. “Young’uns, y’all go to the barn. I’ll call you when Mrs. Stoltz is done.”
“I’ll go with them. They can help me care for the horses.” Hiram ushered them outside, rifle firmly clutched in one hand.
Grateful for the man’s concern in realizing possible danger, Gabe closed his eyes and gave himself over to Mabel’s torture.
###
Charity watched from the bed and tried not to cringe when Mabel poked the needle and thread through Gabriel’s skin. The room reeked of liquor, and she pulled the closest blanket over her nose. It ought to be her stitching up Gabriel. He was her husband. She was the one who had saved him from the renegades.
He groaned at another thrust of the needle. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrest.
No longer able to lie idly back, Charity tossed aside her blanket and made her way to his side. She slipped her hand into his, and squeezed.
Mabel nodded and winked before pulling another stitch, then knotting the thread. She bent close and bit through the thread, before straightening. “There. Four stitches, Gabriel. Thank the good Lord, you’ve a hard head, for sure.”
“I’m more for thanking the Lord for a stubborn wife.” He returned Charity’s squeeze and opened his eyes. “If not for her continuous disobeying of my orders, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Some orders are not meant to be followed.” Charity stood and moved to the sink. “If you’ll go to your bed, I’ll have my turn to wash, thank you.” His bed. Gracious! She’d been lying in it.
She leaned against the counter. Surely he placed her there. She hadn’t gone of her own accord, had she? What must he think of her?
Taking a deep breath, she turned to lift a kettle of water from the stove and poured it into the wash basin. A sponge bath would have to suffice for now. Tomorrow, she’d lug water for a leisurely soak when Gabriel was away from the house.
“Let me help you.” Mabel held out a rag. “You’re a hero, I’ve heard.”
“You would have done the same for Hiram.” Charity glanced behind them to see Gabe stretched out on his bed and pulling the curtain across to shield him.
Mabel shook her head. “I’m not so sure.” She dipped the rag into the water, then dabbed at Charity’s face. “I was at a complete loss when I thought Hiram was gone. A hysterical mess.”
“You were distraught.”
“That I was.” She dunked the rag again. “What happened out there?
You both look like death warmed over.”
Charity swallowed against the tears clogging her throat. “We had stopped for the night. When we woke, we were the captives of a small band of Indians.” She dropped onto the bench beside the table. “They tied us up. I don’t know where they were taking us. I escaped and hid until they passed out drunk. I thought Gabriel was dead. Oh, Mabel, they beat him so.” She took a deep breath. “Thinking he was dead, I was intent on saving his horse. When I discovered I wasn’t a widow, I freed him, and here we are.”
Mabel sat down next to her. “That’s some tale. What happened to the girl?”
“I don’t know.” Charity propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Funny thing is, they didn’t seem all that determined to pursue me. They were more focused on Gabriel.”
“Do you think they were following you with the intentions of capture?” Mabel’s eyes widened. “As if they were following you from the beginning?”
“I think so.” Charity lowered her voice. “I intend to keep a close watch on my husband, and a gun at hand. Sam promised to teach me to shoot, and I plan to start right away.”
“Why don’t you ask Gabe to teach you?”
“Ha. He wouldn’t want me in harm’s way. But sometimes, his heavy-handed ways of protecting me are more dangerous.” Charity went back to the sink and began washing her arms. If she had known how to shoot, she could have picked the Indians off one by one while she hid in the bushes.
Could she actually shoot someone? If they meant harm to her family, she definitely could.
She planted both hands on the counter and hung her head. Exhaustion warred with her desire to clean up and care for Gabriel.
“Come here.” Mabel put an arm around her shoulder and turned her toward her cot. “Let me help you undress, and get you tucked in. Hiram and I will bed down by the fire tonight and see how you feel in the morning. Our livestock can last one more night without us. They’ve plenty of hay and water. Our milk cow dried up last year.”
Woman of Courage (Four Full length Historical Christian Romances in One Volume): Woman of Courage Series Page 62