She folded her arms over her chest. “How long do you expect me to wait? She’s been gone three whole days, and she’s probably wondering if anyone will ever come.” Her chin quivered and tears swam in her eyes. “I can’t bear to think of her alone and frightened for another day, Mack.”
He might regret it later, but he grabbed her close and held tight. She clung to him, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. He rested his chin on her silky brown hair and closed his eyes. “Mrs. Bingham’s a strong lady.” He remembered her pointing her derringer at him her first night in Spiveyville, and despite the dire circumstances, he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “In fact, if I was a betting man, I’d put my chips on Mrs. Bingham over any kidnapper.”
He brushed his lips over her hair and set her aside. “There’s no sense in Sheriff Thorn going all the way to Sawyer now that we have a better place to look. Hugh Briggs has a saddle-broke stallion that he says could win the Kentucky Derby. Let’s go to the livery and ask Hugh to go after the sheriff and bring him back. While we’re waiting for him, we’ll let Preacher Doan know about this letter.” If he kept her busy and in his sights, he wouldn’t have to worry about her asking someone else for directions to the Addison well house. “He’ll want to pray for safety for Mrs. Bingham and you.”
She nodded slowly. “All right. But when the sheriff comes back and Preacher Doan has finished praying, you won’t get in the way of me going?”
Mack gritted his teeth. He let his gaze drift across her features inch by inch, memorizing the soft arch of her brows, the curl of her thick lashes, the gold flecks in her eyes, the pale freckles dotting her nose and dancing across her cheekbones. His examination reached her rosebud lips, and agony writhed through him. Would he taste their sweetness someday? Or would some evil man steal her from him?
He grabbed her close once more. “If you’ll do it my way and you’re bound to go, I won’t stop you.”
Bill
Bill’s back was aching like a bad tooth. When he found Miz Bingham and brought the foul kidnapper to justice, he would tell the townsfolk he was done with sitting in saddles. Wind howled and sent dirt and tumbleweeds rolling. He shivered. He was done with spending his time outside in the wind, too. He scanned the landscape in both directions, hoping against hope he’d see something that led him to Mrs. Bingham’s kidnapper.
“Sheriff Thorn! Sheriff Thorn!”
The voice came from so far away, for a minute Bill thought the wind was tricking him. But Jerome Reed, today’s fellow searcher, turned backward in his saddle and frowned.
“Somebody’s hollerin’ for ya, Sheriff.”
They turned their horses the opposite direction, and a gust nearly took Bill’s hat from his head. He clamped his gloved hand over the top of it and squinted ahead. Moments later the fancy stallion from Briggs’s livery with Hugh Briggs on its back topped the rise. Bill and Jerome galloped up to meet him.
“Sheriff, glad I caught you.” Hugh panted like he’d been running alongside instead of riding the horse. “You gotta come back to town. Miss Grant got a letter, somethin’ the kidnapper made Miz Bingham write. He’s wantin’ to make a swap at the old well house on Addison’s land for Miss Grant, an’ Mack says come as quick as you can ’cause he’s having trouble holdin’ Miss Grant back.”
There wasn’t one thing funny about the situation, but Hugh’s words painted such an image in Bill’s mind, he threw back his head and laughed. “I like that little gal more every day.” He yanked his hat low over his ears, grabbed his reins, and jabbed his heels into Patch’s sides. “C’mon, fellas, let’s go.”
Helena
The sun hadn’t yet moved far enough to send shadows in front of the dugout when the rattle of a wagon caught Helena’s attention. Hope exploded in her chest. Had someone discovered her hiding place and come to rescue her? She pressed her eye to the little gap, and the hopes plummeted so quickly that tears threatened. The pair of old swaybacked horses pulling the wagon belonged to Mr. Nance. But why had he come so early?
She skittered away from the door and positioned herself near the stove. The squeak of the door hinges broke the silence in the dugout, and Mr. Nance stepped in, followed by Dolan and Buster. She frowned. Shouldn’t the boys be in school?
Mr. Nance caught Dolan by the collar. “Get the water bucket and fill it up. There’s two more buckets in the wagon. Fill them, too, an’ bring ’em in here.” The boy scuttled to obey. The man aimed his scowl on Buster next. “See to the slop bucket. Then help your brother.” Finally he looked at her and quirked his finger. “Come with me.”
She dug in her heels. “Where?”
His lips formed a snarl. He stomped forward and grabbed her arm. His fingers bit in as he pushed her out the door. After days of being trapped in the dim dugout with only a single lamp for light, the bright sun was an assault. She brought up her hand to shield her eyes. Cold wind raced across her, welcome in its refreshment. She hadn’t done more than wash her face and hands since he’d brought her here. She and her clothes needed a thorough washing.
He pulled her to the rear of the wagon and lifted out the gate. A basket of eggs and a crate with various items rested in the bed. He handed her the basket. “Take these inside.”
Squinting, she cradled the basket in her arms and returned to the dugout, moving slowly and sending a surreptitious glance in both directions as she went. Gently rolling land, overgrown with dry grass, stretched for as far as she could see. No other structures, no people, only cows in the distance. Helplessness swooped in.
He thumped up behind her and planted his hand in the middle of her back. “Get in there.”
Why couldn’t she stay outside a little longer? He’d chosen a perfectly isolated spot as her hideaway. Who would see them out here? But his push sent her through the door. She set the basket on the table, and he placed the crate next to it. He began pulling things from the crate and plunking them on the table.
“Brought more lamp oil. More foodstuff, too. Enough for all three of you for a couple o’ days.”
She shot a sharp look at him. “Three of us?”
He didn’t lift his gaze from the crate. “You an’ the boys. They’re stayin’.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so, that’s why.” He emptied the crate and slid it under the table. He brushed his palms together and glanced around. “There’s only the one bed, but the boys can sleep on the floor. Won’t bother ’em any.”
There were two blankets on the cot. She would willingly share, but couldn’t he have brought bedrolls along with the food? And why had he brought the boys? She fingered a bag with granules of sugar caught in the rolled-down top. “Is today Saturday?”
“Nope. Friday.”
He’d snatched her Tuesday morning, so she had been in this dugout for only three days. It seemed much longer. “If it’s Friday, why didn’t you send the boys to school?”
He moved to the door, cupped his hand beside his mouth, and hollered, “Dolan! Buster! Hurry up!” He faced her again. “Got things to do away from my ranch an’ might not be back at night. Couldn’t leave ’em on their own. So I brung ’em here.” He looked out and yelled again. “Boys? What’re you doin’ out there?”
He’d brought a cast-iron skillet. It lay on the table in the middle of everything else, inviting her to pick it up. Her fingers inched toward the handle while she kept her gaze fixed on the back of his head. If she was stealthy yet quick, she could bring the skillet down on his skull. Then she could lock him inside and leave with the boys. Her hand closed around the handle, her pulse pounding.
“We’re here, Pa.” Dolan waddled to the door, a full bucket hanging from each hand. “Buster’s fillin’ the other’n.”
Helena released the skillet and reached for the buckets. “Here. Let me help you.”
Surprise registered on the boy’s face, but he let her take them.
Mr. Nance snapped his fingers. “Tell your brother to hurry up. I got places to be.”
He’d left the door open the entire time, and cool air had whisked inside the dugout, but Helena experienced a chill unrelated to the weather. “Where, exactly, do you need to be, Mr. Nance?”
He angled a sly grin over his shoulder. “Dunno why you’re askin’, ’cause you already know. Gotta get to the well house. Gotta wait for my answer.” His expression turned smug. “Guess we’ll find out whether or not you’ll get to leave this place or whether it’ll be your burial tomb.”
Thirty-Six
Bill
Word had sure spread fast. Bill entered Athol’s restaurant—sent there by Hugh Briggs—and men swarmed him, all talking at once. He glanced around the crowded room in amazement. Seemed every able-bodied man in and around town had left their home, ranch, or workplace.
Miss Grant got swept along in front of the throng, and she held both hands to him. He took hold and tipped his head to catch her words.
“I’m ready, Sheriff. Let’s go.”
She might be ready, but he had some planning to do first. He squeezed her hands, then let go and waved both arms over his head. “Quiet! You hear me? Quit your yammerin’.”
It took a few seconds, but the noise dimmed. Took another second or two for Bill’s ears to stop ringing. The fellas had sure raised a ruckus. He planted his fists on his hips and pasted on his sheriff face. “All right, Hugh filled me in on the kidnapper’s demands, an’ I reckon you’re all here thinkin’ you’re gonna be part of an army who goes after Miz Bingham.”
Vern puffed out his chest and patted his sidearm. “We’re ready, Sheriff. You just say the word.” The crowd murmured in agreement.
Miss Grant stuck a piece of paper in Bill’s face. “You have to make them stay here, Sheriff Thorn. The letter says if I don’t come alone, I’ll never see Mrs. Bingham again.”
Bill yanked off his hat and tossed it onto the nearest table. “We ain’t sendin’ an army.”
Miss Grant sagged. “Thank you.”
“But neither are you goin’ alone.”
Her spine went straight. “But—”
Bill pointed at her freckled nose. “An’ I ain’t gonna listen to so much as a word of argumentin’.”
She clamped her lips, but boy did she glower. And that was just fine. No little gal’s frown would change his mind. He held up his palms. “Ever’body, find a chair. Or a leanin’ spot. Wherever you can land, get there. Then I needja to listen.”
Grumbles and mumbles broke out, but the men obeyed. Miss Grant didn’t seem inclined to budge, though. Mack whispered in her ear and then led her to a table. She sat, and Mack stayed close, his hands on her shoulders.
Bill caught himself fighting back a grin. That Mack, he was real took with Miss Grant. No sense in trying to keep him from going along on the rescue. But Bill had thought it over on the ride back to town, and he had a plan. If his plan went well, neither of the ladies would be hurt and he’d be able to arrest the kidnapper.
Now that everybody was calm and paying attention, Bill let himself smile a little. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate you wantin’ to help. You’re good men—all o’ you—an’ Miz Bingham would be right proud o’ the way you’re steppin’ up. But if we all go ridin’ in there, the kidnapper’s likely to panic. Might start shootin’. An’ when bullets start flyin’, people get hurt. I ain’t gonna risk that. Not with two women involved.”
“So,” Mack said, “you’re gonna let Miss Grant go to the Addison well house?” He sounded plenty disbelieving, and Bill couldn’t blame him.
Bill scrunched his face. “I ain’t happy about it, Mack, but I don’t see no other way. He’s wantin’ to trade, so Miss Grant here is what it’ll take to coax the kidnapper into the open.”
Mutters started up again, and Bill sliced his hand through the air. “Don’t get your danders up. I ain’t gonna send her alone no matter what the letter says.”
The men calmed. W. C. pushed off from his place along the wall. “Who’s goin’ with her? Needs to be somebody with a sure shot, just in case. I’m willin’.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll go!”
“Count me in, Sheriff.”
Bill stifled a groan. “Fellas, fellas, will you listen to me, please?” He waited until everybody got quiet again. “I already picked who I’m takin’. Doc Kettering in case Miz Bingham needs some doctorin’ when we find her, an’ ”—he hoped he wouldn’t regret the second choice—“Mack Cleveland.”
W. C. grunted and bounced his fist on the old bar. “Why Mack? I’m a better shot’n him.” Several others echoed W. C.’s claim.
Bill stared them down. “I picked Mack ’cause he ain’t already married or on the list o’ grooms waitin’ for brides. Things could get ugly out there, an’ I don’t aim to leave widows behind.” He turned a look he hoped asked the right question on Mack. “Unless somethin’s changed.”
Mack’s jaw muscles twitched. He shook his head. “No, Sheriff. Nothing’s changed.”
If Bill hadn’t lost his ability to read faces, there was hurt in Miss Grant’s eyes. If things worked out all right, the two young people could sort out their feelings later. For now, they needed to stay focused on the rescue.
“All right, then. Tomorrow mornin’, well before daybreak, me, Hiram, Mack, an’ Miss Grant’ll set out.” Bill gritted his teeth. His next request might be considered lily livered by some, but he’d make it anyway. “The rest o’ you who ain’t goin’, you can help us out by prayin’ ever’thing goes smooth.” He sure didn’t want to lose anybody in this trade.
Helena
“I won!”
Helena couldn’t hold back a smile even though tears stung her eyes. The elation on Buster’s face—a face that normally reflected sadness and apprehension—cheered her more than she could measure. After supper, with little else to do to pass the time, she’d drawn cross marks on the floor and engaged the boys in tic-tac-toe. For an hour they’d sat in a circle on the floor, taking turns scratching Xs and Os in the dirt with a butter knife. She or Dolan had won every game not claimed by the cat. Until this one.
She pointed to the game board. “Draw a line through the Os to show your victory.”
His tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Buster used the butter knife and carved an uneven line from top to bottom over the Os. Dolan frowned.
Helena touched Dolan’s tousled head. “Aren’t you going to congratulate your brother?”
Dolan folded his arms over his skinny chest. “Ain’t fair. He’s littler’n me. He hadn’t oughta beat me at nothin’.”
Buster blinked, his smile fading.
She arched her brows. “Well, now, you’re littler than me, and you won in at least two of our contests. Should I say those matches weren’t fair?”
He curled his lip, a perfect imitation of his father. “Aw, that ain’t the same.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause you’re a girl.”
The scorn in the boy’s tone stung. Helena tipped her head. “Are you telling me you believe girls are inferior to boys?”
Both boys scrunched up their faces. Buster said, “What’s inferior?”
“Not as valuable.”
Their expressions didn’t clear.
She searched for a simpler explanation. “Unworthy. Not important.”
Dolan nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’. Girls…they don’t matter much.”
Helena didn’t need to ask to know where he’d learned such a lesson. “You listen to me, Dolan and Buster. Girls matter. As do boys, whether big or little. Every person matters. Do you know why?”
They shook their heads in unison.
“We are all created in God’s image. He crafted male and female, and He breathed His very own breath of life into them. He loves His cr
eation. What God sees as valuable and important is valuable and important.”
Dolan squinched his eyes to slits, distrust oozing from him. “How do you know?”
“Because it says so in the Bible, which is God’s holy book. Has anyone ever read to you from the Bible?”
Buster nodded hard. “Uh-huh. Our ma did.”
Dolan nudged his brother on the arm, and Buster hung his head.
Such an intriguing piece of their puzzle. A woman who wanted her boys to be educated and who read to them from a Bible didn’t match one who would abandon those same children. She put her hands on the boys’ shoulders. “Well, then, you should know that the Bible doesn’t lie. If the Bible says all men and women are important, then it’s true.”
Dolan stared at her for a long time, as if trying to discern her importance, then snorted and grabbed the butter knife from Buster. “I bet not even God thinks Pa matters. Pa’s nothin’ but a—”
She cupped his chin and lifted his face to her. “You’re wrong, Dolan. God loves your pa. The same way He loves you and Buster and me.” The same way He loved these children’s mother despite her unfathomable decision. “Remember what I told you about the Bible?”
Dolan ground his teeth together, but Buster nodded. “If the Bible says it, it’s true.”
“That’s exactly right.” Helena flashed a smile at the younger boy and then pinned her attention on Dolan again. “This is something else the Bible says, John 3:16—‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ The world, Dolan.” She gave his cheek a gentle stroke with her fingers. “That means God loves everyone who has ever been born and will ever be born. He loves them so much He sent His very own Son into this world to take the punishment for the sins, the wrong things, that we do.”
Beneath a Prairie Moon Page 30