by Bobbi Smith
Later, when the sounds of the wedding feast drifted to them on the night wind, Angel asked, “When will you tell Lucky?”
Blade smiled into the darkness. “First thing in the morning.”
“Blade?” Angel rose up on one elbow to gaze down at him. “What will we do about him?”
“I love him, too, Angel. He’s a part of us already. I’d like to keep him with us and raise him ourselves.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” she confessed as she bent over him to kiss him, her bare breasts teasing his chest.
“When do you want to get married?” he ventured, knowing it was something they should settle before they talked to the boy.
“As soon as we can. I’d like to have a wedding with my family, but there’s no telling when I’ll ever get to go home again.”
He heard the sadness in her words and cuddled her close. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to make anything up to me,” Angel refused. “The dreams of a fancy wedding are just that—girlish dreams. I’m a woman now—your woman. No matter where we marry, we’ll be happy.” Elizabeth had had a fairy-tale wedding, and her life had been a living hell. It was the love that counted, not the outward trappings.
“I’m glad you think so,” he murmured as he kissed her.
“I know so.”
Sorry that this wasn’t their wedding night, they rose and dressed. In the morning, they would seek out Lucky and tell him of their plans. They would be a family, and they would be happy.
Lucky played hard with his friends for hours after leaving Angel and Blade. When the boys were ready to go to bed, Lucky left the village and wandered onto the range to be alone for a little while.
Thoughts of Angel had been with him all evening, and he was desperately hoping that Blade had asked her to marry him tonight. He knew they would be happy together, and he hoped, against hope, that if they did marry they would ask him to stay with them. He knew it was selfish of him to want happiness for others only so he would benefit, but he loved Angel and Blade both and never wanted to be separated from them.
It had been years since he’d prayed. For a long time Lucky had felt that God had abandoned him, but tonight he would try one more time. He had done everything he could, and now he would ask God for help. There was no one else to turn to.
Sitting down on a low rise that gave him a wide view of the earth and sky, Lucky gazed up at the stars and silently began to plead with God for this one special favor. He promised to be good for the rest of his life if God would let him stay with Angel and Blade. Tears burned in his dark eyes as he made the solemn pledge, and he continued to sit there for some time, quietly waiting and hoping for a sign that his prayer would be answered.
Brad Watkins along with his partner, Shawn Darnell, and the tracker he hired named Payson couldn’t believe their good fortune. After their maddening pursuit of gunfighter, woman, and boy across Louisiana, they’d finally caught up with the kid and, miracle of miracles, he’d practically come to them. Fate had smiled upon them.
“You sure it’s him?” Darnell asked warily. It seemed too easy.
“Who else would it be? You know damned well that that’s him!” Watkins snarled. Foiled at every turn in trying to locate the Windsor woman and her nephew, he had nearly given up back in New Orleans, and then the little desk clerk had come through with the information he’d needed and he’d been back on their trail again. He had the boy in sight, and he was going to grab him tonight. The celebration in the village was so loud and boisterous that even if the kid did get the chance to cry out, it was doubtful anyone would hear him. By the time anyone noticed he was missing, they would be well on their way back to Philadelphia—and a great big reward. He thought it a pity that the woman wasn’t with the boy. Marsden had promised an extra bonus to whoever brought in the woman named Angel, and Watkins could have used the money. Still, the reward for the boy was the biggest, and that was all that mattered now.
“I hope you’re right, ’cause if that ain’t him—” Darnell worried.
“Shut up.” Watkins looked over at Payson. “You got an idea how we can get him out of here without bringing that whole village down on us?”
“Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll grab him. You two get the horses ready. We’re going to have to travel hard and fast. We need to put as many miles between us and the camp as we can just in case he’s found out missing right away.”
“All right,” he agreed. “You sure you can handle the kid alone?”
“What’s one little kid?” Payson sneered as he crept toward the silent boy. He thought it unusual that a kid would be sitting alone this time of night, but he didn’t worry about it. It was a break for them, and they desperately needed one.
Lucky had his eyes closed and was praying so fervently that he completely missed seeing Payson crawling toward him. When the man struck, pouncing on him and clamping a big, dirty hand over his mouth, Lucky was completely unprepared. He fought as hard as he could, but a brutal cuff to the side of his head dazed him, stilling any resistance he might have mustered.
The next thing Lucky knew he was gagged, his wrists bound before him, and he was being dragged down to a grove of trees where two other men waited with horses. Within minutes, he was thrown on the back of a horse and his mount was led away from the Wichita camp.
Frightened, Lucky tried to keep up a brave front. His realized that unless Sitting Dog decided to look for him, no one would know he was missing until morning. Trying to be rational in the face of his fear, he told himself that if he were going to escape, he would have to do it on his own. With that in mind, he waited for the opportunity to break away.
The men set a breakneck pace, and it took all of Lucky’s concentration not to slip off. He tried several times to make his horse balk by using his knees, hoping that he would then be able to wrench the reins free from his captor and get away; but his efforts were in vain. The other man kept tight control over his mount.
Terrified though he was, Lucky refused to let it show. He told himself to stay calm and bide his time. Angel and Blade would come after him the minute they found out he was gone. So even if he couldn’t get away on his own, he would eventually be rescued.
Watkins, Darnell, and Payson did not stop through the night. They rode eastward by the light of the moon. Briefly, at dawn, they rested the horses, then they put more miles between themselves and the village.
Blade was up first, joined by Angel a short time later. She was dressed in her regular riding clothes, her hair once more restrained in a sensible braid, and he mourned the loss to practicality.
“Where’s Lucky?” she asked, glancing around. She’d expected him to be helping Blade as he always did.
“I haven’t seen him yet this morning. I guess he and Sitting Dog stayed up too late last night. I’ll check on him in a minute,” he offered.
“Thanks.” Angel went in search of something to eat, leaving Blade to rouse the boy. Within minutes, Blade was back with Angel, his expression troubled.
“What is it?” Fear edged her voice.
“According to Sitting Dog, Lucky didn’t spend the night with him. Lucky took a walk and never returned, so Sitting Dog went to bed thinking Lucky had come back to our lodge to sleep with us.”
“Oh my God!” Angel’s face went white. Her heart skipped a beat as her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She lifted agonized eyes to Blade. “They think he’s Christopher. They’ve taken him!” The words came out in a strangled, horrified whisper.
“We don’t know that yet.” He tried to calm her as he took her in his arms. “Let me take a look around camp and see what I can find.”
“I’m going with you,” she declared.
Blade returned to Sitting Dog and with his help located Lucky’s tracks leading out of camp. He discovered the place where the boy had been sitting and saw immediately the signs of the struggle where he’d been overpowered. Angel was right.
“Well?” Angel
had noticed the close attention Blade was paying to the ground. She had to know what he’d found.
“He was sitting here, and someone came up to him. It looks like there was a fight of some kind, and then both of them walked off down this way.” Blade followed the tracks and discovered the place where the other men had hidden with the horses.
Near violent emotions churned through Blade. He’d thought they were safe in the village. He’d let his guard down just this once; and, in that moment of weakness, the boy had been captured. He cursed himself for not believing these men could achieve their goal.
“Someone took him,” he announced tersely. “From the tracks, I’d say there were three grown men. They had four horses, so they were expecting to have another rider with them.”
“I knew it.” Her words were choked; and she, too, was overwhelmed with guilt and worry. “It’s all my fault. I should never have brought him into this. I knew it might be dangerous for him, but I deliberately ignored it.”
Blade embraced her. “Don’t blame yourself. If you hadn’t taken Lucky in, he’d still be living on the streets. At least we know they’re not going to hurt him. They think he’s Christopher, and they’re taking him back to his father.”
“I know,” she breathed, terror filling her so badly that she started to shake.
“I’ll go after them. You can wait here for me.”
“I’m going with you.”
“All right.” He led the way back to camp, his thoughts deep and worried. “Michael doesn’t want Christopher dead, does he?”
“No, he wouldn’t dare harm him until after his tenth birthday, and that’s some months away.”
“What about when he finds out that it’s Lucky they brought back and not Christopher?”
“He’ll be furious when he finds out I tricked him again. There’s no telling what he’ll do, and there’s no telling what price Lucky might have to pay for being a party to my deceptions.”
Blade paused and held her for a moment wanting to give her strength. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll find them.”
“Blade, I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Twenty
On the wagon train
The days on the trail were long and arduous. Every morning, just after sunup, the oxen-led wagons rumbled off, heading westward at their slow, methodical pace. The wagon train, thirty wagons in all, stopped at midday for the noon meal and to rest the animals, then moved out again and kept going until just before dark. At night, the wagons were circled and fires built for cooking and for light.
One night, two weeks into the journey, Steve was just returning from tending to their stock when he found Sarah waiting for him a short distance from their wagon. His gaze upon her was warm with definite male approval as he approached. The days in the sunshine had agreed with her, bleaching golden streaks into her brown hair and adding a becoming flush of color to her fair complexion. He’d thought her lovely before, but after all these days and nights of close contact, he was entranced.
Steve had been hard put to only “play” his part of husband. The intimacy of their arrangement frustrated him, especially since his competition for her affections was a dead man. How could he compete with a ghost? Still, as he watched her waiting for him in the flickering firelight, he vowed he would never give up. Sarah was a prize worth any effort to attain.
As he drew closer he saw her troubled expression. “Sarah? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure anything is, really,” she ventured hesitantly, “but Christopher’s complaining of a headache and he feels a little warm.”
“I’ll take a look at him,” he offered.
Sarah was grateful. Although her role was that of experienced wife and mother, she actually knew little about childhood illnesses. She was glad for Steve’s support. Somehow, she’d known she would have it when she’d sought him out.
They hurried back to find that Christopher had already bedded down under the wagon, where he’d been sleeping with Steve. He’d liked sleeping outside like one of the men, and Sarah had voiced no objection.
“Your mother tells me you’re not feeling well,” Steve said as he knelt beside the boy.
“My head hurts,” Christopher mumbled, turning fever-bright eyes to Steve.
Steve rested a big hand across the boy’s forehead. “Sarah, he’s burning up!”
“Oh.” It was a small sound from a usually noisy boy.
“Rest, son. Your mother and I will be here. We’ll take care of you.”
Christopher managed a weak smile, then closed his eyes in weariness. There was a drawn tightness to the boy’s usually cheerful features. Steve stood up.
“I’ll get some fresh water so we can bathe him and keep him cool. With any luck, the fever will pass as quickly as it came.”
Sarah stayed with Christopher while Steve drew the water from the stream nearby. He was back within minutes, and Sarah immediately dampened a cloth and began to stroke her nephew’s fevered brow, neck, and chest with a slow, cooling motion. Though Christopher shivered under her ministrations, he did not protest, and eventually he fell asleep.
Relieved, Sarah and Steve wandered to the campfire for coffee. Without hunger, they ate leftover biscuits from breakfast and a few pieces of cold meat.
Keith Collier, a lanky blond man of thirty, and his short, plump, dark-haired wife, Myrtle, owned the wagon that followed theirs. Seeing Steve and Sarah by the fire, they came over to visit with them for a few minutes before turning in for the night.
“Where’s Christopher? I haven’t seen him all evening,” Myrtle asked. She liked the cute little boy and wondered where he was.
“He’s not feeling well tonight. He’s got a touch of fever, so he went on to bed early,” Sarah told her.
“He should be fine by morning,” Steve added.
“Well, if he’s not, be sure you bundle him up real good and sweat that fever right out of him.”
Steve thought her advice was outrageous. He knew sweating a fever did more harm than good, but he wasn’t about to argue with the well-meaning woman. “We’re going to do everything we can to make him better,” he told her.
“Good. He’s a sweet child. We certainly don’t need him getting real sick,” Myrtle responded.
To which Sarah added a silent ‘Amen’in her heart. Angel had entrusted Christopher to her care. She had to keep him safe and healthy.
“Tell him we hope he’s feeling better right away,” Keith said as they returned to their own wagon.
Steve and Sarah checked on Christopher once more to find that he was still hot but sleeping quietly.
“Do you want me to take him inside?” Steve offered.
“It’s cooler out here, and I hate to disturb him.”
“All right. You go on to bed, and I’ll keep watch.”
“I can’t leave him when he’s this sick.”
Steve admired her motherly devotion, and they sat down beside the wagon near the sleeping boy to watch over him.
“Steve?” Sarah said his name quietly, not wanting to wake Christopher.
“What?”
“Thanks.” She was grateful for his help. Steve seemed to know instinctively what to do to help her, and she wanted to let him know how much she appreciated him. Leaning toward him, she intended to press a kiss to his tanned cheek, but to her surprise, he turned his head and met her lips fully with his own. It was a quick, tender exchange because she drew quickly away, but it left her staring up at him in wonder.
“Sarah.” His eyes met hers, but his expression was carefully masked, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts—of how much he wanted to clasp her to him.
Unnerved by her response to Steve’s kiss, Sarah shifted away, trying to put a safe distance between them. It would have been easy to go into his arms and stay there, and she tried not to look at him for fear that he would read her feelings in her face. Even as she pretended to ignore him, though, she could not push him from her mind. Since they’d been together, he
’d proven to her that he was a man of his word, and her respect for him had grown enormously. He was no stranger to hard work and was always ready to help others. When wagons had gotten stuck in the mud, he’d volunteered to help free them; and when it had been time to cross the river, he’d done more than his share in keeping everyone safe. He’d taught both her and Christopher how to handle their team, and he’d shown the boy how to make repairs to the wagon.
Sarah realized now just how foolish her plan to make the trek west alone had been. She wouldn’t have lasted a day on the wagon train without Steve, and with every passing sunset, she appreciated him more and more.
“Mother.” Christopher’s pitiful cry jerked Sarah back to reality. Sarah and Steve both moved under the wagon to check on the boy, and Steve knew almost immediately that he was worse, not better.
“He’s worse?” she repeated after him, putting her hand to Christopher’s forehead. A terrible, dry heat emanated from him. His cheeks were reddened from his burning illness, and his usual color had faded to a dull grayish tone.
“Yes.” Steve was already reaching for the bucket and rags.
“Let’s take him inside now. He’ll be a little more comfortable on the bed, and we can strip him down completely.”
Steve did as she’d asked, quickly moving out from under the wagon to lift Christopher into his arms. Sarah hurried on ahead to hold the flap while he climbed inside with the boy.
“You can put him on my bed,” Sarah told him. “It’ll be easier to get to him there.”
Steve laid the boy carefully on the larger of the two beds, and Christopher opened his eyes. “I want my mother,” he murmured.
