by Jenna Kernan
Nothing ever tasted as good as the hot meal. It warmed her inside and out. When she had finished, the woman set aside her bowl to refill Lucie’s. Lucie thanked her in Sioux.
The wind battered the roof, stealing through the crevices, and Lucie worried about the man who had ridden back. Perhaps the Indian thought the same thing, for she stared often toward the door.
“Are you taking me to my mother?”
The woman continued to stare toward the entrance. “Do you recall the third woman in the teepee?”
Lucie remembered the stooped figure clutching the robe about her face. She had denied the possibility that her heart whispered to her. Now, she recalled the dark woolen skirt of a white woman. The bowl slipped from Lucie’s fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling in a lazy circle in the dirt. The woman’s eyes reflected her sadness.
“She made me promise not to tell you until we were safely away. Yellow Bird said she would lead your mother from the village, but I do not trust her.”
Lucie listened to the howling wind.
“They’re out there in the storm.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thomas planted his heels into his horse’s sides.
He rode with his heart in his throat, barely able to draw a breath past the terror that threatened to consume him. To lose her again—he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He leaned over the horse’s neck and pushed for greater speed. Snow swirled behind them as they galloped along.
Sarah was back here, somewhere.
His stomach clenched as he imagined what would happen when they found her in Lucie’s place. How could she do this?
Didn’t she know the danger?
But she did. Of course she understood that they would kill her, but she did it anyway—to save her child.
How would he save her?
He didn’t know. Likely he couldn’t, but that wouldn’t stop him. Only death would stop him from reaching her this time.
His life without her had been a poor, wretched thing. The rich texture, bright colors and delicious tastes all died when he left her behind. He’d not do it again.
Not again.
He pressed low over the horse’s withers, squinting against the blossoming storm. Visibility dropped and the wind howled, throwing ice crystals against his face like bits of sand. The unbroken downward grade told him the village was near. He saw a brown mass lying on the trail and registered only that some animal lay out in the open.
He galloped on, intent on his goal. It took several moments for his mind to register that a lone animal would never lie out in such a wind. He drew back on the reins, bringing his mount to a trot, then a walk and finally a stop. He planted a hand on the horse’s rump to gaze back the way he had come. A prickling sensation crawled up his neck. Likely an elk had died and been left by his fellows.
He looked at the road ahead, but instead of proceeding on his course, he laid the reins across the horse’s neck, bringing him about.
Blowing snow now coated even with the small, huddled form. He moved closer and saw it was no elk. A large tanned hide covered a body. Thomas clenched his jaw and swung down to the ground. Hope and fear stiffened his legs as he crept forward.
His winded horse stamped restlessly as Thomas gripped the hide and tore it away.
He released his held breath to the shrieking wind as he saw the moccasins, leggings and fringed dress. An Indian woman then, lost or abandoned in the storm. He did not know if he should be relieved or disappointed.
Perhaps she could be used as a bargaining chip. If she wasn’t dead, he might be able to trade her for Sarah.
Her head still lay obscured by the hide in his hand. He gasped as bright auburn hair lifted in the gale wind.
“Sarah!”
Her head lolled as he drew her to him. No. Please don’t let her be gone.
He stroked her pale cheek, finding her skin as cold as the snow upon which she rested. He pressed an ear to her chest and listened but could hear nothing above the whistling wind.
He thrust his hand down the front of her loose fitting hide dress. He could not feel a heartbeat, but her flesh radiated heat.
Heat. If she was warm, she might still live. He gathered her in the buffalo robe and carried her to his mount, draping her over the gelding’s withers as he mounted behind her. Once astride he drew her up against him, gripping her tight with one hand as he gathered the reins with the other.
Then he turned away from the wind. Time seemed to freeze with the snow all about him. Ice formed on the hair at his neck as the storm pushed him along. The fort was too far. He would have to make for the trading post and pray they reached it before nightfall. He rode on, hoping the heat between them came from her body and not only his.
The sky darkened, though whether from the storm or the approaching night he could not tell. The blizzard grew in ferocity until it seemed a living thing.
The trail was no longer visible. Thomas could see nothing through the hailstorm of snow and ice. He had thought he could not be more frightened until he realized he might lose his way in this blizzard.
Sarah needed warmth, a fire and a blanket. If he could not find the trading post she would die. He paused for a moment, wondering if he still stood on the path. Uncertainty swirled within him like the blowing snow all around. Where was he?
How far to the post?
He could already have passed it by, come within feet of his destination and never known. What should he do—go forward, turn back?
At last, he pressed his heels to the sides of his tired horse. To stop was to die. He would walk to hell and back to save her. But how did he fight this vaporous, frozen enemy?
He had only the wind to guide him. The ice blasting against his back meant he still rode south, unless the wind had turned or he had drifted off the path.
Doubt billowed within him, but he urged his horse on. The gelding’s head drooped, radiating exhaustion. His mount looked done in, ready to lie down and die. He tried to pat the horse’s neck and found his hand clumsy, as if refusing to obey his commands.
“Come on, Buck, take us home.”
The minutes turned into hours and the cold stole away his strength. He could no longer grip the reins and his toes went dead as a block of wood. He fumbled to draw the buffalo robe tight about Sarah, afraid to look at her still, pale face.
How much longer could she last? Was she gone already?
He drew a breath past the panic.
Doubt dogged every step as he strained to see the trading post.
Something appeared in the field of white. Panic gave way to a silver strand of hope. Just ahead, he thought, a few more steps. But the wind roared and the shadows shifted showing him that nothing lay before him but the yawning jaws of the blizzard.
Again and again, he dared to hope and each time the illusion dissolved like a shadow over the moon.
He admitted, at last, that he could not save them. Only a miracle would bring them through this. With a sinking feeling, he accepted that he had missed the post and they now walked through a frozen nightmare.
He had never felt such bitter cold.
Should he stop? And do what, he asked himself? Hunker down and wait out the storm? What if it went on all night? They should forge on in hopes of shelter. To travel miles and miles astray as the storm stole his strength and killed his love seemed madness.
But if he stopped, here on the open prairie, with no shelter or fire, it would be to die.
He was not ready to die, yet, not when he had Sarah back in his arms. But death did not take only the willing.
And Lucie? Had she reached the fort?
He gazed down at the bundle in his arms, thinking he would not die without telling her.
“Sarah.” He shook her and received no answer. His words slurred as he tried to tell her. “S-s-arah, I love you. Always have. Always will.”
With his attention on her inert form, he did not see the dark shape looming in the storm. When he did, he forced ba
ck his hope. After so many disappointments, he was prepared to have this dying desire ripped away once more by the relentless wind.
His horse stopped. Thomas’s breathing stopped. He lifted a hand as his horse impatiently pawed the icy ground. His fingers contacted the wall of a building.
He released his breath. The illusion did not disappear.
“Thank you, God.”
Turning his weary horse, he rode along the wall, searching for the entrance. Instead, he came up against a split rail fence. He stared in confusion.
Was this the trading post or had he stumbled into some home-steader’s barn?
It didn’t matter. It was shelter.
He dragged his deadened foot from the stirrup, and slid it gracelessly down to the icy ground. There he found his legs unwilling to support him. A moment of stamping seemed to bring them back into service. He tied the horse’s reins to the top rail and then took Sarah in his arms, praying all the while that she would move or speak. Instead, she lay still as death. He hurried to the fence and slipped between the two rails, sliding into the corral. On the leeward side of the barn, he still could see nothing through the snow blowing over the roof as he crept along the wall toward the corner of the building. He soon located a door large enough to allow livestock to pass.
Shifting Sarah to his side he grasped the latch, rolling back the door a few feet. Quickly, he stepped into the darkness.
A nicker of greeting told him he was in the company of horses. Groping along the wall, he came to a stall. He deposited Sarah against the wall and returned to his horse. It took some moments to locate the proper opening to the corral and to lead his grateful horse within.
Once inside the barn, his mount gave a groan of relief, shaking off the ice from his head. Thomas moved to relieve Buck of his saddle. Finally, he closed the door. The killing wind cried out in protest, beating against the wooden planks, seemingly bent on tearing away the meager protection to reach its prey.
Thomas finally found a kerosene lantern and a matchbox. Aware that hay-filled barns and fire were dangerous partners, he carefully lit the lamp, then gutted the match by licking his fingers and pressing them firmly over the flame. The orange glow of life filled him with hope. He raised the lamp and glanced about.
To his right he found hay, loosely pitched into a crib. At the end of the crib stood three burlap sacks of grain, the sweet smell of molasses reaching him as he delved into the upright bag. A narrow aisle separated the horses from their food. One communal stall held four horses that all regarded him with large curious eyes. He spotted Sarah’s Appaloosa gelding and closed his eyes at the wave of relief. This was the trading post and Lucie had reached safety. His eyes flicked over Roubideaux’s bay, Water Blossom’s chestnut mare and the two mules. All here, all safe.
Roubideaux must have changed his mind, realized he couldn’t make the fort and headed to the nearest shelter.
Sarah’s gelding lowered his freckled neck to sniff at the bundle of hide that held Sarah. Thomas knelt by her side, drawing back the leather shield that had protected her from the worst of the wind. He pressed the palm of his hand across her cheek and mouth. For a moment he held his breath, and then he felt the gentle puff of air against the web between his thumb and first finger. Her breathing was shallow, but there. He wept with joy, but then dashed the sign of weakness away. He needed to get her warm.
He stared at the door. Beyond that lay the trading post, a bed, a fire and warm food. He reached to hoist Sarah and paused. Stories from the old timers at the goldfield stirred in his weary brain. What was it one prospector had said? They had found his brother dead in a drift not four feet from the front door. Disoriented in a blizzard while walking from the milk barn to his kitchen, a journey he’d made twice a day for his entire life.
Thomas lifted Sarah and carried her to the hay, resting her in this rough bed and adding the horses’ blankets to her buffalo robe. Then he searched the barn for a rope, finding only one.
He turned to the door, sliding it back to admit the savage wind. He paused to tie the rope about the large corral post and the other end around his waist. Then he closed the door and stepped back. The barn disappeared. He was disoriented. Panic seized him and he ran back until he collided with the wall.
Flat against the frozen plank, he closed his eyes as he realized the miracle of finding this building at all. Thank God for his horse. Somehow the creature had managed to navigate blind, leading them to safety.
He pressed his back to the wall and pictured the layout of the post. Why hadn’t he paid more attention?
The corral had been to the left and the trading post to the right. The corral had been behind the barn. That meant he needed to walk along the side wall and then cross the open ground between the structures.
He groped his way along the barn, reaching the front. He paused to draw an icy breath and then tugged at his lifeline. Certain that the knots would hold, he stepped out into the blizzard holding his arm over his face, trying to protect his skin from the stinging ice crystals in the lee of his elbow. A sharp tug told him he had reached the end of his line. He reached out, hoping to find the building just before him, but came up empty. He sidestepped to the right and still found nothing.
Likely the trading post lay a few feet before him. He fingered the knot and hesitated.
If he released it, he might find help. He might also find his death. He shouted, adding his voice to the howling wind. After a few moments he gave that up, again resting his fingers on the knot.
If he lost his way, he would leave Sarah alone in the barn. If he reached the post, he might still save her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rope tugged at his middle. From the furthest point of his leash he thought he saw the trading post appear through the bands of snow. But did he believe enough to release the rope and step into the mouth of the gale?
If he did reach the post, how could he find his way back to her? He turned his head to look to the way he had come and saw the taut rope disappearing into the storm.
No. He would not risk it. They would make do in the barn.
His shoulders slumped as he returned, using the rope to guide him to her. He struggled to slide open the door. The wind seemed peevishly intent on ripping the wood from its hinges. He dug his toes into the earth and heaved, feeling the door roll into place at last.
He hooked a bolt that looked woefully inadequate for the task and then returned to Sarah.
She lay shivering in the buffalo robe, tucked into the bed of sweet hay. Exploring his surroundings, he found Roubideaux’s supplies, blankets, steel blades and axe heads, beads, but no food. He gathered five blankets and laid them beside Sarah.
With a little effort he had the buffalo hide beneath her. The blankets he piled on top of her. At first she lay unmoving, then her shivering shook the makeshift bed.
Gradually other noises reached him. The horses munched their hay. Buck stood outside the stall and was trying to reach the hay in the crib. Thomas removed his bridle and opened the gate. Buck headed for the water, but soon returned for a helping of grain.
He scratched beneath the buckskin’s black forelock. “You’re a good horse, Buck. Thank you.”
Outside the blizzard whistled at the joints and rafters, stealing into this small sanctuary.
With all the animals settled, he snuffed the lantern and groped his way back to Sarah.
He unbuttoned his coat and slipped out of his boots, then laid his hat on the hay. Sliding in beside her, he hugged Sarah, rubbing her back. He collected her hands and pressed them into the opening of his coat. Gradually, her tremors slowed until he could no longer hear the clacking of her teeth. Her breathing grew more regular.
“Sarah? Can you hear me?”
She nodded.
“You’re safe now.”
“L-L-Lu-see?”
He stroked her head. “Your horse is here. She made it.”
She released a great breath and lifted her chin as if to see him
in the dark.
“Take me to—to her.”
“Yes, when the storm breaks.”
He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her tight.
“You saved me,” she whispered.
“That was a damned foolish thing to do.” He tried and failed to sound stern. She nestled closer and he inhaled her scent. “Foolish and brave and grand.”
“I knew you’d come back for me.”
His breath caught, because for reasons he could not even fathom, she still had faith in him. She still believed.
“I’ll always come back.”
She murmured his name and curled within the circle of his embrace.
How had he ever thought to live without her? He’d not do it again. It had taken the horror of almost losing her to reveal his convictions. This was his woman. This stubborn, fiery, protective lioness was his mate. God help him, because he intended to tell her he loved her.
If she’d only give him the chance, he’d make a home for them all, the family she said she wanted. He started to picture the three of them together, but stopped, afraid that if he imagined his family strong and whole, some new cruel twist of fate would intervene to steal them once more.
Not this time, he vowed. The only one that could keep them apart now was Sarah. If she’d have him, he’d marry her. He intended to beg her to be his bride. And tomorrow, if the weather cleared, he would reunite his family.
He recalled seeing Sarah huddled on the frozen ground and shivered at the terrible memory. How he had found her in that storm, he could not say. It was God’s own miracle. He rolled to his side and curled his body around her. She sighed and nestled deep into the cavity of his belly and hips. How perfectly they fit.
Here the howling wind could not reach them. They were safe in this shelter shared only by the horses that had carried them all to safety.
The desperate fright of finding Sarah and then riding through the terrible storm overtook him at last. Weariness pulled him into dreamless sleep as he nestled in the hay with his love. How long he slumbered, he did not know, nor could he say what brought him awake. His eyes snapped open and his senses came instantly alert. The darkness was not complete. Some light stole through the gaps in the rafters. Sarah shifted in her sleep and he forced himself to stillness.
