Trail of Longing (Hot on the Trail Book 3)

by Merry Farmer

  Another voice, a female voice, spoke from the tipi. Emma gasped and sat back on her haunches. A flap opened in the wall of the tipi and a woman stepped out into the moonlight. She couldn’t have been much older than Emma, but she was round with child. She held her stomach with one hand, concern and fright furrowing her brow. She spoke again.

  The old man answered her with a tone that suggested bafflement.

  The woman replied and stepped out toward the fire. Another woman—much younger, barely past childhood—stepped out of the tipi behind her.

  “Please,” Emma appealed to the pregnant woman. “Please let me go.” She struggled to stand, cursing the layers of her formal gown. She never should have let her mother talk her into wearing it. She never should have let her mother talk her into a great many things.

  Before she could step any closer to the pregnant woman, the brave returned. He spoke with authority, gesturing to the pregnant woman, who nodded and bowed her head.

  “Is she your wife?” Emma asked.

  For a moment, the brave glanced to her. By his expression, Emma couldn’t tell if he was surprised to hear her speak or offended that she had dared. She inched away in either case.

  The brave brushed off the interruption and crossed around the fire to the pregnant woman. She replied to his words. The two of them entered a conversation as the old man looked on and the girl crept out of the tipi.

  Emma hugged herself. She had never felt so alone. Her thoughts flew back to the moment they were taken, to Katie. The other brave had hit Katie over the head. He had ridden off in the other direction. What had happened to her friend? She could be injured or worse. The only saving grace in the situation was that Aiden had come riding after them with Dean. She was certain that had been him, certain by his cry. He had to have gone after her. Aiden would do anything to save Katie. Emma just hoped that Dean would do anything to save her.

  Her thoughts were yanked back to where she was as the pregnant woman stifled a moan. Emma whipped to face her, eyes wide. The brave swayed closer to her, arms outstretched as though he would catch her if she fell over. The pregnant woman moaned again, but shook her head and waved him off, saying something that sounded like a dismissal.

  The brave left her and marched up to Emma. He gave her a command, desperation painted on his face. He pointed across the fire to the pregnant woman. Fear squeezed Emma’s throat, but behind it was concern for the pregnant woman.

  “Is she in labor?” Emma asked, doing her best to push her fear aside. There was no way the brave could understand her, but if there was anything she could do for the pregnant woman, she had to try. When the brave only stared at her, Emma made the gesture of a round stomach, then moved her arms down, then up to mimic cradling a baby. “Is the baby coming?”

  The brave nodded, saying something more and gesturing to the woman. She protested and waved him off, but her dismissal was followed by another stifled groan.

  Something clicked inside of Emma. Determination and the need to help swept the last of her fear away. She gathered up her skirts and marched around the fire, right past the brave, to the pregnant woman. Carefully, she reached out and touched the woman’s arm.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked. When the woman only blinked at her, Emma screwed her face up the way she would if she were in pain. The woman continued to blink at her, but the light of understanding flashed in her eyes. “Are you in labor? Is there trouble?”

  The pregnant woman hesitated. She peered deep into Emma’s eyes, as if judging her character, whether she could be trusted. She glanced past Emma’s shoulder to the brave, then down to the side where the old man sat. The old man said something to her, his voice weary. He nodded.

  The pregnant woman nodded in return, then looked to Emma. She grabbed Emma’s hand and pressed it to her stomach, making a pained face in the way Emma had. Then she said something quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to the brave to hear. There was more fear in the woman’s voice than Emma suspected she wanted to admit to. Something was wrong. Either the woman was in labor or there were complications or both.

  Emma’s mind raced. What if the brave had taken her from the fort thinking she knew something about helping women give birth? Had he brought her here to help his wife? On the other hand, what if he knew his wife was in trouble and wouldn’t survive the birth? What if he’d snatched her to take his wife’s place?

  She didn’t have time to debate the possibilities one way or another. The woman in front of her needed help. “We should go inside the tipi,” she said, sliding her arm around the woman’s waist as tenderly as she could and nudging her to the flap in the tipi’s wall. “I’ll help you. I don’t know what I can do, but I’ll help you.”

  The woman nodded and let herself be led to the tipi. Emma took a deep breath and glanced off across what little part of the landscape she could see. Dean, if you’re out there, she called out to him in her heart, hurry and find us. I’m not the only one who needs you tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dean rode as fast as he could through the night, praying that somehow he would be able to catch up to the brave and Emma. A few times, he thought he caught a glimpse of them rounding the crest of a hill or standing out in a valley. Each time, his heart soared for a moment, only to crash down into despair when his visions turned out to be nothing. Still, he followed what he hoped was the right path, always chasing the shadows that he knew in his heart had to be Emma.

  He was convinced he was heading in the right direction when he began to see the same small stream flowing to his left every time he thought he saw the shadows. The brave was following a course. He couldn’t have been running randomly over wild landscape. If he was following the stream, then all Dean had to do was keep it in sight. He hung all of his hopes on that.

  The lonely night gave him too much time to think. He had said some harsh things to Emma before the dance, things he regretted now. He had been frustrated with her, impatient to have her fall into his arms and be with him. Doubt chased him as he chased the brave. Was he being fair with her? Emma was such a good person, one of the best people he had ever met. She was trying to obey her mother, like a good daughter should.

  That was the problem. Her mother had ideas of her own, ideas that were standing in the way of Emma’s happiness, whether the woman knew it or not. As the hours of pursuit wore on, Dean’s emotions flip-flopped from deep regret to certainty that he had said the right thing after all. It was true, if Emma never learned to stand up to her mother, she would never find the happiness she deserved. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  At the same time, he should have found a softer way to tell her. Once again, his emotions switched back to shame and guilt.

  He was in the middle of another round of inner debate, when the faint scent of a fire filled the air. He pulled his horse to a stop and sat taller, sniffing the air. Somewhere nearby, there was a campfire.

  The full moon had dipped far toward the horizon, hiding much of the bright light that had been out before. Dean had reached a point where the stream he had been following was wider. More trees stood around it than there were back at Ft. Caspar. It wasn’t quite a forest, but in the eerie moonlight, the shapes of the trees loomed large. Dean held his breath and listened. The stream gurgled to his left. He thought he heard the low whicker of a horse.

  A second sound hit him through the darkness like an arrow. A muffled groan—definitely female—sounded from somewhere hidden. It was quiet, but drawn out. Panic and the urge to take action shot through him. He opened his mouth to call out to Emma, but thought better of it and pressed his lips shut. If the brave was still with her, any shout he made would give him away. While the horse from the fort had a rifle slung to the back of the saddle, Dean left it where it was. He had seen enough killing to last a lifetime. He needed to get Emma back some other way.

  He dismounted, leading his horse to the side of the stream so it could have a much-deserved drink. All the while, he listened. The woman’s cry was
gone, but he waited for another. He debated leaving his horse drinking by the stream and sneaking off to investigate what he’d heard, but a flash of movement a few yards upstream revealed a second horse. That horse wore only a simple bridle and a blanket across its back. It had to belong to the brave, and if the brave was nearby, he couldn’t leave his horse at the stream where it could be discovered and give him away.

  When his horse had drunk its fill, Dean led it across the stream and into a stand of trees and bushes, out of sight of the other horse. He tied it and brushed a hand across its neck, regretting that he didn’t have time to properly rub it down after the run they’d had. He silently promised to make it up to it, then crept back across the stream to the side with the fire smell.

  Faint traces of dawn spread across the horizon to the east. Dean both blessed them for bringing more light to the situation and cursed them for making it harder for him to hide. He stayed close to the bushes beside the stream, listening for more sounds, careful not to make any of his own.

  A deep male voice stopped him in his tracks as he crept around a spreading bush. He froze until the voice stopped. It was a slow voice, roughened by age and exhaustion, an old man. Half a second of relief was replaced by dread when a much younger, much more aggressive voice answered him, a younger man, the brave. Dean dropped to the ground, inching underneath the bush.

  The brave got up to add more wood to the fire. As its light grew, the scene in the clearing beyond the bushes took shape. From his hiding place, Dean could see a small, sparse camp. The fire sat in the middle, ringed by stones. Just as he’d suspected, an old man in buffalo skin robes sat beside the fire, and the brave—very possibly the one that had taken Emma—now worked bringing the fire to life again.

  Behind the fire, set between two tall trees, was a simple tipi. It was smaller than Dean had imagined a tipi would be. A faint light shone from the top and around the seams where a door must be. There was a fire inside the structure. Emma must be inside. Dean’s panic welled up all over again. Was she injured? The moan he’d heard was definitely one of pain.

  The brave finished with the fire and turned toward the tipi, calling something out to it in a strained voice. The old man made some comment in his language that sounded disapproving, gesturing for the brave to sit. The flap at the front of the tipi opened and a very young woman stepped out. Her face was lined with worry. She said something to the brave, then lowered her head. The old man replied to whatever she said, and the girl scurried back inside.

  Dean strained to see past her into the tipi while the flap was opened, but all he saw was a hint of light. A moment later, the female moaning came again. The brave stiffened. He didn’t sit like the old man had told him to, instead he paced. The groan of pain continued, making Dean short of breath and desperate to do something, anything to rush to Emma’s aid.

  His heart stopped a moment later when the muffled sound of Emma saying, “There, there. It will be all right. The baby will be all right,” came from the tipi.

  Relief beyond anything Dean had known poured through him. He relaxed against the ground, letting all energy leave him for a moment as he exhaled. Emma wasn’t the one in pain. Her voice sounded stressed but whole. She wasn’t hurt.

  Thought caught up to him a moment later. The moans must be coming from a woman in labor. Judging by the way the brave now paced, it could have been his wife, his child about to be born. The old man watched the brave pace with equal parts disapproval and worry. As the light of dawn grew, Dean could see the old man steal looks at the tipi when the brave wasn’t watching. Something was wrong.

  The woman in labor cried out again, louder this time. The brave stumbled and called out to the tipi. Again, the old man admonished him. The brave turned to snap something at the old man. An instant later, his face pinched with regret. He went to the old man and knelt before him, bowing his head, asking forgiveness for what he’d said, if Dean’s guess was right. The old man spoke gently to him, gesturing toward the tipi, then toward the sky and the land around him. He went on, telling a story of some sort.

  The story lasted a long time, and when it was finished, the brave stood. He said something to the old man in a contrite tone, then turned and marched off, straight toward the bush where Dean was hiding.

  Dean held his breath, ready to fight if he had to. He balled his hands into fists. But the brave strode right past without seeing him. He continued behind the bush, out of Dean’s line of sight. A few moments later, a horse whinnied. Then came the sound of hoof beats that faded off in the direction of the sunrise.

  After that, the camp was silent. The old man closed his eyes and went back to his quiet singing. Dean shifted under the bush, watching the tipi. He needed to get to Emma, carry her away, but the possibility that the pregnant woman needed his help kept him from charging into action.

  All that changed when the woman cried out again, louder than before. Dean blew out a breath. He couldn’t stay where he was any longer.

  “Emma!” He wriggled out from under the bush and stood, banking on the brave being too far away to hear him. “Emma!” he shouted again.

  The old man jerked in fright as Dean strode into the camp. He struggled to push himself to a standing position, stiff with age.

  “There’s no need to get up, I’m not going to hurt you,” Dean spoke to him, holding out his hands to show they were empty. He motioned for the man to sit down while walking toward the tipi. “Emma!”

  “Dean?” The flap at the front of the tipi pushed open and Emma jumped out to meet him. Her eyes were wide with panic, but as soon as she saw him, they lit with joy. “Oh Dean, I’m so happy to see you. I knew you’d come.”

  Without hesitation, she launched herself into his arms. Dean caught her and held her tight, weak with relief. Not in any of the times he had held her before had her body felt so good against his. Regardless of the old man watching, he kissed Emma as hard as he could, from the bottom of his soul. It was a kiss of thanks to the Almighty for keeping her alive. After this, he would never let her go.

  Kissing Dean, being held close in his arms, lifted Emma to a bliss that she had never known before. She didn’t care what her mother thought as she squeezed him tight, her lips eager for him. She loved him. He had come.

  A moment later, the direness of the situation crashed back in on her. She gasped and pulled back.

  “Dean, you have to help.” She took his hand and tugged him toward the tipi. “The woman is in labor and something is wrong. She knows it too and is trying to be brave, but none of us know what to do.”

  “None of us?” Dean asked. He followed her into the tipi when she pushed the flap aside.

  In spite of the dawn breaking, the interior of the tipi was relatively dark. The pregnant woman lay on a pallet of skins toward the back of the space. Her whole body was drenched in sweat and her face contorted in pain. The younger woman sat by her head, smoothing back her hair and swaying as she sang a plaintive song. A few possessions were scattered to the side of the fire, including a bowl of water and several packets of herbs. A pot hung from an iron tripod over the fire, steam rising from it. Emma had set it to boil earlier, knowing it would be useful, but she had no idea how.

  The pregnant woman moaned and tried to inch away as soon as she saw Dean. The younger woman cried out in fright and fled to the edge of the space.

  “It’s all right,” Emma tried to tell them. “This is Dean, Dr. Meyers. He can help you. He’s… he’s a medicine man.” She held up her hands, struggling to think of some way to show them with a gesture how Dean could help. Nothing came to her mind.

  “When did she go into labor?” Dean asked. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to the side, then rolled up his sleeves.

  The young woman whimpered at the gesture, pleading, “No, no!”

  Emma’s heart twisted in her chest at the thought of what could have made the poor girl so terrified to see a man remove his coat. There wasn’t time to do anything about it, though.

&n
bsp; “She must have just started her labor before the brave brought me here hours ago,” she said. “I don’t know how long ago that was.”

  “Have you been able to tell how far apart her contractions are?”

  Emma shook her head. “Close. But I think something else is wrong too. She shouldn’t be in this much pain, should she?”

  They crossed around the fire to the pregnant woman’s bed. She shouted, wide eyes moving from Emma to Dean, and tried to get away. Another wave of pain took her and she abandoned her efforts, groaning and holding her stomach.

  “We need water,” Dean said, his face set with determination. “If there is anything that could serve as tools for the birth, a knife, anything that could be used as bandages….” He let his thought drop as he knelt at the foot of the woman’s pallet.

  The pregnant woman did her best to protest, crying, “No, no,” the same as the younger woman had.

  “I’m here to help you,” Dean said in his most soothing voice. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Still, the woman tried to get away, but she was too weak to stop Dean from leaning in to try to see what was wrong. He touched her knee, waited for a few anxious seconds, then nudged her to let her legs fall to the side so he could see what was wrong.

  Emma turned away. The strength and determination she’d mustered in her own attempts to help the woman were now mixed with worry and exhaustion. She leapt for the bowl, taking it to the girl. “Water,” she said, then mimicked pouring a pitcher into the bowl. “We need water.”

  The younger woman stared at her, eyes wide.

  “Water,” Emma repeated, working not to be frustrated. She held the bowl out to the girl. “Go and get water.”

  A spark of understanding lit the girl’s eyes. She scrambled out of her crouch and took the bowl. She said something in her own language, then nodded and rushed out of the tipi.

  Emma spun to see how much water was left in the pot simmering over the fire. There was some, but she wasn’t sure if it would be enough. “What do you want to do with the water?” she asked Dean over her shoulder, lifting the pot away from the flames with a hook.