“Ah. Your mother’s dream.” He shook his head. “I’d forgotten about this drawing. I’d been trying to convince your father not to continue west, to stay and work this ranch with me, and your mother drew this right then and there. Said they were going to get their share of the California gold, then head to Oregon Territory and build a home.” He handed the book back to her. “I wish I could have stopped them, but they weren’t going to find a place like this in Nevada.”
Her mother’s dream? Where they were headed, not what they’d left? Uncle Frank’s words swirled in Abigail’s mind. Then the room swayed and everything went black.
Chapter Ten
Abigail awoke in Jacob’s arms, with Uncle Frank leaning over her. “What happened?” She struggled to sit.
“You fainted.” Uncle Frank straightened. “You’ve been working too hard and not getting enough sleep. I shouldn’t have let you stay up with Sammy last night.”
“That’s not it.” Abigail wiggled out of Jacob’s arms and stood. The words her uncle said about her mother’s drawing swam in her head. “I’d like to be alone, if I might.” She grabbed the sketchbook and scurried from the room. The desert called to her—did it have the answers she needed?
Abigail jogged past the spot where Rocky had reaffirmed that he’d take her home, then past the outcrop. After the ranch was no longer in view, her pace slowed. She wandered into a coulee and stopped in the partial shade of several Joshua trees. The whole time she forced her uncle’s words from her mind. She noticed the varying shapes and colors of the desert. Looked for jackrabbit tracks. Counted centipedes. Kicked the rocky dirt to see how far the dust scattered—anything for a distraction.
But the truth about her mother’s drawing attacked her anyway, raising her pulse, eliciting tears. The one thing that had bolstered her hopes since she’d heard her uncle’s prayer about his burdens was nothing more than a fantasy. The log cabin didn’t exist. Never had. Never had. Her lungs refused to expand; a roaring sound filled her ears; her stomach clenched. Sobs escaped as she yanked the sketchbook from her pocket. With trembling hands she ripped pages out of it. She crumpled them and flung them. The breeze scattered them.
Then just as suddenly, Abigail repented of her rashness. “Oh, what have I done?” She chased after the precious papers, even as tears blinded her movements. She stumbled, trying to retrieve what had been discarded. Sobbing, she fell, then rose again. The breeze played with the sketch of the log cabin, keeping it just out of reach. She lunged and grabbed. Missed. Chased and lunged again.
“Mama!” Abigail cried. She whimpered, “Mama, Mama, Mama,” until each page was retrieved. She clutched them to her chest, then she smoothed out their wrinkles, her teardrops splotching the thick paper. “Mama!” she cried again and raised her eyes to heaven.
All she ever wanted was her mother. That’s what the log cabin was all about. Her mother.
Sammy had been right. Rocky lied to her. His claim that he could take her home was too good to be true, but she had wanted to believe him. He was a storyteller, and that’s what he’d done. Told another story. “You lied!” she shouted into the desert expanse. “Liar! Liar! Liar!” She spewed the words as if hurling rocks at a rattler. Then her fury was spent, and utter fatigue took its place.
The sun had set, and the desert was already cooling. She slumped onto the ground, tears flowing. What was she to do?
Jacob would pray. Abigail curved her shoulders, drew her knees into her chest, and sat hunched like a lost tumbleweed. “God,” she mumbled into her knees, “what do I do now? I don’t know where to go. I don’t know where I belong. I—I want my mother.” Then she sat quietly and shut off the clamor in her mind.
His answer came on the gentle desert zephyr, in a whisper that she might have missed had she not been listening intently. “Abby, Abby, how often I have longed to gather you as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing. You are my child. I am Your mother.” Her head jerked up. Mother? God was her mother?
Whoa. Now there was a thought.
The foreign idea spoke to her soul. She yearned for it to be true. Could God be that for her? A father and a mother?
In the days that followed, Jacob sought to talk with Abigail, but without Sammy’s contribution to the never-ending work, he had little free time. He wanted to speak with her before Rocky returned. If the Express rider had captured Abigail’s heart, if he was her choice, Jacob needed to know. He’d pray for them and wish them well, but he couldn’t stick around and watch as she devoted herself to someone else. Maybe it made him a lesser man, but he couldn’t do it. Did he have a chance with her? He would wait if she wasn’t ready to commit, but did he even have a chance?
“Thou great Almighty God,” he prayed, “Thy will be done. Thou knowest my heart and my desire. Direct my feet with Thy wisdom for Thy glory.” He gave himself to his prayer, knowing that whatever happened, God would be with him.
Each day Jacob looked for an opportunity to speak with Abigail, but either he was too busy, or she was, or they were never alone. Finally, early one morning about a week after the Paiute attack, Abigail rode out on Flash.
If he rode out with her, they could talk. He could find out how she felt about Rocky. Not knowing interrupted his sleep, robbed him of his appetite, made him inattentive when he hunted.
He opened Big Red’s stall. The Thoroughbred usually pulled the wagon and was rarely ridden, but he was gentle and trustworthy. Jacob saddled him, led him out of the barn, and held the reins. He glanced up to see Abigail fly across the desert. He’d join her and tell her how he felt. He’d shown her plenty of times, but he needed to speak the words.
He could do this. He put his foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the saddle horn, and lifted himself. Children’s screams from his past assaulted him. The world spun. He couldn’t breathe. So much screaming. He smelled blood and dust.
He stepped back to the ground, his pulse racing like a Paiute pony. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Jacob rebuked himself for thinking he could mount the horse and double rebuked himself for not succeeding. Maybe he wouldn’t speak with Abigail. She deserved someone better. He put Big Red back in the barn.
By sundown, his mood had changed. Whether or not he was good enough for Abigail, he loved her, and that counted for something. An Express rider was due in soon, and he was pretty sure it was Rocky’s turn in the rotation. If Abigail loved Rocky, then he’d say nothing, but if she had seen through the rider’s lies and was not attached to him, then he and Jacob were going to have a talk. Man to man. He would strongly suggest Rocky get himself transferred to another section of the trail. Insist on it. Abigail didn’t need the constant reminder of the lies that had built up false hopes. Jacob could give her that.
Abigail hummed at the well as she drew water. He started toward her. Pounding hooves startled him, then the heart-stopping, shrill whoop of an Indian attack propelled him faster. She looked up, her eyes wide, as a rush of mounted Paiutes raced into the barnyard. Several had rifles. Shots reverberated. Sammy was sitting in the shade near the garden. Jacob heard him shout, saw him rise. Abigail or Sammy? Abigail was closer. Sammy was helpless.
From the barn behind, Frank yelled, “Run, Abby! Get Sammy!” A gun blasted. Between Jacob and Abigail, a painted Paiute dropped from his horse, his bare chest reddened with blood.
Jacob fired his revolver. Abigail ran toward Sammy. Frank’s gun blasted again—and again.
Riderless horses whinnied and bucked. Fallen Indians moaned. Arrows hissed and ricocheted off the stone walls.
Horses from the corrals stampeded the yard.
Abigail raced to Sammy and pulled him low to the ground. She knocked over his chair to provide more cover and shielded him with her body. He struggled to get up. “Sammy, lay low. Be still.”
“No, I gotta help.”
“The best thing we can do is stay out of the way. Let your father and Jacob handle this.”
How she wished she’d obeyed Uncle Frank’s
orders to keep her pistol on her, but she needed her pockets for the sketchbooks. A lot of good they did her now. She peeked over the chair. Were her uncle and Jacob all right? Jacob knelt just inside the barn door, firing shots. She couldn’t see Uncle Frank.
Flash trotted toward her with several other loose ponies. She whistled, and somehow through the cacophony he heard her and responded.
Using the horse as a shield, Abigail helped Sammy stand. Then, crouching alongside Flash, they rushed to the kitchen, releasing the pony when they were safely inside. The stone walls protected them from flying arrows and bullets as they hunkered down in the dining room. “Don’t move, Sammy. Stay here.” She crawled to her room and grabbed the pistol and ammunition from her bottom drawer, then ran back to Sammy.
“Did you get your pistol?”
“Yes.”
“Shoot from the dining room windows. I can load for you.”
She was capable of loading the gun herself, but understood Sammy’s need to help. Even she could load the revolver with her eyes closed.
What she wasn’t sure she could do was shoot someone.
She knelt in front of the window and looked for a target, but everything moved so fast. What if she missed and shot a horse? What if she didn’t miss? Her hands shook.
“Come on, Abigail, shoot!” Sammy’s voice was a mixture of encouragement and frustration.
From her peripheral vision she sensed movement and swung her aim to the front of the house, away from the main attack. A Pony Express rider was coming in fast. Her heart leaped. More help! She ran to the front door and onto the porch, thinking to draw him into safety. The blond hair poking from under the hat helped her identify Rocky. She yelled and waved from the porch. Their eyes met momentarily.
He saw her. Saw the trouble they were in.
He spurred his pony on, hightailing it away from the ranch.
Away from Abigail at breakneck speed. How could he see their danger and not want to help?
An arrow hissed past her ear. She dropped to the ground.
Chapter Eleven
Jacob fired his revolver from the front of the barn, while Frank took the back. The renegades rode around and through the ranch in chaos. Some had rifles, most had arrows. Instincts took over as Jacob ducked and fired, again and again, all the while praying Abigail and Sammy were safe.
As bullets and arrows whizzed, the Paiutes galloped off, gathering their dead and wounded as they went.
Abigail stepped off the porch, the pistol in her hand. Her ashen face and stiff movements betrayed her emotional state.
After the bombardment of shot after shot, Jacob’s ears rang. He hurried toward her. It was over and the people he loved were safe. The loss of livestock was serious, but he rejoiced knowing Abigail, Sammy, and Frank were alive.
Suddenly, a mounted Paiute appeared behind Abigail. Racing straight for her.
“Abby, run!” Jacob took aim, but he had no clear shot.
In seconds the horse was upon her. The renegade leaned over, grabbed Abigail by her waist, and lifted her up in front of him. She screamed, kicked, and tried to bite him. He rode without holding onto the reins, one hand gripping a rifle, the other arm crushing her against him. He whooped his way into the desert.
Jacob’s brain refused to accept what he’d just witnessed. Then Flash reared in front of him and pawed the ground. The pony startled him into action. Abigail! The vision and sounds of her screaming and kicking urged him. He had to rescue her! He grabbed Flash’s mane, swung himself on the horse’s back, and they were off. The Paiute had a head start, but no Indian pony was a match for Flash. Jacob leaned forward, squeezing with his thighs to keep his seat, wrapping his arms around the pony’s neck. One thought occupied his mind: save Abby.
The Paiute horse galloped about a hundred yards in front of him, and Flash was gaining. Then the Indian pony dipped into a ravine.
On a hunch, Jacob spoke into Flash’s ear. “Whoa, boy.” The pony slowed, then stopped. Jacob crawled to the edge of the coulee and peered over the lip. Abigail was seated on the horse in front of the Indian. His arm squeezed around her neck as he scanned the rim, his rifle up and ready.
If Jacob had stayed mounted on Flash, he’d have been ambushed as soon as he showed himself.
“Almighty God,” Jacob prayed. “Grant me wisdom. Protect Abigail. Forgive me for this pain I’m about to inflict.”
He cocked his rifle. At the sound the renegade turned and aimed.
Jacob fired first. His shot hit its mark—the right flank of the pony. The panicked horse reared and the Paiute fell off, taking Abigail with him.
She landed on top of him. Then rolled out of his reach.
The Indian drew a knife. He lunged for Abigail. She scrambled backwards. Fell.
Jacob pulled the trigger again. Dirt kicked up just in front of the renegade. The pony screamed its pain.
A rifle boomed to Jacob’s left. Blood flowered across the Paiute’s chest.
Uncle Frank on Big Red lumbered down the steep sides of the coulee.
Jacob followed on foot, prayers of thankfulness running through his mind.
Abigail ran straight to him and leaped into his waiting arms. “You followed!”
“Of course.” Did she think he would let that Paiute kidnap her?
“But you don’t ride.”
She knew? He bowed his head, nestling his face in her hair. “I do now.” Consumed with fear for Abigail, he had mounted Flash, but there’d been no paralyzing memory of the horror of before. Not so much as a hint. Amazing what love could overcome.
“I love you, Abigail.” There. He said it.
“I know.”
“Not like a brother.”
“I know.”
That’s it? That’s all she was going to say? He swallowed against the lump in his throat. This was his answer. He had no chance with her. She knew how he felt, but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reciprocate.
Tears spilled unchecked. Abigail tightened her arms around Jacob. How safe she felt. Protected. Treasured.
As if she belonged in the shelter of his embrace.
But God was sending him away. Why proclaim her love for him when nothing could come of it? She yearned to kiss him, assure him of her affection, but to what point?
What she’d felt for Rocky was nothing like this. It was fun and easy, but this—this was deep and strong. Real.
And impossible. God had not called her on a mission trip.
She relaxed her hold around Jacob. “We have to get back to Sammy.”
On the way to the ranch, Abigail walked beside Jacob rather than ride Flash. She cherished his words spoken so tenderly, sweetly. It wasn’t the first time he’d communicated his love. He proclaimed it every time he watered the garden, carried the dinner tray, saddled her horse. The shoes. Riding after her on Flash. Love in action.
But he was leaving.
As the ranch came in view, she ran ahead, calling, “Sammy!”
Uncle Frank and Jacob followed.
Still in the dining room, Sammy paced along the edge of a table, his leg brushing against the bench. “You all rode off and left me!” His voice wavered with emotion.
Abigail hugged him. “We didn’t ride off—a Paiute tried to kidnap me. Jacob and Uncle Frank saved me.”
“But why did you go outside in the first place?” He tried to push back from her, but she clung to him.
“I saw Rocky ride in, and thought he was going to help us.” Her brow furrowed. “The coward saw what was happening and rode off.”
“Rocky isn’t a coward, Abby.” Uncle Frank locked eyes with her. “He signed an oath to deliver the mail, to protect the mochila with his life. He had to ride on.” Uncle Frank paused. “But I got a question for you. How in the name of Sam Hill are you not limping?”
Abigail raised the hem of her skirt and lifted her foot. “Jacob made me new shoes.” A wash of emotion flooded her heart. “And now I won’t be such a burden to you. I can carry water and the dinner
trays and—”
“A burden? What are you talking about?”
“She thinks you don’t want her here.” Sammy’s voice wavered. “She doesn’t want to take your charity now that she’s all grown up.”
Uncle Frank looked from Sammy to Abigail. “Well, that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Charity? With all you do around here? Where’d you get a fool notion like that?”
The tone of Uncle Frank’s voice, the look on his face, showed Abigail how wrong she’d been. “I just thought—well, there was that prayer—never mind.” Even though she knew he wasn’t the hugging sort, she embraced him. Her tears soaked his shirt.
“That’s enough of that.” Uncle Frank pulled away. He glanced at Jacob. “Now, we’ve got work to do. Count our losses, figure out how to keep our livestock safe.”
Jacob rubbed his chin, grinned. “Been thinking a good dog might help.”
Abigail pulled Jacob’s arm as he started to leave. “May I speak with you?” She swallowed against the lump lodged in her throat. The words she couldn’t put together on their walk back to the ranch ached now to be said.
“Don’t take too long.” Uncle Frank headed outside.
“I don’t know how to say this,” Abigail began.
“But you love me like a brother and that’s it.”
“No. That’s not it.” A hint of irritation pushed the words forward. “You’re leaving.”
Jacob’s brow furrowed. “I am?”
“You said so yourself. Something about a mission?”
He took her hands in his. “My mission is right here. I’m free to choose the ranch. To choose you.”
All her irritation melted at his touch. The tenderness in his eyes captured her heart. Her spine tingled.
“If you’ll have me, Abby, I want to stay.”
Her heart swelled, tears stung. “Are you proposing?”
Sammy rounded the table. “Yes, you idiot. He’s proposing. Say ‘I do,’ or something like that, Abby. ’Cause we’re a family and we need each other.”
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 6
