“You’ll have to sit astride.”
Her worry for Emma renewed, Fran didn’t protest the unladylike move. And Edgar was too busy unstrapping a rope from the side of his saddle to look at her calves anyway.
“The horse knows if you’re calm or panicked.”
He must’ve sensed her skepticism, because he looked right up at her, rainwater sliding off the back of his hat. “It’s true. Your body might tense up when you get nervous, and your legs will tell the tale.”
His palm slid across her knee and he squeezed.
“All right. Project calm,” she said.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his face and the serious look he wore. He waited until the thunder had shaken them before he spoke. “We’re going to get her. Together.”
And she believed him.
“You communicate to the horse with your legs and hands,” he said. He pressed her knee into the horse’s side. “To move forward.” The horse obligingly stepped forward. Edgar followed, still gripping her leg.
Then he pressed her foot into the stirrup. At the same time, his other hand clasped both of hers on the reins and pulled back. The horse stopped.
“And if he...jumps from the lightning again?” she asked. She’d nearly fallen before and had only stayed on the animal’s back because she’d been clinging to Edgar.
“Then try to fall where he won’t step on you.”
How reassuring.
Edgar unfurled the rope and passed part around his back, then knotted it in front of his chest, leaving it only a little loose beneath his arms. He looped a small amount around the knob on top of the saddle. “First, I’m going to climb down the side of the bluff. Just keep the horse standing, all right?”
He slowly turned the horse to face away from the bluff.
She swallowed hard. The horse bobbed its head. She realized she was gripping the reins too tightly and the animal could feel it. She forced her hands to relax.
Edgar squeezed her forearm. “Once I get Emma, I probably won’t be able to climb the hill on my own. Wait for me to shout or wave, and then slowly move the horse forward. Don’t go too fast, or you’ll drag us.”
“Okay.”
“Sure?”
She smiled a shaky smile. “What choice do I have? We have to get Emma.”
He nodded, and she had the sense that he was proud of her. She would be proud if they got Emma back to safety.
“Steady, old boy,” he said to the horse with a pat on its neck. He nodded once more to Fran and disappeared.
She turned as far around in the saddle as she dared, in time to see him lever his lower body over the side of the bluff. Quickly, his head and torso disappeared, then reappeared as he moved away from the drop-off.
She prayed silently and fervently as she saw his boots splash into the muddy brown water. He sank to his knees, wobbling a bit before finding his balance.
A glance at Emma revealed the girl still prone on the ground, and Fran’s heart thumped wildly, just like it had at the first glimpse she’d gotten of her sister. Had Emma been hurt? Surely this was all Fran’s fault. Maybe Edgar was right, and keeping Emma in the dark about their possible pursuers had somehow made the girl feel she should run away.
The rope hanging from the saddle became taut as Edgar knelt over her sister.
She held her breath.
And then the rope slackened as he stood, with Emma’s slight body in his arms. Was she alive? Was she hurt?
He disappeared again beneath the lip of the bluff. She worried, as he must be struggling through the dangerous water. Then she saw Edgar’s hat waving just above the side of the bluff.
He was ready for her to move.
She turned forward in the saddle and carefully squeezed the horse’s flank with her knees the way he’d briefly shown her. The animal plodded forward.
She held the reins as loosely as she dared, using her other hand to wipe a hank of bedraggled hair from her face. She felt like a drowned cat, soaked to the bone, but that wasn’t important. Getting Emma back was.
The rope pulled tight, and she craned her neck to look back. At first it was only the rope, tight with tension, then a glimpse of Edgar’s hat, then one arm thrown over the jutting bluff.
And then they were both aboveground.
She wanted to jump down from the horse but was afraid what it might do without a rider. Would it drag Edgar and Emma with no direction?
Waiting on the back of the horse was excruciating as Edgar pushed to his knees, and then stood. Emma was limp against his chest, and Fran’s heart thundered in her ears. This was all her fault. All of it.
If Emma was all right, she would do anything, anything to make things right for her sister.
Chapter Nine
Edgar knew what he would want most if he’d been the one forced to wait.
Reassurance.
So the first thing he said to Fran as he neared the horse was, “She’s okay. Twisted her ankle a bit and is shook up.”
And when Emma raised her head from his shoulder with a trembling smile, he was rewarded as Fran’s eyes welled with tears.
He felt like a hero—in contrast to the heel he’d felt like after their shooting lesson. Had it only been that morning? It seemed so long ago now.
He held the reins while Fran dismounted and embraced her sister. After they were done with their hysterics, he boosted Emma into the saddle.
Shock held him immobile when he turned back and Fran threw herself at him, her arms coming around his shoulders tightly.
His chin brushed the top of her head, the wet, loose strands sticking to his beard.
And he held on.
He didn’t mean to encourage her if she was developing affection for him, but he was still reeling a little himself. There had been a moment, when his boots had hit the muddy bottom of that wash with the water roaring against him, that he’d thought he might be swept away himself. Maybe he needed a little reassurance of his own. A firm grip on the fact that he’d done it; he’d made it out of that predicament alive.
That remaining frisson of fear still zinged through him, and that was the reason he let her cling to him now.
And after she had moved back with a quick swipe of her eyes, he kept her hand as they trudged back to the wagon with Emma in the saddle.
By standing up on the wagon seat, he was able to see the herd through the pouring rain when lightning lit up the sky. The boys were circling, trying to keep the animals from stampeding.
He should get back out there, pull his weight.
He looked down on Fran and Emma, huddled together next to his horse. He had a responsibility here, too.
All this responsibility could wear on a man, especially when he had a job to get done.
He started to climb down. Before he got both boots on the ground, Fran said, “You must need to return to the other cowboys. Emma and I will get in the wagon and do our best to dry off. We’ll wait for you to come and tell us when to move out.”
He turned a raised eyebrow on her. So far she hadn’t complained at the man’s share of work he’d given her, hadn’t argued when he’d told her he would set her up in Calvin. And now this. It seemed she was doing her best to be a compliant little wife, but... “Woman, it’s a little late to try to not cause me trouble. From the moment you stepped off that derailed train...”
She looked so bedraggled, with her dark hair plastered against her skull and neck in ringlets, those doe-brown eyes looking up at him, that he couldn’t hold back a smile.
“You’re soaked to the bone,” he said.
Her teeth chattered, and Emma wasn’t any better, maybe worse with her weight all balanced on one foot.
“And from what I can tell,” he went on, “neither one of you has a change of clothes.”
Now she blushed, pink rising in her pale cheeks.
“If you get in that wagon, you’ll be wet and miserable and it’s not like there’s all that much room to move around.”
She bit her lip, considering his words.
“Besides, you’re likely to just get in trouble again if I leave you to your own devices.”
She bumped his elbow and this time he grinned, because teasing her felt right.
It was the work of a few minutes to string the canvas he reserved for wrapping up his bedroll at night off the side of the wagon to two of the nearer trees, creating a temporary canopy. The rain pelted into it, but nothing got through.
Then he found the dry tinder and kindling they kept in the bottom of one of the covered cooking pots so they could start a fire in rainy conditions like these.
He’d been wet before, but once he’d stepped foot in that creek, he’d gotten soaked. He couldn’t get any wetter, so he set out among the brushy trees and found some twigs and branches that had been sheltered at the base of a fallen log and were mostly dry. Soon he had a nice fire going, and both girls huddled next to it beneath his bedroll blanket, which was mostly dry due to being wrapped tightly.
Color was coming back into both of their cheeks, and he felt a responding warmth in his gut. He liked taking care of Fran and her sister.
Then he noticed Emma had that little rat dog cradled in her arms, too. Thing was totally dry—must’ve been hiding in the wagon the whole time.
“Let’s have a look at that foot,” he said, settling down between the two of them.
Emma looked to Fran for reassurance and Fran nodded.
Emma hiked her skirt up a couple of inches, and he worked at getting her shoe off, but the laces were knotted too tightly and were wet to boot.
“Here. Your hand.” Fran knelt before her sister, careful to skirt the fire, and pushed his hands away. She struggled with the laces, too, but stubbornly kept at it until they loosened. “There,” she said, sitting back, her satisfaction evident in her raised chin.
He started to take off Emma’s old, worn shoe. “You want to tell me what you were thinking, running off like that?”
Fran inhaled sharply. He hadn’t said the words unkindly, maybe a little sternly. But look at the danger the girl had put herself in, not to mention him and Fran!
Emma remained silent as he took off the shoe.
“Emma? What made you run off?” he pushed.
“She doesn’t have to say. You don’t have to answer,” Fran told her sister, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Yes, she does. Your babying her isn’t going to solve what’s going on here—”
“I’m not babying her!” Fran protested. The color in her face was growing, changing from a healthy pink to a red that he recognized from some of Breanna’s tantrums in the past. “She’s not a boy, not one of your brothers you can order around.” She was really getting fired up now.
He pretended not to hear her, stripping off Emma’s sock, careful not to jar her foot.
“She’s my responsibility, not yours—”
“You’re my responsibility, so that makes Emma my charge, too. Our wedding might have been short, but I do remember promising to protect you. And that extends to your family,” he countered calmly.
“Underhill’s men are after me,” Emma burst out. “Fran’s done all this for me, ran away from Memphis, married you—” She choked on the emotion she was spewing and put her hands over her eyes as she began to sob.
He let go of her foot and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fran put her arm around her sister, glaring at him as if to say, Now look what you’ve done.
But then Emma pushed away from Fran, as well. “Maybe if I just let them capture me...maybe if you didn’t always have to take care of me, you would be happy. And not have had to marry a cowboy!”
“Is that what you think?” He saw the emotion fill Fran’s eyes but she blinked and her words emerged even, with only a small wobble.
“You should’ve married Tim back in Memphis.”
He’d been ready to jump in to their female prattle, but Emma’s words surprised him into silence. He rubbed his chest with one hand, uncomfortable with the sudden burning there. Who was Tim? Fran hadn’t mentioned a beau before.
* * *
“Tim didn’t want to marry me,” Fran told Emma.
She kept her eyes on her sister, not wanting to see anything that might cross her husband’s face. He was suspicious enough of her already. Bringing Tim into the mix might make that worse.
And more than that, she didn’t want to see his pity.
Tim hadn’t wanted to marry her; neither had Edgar. Maybe there was something the matter with her.
“He wanted the benefits of being married, but he never intended to marry me. He didn’t love me,” she told Emma, something she’d never voiced before. Maybe Edgar was right and she did have a tendency to coddle her sister. Before this, they hadn’t talked about Tim and the reason he and Fran had parted ways.
Edgar coughed.
She still didn’t look at him. Emma needed her. That was what she had to focus on.
“What exactly do you think I had left in Tennessee? No home. Mother and father gone. No Daniel. You and I are all that’s left of our family. Do you remember being back home? You were little. You toddled after me everywhere on the farm.”
Tears sprang to her eyes at the poignant memory. It was poignant for more than one reason. Her parents had been alive back then.
Emma’s eyes were wet, as well.
“I love you, Emma. We’re family. No matter what difficulties we have to go through, we’ll get through them together. I won’t let that maniac have you.”
Fran’s fervent words seemed to get through to her sister. Emma began sobbing again into her hands, and this time she let Fran embrace her.
Fran met Edgar’s eyes over Emma’s head. He looked slightly panicked, like he didn’t know what to do with two emotional women. With all those brothers, maybe he didn’t.
But she never would have had this moment with Emma if he hadn’t pushed. And maybe Emma would have still bottled up those same feelings and done something else rash without things being cleared up.
Her husband had been right.
Not that she was going to tell him so. She didn’t want the occurrence to go to his head.
Their gazes caught and held, something crackling between them. Maybe the awareness of that kiss.
Suddenly, his forehead wrinkled and he looked down, breaking the connection.
“You mind if I look at that foot now?” he asked gruffly.
Emma broke away with a small sniffle.
“I’m sorry you had to come after me,” she said. “But thank you.”
His head was already bent over Emma’s foot, but Fran thought his upper cheek and ear—all she could see of his face—had turned pink.
“I would’ve done the same for my younger sister, Breanna. You two would probably get along,” he muttered.
He prodded and twisted Emma’s foot, and she gave one wince of pain but nothing more.
“You probably stepped in a hole out there and twisted it. I don’t think it’s sprained.”
“It already feels better,” she said softly.
He nodded, handing her sock and shoe back to Emma.
“Storm’s still going, and the boys’ll be wet and cranky. We didn’t make it as far as I would have liked today, but I think we’re gonna stop here.”
“I’ll look at your mama’s recipes and see if I can get something started,” she offered.
He still didn’t look at her. He shoved his arms back into his coat and mashed his hat on his head.
“I should go check on the bo
ys. Don’t burn the wagon down,” he cautioned.
She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.
And he was leaving quickly.
“Wait!” she called out.
He ducked beneath the canopy and she followed.
Her hair had almost dried. She hadn’t noticed until she stepped back out into the rain and it began clinging to her cheeks and neck again.
“Edgar!”
He turned back, but the mulish frown on his face didn’t bode well.
“Don’t you think we should talk about what happened back there?” she asked, keeping her voice low. Emma was still right behind her beneath the makeshift tent.
“We just did—with Emma.”
“Not that. About the k—” She looked behind her, stepped forward into the rain so Emma wouldn’t hear. “About the kiss,” she hissed.
The stubborn set of his jaw didn’t change. “Nothin’ to talk about. It was the heat of the moment. We were in a sticky situation, and it just happened. Don’t worry. I won’t do it again.”
And he turned and ducked behind the wagon.
She had the fleeting thought that he was running away just like Emma had, but what exactly was he scared of? He’d told her they were going to stay married, but he was setting her up in Calvin. His kiss might’ve hinted that he wanted something more, even though he’d told her differently earlier in the morning.
Was he having second thoughts?
Or was she being foolish, hoping for something she shouldn’t?
Did he really think their kiss was a mistake?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to beg him to repeat it, in any case. She had some pride.
* * *
Edgar had delayed as long as his rumbling stomach would allow. He planned to take first watch, but he hadn’t had any grub since his breakfast biscuit and he was half-starved.
Maybe he could sneak into camp and grab a bowl of whatever Fran had made without her noticing.
He’d waited so long that maybe she and Emma were tucked into the wagon and asleep already.
Praying for small favors, he reined in his horse and ground tied the animal outside the ring of firelight.
The Wrangler's Inconvenient Wife Page 11
