by Rita Herron
Another step. Another. One foot in front of the next. She could do t
By the time they crested the smaller peak, the sun was already falling, the snowfall thickening in intensity. At a tall hickory tree, he hesitated to study the area.
“There’s an old mine shaft and a cave just north of here. If we can make it there, we’ll settle in for the night.”
“You don’t want to continue on?”
His dark eyes raked over her. “I could, but you look like you need to rest. Besides, it would be too cold to chance keeping Schyler outside all night.”
She nodded. “Of course. I just don’t want to be the hold up.”
He offered her a small smile. “You’ve done well.”
Tears pressed against her eyelids at his compliment. She was trying so hard. But her feet and legs cramped, and a dull throbbing had taken root deep inside her bones. She felt like she might collapse any second.
“Take five minutes. Get a drink of water.” He gestured toward a stump, and Holly dropped onto it. Schyler flapped his hands around as if waving. “Bababbab…”
“You are the best baby.” Holly smiled and reached out to shake his fingers.
Night shifted the baby in the pack so that she could take him out. “I’ll be right back.”
Panic slammed into her. “Where are you going?”
He cocked a brow, and a small grin flickered upward. She realized his intentions and could have kicked herself for panicking. She should take the moment to relieve herself, too, only she must be dehydrated because she didn’t feel the need.
“Get some water, Holly. And give Schyler a bottle. We’re at high altitude. Don’t forget to hydrate yourself and him.”
She forced herself to sip from the canteen, then gave Schyler some formula, although her teeth were chattering. Night returned within a couple of minutes, his expression a mask.
“How are your feet holding up?”
She bit down on her lip. “Fine.”
“Blisters?”
“Yes.” How had he known?
He knelt beside her and gently removed her boot while she bounced a squirming Schyler up and down, blowing kisses on his belly.
Night winced as he examined her red, blistered ankles and toes. “You should have said something.”
She shrugged. “A few blisters are nothing if it means saving our baby’s life.”
He dug inside the backpack, produced some gauze and cream, then slowly applied it to the tender places. Holly stiffened at his touch, then relaxed as he smeared on the ointment. It felt so nice to have him touching her again, to have his warmth replace the chill that had invaded her. He didn’t look up once though, almost as if he didn’t want to admit the intimacy of the act, although she thought she’d detected a slight flinch in his eyes.
“Thank you, Night,” Holly softly.
His hand stilled, then his gaze slid up to meet hers. Instead of acknowledging her though, he pressed his mouth into a tight line, then stood and took the baby. “Put on your shoes and let’s get going. The sun’s going down, it’ll get cold fast.”
She did as he instructed, biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry out as she tugged the shoes back onto her feet. When she tried to stand, she swayed slightly. Maybe she was getting altitude sickness. She had never experienced it before, but…that thought was much preferable than wondering what germ or virus Grace might have injected in her system. If it was something deadly…
“Walk on your toes,” Night instructed, “it takes the pressure off the balls of your feet.”
She steadied herself. “Is that an old Cheyenne trick?”
He didn’t smile. “Yes. My ancestors used to travel many miles a day for food, hunting for buffalo, searching for new places to live when the white man ran them off.”
Without another word Holly helped place Schyler on Night’s back, and they began hiking around the mountain again. Holly sighed. Would it always be this way between them? Would their worlds always divide them?
How would their son ever fit in between the two worlds if she and Night couldn’t forge some kind of relationship between the two of them?
NIGHT REFUSED to admit that simply touching Holly’s bare feet had made him feel connected to her, that he’d wanted to do more than offer bandages and ointment to assuage her discomfort. Fatigue strained her posture, the dark circles beneath her eyes and the graying pallor of her skin indicating she was still weak from the concussion. Her breathing had become progressively more labored over the hours.
He regretted pushing her so hard, but moved on relentlessly. He had no choice. As darkness descended and they traveled through some of the most isolated, steepest parts of the mountain, she cursed beneath her breath. If she thought he was a bastard, all the better. At least then he wouldn’t have to endure those hungry looks she’d given him earlier.
Why did she keep looking at him with need-filled eyes if she couldn’t love him?
He had always sensed the pain and suffering of an animal, especially the horses he trained, the reason some called him a horse whisperer. But he had never felt this strange connection with a person before. Especially a woman.
He didn’t like it. He cherished his independence and did not want to lose himself in a female who would rip his heart out again.
He sensed the depth of Holly’s fear as well as her trust, which was oddly humbling. She believed he would get them out of this danger safely. He could not let her or their son down. But neither could he forget the wide chasm between them.
He spoke to Schyler in a low voice, not wanting to alert anyone in case Grace or Bertram were closing in on their trail. What if Grace had outside sources working for him? He could have called in help to track them down.
“These are cypress trees,” he said, pointing out the shape of their leaves to“And look at this marking, this is where a cougar has sharpened his claws on the tree trunk. These trees mean we might be close to water, son.” He continued talking, describing the vegetation, explaining to his son how to tell directions by the sun and pausing occasionally to listen to the forest sounds, naming those as well. Schyler cooed and babbled as if he understood.
Night was certain he did. He was part Cheyenne, these things would come naturally. Holly seemed to be slowing down quite a bit. Her breath hissed through the darkness as they approached the last of the small hills near the cave and the old mines. If he remembered correctly, a stream ran through the mountain at that point, too. It would be an excellent place to stop and eat, and seek cover for the night.
An owl hooted in the distance. The lone cry of a prairie wolf cut through the inky night. He picked up his pace, willing Holly to do the same, pushing harder and harder, climbing through thick underbrush that clawed at his legs and arms. Just as he crested the top of the hill, he glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t see Holly. Damn.
He froze and listened, tuning in to the sounds of the forest. She would break through the brush behind him any second. But all was quiet. Eerily still. He stared at the bushes again, waiting several more seconds, his pulse accelerating. When she still didn’t appear, fear pounded in his chest.
He ran back down the incline, shoving his way through the brush, panting as he broke through. About ten feet down the slope, he spotted her. She was sprawled facedown in the icy snow.
And she wasn’t moving.
HE WAS ON TO them now. With every mile he crossed, he was moving closer. So close he could smell the sweet bliss of revenge at his fingertips.
He stared at the latest newspaper article chronicling the kidnapping and grimaced. Ironic, the one thing that should have torn the Langworthys apart, the missing illegitimate child, had played in Joshua’s favor. He should have been governor, head of the state, getting the accolades and glittery shine of the press, not smooth-talking Joshua. He hadn’t sacrificed and stuck his neck out only to be caught. And if Teddy Grace was captured, he might squeal.
That would ruin his career. And he had big plans.
&
nbsp; Damn Joshua for getting engaged and ruining those plans. If there was anything the voters responded to more than the sympathy card, it was the idealistic romanticism of an impending wedding. Now Joshua’s face had become a household name in the state of Colorado.
The chopper engine suddenly coughed and spat, the blizzard conditions making it bounce above the storm clouds. He’d have to bring it down here in the damn wilderness, then go in on foot and finish the job. But leaving the chopper would give him an escape later. And no one would be the wiser. The Langworthys didn’t even know he could fly. They would never suspect him. His pulse raced with excitement at the thought of revenge.
Yes, soon Holly Langworthy would die. And then Samuel Langworthy would be sorry for all he had done.
Chapter
As if Schyler sensed Night’s anxiety, he began to whimper. Night automatically shifted into the cadence of his Cheyenne brothers, the tone he used to quiet the animals. “Shh, my son, I’m certain your mother is going to be fine. She’s probably just exhausted from the day and that concussion.”
Night knelt and gently brushed Holly’s tangled hair from her face, grimacing at the sight of her pale skin. Snowflakes dotted her cheeks as well as perspiration. Icy crystals clung to her auburn eyelashes and hair. Her thin denim shirt and jeans were soaked, her hands red and dry.
But at least she was breathing.
He laid a hand on her cheek to try to wake her. She was burning up with fever. “Good God, Holly, why didn’t you say something?” Had Grace infected her with another germ before he’d arrived?
Schyler whimpered again, and Night murmured softly to console him while he reached inside the backpack, grabbed a water bottle, and turned Holly over in his arms. He cradled her head and urged her to drink. She was shaking uncontrollably. “Come on, sweetheart, take a sip. You have to get some fluids in your system to combat the fever.”
She moaned and shifted her head back and forth, cupping her head in her hands as if it hurt. What other symptoms did she have? Had she been suffering all day and not told him?
Not like you gave her much of a chance. You shut her out, pushed her to this….
“Holly, did Grace give you something?”
She groaned.
“Tell me, honey. You’re feverish, did he give you anything?”
“Shots,” she choked out. “Don’t know what…”
He forced a sip of water down her throat, dried the slow trickle that dribbled down her cheek with the back of his hand, then closed the canteen, panic gnawing at him. “We’ll have to carry your mama for a while,” he told Schyler. “Hang on, son.”
Gathering Holly into his arms, he cocooned her to him, making certain Schyler was still snug on his back. Then he stalked through the bushes and climbed the hill again, increasing his pace so he could reach the cave. He had very little with him in the way of medical supplies. Nothing for an unknown bug.
Stalking through the thick wedge of trees, he searched his mind for memories of the medicine man’s magic. He would have to depend on the ways of his forefathers to lower Holly’s fever. Either that or a miracle. Maybe the Confidential team would sweep in and find them.
Only, Night had purposely hiked through the invisible parts of the mountain to avoid being spotted by Bertram. Their location was well hidden by the thick forest surrounding them.
Besides, he didn’t believe in miracles.
But he did believe in the spirits and the shaman’s cures.
Would they be powerful enough to counteract the sophisticated strain of whatever disease Grace might have infected her with?
IT TOOK HIM almost another hour to locate the cave. By then, Schyler was irritable and his own arms strained from carrying Holly. She had barely stirred, moaning occasionally, looking paler by the minute, her teeth chattering violently. He hesitated at the mouth of the cave, listening for sounds of animals inside in case a bear or another wild animal had claimed the shelter as their winter residence.
When he heard nothing, he padded inside the entrance, allowing his night vision to scan the inside for visitors. A trickle of water inside the cave reminded him they were near a stream. Good, he could use the water to bathe Holly and heat some tea. He shuffled inside and carried her to the corner, deep enough to shield them from the elements but not so deep that they couldn’t escape if trouble arrived. He removed the blanket from the backpack, spread it on the dry-packed earth, then removed the one from his back and set Schyler down beside Holly, covering them both with the blanket. Schyler patted the area, whining as he looked over at his mother with big eyes as if he wondered what had happened to the woman who’d been cooing to him this morning.
“We have to collect more wood and build a fire, then find some roots and herbs to help make your mama well.”
Schyler babbled something, and Night wondered if his son was hungry. He hated to take him out into the elements again, but Holly was too weak to care for him.
Insecurity stabbed at him. What kind of father are you? Don’t you know how to take care of your son?
“Come on, sport. I’ll feed you dinner after we get that fire going.” He wrapped the baby back up, covering his head and ears.
Sky whined again, and he patted his back. “I’m sorry, son. Be brave for your mama.”
Although it was fairly warm inside the cave, it would get colder during the night and he needed to heat some of the herbs he planned to mix for the herbal tea. Besides, they would need the fire during the long cold night.
And if they had to stay longer.
The snow fell in thick waves as he exited the cave. The wind churned through the trees, swirling the snow to a blinding visibility. Night spent the next half hour gathering extra kindling and building the fire, explaining to Schyler each step along the way. Holly slept restlessly, twisting her head from side to side, shivering with fever. He felt her forehead again. Her temperature had spiked even higher.
“Now, we look for herbs and roots,” he told Sky. “To make medicine to heal your mama.”
Outside, he unearthed a hollowed-out stump from some brush, pulled it from the ground and used it to carry water. The snow was at least two feet deep now, the conditions escalating into a full-fledged blizzard. Knowing he needed to get back to Holly, he hurriedly searched the wintry trees for roots and berries, having to hunt deeper into the forest to find the ones he needed, ones he’d seen the medicine woman use in the herbal teas and pouches to heal the children at the reservation. When he finally returned to the cave, he placed the plants, roots and bark by the fire to dry them.
He dug in the backpack, fished out a jar of food and fed his son, then gave him a bottle while the water heated. Meanwhile, he took some of the roots and bark and crushed them into the log bowl, and mixed them with water to make an herbal tea. Schyler rubbed at his eyes. Night made a pallet for the baby with the baby blanket and laid him far enough away from the fire to be warm but still safe. He tucked the bunny beside Sky to comfort him. He shouldn’t take any chances. What if Holly was contagious?
Schyler cooed, and Night stroked his back. “Go to sleep now, my son, so I can take care of your mama.” As if their adventure today had taken its toll on Schyler, he curled onto his stomach with his rump in the air, rubbed his eyes with his fist, then clutched the stuffed bunny and soon fell asleep. Night stared at his baby a second longer, his heart clenching with love, then turned to Holly.
Night slowly pulled the blanket back from her and stripped off her soggy clothes, gritting his teeth at the way the trembling had seized her. Her pale body glowed in the soft firelight, reminding him of the night he’d made love to her. Of all the times he’d dreamed of touching her since.
He wished he was removing her clothes now to do the same. Not because he feared she might be dying.
Trying to ignore the instantaneous reaction his body had to the sight of her golden skin, he tore one of the cloth diapers from the bag into strips, then dipped it in the water to bathe Holly’s face. Slowly, he let th
e water trickle over her, wiping and patting the tender places of her body, hoping to temper her fever, all the time murmuring words of comfort in the language of the Plains. Finally, he covered her with the blanket and applied cold compresses to her forehead. Then he forced her to drink some of the herbal tea, holding her head and coaching her to swallow.
When he’d gotten her to down nearly a whole cup, he let her rest. Memories of the ancient customs echoed through his head. The time on the reservation when he’d watched the shaman perform healing rituals. He used the crushed berries to paint his face as he’d seen his forefathers do, then turned to the fire. He chanted the songs of his people, performed the prayer ritual and dances he’d learned as a child.
“You must be one with the land and spirits,” his grandmother had said. “Speak to the gods and they will hear.”
He recited prayers for his son’s mother in the ancient language and sang the song of his forefathers, begging the gods to save her. And when he finished the ritual and noticed she was still shivering with fever, crying softly and asking for him, he stripped off his clothes and crawled beneath the blanket. If the fire and bath hadn’t warmed her, he would use his own body heat. She was his son’s mother. A brave woman who had risked her life to save her child. A woman who had once given him her innocence.
He’d do anything to save her.
THE NEXT two days passed much the same, except that Schyler grew increasingly fussy. He obviously sensed something was wrong with his mother, and there were times when Night felt at a loss as to how to soothe him. The snowstorm outside dumped at least another foot of snow, the blizzard made it impossible for Night to consider moving Holly or brave the elements with a baby. Although he had wanted to be at the jeep by now, on his way back to safety with Holly and his son, waiting in the cave was the only logical thing to do under the circumstances.
