Without bridle or reins, Brett trotted his horse over to her side. Her horse nickered at him, and Brett reached over and rubbed its forehead, his face troubled.
He scanned the river downstream, toward town, then he turned around and looked at the others. Violet and her mother sat on Roberts’s horse behind them, and Roberts, who’d gotten up on one of the wild horses, waited at their side. The boys sat on their horse behind Violet, with Mr. Edwards in the rear. The last two horses pranced and paced but didn’t run off.
“Jus’ hold on,” Brett yelled back to them all. He turned and looked at Angela, and his hazel eyes searched deep into hers. The nearness of him took her breath away. She wanted nothing more in this moment than for him to kiss her—the way he’d kissed her that day they picked berries. It seemed so long ago, and her desire for him was so potent, it made her ache all over. She’d all but forgotten her twisted ankle.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, leaning close to her. “If ya feel scared, just hum one of them tunes ya play.”
And then he wrapped his hand over hers as she clutched Kotoo’s mane. The warmth of his rough hand made her desire for him flare. “I gotta make sure the boys’ pa stays on his horse. Kotoo will lead ya home.”
She nodded, but the thought of Brett leaving her side unnerved her. Yet, she was glad for the concern he was showing for Violet’s family. In the midst of this danger, he displayed surprising calm and clearheadedness. This was a Brett she never thought she’d see.
“Alright, Kotoo. Lead the way,” he ordered.
To Angela’s shock, Brett slapped her horse’s rump with a loud “Haw!”
Before she could utter a cry of surprise, the horse broke into a run into the river, and water splashed all over her skirts as the powerful animal’s hooves galloped toward Greeley. She hung on for dear life.
***
Brett dropped back as the horses ran. He smiled at the sight. His ragtag outfit followed Kotoo, every one of them still on their horses. A steady lope would keep them from falling, rather than a bumpy trot. His biggest concern was the wife sitting on Star’s rump. But she seemed to be holding tight to her daughter’s waist—and that young gal knew her way around a saddle. The pa was clinging to his pony’s mane. Brett didn’t expect the fella would get dusted anytime soon. Still, Brett needed to be by his side when they entered the river. No telling what his horse might do—especially if they happened into some deep holes.
Brett’s head was still reeling over finding Angela here, in the middle of the prairie fire. Her presence both distracted and spurred him into action. Some crazy twist of fate had brought them together again. He’d thought she’d long gone from Colorado with her newfangled fiddle. He’d never expected to see her again.
A grain of hope lodged in his heart. Maybe the good Lord was giving him a second chance. Just as he had when he’d sent Tuttle to find him in the desert. He knew he didn’t deserve one, but he was grateful for it. Still, it puzzled him. The vision he’d seen—him hitting Angela, blood dripping down her face—told him he had to stay away from her. It was a warning, of what would happen if he got too close. If he let Angela trust him.
He loved her—he knew that now. There was no denying what he felt when he saw her on the ground, clutching her ankle. Every bit of him wanted to protect and save her. Same way he felt right now. The thought of losing her made him sick all over.
Ya don’t have time for these thoughts, Cowboy. Git these folks to safety. Ya can moon over Angela later.
Fire now blocked the road that led into town and gorged at the western bank, taunting them. But they were safe in the middle of the wide river.
He used his legs and body to keep his pony from bolting ahead, then once the last of the horses splashed into the water, Brett raced it across the smoky stretch of burnt grass and plunged into the Platte, where the eight horses ahead kept up a steady gallop, stumbling and splashing.
Brett had heard the Platte was a shallow, wide mud pit this time of year, inching its way across the Front Range. If they could keep to the middle of the river, stay in the water, they’d be safe, even if the fire burned both shores. What they’d find once they got to town . . . well, they’d deal with that once they got there.
As he urged his pony on, prompting with his legs to bring it alongside the boys’ horse, Sarah’s words kept swirling in his head along with the ashes and smoke in the air. Calm water in the midst of the fire. That was the meaning of Kotoo’s name. And he was sure it was Kotoo’s calm spirit that made all the wild horses settle down. It wasn’t anything he’d done. Fire terrified horses, as it did all creatures. He hadn’t thought his crazy idea to lead these folks out on wild horses would’ve worked. Without Kotoo, he was sure the bunch would’ve scattered long afore they got to the park.
He grunted. Now he understood why the medicine woman said she needed to change the horse’s name. Somehow, when she met him, she’d seen this moment. She knew Kotoo would lead ’em out. Maybe that’s why she’d given him the mare that day—to save him and the others. The rest of her words came to him.
“When the fire rages, look for the calm water. You will hear the song.” She’d added, “Follow the song. It will lead you out.”
What song? He guessed the calm water was the Platte, but he didn’t hear any song. Kotoo was leading them out, not some music.
He blew out a tired and frustrated breath. He and Roberts had ridden all morning, from Evans to Greeley, with hardly a break and hadn’t stopped for lunch. And then this. Hunger gnawed at his gut, and the raging heat from the fire had given him a mighty thirst.
Oddly, he wasn’t all that perturbed anymore about the fire. It still ate up the prairie all around them, but it had already raced across most of the park, leaving it scorched and smoking. The wind had eased some, and the churning black clouds were drifting east. Some blotches of blue peeked through, and the air wasn’t as hot as it had been ten minutes prior.
But the road north was still ablaze. He hoped it didn’t reach the town, but if it did, he and Roberts would help however they could.
All that mattered right now was getting Angela and these folks to a safe place. And by some uncanny miracle, his plan seemed to be working. Seeing the boys were handling themselves just fine, he rode up alongside their pa, who was trotting behind ’em, water up to their horses’ knees.
“You alright on that horse?” Brett asked.
“So far.” The fella turned his head for just a second, then went back to staring at the horse’s neck. “Thank you for helping us. I’m much obliged.” Brett heard the thick emotion in his voice.
“No need to thank me,” Brett said. “I’m jus’ glad we found y’all.”
“We would have died back there.” He clenched his eyes shut when his horse tripped up a bit. “I can’t believe I’m on the back of a wild horse. Without a saddle or a bridle.”
“You’re doin’ jus’ fine. We’ll be back to town in no time.”
“How’re my boys doing?”
Brett glanced ahead at the two youngsters. Just like boys, they were having the time of their life, ignoring the dangers around them, blabbering happily about something. They reminded him a bit of what he was like at that age. Fearless on the back of a horse. They rode well, with confidence.
“Nothin’ to worry ’bout,” Brett assured him. “Someone taught ’em well.” Though, he wondered who that might have been.
Brett looked ahead and saw that Kotoo had slowed to a walk. Water came to her shoulders, and Brett was glad to see her wading through the water without sinking into the mud. She’d no doubt found a sandy bar underfoot.
“I’m Ed Edwards, by the way,” the fella said, gripping tighter as their horses entered deeper water and slowed down. Cool air rose from the marsh weeds and water, and Brett longed to dunk his head in the river. The horses’ hooves sank an inch into the soft mud, and Brett noted the hot summer had mostly dried up the red mud along the bank and hardened it to clay.
“Pleased to
make yer acquaintance,” Brett said, touching the brim of his hat. “You and yer family live in Greeley?”
“Yes. I’m a house builder and an architect. Been here since the colony began.”
“How’re ya acquainted with Miss Bellini?” Brett longed to ride back over to her, but he wanted to make sure Mr. Edwards got through the water without mishap. He reckoned distracting him with small talk might ease his fears. Much like the way it did a nervous horse.
“Angela’s friends with my daughter, Violet. They’ve been playing music together. Angela is quite a talented violinist.”
“I’ve heard her play,” Brett said, his weary mind hearing the notes she played that night as he stood under the stars behind Tuttle’s house. Even now, even here, her music filled him with a strange and unsettling longing. He heard one particular melody, sad and simple, and it made him feel empty and full at the same time. He shook away the glittering notes that burned like sparks in his soul.
He raised his head and looked at Angela’s back. She sat tall and straight in the saddle as Kotoo plowed steadily through the water. The other horses followed Kotoo’s lead without hesitation, as Brett reckoned they would. He smirked, thinking of the story he’d tell Foster when they got back to the ranch. Those ponies’ll prob’ly wonder why we took ’em on such a long ride. And that fella Bill Johnson won’t be puttin’ on a cowboy contest here at the fairgrounds anytime soon, that’s for certain.
Maybe Foster would keep this herd. They sure wouldn’t need much busting after today.
“When we get back to town,” Edwards said, bringing Brett’s thoughts back around, “no doubt the missus will cook up a big supper. I hope you and your friend will stay and join us. It’s the least we can do. That is, if the fire doesn’t burn down the town.”
He frowned and looked back at the smoldering park.
Brett saw the flames nibbling at the edge of town. But the wind presently turned into a gentle southerly breeze. From where they waded through the water, clanging bells warning of fire could be heard, blending with alarmed voices.
Just then, the clouds overhead let loose a downpour, and water sluiced down his hat and neck and soaked his shirt, front and back.
Brett turned his grateful face upward to heaven. Cheers of joy erupted around him.
“Well, would you look at that?” Edwards said, smiling wide and letting rain splash on his face. “God is surely smiling on us today.”
Brett wasn’t much of a praying man, but he gave thanks for this unexpected gift. Maybe all those religious people in Greeley held some sway over the Almighty. No doubt their prayers were a whole lot weightier than his.
Whether divine providence or just plain luck, though, it looked like the town wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the park and fairgrounds. The rain fell in sheets, and the sound of sizzling steam and downpour was more music to Brett’s ears.
The thought of a home-cooked meal sounded better than just about anything right now. He reckoned the town had a livery or some corral they could herd these horses into. And while he wished he could bathe off all this grime and smoke in the river, he’d settle for a towel and a bar of hard soap if it meant he could be in the same room as Angela for the evening.
Why, he imagined Tuttle would welcome him and Roberts and give them a bed for the night. Prob’ly wash and iron our clothes, too, while we sleep.
Brett laughed. The heavy sadness he’d been plagued with since he last saw Angela was gone. The fire had sparked more than a conflagration across the Front Range. It had sparked hope in him. If he could beat a wildfire that hemmed him in on all sides, why couldn’t he beat the fiery rage lodged in his bones? Sarah Banks had told him that fire wasn’t a bad thing. From the ashes, new life sprouted. New life begins. “It must be so.”
While he didn’t much understand what Sarah had told him, he felt the truth of her words. He felt the hope. It was well worth clinging to.
Chapter 31
“So, while we were engagin’ in all that cowboy frolic, some fat black clouds come rollin’ in. The temperature dropped forty degrees in one fell swoop, forcin’ us inside the hotel.”
Angela watched Brett across the dinner table as his friend Tate Roberts told his tale, his face glowing in the candlelight. Brett chuckled as he scooped the last bit of apple pie off his plate and into his mouth, and Angela couldn’t take her eyes off him. Scrubbed clean and in a fresh shirt Mr. Edwards had given him, his rugged features and crooked smile set her heart racing. But she watched from under lowered lashes, hoping no one—especially Violet—noticed how flushed she felt having him sitting only a mere two feet across from her.
Exhausted from the day’s terrifying ordeal, she could hardly keep her eyes open. She sipped at the sweet tea that Mrs. Edwards had poured for her, and the cold liquid soothed her raw throat. Miraculously, they’d all escaped the fire without a single scratch or burn.
Angela would never forget the look on the faces of the townspeople they’d passed as their group trekked wearily through the streets of Greeley, their clothes drenched and punched with holes the embers had burned in the cloth. When they’d arrived at the outskirts of the town, rain dumping in buckets on their heads, they’d all dismounted—even Brett and Tate. Brett had wanted to put her back on his horse because of her ankle, but it no longer hurt. The horses hung their heads and plodded behind them, with no inclination to run off—no doubt as drained and weak as their human companions were. They must have all looked as if they’d been to hell and back, for the faces she saw expressed utter astonishment, and many ran over to them and asked if they needed help.
While Brett and Tate settled the horses in at the local livery, Angela went with the Edwardses back to their home, where she and Violet each took a brief turn bathing in a large claw-foot tub. Violet had insisted Angela come directly to her home and not first stop at George’s. After the luxurious warm, soapy bath, Violet lent her a simple green cotton skirt and a chambray blouse, and since Angela’s shoes were soaked and caked with mud, she gladly accepted a pair of satin slippers from Mrs. Edwards, who seemed to have an entire wardrobe of spare clothes in the armoire in the hallway.
Angela and Violet had been helping prepare supper when the two cowboys tromped up the front porch and were welcomed inside by Mr. Edwards. He wasted no time offering them something to eat to tide them over until the meal was ready. He then showed them to the bathing room and found them some clothes to wear, though, from all appearances, the shirts and trousers Brett and Tate wore hung loosely on their lean and muscular frames. Mr. Edwards was a big, wide man, so the two cowboys had to wear suspenders and roll up the sleeves of the shirts. But even dressed in poor-fitting clothes, Brett looked dashing and more handsome than ever.
“. . . we were little more’n sheltered behind closed doors before the rain blew in, great gusts like a hurricane,” Tate relayed, taking a respite to down the dregs of his coffee. Mr. Edwards poured him another cup and urged him to continue his tale.
A glance at Violet showed Angela she was all ears, engrossed in Tate’s story. Or maybe she was more riveted on Tate himself. Angela noted the tall cowboy had a strong, kind face, and his green eyes lit up with merriment. He seemed in his late twenties, from what Angela could tell—perhaps the same age as Brett. Violet’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she leaned forward and listened.
“It picked up a chair and dashed it to splinters against the wall. An’ while our ears were still stunned by the roar, suddenly there came floodwaters pourin’ in over the door sill and through the floor cracks, so fast it drove us all to take refuge on the second floor o’ the hotel . . .”
Violet’s brothers and father went for the last pieces of pie, glued to the cowboy’s words, and Mrs. Edwards busied herself in the kitchen. Angela felt so wonderfully at home, soaking up the love and tender affections of this family, which made her miss anew her little sisters.
The sun was setting outside the window, and Mr. Edwards had sent word to George via little Henry that she w
as having supper and would be home late, so there was no rush for her to leave. Leaving was the last thing she wanted to do right now.
“What happened next?” Henry asked Tate.
The cowboy leaned toward the boys, across the table, with wide, concentrated eyes. “We looked outta the window, and there in the street men, women, and young’uns were afloat upon the wreckage, driftin’ they knew not where, safe they knew not how long, shriekin’ for aid no one could lend. Dumb beasts and fowls drifted by us, their cries risin’ shrill above the wind—cattle bawlin’, horses neighin’, chickens cluckin’ madly. It seemed the end of the world—at least of our little corner of it. But the buildin’ withstood the strong current . . .”
Her heart warred within her once more as she sat there, catching glimpses of Brett’s radiant face. Politely he listened to Tate’s tale, but she knew he kept looking her way, hoping to catch her eye. His nearness was beginning to unsettle her, as were the tumultuous feelings she felt about him. He’d shown such calmness and courage in the face of terrible danger. Taking matters in hand, he’d managed to think quickly and get them all to safety—using wild horses that had never been ridden before.
Angela still couldn’t believe how Brett had managed to calm the frantic animals. And convinced them to allow humans to get on their backs without throwing them off. She’d heard the Edwardses express utter astonishment over Brett’s gift with those horses, and even Violet’s brothers were enamored with their new hero, Brett Hendricks.
But as much as Angela admired Brett for the way he’d reacted in the midst of fire, she still couldn’t erase the possessed look he’d shown that day when he killed those snakes. She wanted with all her heart to believe Brett was a good man, a tender man who would always show her the kindness and consideration he’d shown today. She’d hoped to forget him, but now she knew he was so entwined in her heart, extricating him would be agony.
Colorado Dream (The Front Range Series Book 4) Page 29
