Sarah

by Raine Cantrell

  Find Sarah!

  Like the two-beat chant of the circle dance, timed by drum and rattling gourd, the urgent order replayed in his mind.

  Rio eyed the shed’s roof. He thought about the diminished woodpile. There was more than enough room within the darkened interior for a man to stand.

  And wait.

  The bait was snared.

  The trap set.

  It only awaited him playing his part.

  But he had no wish to die. He would not leave Sarah and his sons defenseless.

  Rio lifted the rifle above his head and slid it onto the shed’s roof. They would expect him to cross the open ground and search the barn. He had no intent of following that path.

  He withdrew his knife, setting it between his teeth. He searched the edge of the roof, stretching his arms above his head to find the space between the boards. Good food and rest had given him back his strength. He needed it now as he grabbed hold and hoisted himself up and over the roof.

  He heard the scrape of his clothing, wet now as the intermittent drizzle turned steady. He held his breath, praying that a wrong move from him wouldn’t end Sarah’s life.

  He glanced toward the barn. Was a bullet waiting for him to move?

  He had no choice. Prone, he inched his way to the front edge of the shed.

  Rio’s gaze roamed the spill of light from both the window and glass in the back door. The slices of light were muted at the edges where night swallowed them up.

  His teeth clenched over the cold blade, leaving his hands free to curl over the edge. He used that hold to gain a few inches. Now he could peer over the roof.

  The deep pocket below revealed nothing the first time he probed it. The roof’s slant—higher in the front than the rear—limited his vision to whatever was directly below him.

  Rio no longer questioned if someone waited.

  He could smell him.

  The odor of fear, the strong stink of tobacco, the reek of rancid sweat and food like the rotten stench of spoiled meat.

  A foul, breathing thing that Rio refused to call a man.

  He’d been so long in the dark that the sight of a glint of metal below didn’t surprise him. He heard the scuffle of a boot scraping against the debris on the shed’s floor.

  That’s it. Come forward. Come to me.

  Rio slowed his breathing. The pounding beat of his heart slowed, too. The heat of rage receded and was replaced by an icy determination that this one was breathing his last.

  Impossible to demand that he wait. Yet, that’s just what he did. He knew the delay of his presence worked on the other’s nerves. There was another small noise. Then another.

  He refused to think of the other two.

  If fate and gods decreed that he meet his death this night he could only insure that he did not die alone.

  But not Sarah. Innocent Sarah must never pay with her life for her kindness.

  Rio was staring so hard at the spot below that he took moments to register what he was seeing. The glint of metal came from a handgun’s barrel.

  Rio felt his patience was paying off.

  An icy wind sprang up as if anxious to catch the increased tempo of the rain.

  He was chilled, and clearly felt the cramp of his muscles as the strain of maintaining his position became almost unbearable.

  Rio turned his thoughts away from the man.

  Away from Sarah, too.

  The Apache believed that if you kept your thoughts concentrated on a living thing, your thoughts would reach out and touch the mind of the other. The same held true for staring.

  These were things he employed without thought when hunting. How could he have forgotten them tonight?

  He thought instead of the horse that carried the piece of filth here.

  Somewhere out in the blackness that horse was tied. Between the rain and the wind the animal was restive. The horse longed for the warmth of a sheltered place, grain, a bait of com, sweet hay. All deserved, for the animal had come a far piece.

  Rio closed his eyes for a few moments. He had to imagine the horse. He had to see the front hoof pawing the muddy earth. See the head that tossed, the neck that bunched with muscle as the animal jerked his head to pull free of the rein that held him.

  Again, and then again, he envisioned the horse, until he could see the sidling motion of the animal’s body. Could almost sense the tugs on the reins getting stronger.

  There is power in your mind, grandson. Use it. Listen to your senses. They never lie. Will them to be your obedient servants. They have gifts to give.

  Rio felt a tearing within his mind as he cast aside thoughts of those he loved, the ones he had sworn to protect and allowed the flow of his thoughts to find the animal. Shelter. Food. The nostrils flared as it caught the scent of these things and more—the company of others of its kind.

  And from out of the rain-swept blackness came the whinny of a horse. Faint, to be sure. But there it was again.

  Rio almost sagged with relief. The whinny told him things he needed to know. If there were three, one would have been left to guard the horses.

  But he heard only one horse whinny. One animal? One killer?

  Would the gods be so merciful?

  For Sarah, and for his sons, they had to be.

  Now, being greedy, he wanted the torrential male rains of the Thunder People, not this soft female downpour. He wanted the rumble of thunder to conceal noise.

  And he wanted the killer below him to step out into the open.

  Rio gathered his body. All doubt that what he wanted wouldn’t come to pass had left him. He took the knife within his hand, coming up to a crouch, knowing that his quarry would emerge into the night.

  Then, a darker, stinking mass separated from the shed’s interior.

  The horse’s distressful whinny pierced the night again. Rio could almost taste the surge of fear from the killer below him.

  Wait, Rio whispered to himself. Wait.

  From stillness came motion.

  The man stepped out, his gun swinging from side to side as if he sensed his prey close and would have the first shot.

  “Where are ya? I can smell ya, breed. Nothin’s savin’ ya this time. I got ya. This time I got ya all.”

  One more step. Take one more step.

  His quarry did more. He took several steps to the right where he searched the side of the shed. It was that move that Rio had waited for.

  He landed on the balls of his feet, rising up to lock his arm around the killer’s throat. The choking hold cut off a cry.

  For an instant rage blinded Rio. He wanted, needed, to plunge the knife into the heart of his wife’s murderer.

  He longed to be the true warrior of his mother’s and his wife’s people. No mercy to an enemy.

  The staying hand of reason whispered he needed information first.

  “Where are the others?” Rio demanded in a harsh whisper. He brought the point of the knife up and flicked the tip across the man’s cheek.

  Rio had felt the strength of his enemy gathered for a struggle. The small cut ended it.

  The man was half a head shorter than Rio. As Rio assessed the man’s broad shoulders and the powerful upper body, he jerked his head back, the move tightening his hold.

  The killer gagged, and as he did, he sagged forward so that his weight forced Rio to bend with him or lose his grip. But Rio had wrestled with the Apache as a boy, and they were lessons not to be forgotten. Not if a boy had the stigma of white blood to overcome.

  Rio slammed his knee into the small of the man’s back. His fisted hand over the handle of his knife jabbed downward on the man’s gun hand. It was a silent struggle, but no less deadly as Rio hit the hand repeatedly in an effort to get rid of the weapon. His biggest fear wasn’t for himself taking a stray bullet, but of one hitting Sarah.

  If she was there…

  He couldn’t spare a moment to look for her.

  His side took a beating from the elbow slams and still he hung on
, tightening his choke hold.

  The rain granted his earlier wish as the storm released a heavy driving rain along with talons of icy wind.

  Rio grappled with the man, struggling to retain his footing in the treacherous mud. He barely managed to jerk his head aside as the killer reached back, fingers groping for his eyes, his hair, any part of him that he could grab onto.

  Still Rio wouldn’t release him, even as he felt himself slip sideways. Quick to take advantage, the shorter but heavier man slammed his boot heel and heard Rio grunt when the heel connected with his shin.

  The man’s fingers ripped at Rio’s arm. The gun went off, the bullet falling harmlessly into the mud. Rio used his strength, the force of his rage, and even his fear to bring the man down to his knees. But he went down too quickly and Rio slipped, loosing his choke hold.

  The slashing rain blinded Rio. He could only use his other senses, but he was concentrating on the gun and never saw the man’s elbow come smashing into his temple. Rio was knocked clear.

  He heard the shot, felt the spattering of wood bits and mud hit his cheek. He rolled over several times, rising just enough to throw his knife.

  The gun was emptied in rapid fire accompanied by a gurgling sound. For a few moments Rio lay stunned, until the pounding rain forced him to move.

  He had to find Sarah.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The woodshed was empty. Rio spared a glance for the body sprawled in the mud. If anything had happened to Sarah, he’d want to kill him all over again.

  He retrieved his rifle, fighting the urge to call out her name. He trusted the instinct that told him this one was here alone. Yet, there still remained that fragment of fear for what they had done to his wife, to his home. Not finding any sign of Sarah nourished that fear. Had the others been here before? Did one or both of them have Sarah?

  Soaked to the skin, he slogged his way through the muddy ground and searched the corral, behind the overflowing water trough, the nearest woods.

  Rio had to caution himself to enter the barn alert for trouble. The wood bar across the doors was not in place. His doing. The rains had swollen the wood to where he had had to hammer it free. A rope with a simple slipknot over the wooden hooks where the bar rested was what held the doors closed.

  He set the rifle against the wall, his fingers, stiff and cold, fumbling to free the rope. He could hear the stallion’s challenge, a penetrating cry in the night. For all the trouble he was having, he should dismiss the idea of Sarah being inside, but he had to be sure.

  No one had been in the barn. He saw that with the sheltered lantern light. He was the one who had tracked in fresh mud and water. There was no time to calm the horses. He left quickly.

  The cold wind and slashing rain stole his breath as he searched the brush behind the barn, then fought his way to the pasture where the rising waters slowed his progress.

  Think. Think, he ordered himself, forcing a halt beneath one of the towering cottonwoods.

  If Sarah had managed to break free but was injured, she couldn’t have gone far. He refused to allow the image of her stumbling into the flooding waters, unable to get up.

  Rio might refuse to acknowledge the image, but it was there in his mind. The image drove him out to search for her closer to home.

  Her name, born of panicked desperation, clawed its way free from his lips. The wind distorted the sound, but another, then another followed until Rio was back at the woodshed.

  He stood there, his hair plastered to his head, rain running down his face, blinding him, and he screamed her name.

  A warning whispered through his mind. He spun around, bringing the cocked rifle to bear only to see the blanket-shrouded face of his son Lucas revealed by the lantern he shielded close to his body.

  “We heard the shots. I had to come. Gabriel was afraid. I found the body. I could not find you.”

  Rio said nothing. He opened his arms, stepping toward his son. He clasped the boy’s slim body to him. One thin arm wrapped around Rio’s waist. He felt the racking shivers from his son’s body and held him tighter.

  “I’m safe. Maybe we all are, Lucas. But I’ve got to find Sarah. She came out. I don’t know what he did to her. Here, take the rifle and go inside.”

  He set the boy away from him, hating that his son had to see more violence. He had had enough in his young life. Rio had had enough, too.

  Yet, in a strange way, he was grateful for these few moments. Lucas clung to him. Loving concern had broken through the boy’s bitterness.

  “Go,” Rio shouted, urging Lucas toward the house as he took the lantern from him.

  “Is he one of them?” Lucas yelled, pointing to the body.

  Is he? Rio didn’t know where the question or the hesitation had come from. He had to be sure. He had killed the man.

  “Go, Lucas!” he repeated. “I must find Sarah.”

  “Let me help you.”

  Rio clasped his son’s shoulder. “I need you to be with Gabriel. You said he was frightened. And if Sarah comes back, I need you to be there for her.” Rio’s grip tightened for a second, then he let his son go.

  “This is the first time you said you needed me.”

  “I’ve always needed you, Lucas. Always.”

  He watched his son reach the safety of the kitchen door and disappear inside.

  Rio walked out, counting about fifty feet, then quartered the area, returning to begin again. Some minutes later, as his search grew frantic, he noted that the rain had slackened to a dreary drizzle. He worked over the backyard, then the side, and the front. Everywhere he hunted for a sign of Sarah.

  Chilled to the bone, he dragged his weary body around to the other side.

  Where could she be?

  His throat was raw from shouting her name. He stumbled his way to the cottonwood trees, lifting the lantern to the lower limbs on the chance she had managed to climb to safety.

  Nothing.

  He started his count away from the house, slogging through the ankle-high water. He couldn’t feel his feet. When he tripped, he barely managed to hold the lantern high as he went down on one knee. His hand dug down through the mud until he touched the corner of a flat rock. He pushed his body, staggering until he could stand.

  His fingers were numb, curled around the handle of the lantern. He swung the light back and forth, refusing to give up. She was out there. Somewhere. And he had to find her.

  Rio made his way back to the house, sagging against the wall. He drew ragged breaths, pushing off to start again.

  He was stumbling around blindly, feeling the pull of the past. He fought the images coming to mind. The smoking timbers, the carnage of what had been his home. The sickness working its way up to gag him, and still he searched, and then, falling to his knees.

  The scene replayed itself in his mind, but he suddenly found himself on his knees in the mud, the lantern gone to land at a crazy angle, the soft earth cushioning its fall so that its light glowed brightly.

  He threw back his head, howling his grief to the heavens. Only when the rain threatened to choke him did he lower his head, and there at the corner he saw the overturned rain barrel.

  Rio crawled through the mud. Every thought wiped clean but his need to get there. His hand touched the boot first.

  “Sarah?” The whispered demand tore from his lips. He shoved at the heavy oak barrel with one hand, pulling her legs free. He cursed the mud that held the barrel fast, dragging out her limp body.

  “Sarah?” he cried, cradling her close. He needed light to see where she was hurt. She wasn’t dead. The faint warmth of her shallow breaths touched his lips.

  Rio struggled to his feet with her limp body, unable to speak the words of thanksgiving that came from his heart. He carried her slicker-clad body around to the back door, showing no surprise that Lucas was there to open it.

  “Hot water,” he whispered to his son, heading straight for the parlor. He knelt on the quilt, carefully removed the slicker and tossed it as
ide.

  It was then that her injury was discovered. Rio didn’t find it. Gabriel did.

  “She is bleeding, Father.”

  Rio’s gaze followed the boy’s shaking finger that pointed to the lump of broken skin on the back of Sarah’s head.

  “Father, is she…she…”

  The note of terror in his child’s voice snatched Rio’s attention from Sarah. “Sarah’s alive. I’ll show you.” He took hold of the boy’s trembling hand and set it palm down over Sarah’s lips.

  “They have come again. They want to hurt her like they did to Mother.”

  He gathered his son to him. “No, Gabriel. I won’t let them hurt any of you ever again.” He closed his eyes for a moment, hugging his son. Silently Rio cursed the animals that still hunted them, still brought nightmares and fear into their lives.

  “I need your help, Gabriel. Sarah needs all of us to take care of her.” He pulled back, his hands coming to rest on the boy’s small shoulders. “Can you do this for me?”

  The boy nodded, but his eyes darted to the still form of Sarah. He bit his lower lip and blinked rapidly, ashamed to feel tears.

  “Go to Sarah’s room. Bring her nightgown and robe. Socks, too, if you can find them. We must get her warm.”

  Gabriel nodded again, but this time he moved off to do his father’s bidding.

  Rio gently turned Sarah’s head to the side so there was no pressure on the wound. It was then that he saw how filthy his hands were. The heat of the fire became painful as it penetrated his cold body. He forced himself to his feet, unwilling to taint Sarah with the blood on his hands.

  He grabbed the clean borrowed shirt and pants and headed for the kitchen.

  Lucas sat at the table, the rifle before him. He turned when he heard his father. “Sarah?”

  “She will be all right. Go stay with her. I need to clean up.”

  Within minutes, Rio had stripped and, using the harsh lye soap and cold well water, he washed the grime from himself. Once dressed he checked on the water Lucas had heating. It was barely warm. He searched the pantry, gathering what he needed. All the while he kept his thoughts from the body outside.