His eyes lit with understanding, and the kid sat near him. The woman nodded then hurried away.
Finn fought to lift his head and look himself over. The movement sent sparks sizzling through his body. Instead, he brought the heel of his right palm to his forehead to ease the steady pounding between his temples.
What in tarnation happened? He was an experienced driver. Never lost a coach, though he’d had to nurse a few to the next station when a wheel went bad or a horse lame. He’d been driving stagecoaches too long, and he knew that span of road too well.
Beside him, Travis’s eyes grew wide, and he scrambled onto his knees. The boy tugged Finn’s duster coat open and touched his side. A blaze of pain ricocheted through Finn’s midsection, and he batted the boy’s hand away. Undaunted, Travis held up his palm, now covered in bright red blood.
He, too, touched his side, fingers finding a large wet patch. Fire roared through his torso and dizziness rocked him.
The boy lunged to his feet, eyes trailing up the slope in Miss Stockton’s direction. His face contorted with concern, and he waved his arms wildly. He paused, signaled again. The boy glanced Finn’s way, an apology in his eyes.
“It’s all right, kid. Just…sit dow—”
Travis bolted. Finn grabbed for his leg and missed. The sudden movement reignited the lightning bolts, and his world went dark.
Chapter Four
Hannah laid the last rock in place over the joint grave of Edwina Jamison and Bob Racklin then arched her back to loosen the knots. She glanced heavenward, her lower lids burning with hot tears. “Lord, please receive their spirits into Your hands and help us get out of this predicament. I—we—need You more than ever, Father.”
As she’d assessed their situation earlier, her initial thought had been to wait, perhaps climb up to the narrow mountain path above. After studying the incline, she ruled that out. It was far too steep, especially with an injured man in tow.
She’d thought that another stage would come, or the next station would send a search party when they didn’t arrive. Those thoughts had dissolved when she saw the claw marks that marred the only surviving horse’s neck and shoulder. Despite being unfamiliar with most mountain wildlife, she could identify the marks of a bear easily enough. It was autumn. Bears were foraging far and wide, preparing for hibernation. What better feast than the carcasses of the five draft horses she couldn’t bury?
For all these reasons, she’d decided they couldn’t stay put, though how she was to move Mr. McCaffrey was a perplexing dilemma. Even if the wounded jehu were able to sit astride a horse, the huge animal was far too large to ride for any distance like a saddle horse. Since she’d finished burying the dead, she could focus on that task.
She gathered the pile of supplies she’d collected—the sawed-off shotgun and a rifle she’d found among the wreckage, a bag with ammunition, the knives she’d taken from Bob Racklin’s belt, and the matches she’d found in his pocket. She wrapped the items inside the petticoats she’d taken from Mrs. Jamison’s body before burying her, then headed down the mountainside toward Travis, Mr. McCaffrey, and the skittish horse.
At her approach, Travis touched Mr. McCaffrey’s shoulder, though the man didn’t stir. Travis frowned. The poor child had been scared senseless at his earlier discovery of the jagged gash that wrapped around Mr. McCaffrey’s rib cage. He’d only calmed after she’d stanched the bleeding and bandaged the wound. Since the man had passed out, she’d set and splinted his leg. It appeared he’d not yet regained consciousness.
Hannah laid aside the supplies and checked Mr. McCaffrey’s pulse. A little fast, but strong considering his injuries. What concerned her more was the warmth of his skin. Fever could easily set in, though it hadn’t yet. The sooner she found water to clean his and Travis’s wounds, the better. All the more reason they needed to move fast.
She smiled at Travis. “You’ve done well.” She signed the compliment, though she didn’t expect him to understand. To convey her happiness, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. He smiled, the grin wobbling.
“Lord, would You show me how I’m to move Mr. McCaffrey? We need water, food, and shelter—and quickly.”
Her mind churned as she rose and surveyed the scene again. She ambled toward the stagecoach to peruse the contents of the rear boot, if any. To her surprise, the leather cover was still buckled closed. On tiptoes, she unfastened the sturdy flap but was disappointed to find only Travis’s small trunk, splintered beyond repair, and a disheveled stack of blankets. She gathered the blankets and Travis’s warmest clothes. Otherwise, there was little of value.
Before stepping away, Hannah felt the corner of the heavy leather cover, an idea forming. If she could remove the boot cover from the coach, perhaps she could tie it between two sturdy branches to form a travois to transport Mr. McCaffrey.
It was worth a try.
All around him, his world swayed, bumping in unusual fashion. With every jostle, pain stabbed his left leg, stealing his breath. He pried one eye open with some effort, the other following suit. Above him, the sky was streaked in shades of orange, red, and purple. Beneath his head—or very near it—the heavy footfalls of a horse. He twisted to see what lay over his shoulder but caught only a glimpse of a chestnut horse’s rump before pain sliced his ribs.
A small hand touched his shoulder, and Finn twisted around. Fire lit his left side, and he stifled a cry. The hand disappeared, and soon the jostling ceased.
“Mr. McCaffrey?”
Both Miss Stockton and Travis appeared, the boy with a bandage wrapped around his head.
“Thank God, you’re awake.” She touched his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Cold.” Finn’s voice rasped, and his hand strayed to his side to find his shirt unbuttoned, torso bandaged. He tugged the shirt in place to ward off the chills.
“You’re feverish.”
He glanced around, trying to place his surroundings. Nothing was familiar. “Where…are we?”
“Somewhere in the mountains.” Her voice quavered.
He squinted, and his brain spun, trying to understand.
“Do you remember? The stagecoach crashed.”
“Crashed?” The memories jogged loose. He’d been driving the mountain pass, Bob Racklin jawin’ while he fought to concentrate on Sam’s news. A black bear—
The hair-raising ride flashed through his mind, even while his thoughts raced to Sam and Ezra receiving the news of an accident. “Oh, God…no.” He closed his eyes to block the images. “The others?”
Silence. He forced his eyes open.
Miss Stockton’s face had gone ashen. “They didn’t make it.” She looked away, her chin trembling. “I buried them.”
“They’re dead?” God, no. Why would You let them die? Why didn’t You save them?
A single choking sob bubbled out of Miss Stockton, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. After a few deep breaths, she wiped her eyes and looked at him once more. “I’m sorry. We need to keep moving.” She blinked furiously, her voice pinched. “I’ve searched for a stream all afternoon. I can hear water flowing nearby, but the sun’s nearly gone, so we must hurry.”
Once again, he looked at his surroundings. No stagecoach. No mountain road. Nothing familiar. “You left the stage?”
She nodded. “I thought it was best.”
“No. Shoulda stayed.” Finn ground out the words, glaring despite the throbbing of his skull. “They’ll…look for us.”
Eyes wide, she rose. “I’m well aware, sir.” She glared back. “However, I thought the stench of five rotting horse carcasses might attract predators. Besides, we’re without food and water. Unless you’d rather I let you die, I must have water to tend your injuries.” She gulped a breath. “Excuse me. I’m losing the light.”
Miss Stockton stalked off, Travis trailing behind her. The swaying began again, and with it, the jolting pains.
Stupid. He could barely string together a sentence, much less muster the stren
gth to attend to his own needs. Miss Stockton had buried the dead and hauled him out with only the help of a scared deaf boy. She was doing her best. Her reasoning for abandoning the scene was sound. It wouldn’t have been his choice, but he was in the uncomfortable situation of not being in control.
Finn blinked at the sky as the red hues succumbed to the purple shades. Moments ticked by, and finally the movement stopped as the chuckling of water filled his ears. The sound drove home the realization that his mouth was dry as cotton.
Silence stretched for an eternity. Had she left? Who could blame her if she had? She and Travis could make faster time without him. Finally, the contraption he was on jostled, rose up, and at the same time, the thud of hoofbeats sounded. Finn grunted at the awkward shift then relaxed as he was lowered to the ground.
Miss Stockton appeared. “Mr. McCaffrey?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sure you’re thirsty. The canteen was crushed in the accident, so you’ll have to squeeze some water from this.” She placed a sopping cloth in his hand. “I’ll help you sit up some.”
She looped an arm under his head and gingerly lifted him. The movement sent stabbing pains through him, and he sagged against her.
“Please stay with me.” Her words oozed concern and fatigue.
He gulped. “I’m still here.” With uncoordinated fingers, he squeezed the cool liquid into his mouth, though much of it ran down his chest. Tiring quickly, he shook his head against her shoulder. “Let me go.”
She lowered him down as Travis approached with firewood. He dropped the pile, and she rose to meet him.
“Well done. Thank you.” She patted the boy’s cheek. “Please stay with Mr. McCaffrey while I build a fire.” She guided the boy to his side and patted the ground beside him. The kid sat.
Miss Stockton inhaled deeply and sighed. In the last vestiges of light, her shoulders slumped. She looked durn near ready to drop herself.
He caught the hem of her skirt. “Ma’am?”
She knelt. “Did you need something?”
“You should rest.” She was, after all, the only thing standing between the boy and him living or dying out there.
“I appreciate your concern, but there’s still so much to be done. Perhaps sometime before sunup.” She rose and stalked off.
Finn balled a fist and struck the ground. He ought to be helping her, not adding to her load.
Chapter Five
Hannah roused from slumber, rolled in a cocoon of woolen blankets. Every muscle ached, both from sleeping on the ground and from the battering she’d taken during the crash. Not to mention all the other things she’d done—burying the dead, building the travois, wrestling Mr. McCaffrey onto it. She tested her limbs to see where the worst of the pain was located. Her thighs ached as if bruised, probably from being trapped under the bench. One elbow was stiff and swollen. Nothing life-threatening, thank God. Not like Mr. Racklin and Mrs. Jamison. She bit her lip and prayed again for the deceased.
It had been late by the time she’d crawled into the blankets. Her body cried for more rest, but instead, she sat up, drawing the wool tight around her shoulders. She glanced around the camp she’d hastily thrown together. The horse foraged nearby, not too troubled by the claw marks marring its neck and shoulder. Travis stood at the edge of the stream, head still bandaged. He held a sturdy branch, a knife tied firmly to one end. His attention focused on the water, he tracked something then lunged, thrusting the makeshift spear into the stream. A spray of water glinted in the morning sun, and Travis jerked straight up, as if startled, and wiped his face on his sleeve.
Behind her, a weak chuckle drew her attention. From his crude bed, Mr. McCaffrey watched Travis, right arm propped under his head. He grinned. “The boy’s hungry.”
She knew that sensation well. Her stomach had protested much of the night. “I suspect we all are. Unfortunately, I’m not sure what luck he’ll have catching breakfast that way.” She knelt beside him and touched his forehead. The fever lingered, though perhaps not as high.
“That boy”—his blue eyes held hers—“is a survivor.”
Her heart pounded. Even dulled by pain and rimmed with dark circles, the man’s eyes captivated her. The intensity of his halting statement kept her from responding with anything other than a nod. She broke the gaze, her cheeks warming furiously.
What was she thinking? How easily she could forget the overheard conversation between him and the young woman carrying his child. Perhaps that woman had also been charmed by his very blue eyes.
Hannah shoved aside all thought of his eyes and loosened the bandages around his rib cage.
“How are you feeling today, Mr. McCaffrey?”
He caught her wrist. “Call me Finn. Please.”
A lump formed in her throat. She was hardly ready to call any man by his given name, and particularly not this one. She’d promised herself that wouldn’t happen again. Not after …
She was being ridiculous. Mr. McCaffrey was offering it solely for simplicity’s sake. Wasn’t he? Given names were far more practical in their present circumstances.
Hannah Rose, forget all your silly notions, and focus on getting out of these mountains.
She touched her chest. “You may call me Hannah Rose.”
A startled gasp escaped her. She’d offered the man her middle name—her papa’s pet name? It had to be pure exhaustion. “Or just Hannah.”
He wobbled a grin at her. “Which one?”
She looked to the bandages. “Just Hannah.”
“All right, Just Hannah.” He closed his eyes, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Once he quit distracting her, she cleaned the wound without interruption. To her surprise, it didn’t appear as infected as she’d feared. Red, angry, hot to the touch, but better than it had looked last evening.
Lord, thank You that it isn’t worse. With no supplies, no tools, we’re in a bad way out here. Please continue to guide us, and let us be found. Soon.
She applied fresh bandages torn from Mrs. Jamison’s petticoats then looked at the splint on his leg. Another splash, followed by a triumphant laugh, sounded. Beside the stream, Travis hoisted a good-sized fish from the water, spear through its body as he stabilized it with a hand around its wriggling tail. He headed in her direction, a huge smile brightening his face.
“Told you.” Finn grinned at her. “A survivor.”
Finn gritted his teeth and clung to Hannah, arm looped around her neck as she helped him back onto the travois. His body trembled. If only she’d been strong enough to lift the contraption into place over the horse’s back while he was still on it, like she’d lifted it down the previous night.
“Easy. You’re almost there.” She panted the words in his ear, her breath fanning his sweaty skin.
His backside touched the travois, and he went limp, pulling her down with him. She braced a hand against the travois frame, her nose nearly touching his.
Hannah tensed.
Finn didn’t move as he stared at the golden flecks in her huge hazel eyes.
“Let me go, Mr. McCaffrey.” Urgency filled her words.
Lord, Hannah’s real pretty. …
“Mr. McCaffrey!” Her panicked tone registered, and he released her. She righted herself, tugged her dress bodice into place, and patted her hair, which suddenly tumbled loose from its pins.
Waves of dizziness swept him. His whole body sagged, and he gulped air like the golden trout Travis had caught a couple of hours earlier. Durn it. Hardly right, a man should feel so weak…so useless.
She turned her back and shook the rest of her hair loose. Finn’s pulse quickened as she brushed the auburn curls, and he rubbed his fingertips together, imagining their softness.
Finn balled his fists and turned his face away. He had no business thinking such thoughts about Hannah Rose Stockton.
“Hannah.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just Hannah, you fool.” The combination of pain, exhaustion, and fever must have addled his brain.
He’d do well to focus on escaping these mountains and returning to Ezra and Sam, rather than woolgathering about running his fingers through Hannah’s hair.
Moments later, footsteps rustled nearer, and he turned. She tied off a thick braid with a torn strip of fabric and, with a quick flip, she tossed the braid over her shoulder, though it slid to the front and thumped against his elbow as she stooped beside him.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” She settled a soft hand against his forehead then slid it around to his cheek. Her touch was a comfort, and not just for the warmth against the chill of his fever. Truth be known, he liked having her so near.
Finn shook his head. “Leg hurts.” There’d be no comfort unless they found a bottle of whiskey to dull the pain. God forbid that should happen. Strong drink might loosen his tongue, and he’d tell her just how pretty she was.
Keep your fool mouth shut, you idiot. What woman would have use for a weak, helpless man like him?
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I suspect it’ll be worse once we start moving, but I’ll take the smoothest path I can find. I plan to follow the stream. Maybe we’ll run into a miner or someone living up here who might help us. Does that sound like a good plan?” Her hazel eyes were full of uncertainty and questions.
He rolled a glance skyward. “Reckon so.” If she knew how confused his thoughts were, how utterly inadequate he was in this current state, she wouldn’t ask. Travis would give better advice.
Hand still against his stubbly cheek, she rolled his head toward her. “Try to rest. I’ll do everything I can to get us out of this mess.”
Finn caught her hand as she withdrew it. Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“Causing such trouble.” Iffen he’d seen the bear, none of this would’ve happened. They’d be somewhere between Strawberry and Placerville about now.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
Travis appeared, toting a couple of blankets. Hannah wiggled her hand out of Finn’s grasp and took them, draping them over Finn and tucking them under his shoulders. “Try to rest.”
The Courageous Brides Collection Page 42
