by Ginny Aiken
With a glare in her direction, he gave an abrupt wave of his hand, snagged the lantern hanging from the iron arm on the wall, and stalked outside.
“Hey!” Colley yelled her objection. “It’s dark in here.”
“Go to the cabin. Emma has no idea what she’s doing.” She’d never find her way back. He had to go and find her himself. If he had to apologize, and he did, he’d do it right to her face. He wasn’t about to do it twice.
He’d worry about Colley once his “guest” was safe again.
“Women!” He shook his head as he headed into the wooded darkness. His swinging lantern sent fantastical, misshapen shadows into the trees. Robby—and likely Emma, as well—would view the shapes as “dragons” for a knight to slay.
“Bah!” He’d never understand any one single woman, much less the whole lot of them.
Men were much easier to figure out. They focused on more concrete and practical things. Like finding a distraught guest on a chilly spring night lit by only a sliver of a moon and a small lantern in his hand. Before she got lost in the woods.
Again.
In the scant light, he paused to look around. To his surprise, he saw no sign of the fleeing woman. How could that be? She hadn’t left his side that many minutes ago.
Where could Emma Crowell have gotten herself to in such a short time?
At least there was no snow on the forest floor. Emma gulped fast bursts of cold, evening air into her lungs, enough to keep her going, going—where?
She pulled up short, panting, her legs aching from the sudden hard sprint. She had no idea how far she’d gone. She only knew she’d given it her all, just so she could get away from any more critical, judgmental, detestable, insufferable, hurtful comments. And from Peter. Maybe she should just keep running until she went all the way down the mountain and came to flat ground. Surely she’d get to Bountiful—or some other somewhat civilized place—sooner or later.
Anything to avoid Peter Lowery for the rest of her life.
Even though she’d run out of steam, she continued to march away from the direction of the barn, the camp, and that… that lout—oaf! That’s what he’d called himself, and she might as well use the term. And to think she’d been so impressed by him just moments before he’d opened his mouth. But now, when she thought back over the time she’d spent in the barn, she realized the ewe had been the one who’d done all the work. All Peter did was to catch the newborn lamb after the ewe birthed it.
True, he never said anything to suggest he took credit for what Emma had witnessed. And the event had clearly moved him. They had exchanged that meaningful look…
“No!” She was not about to let herself be lulled into a sense of comfortable companionship again when it came to that man. He’d gone and ruined a truly nice moment by mocking her, by insulting her, by… by…
By reminding her of her own failings.
Slowly, her steps came to a stop. No matter how hard she’d tried to flee from the truth, it had followed her. She didn’t have to run from Peter to know in her heart that she’d failed to learn anything that made her useful. If she’d never been separated from her traveling party, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she would have been able to stay in her oblivious state. Maybe she wouldn’t have needed to know any of the more practical things of life. But her life had taken that turn.
And it had made her see herself in a different way.
Yes, of course, she could learn. Given adequate time and a bit of help. But she didn’t want either at Peter’s camp. She’d much rather hurry home where, in the privacy of Ophelia’s comfortable kitchen, Emma could become the older woman’s apprentice.
Very well, then. Time had come to gather her gumption, as Ophelia often said, and head back to civilization. She took a step, but had to pause. Which way was Bountiful located? Portland? Other folks? Anything?
She turned, first one way then the next. The dark of night lay heavy on the woods, making them impenetrable and menacing. She couldn’t even tell which way she’d come. Oh, dear.
Whereas anger had been her overriding emotion only minutes earlier, a sense of foreboding appeared in a corner of her heart. It was one thing to run from an overbearing man. It was altogether another to run aimlessly in the woods.
In the pitch black.
At night.
Alone.
“Oh, goodness.” A sinking sensation left her a touch queasy. “I couldn’t have gotten lost that soon. It’s not possible. I just have to look more carefully, trace my way back.”
But when she tried to look down toward her feet, to search for her own immediate footprints, she could see not even a hint of her recent flight. Not only was it dark, making it more difficult than necessary to identify something as minor as the mark of a shoe, but the forest floor was also littered with leaves and twigs and who-knew-what-else, a cushion that sprang back to disguise any impression.
Had she ever known what direction she should take to reach Bountiful? Even on that day she’d first found herself lost on this mountain, she hadn’t had a clue where the town was located. She’d wandered around with Pippa, following voices to that small clearing. Now, she couldn’t hope for voices to guide her. Everyone was back at the camp. Even her little dog.
A sob caught in her throat.
She would rather move forward than go back.
The sooner she found her way back to town, the sooner she’d be in Papa’s loving embrace again. And once there, she could send for her pet. Her determination back as a beacon, she set off to her right, since she’d seen nothing to draw her in any one direction more than another.
“Lord?” Her voice seemed to echo much louder than she thought the puny murmur should have. “I know I haven’t paid You the kind of attention You deserve in the last few years. I also know You showed me something powerful tonight in that barn—ouch!”
Her ankle twisted when she stepped on something, more than likely a fallen branch since it felt as though it had rolled beneath her weight. Emma reached down and rubbed, well aware it would smart the next day. But she couldn’t stop and nurse an ache. She had to keep going.
She hurried, hoping to come out of the woods sooner. “And then,” she said, resuming her conversation with God, “it was quite foolish to run out into the dark with no idea which way I should go, just because Peter irked me with his comments. It’s because it was true, what he said. It seems as though that’s how I’ve been, like a child, tumbling from one adventure to the next, but Papa’s always been there to tell me it’s all right when something’s not gone right.”
She kept walking, the moon not giving her much help through the tree-thick forest. A branch scraped her cheek. “Oooh!”
She fought against the sting, rubbing her cheek, hoping she didn’t wind up with an ugly scar. “Please, do help me, Lord.”
The depth of the silence continued to stun her, and she walked on. Soon, however, the reality of her loneliness had her chattering to God again. “I guess a life of little-girl adventures becomes a more serious matter when one is grown up and still falling into those adventures. Especially if one gets lost in the woods. More than once, at that. I need help to get… somewhere—”
“Well, well, well.” Sawyer materialized before her out of the stygian black. “Looky what we have us here. It ain’t ’specially nice out here by night. I figgered y’ain’t never done much that ain’t not nice in yer life, missy.”
Emma ignored him and continued walking, her gaze fixed ahead and just to the right of Sawyer’s shoulder. He stepped out of her way, then matched his pace to hers, walking at her side.
After a few silent minutes, he seemed to draw closer. “So, missy. Where ya headin’ to?”
She sidled away, but didn’t slow down. “I needed some air.”
After a handful of steps, he tipped his head toward her and again came closer than she wanted. She stepped away, yet again.
Then, with what seemed like a smile in his voice, he said, “Wouldn
’ta thought you’d be out and about in the middle of the night.”
She didn’t respond. She just wanted to get away from him and closer to folks. Regular folks.
“Don’t ya wanta be cozy-like in one a them beds in Lowery’s cabin?”
She didn’t like the way he made his words sound… dirty. She thought of Mrs. Hepplesmith, her watercolor instructor, the most prim and proper woman she’d ever met. She fashioned her tone after the lady’s instructional approach. “One of the ewes gave birth tonight, Mr. Sawyer.”
The rustler again matched his steps to hers, ever closer to her side. “I heered something ’bout some animal in the barn. Didn’t pay much mind though.”
Mrs. Hepplesmith… Mrs. Hepplesmith, she repeated soundlessly, hoping the woman’s starchy demeanor would affix itself to her own. “I chose to spend a while in the barn watching the lovely event, but then—”
Emma caught herself before she revealed too much. It wasn’t in her nature to not be amiable, but the longer he walked alongside her, closer and closer with each step, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to encourage him. Please, Lord, help!
Then something occurred to her. She pulled up short. “What, pray tell, are you doing out here, sir? I understood you’d been confined to the bunkhouse, that you’ve been kept tied to your bed all this time.”
In the meager light that filtered through the trees from the slivered moon, she saw Sawyer give a one-shouldered shrug. “I found me an old china cup. It broke right quick, and I used it to saw through the rope ’round my feet. Dinnent cut myself as much there, on account of my socks, as when I tried to get my hands loose.”
A glance revealed hands still secured at his back. “I see.”
She marched on in silence. It gave her some comfort to know his hands were bound. And he couldn’t have retrieved his weapon. Her initial fear now began to turn to irritation as he kept up with her.
No more than twenty paces later, her discomfort grew even more acute. It was absolutely not a necessity for Sawyer to have narrowed the distance between them quite this much as they’d passed through the thick stands of trees. The trees didn’t grow that close together. Clearly, ignoring him was doing little to discourage him.
Once again, she came to a full stop, this time perching her fists on her cloak-draped hips. “Do tell, Mr. Sawyer, sir. What do you plan to do now that you’ve freed yourself?”
“I ain’t rightly freed myself yet.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I can see that, sir, but you’re no longer Mr. Lowery’s captive. What is in your future now?”
“Future?” His voice rose in outrage. “Lady, all’s I’m after is gettin’ this blamed rope off my hands. I ain’t thinking of no future past that. Mebbe then I’ll think on finding me a good glass of sour mash—”
“Understood!” She didn’t want their discussion to go down any such path. She knew she would immediately regret that. “Once you are freed, then what? I don’t recollect any… ahem! Sour mash, sir, anywhere in these woods.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “When I’ve my hands back, why, then I reckon I can head for that Bountiful place you talk so much about. Hear say there’s a fair hotel there, with good cooking. Should find me some way to win myself a pocketful of money at that new saloon I heered they built theirselves. Poker’s big there, too, I hear.”
Distaste filled her. “Hm…” But then the more important point of his statement struck her. “You’re headed to Bountiful, you say.”
“Mm-hm.”
“You know how to get there?”
“Well, I ain’t rightly said, now, have I? But it can’t be too hard to find the way. Man’s gotta go down these mountains no matter what he does. Then I reckon I can figger which way’s east. I know the south a right bit better, but I heered east is where the town is, so that’s where I’m heading.”
“Funny you should say all that, Mr. Sawyer. I’m headed to Bountiful, myself. But I don’t know which way it’s located, much less how to find my way around this mountain.”
His walking slowed. He tipped his head, studying her for long moments. “And, you’re wanting…?”
Rescue me, Mrs. Hepplesmith! Then she realized how silly the stray notion was. The only help for her right then was standing before her in the shape of the highly untrustworthy and fully disreputable Mr. Sawyer. But what choice did she have?
None, if she wanted to head home to Papa. Mr. Lowery had said it was a day by horse, but it couldn’t be that much longer on foot. If they left now and didn’t stop, perhaps she could be in Bountiful by tomorrow evening. Surely she could manage to tolerate Mr. Sawyer’s company for that long.
Emma squared her shoulders. “Well, sir. I’m asking your assistance. I must return to civilization so that I can notify my father as to my whereabouts. I absolutely know he must be frantic by now. I know he’d be quite happy to make any help you offer me well worth your while.”
“Ya sure do talk some funny.” Sawyer shook his head. “Worth my while, huh? Ya don’t say?”
“Indeed.” Swallowing her misgivings, and desperate to get home, she thought of an old saying. In for a penny, in for a pound. She drew in a deep breath then lurched forward with her words. “I would like to suggest that you help me return to Bountiful. I promise Papa will offer you a respectable reward once we’re back.”
She could see him mulling over her offer.
He rubbed his chin against his shoulder, and the friction made a strange, raspy sound. “See, I figger it’s like this. I reckon I could use me some dollars, seein’ as how I been left behind without a thing to show for all the work I done. And then, that Lowery fella goes an’ ties me up. Like a hog, I tell ya.”
Emma kept her peace.
Once again, Sawyer studied her in silence, his gaze a heavy weight as he raked her with those piercing, dark eyes. “If that’s the case, why then, I figger you got yerself a deal here, missy. But, seein’ as we’re pardners, now, untie my hands.”
She drew in a harsh breath. She hadn’t thought that far ahead when she’d made her offer. Sawyer unfettered didn’t strike her as a wise proposition. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t relish the thought of the enraged thief if she refused to help him free himself.
Would he be as likely to wreak the same havoc with his hands tied as free? He could run as fast as she, if not faster. He could then knock her to the ground… and then? What could he do?
On the other hand, with full use of his hands…
Which alternative was the lesser evil?
She feared she knew the answer to that, but she also could see the ire rising in his expression as she took her time to consider his request. Anger in Sawyer didn’t strike her as particularly beneficial to her, regardless of whether his hands were bound or not. And he’d hardly help her get to Bountiful if she didn’t release him.
In the end, she sent up another brief prayer, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”
He let out a growl. “Wrong! What you’ll see is that you can and will untie my hands.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Mr. Sawyer-this! Mr. Sawyer-that! My name’s Sawyer Smith, missy. Jist call me Sawyer, a’right?”
Emma bit her bottom lip, then gave another, smaller nod. The thought of touching the man repulsed her, but the thought of infuriating him any further—no! She shuddered, but made her choice.
“Turn around, please.” She hated the tremor in her voice. Sawyer was the sort who’d take advantage of even the slightest sign of weakness. “It’s quite dark, and I can’t see well at all.”
She began to work on the knots, which had been tied by someone with experience and strength, neither of which she had. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she concentrated, tugging at the rope with her ragged fingernails. Her awkward position didn’t help the matter, and her frustration grew.
His impatience grew at the same pace.
And then, when she was about to give up in defe
at, an especially strong tug loosened the knot. Moments later, Emma had Sawyer freed.
“Ah-ha!” He rubbed his wrists, shook his hands, and rolled his shoulders.
Then, before Emma realized what was happening, he grabbed her by the shoulders and plastered himself on her. He smashed wet lips on her face, dragged them down toward her mouth.
Emma pulled back, horrified. The wetness on her cheek turned her stomach. The stench of the man, sour sweat mixed with something sharp she couldn’t identify, was overpowering. She gagged as she fought to wedge her fists between her body and Sawyer, fighting to get in a punch or two, but without much power to them they did little good.
Oh, dear God! This wasn’t supposed to happen. Help me!
With all her strength, she repeated her plea, with all her might, the sound reverberating against the surrounding trees. “HELP!”
Chapter 13
“HELP!”
Peter thought he’d imagined Emma’s scream until another came on the next breeze. Half of him wanted to believe his mind had played tricks on him, but his other half knew better.
“Colley!” he cried. “Get back to the cabin. Send Wade out here then stay with Robby. Something’s happened to Emma.”
Without waiting for his ranch manager’s response, Peter took off in the direction of the screams. He prayed a third one would ring out again, to give him a better sense of which direction to follow, but the silence grew deafening.
“Lord, please!”
Where had she gone? And what had she stumbled into out there?
Guilt was not a man’s best companion. He hadn’t recognized the worth in her efforts. Even after she’d tried more than once, he’d teased her about her lack of expertise, practically mocking her attempts. He now understood her urge to flee from him.
Peter didn’t think she’d gone anywhere in particular, but rather, that she’d rushed out, clearly desperate to get away from him.
