A Daughter's Quest (11 page)

Hans straightened and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. “What did she look like?”

“I tole you she was pretty. A little bit of a thing, but she knew how to ride a horse.” Charlie started forking the straw into his barrow.

“Did she have brown curly hair?”

“Don’t know how curly it is, but her hair was brown. She had it pulled back into her sun bonnet.” He hefted another forkful into the conveyance.

“Did she tell you her name?” Hans hoped the thought that came into his mind was wrong.

“Yup. I don’t let anyone take out a horse without leaving me their name. Constance Miller.” Charlie leaned the pitchfork against the back wall of the stall and picked up the handles of the wooden wheelbarrow. “Anything else you need? I gotta go dump this mess.”

“How long ago did she leave?”

Charlie stopped short and set the barrow down on its legs. “You sure do have a lot of questions this morning. Why do you want to know?”

“Miss Miller is a new friend of mine.” Hans knew in his gut where Constance was going. Why didn’t she ask him to go with her? Guess she hadn’t believed him when he’d warned her about possible dangers out there. “I thought I might try to catch up with her. I’m not sure she understands all the dangers that could lurk outside town.”

“Why didn’t you say that right off?” Charlie started down the row of stalls, then stopped. “Blackie here is the fastest horse in this stable.” He opened the gate, went in, and closed it behind himself. “He’s a little skittish, but you can handle him okay.”

Hans started for the tack room to pick up the saddle he used when he rode. “You didn’t tell me how long she’s been gone.”

“About half an hour, I reckon.” Charlie led the horse toward Hans.

Hans made quick work of saddling Blackie. Then he leapt into the saddle and hightailed it down the road heading east out of town. He didn’t want to ride the horse too hard, but anything could be going on out there. It wasn’t often that renegade former soldiers or other highwaymen roamed this road, but it could happen at any time…even today.

When Constance left the edge of town, she urged the horse into a gallop but soon slowed down. The countryside spread around her with an abundance of grass, trees, and wildflowers in a rainbow of colors. She wanted to enjoy all the glory of spring that surrounded her. Unlike her first time outside town when she felt as though the sky pressed down on her, she realized how comfortably the gentle rolling hillocks undulated across the landscape. The beauty of the land bubbled with life, and birds soared above the trees she passed occasionally. Small fluffy clouds rested against the robin’s-egg-blue sky but didn’t block out any of the sunlight.

Since the horse could move faster than a wagon, it shouldn’t take as long to arrive at the farm, so she wasn’t really in a big hurry. It felt good to be on the back of a horse, and it was easier to ride the road cut across this wide-open prairie instead of up and down mountainsides, where the animal had to pick its way between rocks and brush. She didn’t have to watch where her horse stepped as closely here as she did back home.

Even though Constance saw farmhouses, they all sat far from the country road she traveled. A feeling of isolation and loneliness crept upon her. Then she remembered the warning Hans had given about the possibility of meeting outlaws out here. Why hadn’t she thought of that before she left town? Maybe she should have asked him to come with her, but surely he was too busy.

Constance watched the shadows among the groves of trees she passed. Could someone be hiding there waiting for an unsuspecting traveler to come along? If so, the outlaw wouldn’t get anything from her. She hadn’t brought a handbag, and most of her money was hidden under the mattress in her room at the boardinghouse. She knew she should think about putting it in the bank, but she hadn’t expected to stay in Browning City so long.

Blaze must have sensed her apprehension, because he became skittish, side-stepping a little. Constance had to concentrate on controlling the beast. Then she heard it. The sound of approaching hoofbeats. Her heart beat a loud thunder, and fear tasted metallic on her tongue. They were still a long way off. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a lone rider gaining on her. Should she turn off the roadway and hide? It was probably too late for that.

They had been riding so long that she didn’t want to push Blaze any harder. What should she do? She hadn’t seen a farmhouse for quite a while. If she came upon a lane leading to one, maybe she should take her chances there.

She ventured one last glance over her shoulder, trying to gauge how long it would be before the man overtook her.

The closer Hans got to the rider up ahead, the more certain he was that it was Constance. It hadn’t taken as long to catch up to her as he had feared it would. Hopefully, she wouldn’t resent him for coming after her. For some reason, he felt as though he had to protect her—from harm and from herself.

Remembering those moments in Jackson and Mary’s house when their gazes had connected and everything around them had dropped away, his heartbeat sped up to match the fast clip of the hoofbeats. Constance was wearing a dark brown riding skirt that flapped behind her in the wind. A green blouse and sunbonnet completed her outfit. Hans was sure the green flecks in her brown eyes would be prominent today. He imagined her smiling up into his eyes and almost lost his tight hold on the reins. He couldn’t do that while they were traveling so fast.

Constance glanced back and seemed to speed up a little. Didn’t she know who he was? Maybe not. She could be scared, thinking he was an outlaw. It served her right for not being more careful. If he thought she could hear him, he’d call out to her, but he was still too far away to make his words heard over the sound of two sets of pounding hoofbeats. He leaned over Blackie’s neck.

When his attention returned to the rider up ahead, Hans felt his heart leap into his throat. Blaze had stepped into a rut or hole, and his right front leg gave way under him. He went down. With horror, he watched Constance roll with the animal before she let go of the reins and flew away from him. At least Blaze didn’t land on top of her. If he had, he would have crushed her.

Knowing that it wasn’t good for Blackie, Hans urged the horse to go even faster. What if Constance was hurt? His heart stopped beating for a second before rapidly returning to its fast cadence.

When they approached the spot where Constance lay, Hans pulled back too hard on the reins. He would have to apologize to Blackie later, but he had to make sure Constance was all right. He leapt from the horse’s back and dropped the reins, knowing that Blackie wouldn’t wander far from where he left him.

Constance was too still, and her face looked as white as the snow that had covered the countryside not too long before she arrived in Browning City. Her long eyelashes fanned across her cheeks in a dark brown smudge. Even her lips, which usually were a healthy pink, looked a strange bluish tint.
Oh God, please don’t let her be dead
.

Hans dropped to his knees on the grassy verge beside her. A faint pulse beat at her throat, and her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. What should he do now?

Constance floated in blackness, trying to find a tiny speck of light. No other sensation registered in her muddled brain. The sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching caused her heartbeat to accelerate right along with them. She felt the pounding of each hoof beneath her. Would the horse run over her? And why would a horse be coming toward her when she was asleep?

She realized she wasn’t in her bed. Instead she was lying on something hard. Constance rubbed the fingers of one hand against the surface, only moving a couple of inches. Grass…the ground beneath…a pebble or two. Where was she, and why couldn’t she open her eyes? She tried to take a deep breath but could only grasp a shallow one.

The horse stopped short, and a man’s voice whispered, “I’m sorry, Blackie.”

She heard the animal’s huffing breath and the warm earthy smell of lathery sweat. The man’s voice sounded familiar. She couldn’t quite remember why. Maybe if she lay really still and thought about it, the answer would come to her.

“Oh, Constance, what am I going to do now?”

Hans
. At the whispered question, an image of his face swam into her mind. The fragrance of heat and masculinity that she associated with the blacksmith invaded her senses. She forced her eyes open a bit. He leaned over her, only a breath away. For a moment, the look of concern—and something else—in his eyes called to something deep inside her. Sensations she had never experienced surged through her, warring with unrest and unnamed pain.

When Constance’s eyes fluttered open, Hans leaned back away from her, hunkering with his feet under him. Healthy color finally suffused her face, and her breathing sounded more normal.

“Are you injured?”

She stared up at him without saying a thing, so he sat down on the soft, green grass near her head and lifted it into his lap. The fall had knocked her bonnet off her head, but its ties held it against her back. All of the pins that usually held Constance’s hair had scattered, so her curls spilled around her, setting off her lovely face.

His desire to run his fingers though the glistening softness made his hand tingle. Hans looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. He needed to concentrate on making sure Constance was all right. He would have to deal with his runaway emotions later.

“I don’t think so.” The whisper was almost softer than the breeze that cooled them.

Hans stared into her eyes, which had darkened to almost chocolate brown. He loved the myriad of colors that they exhibited.
Hazel
. He’d heard someone call that color of eyes hazel. Whatever shade they were, he could almost drown in them.

“I’m going to lay you back down. I want to check on your horse. Then we’ll go back to town.”

Constance felt bereft when he left her. Carefully, she eased into a sitting position. Her hair tumbled down to her waist, and finally, she could breathe easier. While being totally aware of Hans’s every move, she glanced around, trying to find some of her hairpins. Mother had always told her that a lady wore her hair up instead of letting her curls riot down her back. She picked up all she could reach without moving too much. While she gathered her hair into some semblance of a bun, Constance watched Hans.