Debra Holland (3 page)

Finally, she neared the tree. Flopping onto her stomach, she walked her fingers forward, straining to reach the nearest branch, which turned out to only be a few feet long. She tossed it aside, then slithered another few inches toward the next one. When she grabbed the wood, it crumbled to pieces, too decayed to use. The one closest to the tree looked the most likely. But when she picked the branch up, using it to help her stand, it snapped in two pieces, just as she rose to her feet. She cried out from the pain when her foot jarred against the ground.

Too exhausted and discouraged, Harriet sank back to the ground. She huddled against the trunk, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her head dropped to rest on her arms, and she began to pray.

Her wet, muddy garments weighed on her, little protection against the night. Her body numbed. By tomorrow, she knew the Cobbs would have people out searching for her. But rescue was long hours away.

I can’t stay here. I might not be alive when they find me.

Just let me rest … gather my strength.

Harriet took a few bracing breaths. She uncurled her limbs and began to crawl down the mountain.

CHAPTER TWO

The path crested the mountain pass, and Ant reined in Shadow. The big black stallion tossed his head, seeming as eager as Ant to reach the town spread out below them. From this distance, Sweetwater Springs appeared storybook sweet. Tiny buildings, probably stores and other businesses, clustered along one main street, with some houses scattered behind. A steepled church looked to be one of the tallest buildings and was bound to mean there were several nearby saloons. A miniature train depot resided near railroad tracks thin as pins.

A glance at the thunderheads darkening the sky made him realize the storm that had been building up for the last several hours would soon break. He should find some shelter. But the impatience that had been brewing inside him didn’t allow for that sensible choice.

Instead he urged Shadow forward. The sooner he arrived in Sweetwater Springs, the sooner he could reclaim David. He’d fulfill his vow, avenge his sister, and go home. The two-year quest would be over.

He could return to his former life, especially his newspaper reporting. The only difference would be in having a nephew to raise. And how difficult could that be? David had always been a good boy. Ant’s many years spent covering news in Europe had precluded his spending much time with his nephew, but when he’d been home, they had a good relationship.

Ant headed down the trail, lost in memories of the childhood he’d spent with his sister, Emily. Always close, he and his gentle sister shared a love of literature and writing. Both children’s early poems had showed promise, but their stepfather’s taunts and beatings had driven any poetry out of Ant’s soul. Emily, being a lowly female in his stepfather’s eyes, had escaped the worst of his attentions, and she’d continued to write her poems and stories. Then she had married Lewis.... Ant thought of the book of poetry tucked at the bottom of his saddlebag. Emily’s poems. Unopened since her murder.

The late afternoon gloom deepened. Sprinkles of raindrops scattered across his hands, bringing him back to the present.

Ant sighed and fastened the front of his slicker.
Best light the lantern before it gets much worse.
He halted the horse and slid off. He rummaged through his gear to find the lantern, his hands moving with the ease of long practice. Once he’d lit the lamp, he climbed back into the saddle.

The rain increased. Distant thunder rolled. A summer storm. Mild enough for the sustenance of growing crops, but not the chill rain of early spring which burrowed cold down to a man’s bones.

Shadow flicked his ears, showing his displeasure.

Ant leaned over and patted the horse’s damp neck. “I agree, old boy. Won’t be much longer now. I promise you a dry stall and a bucket of warm mash.”

Seeming to understand, Shadow nickered.

Ant tilted his head forward just enough for his wide-brimmed hat to keep the rain off his face and not far enough for water to drip down his neck.

A faint cry reached his ears. A human sound. He jerked his head up, listening. The call wasn’t repeated. Came from down the path a ways. He raised the lantern up and slowed Shadow, not wanting to run over anyone. Narrowing his eyes against the gloom, he scanned with all his senses. Nothing. Just rain tapping through the trees.

A slight movement ahead and to his right caught his attention. He raised the lantern and saw a person crouched on hands and knees.
What the hell was anyone doing out on the mountain in the midst of a storm?
Concern seized him. The person must be hurt.

Ant guided Shadow in that direction. On closer inspection, he saw a sodden dress and drooping straw hat. A woman, a bedraggled one, not even a coat to keep her warm. She maneuvered to a sitting position, staring up at him.

His concern increased. If she didn’t get to shelter soon, she could become ill.

“Howdy, ma’am.” He rode close to her.

She gasped, scuttled back to press against a tree.

He dismounted and stepped forward, holding up the lantern so he could see the woman. “May I lend a hand, ma’am?”

She was small, he could tell that much. With her ruined hat sagging around her face, it was difficult to see her features. Except her eyes. The fright in their depths brought him up short. He’d once pulled a drowning kitten out of a pond. He remembered the terror in the big gray eyes, how the brown fur plastered to the thin little body, the weight of the rock tied around the skinny paw. The pity he’d felt for the scrawny creature had helped the animal wiggle her way into his heart.

Old compassion surfaced, urging he move toward the woman. But he kept his boots planted. His great height and dark features often intimidated females. He’d learned to use charm and humor to diffuse their apprehensions. But now, he cursed the necessity.

Ant made his tone light. “Anthony Gordon to your rescue.” He swept off his hat and bowed. Rain splattered his hair and dripped down his neck. Had he thought the temperature was mild? He changed his mind, replacing his hat. “Knight errant to your damsel in distress.” He waited for her response. She still looked shell-shocked, although he thought he could see her teeth chattering. “The answer to your prayers?” he quipped.

That did it. Her shoulders relaxed. A corner of her mouth pulled up. Not quite a half smile, but heading there.

He unstrapped his bedroll, pulling out a blanket. Moving with deliberate slowness, he approached her, trying to show with his gaze and movement that he was safe—that she was safe with him. Her body felt chilled. He’d touched dead bodies warmer than hers. Ant draped the blanket around her shoulders.

“I’ll have to get you out of here.” As he wrapped the blanket tight around her, the vulnerability in her gray eyes caught him in a tender heartspot.

Ant winced. He hadn’t thought he had any softness left for a woman. He’d better be careful. Get her home and leave her be.

* * *

When the stranger on the big black horse loomed through the gathering darkness, Harriet had gasped. She’d never seen such a huge man, almost as if one of the surrounding trees had become human and mounted a mythical beast to gallop among the mountains. Clad in black from hat to boots, his sinister appearance spiked panic through her. Terrified, she wanted to flee for her life, for her virtue, but trapped by her injuries, all she could do was back away.

The dark man dismounted, the movement strong, yet fluid.

She scooted against a tree; the bark dug into her back. Everything in her hesitated, waiting.

The man stopped; the angular panes of his face stilled. In the lamplight, his wide-set brown eyes mesmerized—a snake charmer playing with his cobra. Then his right eyebrow peaked in an upside down
v
. He swept off his hat and bowed. Brown hair tangled the tops of his shoulders.

Pinned against the trunk by his menacing presence, Harriet barely registered what he’d said.

He replaced his hat. He spoke some more, then paused, waiting for her response.

Fear held her frozen.

“The answer to your prayers?” He held up the lantern in one hand, the other raised in supplication, fingers splaying wide as a dinner plate. That last line broke through her fear. He
was
the answer to her prayers. Just not quite what she had in mind when she prayed for a rescue. The man’s playful tone contrasting with his ominous appearance disarmed her. His voice sounded gravelly and deep as if he hadn’t spoken much.

When he tucked the blanket around her, she shivered in relief.

“I think it’s safe to talk to me. At least tell me what’s wrong.”

What’s wrong? My whole life’s what’s wrong.

Harriet forced words through the paralysis in her throat. “I tripped and fell, hit my head against the tree, twisted my ankle.”

“We need to get you to shelter.” His voice took on an English lilt. “Good thing my noble steed, Shadow, can bear us both to yonder town.”

The last vestiges of her fright fled. She doubted any man who deliberately tried to sound like a hero from a poorly written Arthurian novel would mean her harm. Even if he did seem bigger than a barn.

From somewhere inside herself, she found a bit of humor to match his. “Did you say your name was Gulliver?” She referenced her favorite book.

He grinned. “Only if your name is Lily.”

“Lancelot perhaps?”

“Guinevere?”

“Ivanhoe?”

“My lady,” he said, exasperation edging his humor. “Will you allow me to get you out of this wet?”

Harriet hesitated.

“I see I’ll have to forcibly abduct you.” He set the lantern down. Placing one arm under her knees and one behind her back, he scooped her up.

Harriet gasped and slipped one hand around his neck. A thrill shot up her backbone, setting butterflies to wing around her stomach and almost masking the pain of her ankle and head.

“Little bit of a kitten, aren’t you?” he murmured.

With a lift, he set her aside the saddle, making sure the blanket remained mummy-tight around her. He pulled the rest of his bedroll apart, spreading it like a cape over her. Picking up the lantern, he balanced it on her lap.

She lifted her blanket-shrouded hands to cup the base. Peering at him from under the hood created by the blanket, she said, “I’m sorry. I really didn’t catch your name.”

“Anthony Gordon. But everyone calls me Ant-a university nickname.”

A laugh bubbled up, and she shook her head, not knowing what to make of this man. In the space of a few minutes, she’d gone from misery to fear to laughter. “Ant. I can see why.”

“Resemble an insect, do I?” He grinned. He had one short eyetooth, which made his smile a little crooked. An endearing smile. One that invited her to share the humor.

She couldn’t help smiling back. “Because you’re as big as a house.”

“Only a
small
house.”

“Like a hut, then.”

“And you’re?”

“Harriet Stanton. I’m the schoolteacher.”

“The teacher, eh?” He swung into the saddle and settled himself behind her.

She winced as her ankle bumped against the horse, the throbbing reawakened by movement. But then his arms settled around her, giving her something new to focus on.

He urged the horse back to the trail.

Harriet sat as rigidly as possible within the shelter of Ant’s arms. He smelled of wet horse and leather and maleness, a not-unfamiliar aroma, but somehow made more intimate by his body enveloping hers.

As the giant stallion picked his way down the trail, the rhythm of the horse’s gait soon seduced her into relaxing against Ant’s broad chest. The rain ceased. After a time, the warmth of the blanket penetrated her numb body; drowsiness seeped through her limbs.

A memory hovered at the edge of her awareness, faint and tattered from age. She reached out to grasp a whisper of remembered sound. Papa’s voice.... His lips on her forehead as he carried her to bed.... The scent of cigar and brandy. Snuggling against him, content, secure.... A feeling she’d lost with his death and had searched for ever since.

The faintest hint of tears brushed Harriet’s eyes. She hadn’t remembered her father who died when she was just three. Never had a paternal remembrance to call her own. Now like a gift, one had drifted into her heart.

Ant’s gift.
 

Like a child, Harriet nestled closer into his arms.
I’m safe.

* * *

Like the kitten he’d named her, the woman curled into Ant’s embrace. Her smallness unnerved him somehow. Usually he liked his women tall and well-endowed, so he didn’t have to strain his back or crick his neck much to kiss them.

Yet this little one had showed spirit, bantering with him even when she’d been scared and in pain. During his years of reporting, he’d seen enough tragic situations to have experienced female bravery at its best—tight-lipped, head-held-high courage. But he couldn’t recall a mite of a girl quipping her way through a frightening circumstance.

She said she was a schoolteacher. Maybe David’s teacher. Hope stirred within him. The first in a long time. He refrained from rushing into questions. On horseback, during a storm, wasn’t the place to have that talk. But as soon as she rested up....