A Heart Divided (6 page)

Sarah paced the small cellar, the tension of being cooped up for the past three days rubbing her finely strung nerves raw.
I have to get out of here. I just
have
to!

The overlarge pants kept flapping in time to the jerky beat of her steps. Pausing, she fretfully shoved the sleeves of her shirt back above her elbows for the hundredth time, ruing the stiff-necked pride that had made her return the simple dress of Emma’s once her own clothes had been clean again. The baggy outfit was just one more irritant in the endless hours that plodded by.

Her rapid strides once more carried her past the shelves neatly lined against the walls, filled with jars of jams and jellies with their screw-on caps, stoneware crocks of pickles, sauerkraut, and pickled beets, and preserving jars of stewed fruits sealed with wax and covered with cheesecloth. She halted, her nose wrinkling at the layers of dust that coated everything, not to mention the spiderwebs that festooned portions of the ceiling and upper shelves. Emma was busy, and Sarah felt a need to repay her for the kindness the older woman had shown her in the past days. She might as well dust and straighten up a bit. There certainly wasn’t anything else to do.

If there was one thing she had always been known for, it was keeping a spotless house, Sarah mused as she found some rags and began to dust the shelves and various containers. True, their simple cabin high in a rarely traveled canyon that pierced the mountains several miles from Ashton wasn’t much to speak of. The main floor consisted of a stone hearth and a combined kitchen and living area in one room, and Papa’s bedroom in the other. A sleeping loft reached by a ladder, with a portion sectioned off for her privacy by hanging blankets, was shared by Sarah and her three brothers. The furnishings were sparse—only threadbare, flour-sack curtains hung at the few windows, and the floors were of unvarnished pine. They had no well or fancy indoor plumbing, and had to haul water from a nearby stream.

Still, for as far back as Sarah could recall, no one had ever gone hungry or lacked for warmth in the winter. And, at least when Mama was still alive, there’d been laughter and fun times, not to mention clean if oft-mended clothes and tasty if simple meals. Sarah had done her best to keep up the clean clothes and tasty meals, but since her mother died the laughter and fun times had come few and far between. Not that it wasn’t for lack of trying. Nevertheless, at her mother’s passing, it was as if the last shred of hope and life had drained from her father.

Fiercely, she shook her head to dispel the sad memories, forcing her concentration back to the task at hand. It didn’t take long before Sarah had everything neat and tidy, and an hour passed with relative speed. Eventually, though, she found herself faced with the same problem. Boredom—ponderous, mindless boredom!

With a sigh, Sarah pulled over the cellar’s single chair and sat. Immediately, a torrent of questions bombarded her.

Has it really been only three days? Only three dark, miserable days shut off from the outside world without news of my family, or how Danny’s doing? Is he all right? Has he recovered from his most recent bout of asthma? And when will I ever see him again?

She leaned down, rested her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands.
Escape. I
have
to escape
, she thought, choking back a swell of panic.
Papa hasn’t come, and all the Wainwright hands will soon be back from the cattle drive. Once they’re here, it’ll be impossible for Papa to rescue me
.

It’s got to be today
, she decided, her resolve growing with each passing second.
After three days of my meek behavior, surely they’re all lulled into thinking I’ve given up any thought of getting away. Easier said than done, though. For starters, how am I to take my next visitor by surprise?

Her glance strayed to the jars and crocks stacked so neatly now on their shelves. Nearby, several cider barrels stood, their plump, rounded shapes almost begging her to turn them on their sides and send them rolling. They’d be heavy and hard to move, but she was also far stronger than her size might imply. A smile curved Sarah’s lips, then died.

Guilt lanced through her at the thought of repaying Emma’s generous care with such a violent act. But what choice had she? Her family had to come first. Maybe later, once she was safely home, she could get a note to the kindly housekeeper, apologizing and thanking her for all she’d done.

As if her newfound plans had been the catalyst, the upstairs door creaked open. Footsteps sounded on the cellar stairs. Sarah ran to the cider barrel and, throwing all her weight against it, managed to tip it onto its side. Then she scrambled to the shelf holding a basket of the last of the summer tomatoes, reaching it just as a hand drew back the door bolt.

Grabbing two tomatoes in each fist, Sarah whirled around. The door swung open. For an instant, the sudden glare of the lantern blinded her. All she saw was a shadowy form.

Emma, forgive me
, she thought, launching the first tomato, then the next.

Out of the corner of his eye as he turned to hang the lantern on a hook by the door, Cord saw something move through the air. Instinctively, he jumped aside. The first object missed him, but the rest followed in such quick succession he was unable to avoid them. Mushy, overripe tomatoes smashed into him, one hitting the side of his face, the other two splattering onto his white cotton shirt.

As he wiped the sticky juice off his face, Cord angrily scanned the room.
Sarah. The little minx. Where is she?

A movement in the far corner caught his eye. He heard a rumble, then saw a large object rolling toward him. Cord stared hard at it as it lumbered forward, finally realizing it was something large, round, and wooden. With a curse, he nimbly eluded the cider barrel just before it hit him.

“Blast it, Sarah!” he roared. “Stop this childish nonsense. It’ll do you no good—”

Two more tomatoes sailed past his head. “Sarah,” Cord rasped warningly. A tomato exploded on his left thigh.

From the darkness came a giggle. No similar sense of amusement filled Cord.

“That does it!” He lunged across the room at the small figure he could now make out hiding in the shadows. He’d had about all he could take of this silliness, and she was going to pay!

With a squeak of alarm, Sarah attempted to evade his outstretched arms. A hand clutched at her as she passed, slipped, then grasped at her again. This time it caught in her hair. She was painfully wrenched to a halt, then slowly, inexorably pulled back to him.

“Come here.”

The words, spoken with deadly calm, sent a premonitory shiver down her spine. She’d never heard him use that tone of voice before. Her mouth went dry. Reluctantly, Sarah backed toward him.

His grip on her hair never loosened, even when she moved close enough for his other hand to capture her arm and jerk her tightly to him. For a long moment, Cord didn’t speak, and the only audible sounds in the cellar were the loud hammering of her heart and his ragged breathing wafting warmly, smotheringly, over the back of her neck. Agonizing seconds ticked by, the tension growing until Sarah thought she’d scream.

“You never let up, do you?” he finally growled. “Well, I’ve had it, do you hear me? You’re nothing more than a spoiled, ungrateful little brat and—”

She’d had just about all she could take of him too, and at his derogatory words, something snapped inside Sarah. “Spoiled, ungrateful little brat, am I?” Ignoring the pain, she twisted in his grip to slam full up against him, face to face. “Well, let me tell you something, Mr. High-and-Mighty Wainwright—”

“Land sakes. Isn’t this a cozy little scene?” Emma took down the lantern and held it high. “I’m sorry to intrude when you two seem to be becoming such fast friends, but we’ve got visitors.”

“Visitors?” Cord released his grip on Sarah’s hair and stepped back as if she were on fire. “Who’s here now?”

“That old Ute Indian.”

“Buckskin Joe?” His expression brightened and he quickly straightened his rumpled shirt. Then he glanced down, paused, and grimaced at the red splotches that marred its formerly snowy whiteness.

He shot Emma a quelling look. “Don’t say a word. Not one word.”

Her lips twitched. “Not one word,” Emma obediently repeated. Her glance moved to a disheveled, red-faced Sarah.

“You might like to come along, child. Joe’s brought someone who claims he knows you.”

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. “Knows me? Who could that be?” A wild hope assailed her. “Is it Gabe Cooper? Has he finally come for me?”

Emma shook her head. “No, child. It’s not Sheriff Cooper. Seems your visitor’s a mite younger. He’s a little boy, about six or seven, I’d guess. His name’s Danny,” she added, her glance rising to Cord’s, “and he claims he’s here to rescue you.”

4

An elderly Indian dressed in a bright blue Mexican shirt, leather leggings, and moccasins turned his calm gaze to the three people who emerged from the house. His wrinkled, red-bronze face broke into a wide grin when he saw Cord. His hand lifted briefly in greeting.

“Found boy riding burro. He much small for big trip, so I bring him.”

Cord returned the greeting. “My thanks, Joe. He’s this young lady’s brother,” he said, turning to Sarah.

Sarah, however, saw nothing but the small child in the Indian’s arms. “Danny,” she whispered.

Twisting from Cord’s grasp, she ran to her brother. Danny’s eyes were closed, his face pale, and his little chest labored with each breath.

Hesitantly, Sarah reached up and touched his arm. “Danny. Wake up, honey. It’s Sarah.”

“S-Sarah?” Over-bright blue eyes opened, and a weak smile curved his lips. “I found you, I did. I told old Joe . . . I would.”

Listening to her brother, it was all Sarah could do to keep from wincing. He wheezed when he spoke, and his chest moved in a slow, erratic fashion. She’d seen the signs too many times not to know it for what it was—another asthma attack.

Her fingers lightly stroked his face. “You look tired from this big trip of yours. Wouldn’t you like to have a nice cool drink and rest a while?”

“Sure would.” He sighed, and his head fell back to rest on the Indian’s chest. “I’m . . . tired.”

“Here, Joe. Let me have the boy.” Cord stepped up beside Sarah and took Danny from the old Indian. “Go on inside with Emma. She’ll see to your needs.”

His gaze riveted on Sarah. “What’s wrong with your brother? Asthma?”

She nodded.

“Pedro.” Cord looked to the Mexican boy who’d walked over just then from the barn. “Ride to town and bring back Doc Saunders pronto. Tell him it’s the Caldwell boy.” He turned to Sarah. “Let’s get Danny upstairs and in bed. He looks worn out.”

Before she could even concur, Cord set off for the house. She shot Emma a bewildered glance before hurriedly following in his wake.

Danny looked so small cradled in Cord’s strong arms, Sarah thought as she ran across the foyer behind them and up the stairs. So frail, and yet so safe and protected. The rapidity with which Cord Wainwright had stepped in and taken charge took her breath away, but in some strange way it was almost a relief to let him assume control.

Though her father and older brothers helped when they could, most of their time was spent trying to eke out a living for them all. Danny’s care, therefore, had mainly been her responsibility. To now share the burden of his terrible illness with a Wainwright, though, was irony of the strangest kind.

Cord paused before one of the upstairs doors. “Open it, will you, Sarah?”

She quickly complied. Hurrying over to the large brass bed that commanded the small room, she turned back the brightly flowered print quilt. Cord lifted him onto the bed, and Sarah stripped Danny down to his undershirt and drawers. Then she plumped up an extra pillow and assisted him in leaning forward against it. At her action, Cord quirked a brow.

“When Danny has an attack,” she said by way of explanation, “he’s much more comfortable sitting up like this. If you’ve got a few more pillows available, that’d help even more to support him.”

“I’ll get you some. Is there anything else we can do for him until the doctor gets here?”

“A pot of steaming water in the room, set close to him, helps him breathe easier.” Sarah hesitantly smiled. “Also, something to sip on. Drinking liquids, something with sugar in it, keeps up his strength.”

“How about cider?”

“C-cider?” Danny straightened, his wan little face brightening with sudden interest. “Could . . . could I, mister?”

Cord gently tousled the boy’s hair. “Sure can, and as much as you want too.” He turned to Sarah. “I’ll be back with everything as soon as it’s all ready.”

A small cough drew Sarah’s attention from the tall man’s smiling countenance. She scooted onto the bed, gathering her brother into her arms. Tenderly, lovingly, she began to rub his back, a soothing ritual Danny always seemed to need during his attacks. With a ragged moan, he crept closer, his little arms encircling her.

“Danny, Danny,” Sarah said with a sigh as, behind her, she heard Cord slip from the room and quietly shut the door behind him. “Whatever possessed you to come here all by yourself? You know how too much dust affects you. I don’t like to see you sick like this.”

“I-I had to,” he explained between fitful, rasping breaths. “Papa didn’t know what to do . . . and he wouldn’t let Caleb or Noah come. I knew if I rode . . . with the tallest mountains on my right . . . I’d find the ranch. I-I missed you so!”

“And I missed you too, honey.” She kissed his clammy forehead.

“You aren’t . . . mad at me, are you? I didn’t mean . . . to make you mad.”

“No, honey.” Sarah struggled to hold back the tears. “I’d never, ever be mad at you. Now, just be quiet and rest. It’ll help you more than anything.”

And please, God, let him get through this
, she prayed in an uncharacteristic surge of need for help beyond the powers of man, noting her brother’s blue lips, the labored rise and fall of his chest, and dark smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes. She knew Danny had been worried about her and wondered if he’d even slept much these past days. That, coupled with the fact he hadn’t even had a chance to get over the last attack necessitating that fateful trip to town, sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine.

Sarah firmly quashed the feeling. They’d always gotten through this before, and would once again. Danny needed her. She wouldn’t fail him. Now, if only Doc Saunders would get here soon . . .

Danny’s condition failed to improve. Cord maintained a steady journey between the boy’s bedside and the kitchen as the pot of steaming water needed replenishing, until Sarah marveled at his patience and persistent dedication. His calm, steady assistance and the concern that burned in his eyes and spilled over into his deep, resonant voice seemed at times to be all that sustained her. Indeed, as Sarah went about her ministrations, Cord’s transformation from harsh jailer to warm, supportive ally was a constant source of wonder.

They were enemies. Yet, as she covertly observed him helping with Danny, it became increasingly difficult to stir the ashes of her animosity back to any semblance of its former intensity. The sight of his dark head bent close to hear her brother’s whispered words, the aura of strength in his tall frame that buoyed her flagging hopes, only served to build the confusing disparity between what she’d imagined him to be and what she now observed.

The earlier enmity died. In its place, a tender gratitude flared to life.

By the time Doc Saunders arrived, Sarah was near exhaustion. Danny’s attempts to clear the choking fluids from his lungs had faded with his waning strength, and each breath seemed to require a superhuman effort from his thin little body. Doc took one look at him and opened his bag. After administering a dose of medicine, he spent the next few hours hovering at Danny’s bedside. Not until the day had grayed to twilight did he finally draw Sarah and Cord aside.

“What in the blazes is going on here?” he demanded, riveting his irate gaze on Sarah. “Why isn’t Danny home where he belongs?”

She flushed. “He came to find me and take me back.”

Doc Saunders rounded next on Cord. “I heard how you dragged Sarah off the day they came to town. This high-handed abduction is starting to get a little out of control, isn’t it? Danny’s now deathly ill, and there’s no telling what would happen if the rest of their family decided now to rescue them. Hasn’t this feud gone far enough? Or are you single-handedly trying to start it all up again?”

A tight look shuttered Cord’s face. “This isn’t the time or place to discuss this. Not that I owe you or anyone an explanation.”

The older man shook his head. “And you’re a young fool. If any harm comes to Danny or Sarah, you’ll rue the day—”

“I already rue the day,” Cord wearily interjected. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, and turned to Sarah. “I need a cup of coffee.”

She forced a wooden smile to her lips. “It has been a long—”

“Go with him, Sarah,” Doc Saunders ordered. “You’re dead on your feet. The medicine looks like it’s finally working, and you’ve done all you can for the time being.”

“No.” Sarah adamantly shook her head. “Danny needs me here. I-I’ll be all right.”

“And I said go, girl.” Doc gave her a small shove forward. “You’re no good to the boy if you break down. A half hour or so isn’t going to make much difference to anyone but you. Send Emma up with more hot water. If Danny calls for you in the meantime, I promise to have her fetch you.”

Cord took her arm. “Doc’s right. Come downstairs for a bit. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s past supper. A cup of coffee and a slice of Manuela’s peach pie will do you a world of good.”

The concern she saw reflected in his black eyes mirrored that of the doctor’s. With a small sigh, Sarah relented. “I suppose it’d be okay, but only for a half hour and no more.”

“That’s a good girl.” Doc waved her toward the door. “Now, get along with you.”

Sarah allowed Cord to lead her downstairs. Several lamps had been lit, bathing the kitchen in a warm, cheery light. Emma was busy at the sink, and turned at the sound of their entry.

“A slice of that peach pie for the both of us, Emma,” Cord said over his shoulder as he guided Sarah to the table and pulled out her chair. “And, if you don’t mind, would you take that next pot upstairs and stay with Doc and Danny until we return?”

Sarah sat down. “No pie for me, please. I’m not hungry.”

“
Two
pieces of pie,” Cord firmly reiterated as he poured out two mugs of coffee. He shoved one under Sarah’s nose. “Cream or sugar?”

“Wh-what?” Sarah lifted a bewildered gaze to him. “What did you say?”

Cord’s expression softened. “I said, do you want cream or sugar in your coffee?”

“B-both please. Two spoonfuls of sugar.”

He smiled. “Coffee as sweet as your disposition, eh?”

The teasing lilt in his voice eased a little of Sarah’s tension. She watched him prepare her coffee then return it to her. “Not lately, I’m afraid.”

She inhaled a long, ragged breath, then paused as Emma laid a huge piece of pie before her and folded her fingers around a fork. A small, grateful smile brightened Sarah’s face as she glanced up at the older woman. “Thank you.”

“A clean plate when I return is all the thanks I need,” Emma whispered before hurrying from the kitchen with another pot of steaming water.

Sarah watched the door swing closed in Emma’s wake, then turned back to the man sitting opposite her. “The medicine. Doc’s visit. I’ll find some way to pay you back.”

His dark, hooded gaze rose from his mug of coffee. “Returning my money would more than repay what you owe.”

“No.” She firmly shook her head. “It wouldn’t. Some of it’s already been spent. But I’ll do my best to return what’s left, if you give your word to leave my family out of it. And then I’ll pay you back for Danny, even if I have to work it off cleaning your house and washing your clothes for the next year.”

Cord’s lips twitched as he set down his mug. “I appreciate your offer, but I’d rather just look upon what I’m doing for Danny as something one good neighbor does for another.”