A Hopeful Heart (30 page)

Struck dumb by her lengthy, emphatic speech, Abel could only stare at her in amazement. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, awakening him from his stupor. He nodded once and said only, “All right.”

They continued in silence and reached the area where he’d discovered Tressa cowering in the grass. He hopped down from his horse and reached to help her dismount, but she slid down without his assistance. Leading the horses, they walked along the fenceline, searching for the fire pit.

The wind flipped Tressa’s bonnet brim inside-out, and she snapped it back in place. Holding her palm above the brim, she scanned the area. “I don’t understand . . . that fire pit was here . . . wasn’t it?” Her puzzled expression matched Abel’s confusion.

He dropped the horses’ reins over the top line of barbed wire and walked slowly forward, his eyes down and seeking. He came to a halt when the grass beneath his feet shifted, exposing a patch of dirt. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

Tressa darted forward. “What is it?”

“Look at this.” He crouched down and swept the grass aside with his hand. Three long sweeps revealed the fire pit. “The rocks’re gone, and somebody laid grass over the area to hide it.” He shook his head, rising. “Somebody sure has gone to a lot of trouble.”

“Do you think it was Gage?” Tressa’s voice trembled.

Abel blew out a breath. “Seein’ as how he tried to scare you off, that seems a sound guess.” Anger swelled as he added, “I’m takin’ you to Aunt Hattie, an’ then I intend to—”

A rifle blast cut off his final words. Fire attacked the back of his shoulder as he spun and dove at Tressa. Ignoring the searing pain, he flattened himself over her body and pressed his face into the curve of her neck. Her pulse beat against his cheek.

From yards away, a man’s voice called, “You were warned, but you wouldn’t listen. This’s what happens when snoopy little ladies stick their noses where they don’t belong. Somebody gets hurt. Maybe you’ll listen next time.”

30

Hattie tapped her foot and fingered the pipe in her apron pocket. If Brewster Hammond wasn’t sitting in the other porch chair, she’d take out the pipe and enjoy a smoke just to calm her jangled nerves. Where
were
those young’uns?

Brewster reached out and patted the back of her hand. “No sense in worryin’.”

Hattie managed a weak chuckle. “Oh, I know worryin’ is a plumb fool waste o’ time. But it’s not like Tressa to just take off without sayin’ somethin’ to somebody. Why, if Luella hadn’t seen her headin’ out, who knows how long it would’ve took us to figure out which way she went.”

“But Luella did see her, an’ Gage is out lookin’. He’ll make sure she don’t come to harm.”

Brewster’s words did little to calm Hattie’s fears. The worry that Tressa might’ve ridden off to avoid Gage’s attention niggled at the back of her mind, but she didn’t voice the concern. Brewster didn’t take well to criticism of his son. Hattie suppressed a sigh. Gage’s selfish behavior—and her need to hold her tongue about it—would be a constant thorn of irritation if she were to marry Brewster.

The thought saddened her. She’d grown fond of Brewster over the past days. Although not as gentle and talkative as her Jed, he treated her respectfully and had even given her permission to bring more girls to her school after they were wed. The word “permission” had rankled—she hadn’t answered to anyone for a good long while—but she appreciated his recognition of the importance of the Wyatt Herdsman School. It meant a lot that he wouldn’t stand in her way.

But that Gage . . . She released a little snort. If she and Brewster were to enjoy a permanent relationship, they’d have to come to some agreements about his boy’s behavior.

Unable to sit still any longer, Hattie pushed off the chair and paced the porch, her eyes scanning the land for a puff of rising dust or the sight of a horse.
Lord, seems these days I’m always prayin’ for You to keep that girl from harm, but . . . please keep her from harm. Bring her safely home again.

Brewster caught her from behind, curling his arms around her waist and holding her in place. He pressed his cheek to her temple. “Harriet?”

Her pulse raced faster than a gopher escaping a coyote. She hoped her heart didn’t give out. “Yes, Brewster?”

“You could pace until you wear the paint off the porch boards, an’ it won’t make no difference. How can I help you stop worryin’?”

She turned in his arms and looked up into his face. Genuine concern was etched into the grooves of his forehead. Warmth spread through Hattie’s middle. Her arms itched to sneak up and coil around his sunburned neck. Did old ladies really have feelings like this? “Maybe . . . we could do the same as all those young couples an’ go for a drive?”

He chuckled. “A drive sounds fine.”

“An’ while we’re out, can we look for Tressa?”

His lips tipped into an understanding smile. “If it’ll ease your mind. Let’s go.”

“Do you think he’s gone?” Tressa pushed the words past her tight throat. With Abel’s bulky frame holding her down, she found it difficult to draw a deep breath.

“I . . . I think so.”

“Then could we get up?” His weight seemed to increase by the minute.

“I’ll try.”

She felt him lift, then he groaned and collapsed on her again. “Mr. Samms, please! You’re impeding my breathing.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try again.”

At last he rolled from her body. She scrambled onto all fours, drawing in deep drafts of air. How wonderful to fill her lungs! Then she looked at his inert body. Concern sent her scuttling forward. “Mr. Samms, are you all right?” Red seeped through his shirt, just below his right shoulder. She gasped. “Were you hit?”

He squinted at her. “Burns like fury. I . . . I’m thinkin’ I shouldn’t move around too much.”

“Yes, lie still. We need to stop the bleeding.” Tressa lifted her skirt and ripped a ruffle free from her well-worn petticoat. She wadded the cloth and pressed it against his wound.

His face contorted. “Am I bleedin’ there? It hit me in the back. Must’ve gone straight through.”

“Oh, Abel . . .” Tears distorted her vision, but she blinked them away and tore another strip of fabric loose. “Can you roll to your side long enough for me to apply this to your back?”

He gritted his teeth and complied. A greater amount of blood had soaked through the back of his shirt. Tressa wanted to cry, but she set her jaw and jammed the wad of cloth against the seeping wound. “Lie back down.”

He flopped flat on his back, letting out a low moan. “Horses took off, didn’t they?”

For the first time, Tressa remembered the horses. She looked to where Abel had tossed the reins ever the fence, but the spot was empty. “They’re gone.” She touched his crimson cheek. Although the sun was beating down, his skin felt cool and clammy. A shiver of fear shook her.

“Shoulda tied ’em good. I know better. . . .” His face pulled into a horrible grimace. “You gotta go for help. It’ll take you a while to reach the road on foot. You’d best get goin’.”

“I can’t leave you!” She stared at him, aghast.

“Unless you think you can cart me out of here on your back, you’re gonna have to.” He grabbed her wrist and gave it a feeble squeeze. “Please, Tressa. I . . . I’m hurtin’ bad an’ feelin’ mighty weak. Go. . . .”

With a strangled cry, Tressa got to her feet, but they refused to budge. “What’ll you do if a . . . a coyote or wildcat comes near?”

“I got my sidearm. Can you take it out of the holster an’ put it in my hand?”

His fingers brushed hers when she placed the wooden grip in his palm. She fought the desire to weave her fingers through his and hold tight.

He curled his hand around the grip and gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Tressa. Now, go.”

Tressa swallowed hard and blinked back more tears. Compassion and fear tumbled through her stomach, creating a rush of emotion so overwhelming she thought she might collapse. “Abel, I—”

“No talkin’. Just go.”

She choked back a sob and jolted to her feet, then dashed off across the pasture in the direction of Abel’s ranch house. “Don’t let him die. Please, God, don’t let him die,” she prayed over and over as she ran. Never had she run so far, so fast, in the heat of the day. Her muscles ached in protest, but she willed her legs to carry her forward.

Tears rained down her face, blurring her vision. The uneven ground tried to turn her ankles, and her skirts tangled around her knees. With a frustrated cry, she stopped and swished the tears away. Then she lifted her skirts to an indecent height and took off again. Her feet stumbled, her chest burned, but somehow she managed to continue. She had no choice—Abel’s life depended on her reaching help.

“Tressa! Tressa!”

She whirled around, her hands pressed to her heaving chest. A horse galloped toward her. Gage sat in the saddle. Her gaze fixed on the slim case bouncing against his leg. The wooden stock of a rifle poked out from the leather sheath.

With a shriek of terror, she caught her skirts and staggered forward. “Please, God—please, God . . .” But was she pleading for Abel or for herself?

Gage rode directly into her pathway and reined in. The horse whinnied, lifting up on his hind legs as Gage leaped from its back and ran to her. She tried to escape him, but her tired legs refused to carry her away. He clutched her shoulders and bent down to peer directly into her face. “What’re you doin’ runnin’ around out here? You could get sunstroke!”

“Let me go!” She fought against his restraining hands, her breath coming in gasps that left her weak and trembling. “How could you do it, Gage?” She began to weep, her chest heaving with the sobs. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

Gage scowled. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Abel!” She pounded her fists on his chest. “You shot him! He’s lying out there bleeding—maybe dying! Are cattle worth more than a man’s life?”

Gage’s face drained of color. His hands fell from her shoulders. “This has gone far enough. I never thought . . .” He jolted, reaching for her again. She tried to retreat, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward his horse. “Come on, Tressa.”

“No! No, let me go!”

“Tressa!” He whirled on her, giving her arm a jerk. “We’re gonna go get Abel’s wagon. Then you can show me where he is. We’ll get him to the doctor.”

She stopped squirming, staring at him in amazement. “Y-you’ll help me?”

“I never meant for anyone to be killed.” Gage’s voice rasped out. He mounted the horse, then leaned down and grabbed her arm. He swung her onto the horse’s rump.

She grabbed the saddle’s arched cantle. “Go! Go!”

The horse pounded across the ground, closing the distance to Abel’s ranch. When they careened into the yard, Tressa slid down before Gage dismounted. Her legs crumbled beneath her and she fell, but she quickly bounced to her feet and took off for the bunkhouse, yelling for Vince and Ethan.

“Tressa, quiet!” Gage ran up beside her and covered her mouth with his sweaty palm. “Don’t . . . call . . . Vince.”

Abel licked his dry lips.
I should have brought a canteen. Sure could use a drink
. He lay with his eyes closed but senses alert. The fire in his shoulder had faded to a dull, persistent throb. Sleep tried to claim him, but he deliberately jiggled his right arm. The tiniest movement created a wave of pain that chased sleep away. He couldn’t risk losing consciousness.

He gripped his pistol in his left hand so hard his fingers felt numb. If something threatened him, he’d fire a shot. Only a miracle would let him hit the target, his aim was so bad with that hand, but maybe he could scare critters away.

His thoughts drifted to Tressa. Had she reached the ranch by now? Was she on her way back with the wagon?
Please let her be comin’ back soon. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on
.

Had he prayed? Been so long, he hardly knew how anymore, but he sure hoped God would take that plea as a prayer. He was more scared than he’d ever been.

Hoofbeats vibrated the ground beneath him, and his heart lifted with hope. “Tressa?” The word came out in a strangled gasp—too soft to be heard—but it felt good to say her name. So he repeated it. “Tressa . . .”

The hoofbeats stopped, and after a few silent seconds he heard a squeak. Leather. From a saddle. He frowned. Why hadn’t she brought a wagon? He’d never be able to mount a horse with his useless right arm. He tried to sit up, but nausea attacked him and he broke out in a cold sweat. He flopped back with a groan.

A shadow fell across him, and he squinted into Vince’s face. He nearly cried with relief. “Thank God you found me. Vince . . . get me on your horse. I need a doctor. I’ve been shot.”

Vince squatted on his haunches and grazed Abel’s shoulder with his fingers. A shudder rolled through Abel’s body with the slight touch. Vince pulled his hand away and examined his stained fingertips. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he shook his head. “Yep, you sure have. Bleedin’ a lot, too.” He wiped his fingers on his pant leg and then looked down at Abel. “Bet you’re a-hurtin’, huh?”

Abel groaned. “Yes, I’m hurtin’. Hurtin’ bad. Vince, get me some help. I need help. . . .”

“Ain’t much fun to need somethin’ you can’t have, is it?” Vince planted his boot on the barrel of Abel’s gun, pinning it to the ground. He plucked a blade of grass and then rested his forearms on his knees, toying with the strand of green. “For years, I’ve had a need—to own my own place. Be my own boss. But . . . haven’t seen it come to pass.”

“Vince . . .” Black dots swam in front of Abel’s eyes, making it hard to focus, but he thought the man smiled at him.

“Your pa an’ me was best friends. I came all the way from South Carolina to the Kansas Territory to help him start this ranch. Fought off Injun attacks, an’ lived through dust storms that turned the prairie black. Never once complained or shirked from anything he asked of me. Worked as hard as two men gettin’ that ranch goin’, an’ your pa told me again an’ again how he couldn’t’ve done it without my help. But then what does he do but up an’ die an’ leave it all to you.”

Vince tossed the grass blade aside. “I didn’t do all that work just to take orders from his wet-behind-the-ears son. He could’ve bequeathed me some land. But he didn’t. And you—” He bumped Abel’s arm with his fist. “You wouldn’t sell.” He shook his head, his expression sorrowful. “That was a mistake, Abel. See, if you’d just sold me the ranch, I wouldn’t’ve had to shoot ya.”