Debra Holland (9 page)

He helped her onto the saddle. Then he mounted Shadow and turned him downhill.

 
Ant settled into the ride. One more day gone by without finding David. One more day where his nephew might be suffering—hungry, cold, beaten, or neglected. As good as he felt about helping the Crooks, and he felt mighty good about that indeed, his guilt and worry over David wouldn’t let up.

Tomorrow, he’d check out the last cabin. Maybe by tomorrow the long search would be over. He could only hope.

What will I do if he’s not there?

CHAPTER SIX

As Ant pushed open the unsecured door and walked into the entry of his sister’s house, the scent caught him first—the coppery smell of blood, familiar from his years as a reporter. His gut tightened. “Emily!”
 

On the left side of the dark paneled entry was Lewis’ so-called library, on the other, the parlor. Following his nose, Ant strode into the parlor.

He saw a crumpled heap in a blue dress lying half behind the settee, black button boots sprawled. “Em!” Ant rushed around the furniture, then halted.
 

His sister lay in a pool of blood that soaked into the Aubusson carpet and spread onto the wooden floor. A diagonal slash ripped across her throat, and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

I’m too late.

Ant didn’t have to drop to his knees, feel for her pulse. He’d seen enough dead bodies. He forced down the emotion that wanted to boil out of his throat into a roar of grief and rage, and made himself study the scene like the reporter he was.

The blood was dark, congealing. Two small footsteps scuffed the edges of the stain next to a big one.

“David!” Ant whirled, studying the room. He pulled a chair aside to make sure his nephew wasn’t behind it.

“David!” He raced up the staircase and down the hall to the boy’s room, and burst through the door. When he didn’t see a dead body on the unmade bed, his first feeling was relief. Then he realized the room had been ransacked. Drawers of the bureau pulled open, the clothes inside rumpled. A stocking dangled over one edge.

In the corner, a sailboat propped against the wall reminded him of David’s last birthday. He’d given the boy the sailboat, then taken him to the park to try it out. Emily had written a poem about the day for David. Sadness choked Ant’s throat.

He turned and hurried to the master of the house’s room. If he found Lewis, he’d strangle him. But even as the rage and fear propelled him down the hall, he knew what he’d find. Sure enough, the room bore evidence of a hurried departure.

Just to be sure, he systematically searched the house, but couldn’t find his nephew. Lewis had killed his wife and taken his son. Now David was on the run with a murderer.

But not for long, David, I promise. I’ll find you and revenge your mother. This I swear!

Ant held out his hands as if squeezing the life out of Lewis, only to see them covered with blood. He could feel the stickiness on his skin.

David called to him “Uncle Ant, help me!”

“David? Where are you?”

Ant woke with a gasp, his hands raised a few inches, pushing against the bedding. It took a few breaths before he realized he was in his room at Widow Murphy’s, not in Emily’s townhouse. Another nightmare.

If it’s not Isabella haunting me, then it’s Emily.
 

He rubbed his hands over his face, willing them to stop shaking.

You’d think I’d be used to the nightmares by now.

* * *

David awoke early, when the sun was lightening the dark cabin to shades of gray. He glanced over at the neighboring pallet. Didn’t look like a day his pa would bestir himself. The man sprawled on his back, one hand stretched out, fingertips touching an empty whiskey bottle. The stench of sweat and booze clung to him. His honking snores seemed to shake the flimsy walls.

David allowed himself a sigh of relief. This morning, he wouldn’t be dragged from his bed and set to do his pa’s bidding, the orders accompanied by blows. From the look and sound of his pa, he could escape for the day.

A rumbling in his stomach made him toss aside the thin blanket and roll to his feet. He debated carving off a chunk of the rock-hard bread in the crate in the corner of the room, but he knew if his pa wanted food later, and there wasn’t enough, there’d be hell to pay.
My hell.

His pa snorted.

David froze, heart thumping, waiting to see if his pa moved. When nothing happened, he tucked his slingshot in his pocket along with a knife. He could pick some berries for breakfast. Maybe, after he hobbled the mule on that thin patch of grass near the trees, he’d get lucky and bring down a squirrel or rabbit—something he could roast over a fire and fill his belly with.
 

David slipped outside the door and inhaled the pine-scented air, feeling an unexpected and almost forgotten feeling of excitement.
Yes, maybe today I’ll get lucky.

* * *

Riding through the trees, Ant glanced at the sun overhead.
Almost mid-morning
. Later than he’d hoped. But he’d been weary after yesterday, and he knew that Miss Stanton would need extra rest. She’d protested last night when he’d told her so, but he’d held firm.

He’d considered riding out without her, but after seeing how she was with the children yesterday—caring and efficient, putting them at ease with strangers—he’d decided she might help him when he found David. His nephew might instinctively trust her, making it easier for them to spirit him away. Plus, Ant had a suspicion that the stubborn schoolmarm might just light on after him.

Now, however, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. It had taken them longer than he’d thought to reach the clearing; they’d headed up the wrong path for a while. But according to Mack Taylor’s directions, he and Harriet should soon be at the cabin.

He glanced behind him at the little teacher. Before she caught him looking at her, he could see her face was pinched in pain. Her thighs must be sore from all their riding.
Not that she’d admit it to me,
he thought in admiration.
She’s a tough kitten. I guess she’d have to be to handle some of those rowdy boys she’s mentioned.
Harriet lifted her gaze, saw Ant watching her, and straightened in the saddle, sending him a tight smile that didn’t fool him one bit.

He grinned back, enjoying the hint of pink that crept into her cheeks. Then he faced forward again.
Please God, may David soon be one of her rowdy boys.

A few more minutes of riding brought them to the edge of a rocky clearing, an almost-falling-down small shack in the center, and a bony mule hobbled near a lean-to. The sorry-looking animal raised its head and let out a raw whinny.

Ant held up his hand to stop Harriet then, with a backward-shooing motion, indicated he wanted Harriet to back her horse.

Ant moved them into the pines at the edge of the clearing, until he was sure they couldn’t be seen from the shack. Then he swung down from Shadow. Holding the reins, he moved close enough to say to her in a low voice, “I’m going to sneak around back. See what I can see. I don’t want to alert Lewis that we’re here. Don’t want him to make off with the boy again.”

Harriet parted her lips, looking as if she was about to protest, then seemed to change her mind and nodded instead.

“Hold onto Shadow’s reins. Turn the horses around so we can have a quick getaway if we need to.”

“Why would we need a quick getaway?”

He tipped his head in the direction of the shack. “You never know who’s holed up in there. Could even be outlaws.”

“I think we would have heard if there were any outlaws in the area.”

He mentally shook his head at her naiveté. “I’d rather be careful.”

“And if it’s not outlaws, not David, but there is another child?”

“I’ll come get you, and you can do the schoolteacher thing.”

She rolled her eyes, and then reached out a hand for Shadow’s reins. He handed them over and watched her maneuver the horses around until they were faced away.

I shouldn’t have let her come.

How could I have stopped her?

Ant strode through the trees and circled around until he could approach the shack from behind. From that vantage point, he could see one cracked window, glass miraculously still in place. Hand propped on his gun, he watched from the woods for a few minutes, then took quick steps to the building, and, sliding to the side, peered through the grimy window. He could barely make out one body on the bed. But the snores filtering through the gaps in the plank wall told him it might be safe to venture inside.

The area below the window wasn’t visible. He darted another glance around him, then slunk around the side and up the two almost rotted stairs. His heart rate picked up. Easing the door open, he caught a pungent whiff of unwashed male and alcohol and held his breath.
 

The snoring man didn’t stir. He was clad in dirty clothes, even had worn boots on. Lewis, all right, although Ant had to take a long look to find the familiar features of his brother-in-law in the bloated face. Another small-size pallet with a rumpled blanket told Ant what he needed to know. He sagged against the doorframe in relief. In the past two years, he hadn’t allowed himself to think that David might be dead. But the niggling fear had always been there.

He quietly closed the door. No telling where David was.
I’ll come back early in the morning, when I don’t have a schoolteacher to deal with.

Once in the shadow of the trees, Ant hurried to Harriet, flashing her a big grin. “My brother-in-law is in there sawing logs so loud, I though the place might collapse. Didn’t even wake when I looked in the door.”

“David?”

Ant shook his head. “Not there. Saw where he slept though.” He took her gloved hand and squeezed. “Until I saw that small pallet and realized David’s alive …” He shook his head. “Harriet, I can’t describe the feeling.” He took a breath to get away from the emotion, forcing teasing into his tone. “Thought I might faint away like a debutant with her corset tied too tight.”

Harriet giggled. “Ant.” She made a token protest.

Ant couldn’t help but grin; she looked so sweet with her eyes alight with laughter.

Still holding his hand, she playfully shook it. “You’ve found him. How wonderful!”

He sobered. “Until I see David face to face, give him a hug, have him say, ‘Hello, Uncle Ant,’ I won’t rest easy. I need those things, Harriet. I need David.”

She squeezed his hand in reassurance. “You’ll have him, Ant. You will. Shall we go wake up your brother-in-law?”

Hell no
.

“It’s a small room, Harriet. Lewis is definitely not dressed to receive visitors. Plus, from the smell in the place, he tied one on last night and waking him will be like waking a grizzly bear.”

“I can wait outside, while you….”

“No, Harriet. I won’t subject you to that. I’ll come back. Lewis will be more presentable tomorrow when he’s had a chance to recover and clean up.”

She opened her mouth to protest.

Ant dropped a kiss on her parted lips to shut her up. However, when he tasted her sweetness, it was he that was floored into mindlessness. He held the kiss for a few seconds before breaking it off and stepping away.

Harriet’s eyes were wide and starry. “Oh,” was all she said.

Oh is right
. “Let me help you mount the horse.”
If I don’t get her out of here, she’ll be in more danger from me than from Lewis.

* * *

Harriet woke early, eager to begin her secret mission. She gingerly put her sore foot to the floor and stood, relieved to only feel a twinge of pain, not the stabbing agony of the earlier days. She quickly dressed in her riding habit, scooped up the peppermint sticks she’d bought from the Cobbs the night before, and put them in her reticule.

Quietly humming, Harriet made her way down the steps outside. She swung her reticule, thoughts of the surprise she had in store for Ant lightening the arduous journey down the stairs.

In the dim kitchen, she grabbed the packet of food she’d made up the night before, and then let herself out of the house. Walking over to the livery stable with barely a limp, Harriet watched the sun rise over the distant mountains. The purple night shadows grayed; a hint of the orange sun peeked over Pete’s Mountain, named for an old prospector who used to work a claim there.

As early as she was, the livery stable doors were already wide open. Pepe walked outside and started pumping water into the trough. As she approached, he gave Harriet a shy nod and a quiet,
“Buenos días.”

Glad not to have to explain herself to Mack Taylor, she stopped before the man. “Is Brown Boy fed and watered?”

Pepe nodded.

“Then I’d like you to saddle him for me.”
And hurry before Mack comes out.
The stable owner might refuse to let her take the horse on her own to go up the mountain—at least until he cleared it with the Cobbs—something she’d rather not have happen because she’d allowed the Cobbs to think she was riding with Ant again today. Her conscience pricked her, but she reminded herself that it wasn’t precisely a lie; she just hadn’t corrected their assumption.