Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (15 page)

He crouched down low behind a bush and studied the rustic structure. There were no windows. A cabin this tiny would have only one way in and one way out. A trapper built this cabin to provide a shelter only a little better than a tent. Considerable smoke drifted up from the rock chimney. If this is where Crowell was hiding Little John, at least his son was reasonably warm.

He needed to confirm that Crowell was indeed inside. He could see the hip of a horse tied to the other side of the cabin. “Follow me,” he told the others. Sam silently maneuvered to a spot where he could get a clear view of the horse. It was indeed the same mount the man rode this morning—a tall bay with black stockings and tail. And tied next to it stood a shorter sorrel, the mount rode by Bill White.

They had found them.

He turned to his men and whispered, “It’s Crowell’s horse.”

“What now, Captain?” James asked.

“The most important thing is to be sure Little John doesn’t get hurt. It’s a small cabin so it will be difficult for all of us to not get in each other’s way or line of sight. So, Harry and Mathew, I want you two to focus solely on Little John. Grab him and take him outside, no matter what is happening. James, you’ll go in first and fast. Use your brawn to tackle Crowell. I’ll be right behind you and have my pistol pointed at him ready to shoot if Crowell even tries to draw a weapon. Be exceedingly quiet as you approach. Our best weapon is surprise. Understood?”

They all nodded and, James whispered, “I can’t wait to take the bloody bastard down.”

“We’ll take good care of your son,” Harry said. “We love him too.”

Sam gave Harry and Mathew a reassuring pat on their shoulders. “I’m grateful for your help, gentlemen.” Then he nodded his thanks to James.

Moving slowly and carefully, they came up well to the right side of the cabin. Sam wanted to stay out of sight in case Crowell opened the door to relieve himself. When they were even with the front of the shelter, he leaned his long rifle against the cabin. The weapon would just get in the way inside. He drew one of his pistols and shuffled closer, keeping his back snug against the rough logs on the cabin’s right front side. The other three propped their rifles up as well and then advanced forward, as he had.

Sam listened for a moment. Not hearing anything, he motioned for James to move ahead of him. He followed, immediately behind James, and the other two stayed close to Sam’s back. They quietly inched forward until the cabin door was beside them.

James eyed Sam with determination on his face.

Sam nodded to go ahead. A heartbeat later, they were inside and Crowell’s wide eyes peered up, shock on his whiskered face.

Crowell sat at an undersized table. Before the man could even stand up, James flew at the kidnapper like a vicious dog beset on overcoming a cornered animal. Crowell’s chair and back slammed against the dirt floor.

Sam charged forward and pointed his pistol at Crowell’s head.

In another heartbeat, James sat astride Crowell and his knees pinned the kidnapper to ground. Then James raised his fist about to slam it across the man’s jaw.

“Don’t hit him,” Sam yelled, stopping the fist mid-swing.

With Crowell overpowered, Sam took the time to glance up and see the other two men carrying Little John through the door. He let out a long breath when he realized his son appeared to be all right.

He turned back and stared down at his son’s abductor. “Get up!” he ordered.

James appeared reluctant to stop his assault on Crowell, and Sam couldn’t blame him.

James finally stood and Crowell scrambled up, looking somewhat dazed. “Don’t kill me,” he pleaded. “I was just doing what Dixon ordered me to do.”

“Are you both soldiers?” Sam asked, knowing the answer.

Crowell shook his head no.

“Then you had no reason to follow his orders. Get moving.” Sam motioned toward the door with one of his pistols.

When they all stood outside in the moonlight, Harry and Mathew reclaimed their rifles and pointed the weapons at Crowell. James stood by fists still clenched at his sides. The kidnapper just stood there, his body slumped, staring at his feet.

Sam sheathed his pistols and hurried over to where Little John sat on the ground.

“Little John!” He knelt in front of his son and quickly untied the bindings on the boy’s hands and feet. Hot fury filled him when he noticed
large patches of red skin rubbed raw by the rope on his son’s small wrists. The sight made his jaw clench and his breath burn hot in his throat.

As soon as his hands and feet were freed, Little John’s arms flew around Sam’s neck and his son clung to him tighter than ever before. “Pa, I knew you would come for me.”

Little John finally released his neck, but left his hands resting on Sam’s shoulders. He could see his son struggling not to cry.

Sam gave him another hug and then stood. Taking one of the child’s hands, the two faced Crowell. “I don’t know what the penalty is in this state for kidnapping and extortion, but you and your scheming partner will soon find out.” He let go of Little John’s hand and stomped closer to Crowell.

He could no longer restrain the ferocity of his wrath. He snarled through gritted teeth, “Until then, this will just have to do.” With all the force his right arm could deliver, he clobbered the kidnapper’s face.

Crowell’s head snapped back and he cried out in pain, his nose bleeding and undoubtedly broken. But the vicious blow wasn’t enough to appease Sam’s pent up fury. He gave into his rage and struck the bastard again, this time under the jaw, with his left fist.

That blow sent Crowell sprawling on his back. “Don’t let him kill me,” he whined pathetically, his eyes searching frantically for help from Sam’s men.

Still fuming, Sam glared down at Crowell, then over at Little John. “Did they hurt you?”

Little John swallowed hard. “They warned me that they would cut the bottoms of my feet if I tried to run away, but they didn’t ‘cuz I didn’t try.”

The bastards! How dare they threaten his son with such barbarity? He didn’t know if it was true or just a frontier rumor, but Sam had heard reports of Indians doing that to a white child they’d captured to make the bottoms of his feet so sore he couldn’t run away. Dixon must have heard the same story.

He glowered at Crowell. With fists clenched, he took a step toward the cowering man.

“I didn’t say that. It was Dixon,” Crowell protested. “He threatened the boy and planned everything.”

“When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty,” Sam sneered.

He turned his attention back to Little John. “Anything else?”

Little John squared his little shoulders. “Mostly they just tried to scare me. But I don’t scare easy!”

“Tie him!” Sam ordered. “Before I beat the filthy swine to death.” The thought was sorely tempting.

Mathew stepped inside to find something that would serve to bind the man’s wrists together.

Eyes glaring, Little John scowled at Crowell himself. “He took my knife and my rifle. I want them back!”

Despite his anger, Sam was amused. “Let’s go find your weapons. And your coat.”

“May I have my coat too,” Crowell begged. He was still sitting in the snow, shivering and moaning.

Sam eyed the man with contempt. He was tempted to let frostbite be part of his punishment. “I’ll find it. Only because you need to live long enough for due justice to be served.”

When he and Little John entered the tiny cabin, Mathew held up a long coil of rough rawhide. “This should serve.”

“Grab his coat there too,” Sam instructed. “After his hands and feet are tied, throw him over his saddle face down, and then tie him to his horse. And one of you will need to lead the dead man’s horse. We can pick up his body on the way home.”

“I’ll tie both swine on well,” Mathew said as he left, leaving Sam and his son alone in the cabin.

Kneeling, he took hold of both of Little John’s hands again. “You’ve been through a tough experience Little John. You’ve been brave, but it’s okay to cry if you need to.”

“No, I was scared, real scared, because I didn’t know why they took me. I knew you would come for me, but I didn’t know if you could find me here.”

“I will always be there when you need me. And if I’m not right in front of you, I’ll be right here, inside your heart.” Sam tapped his son’s chest. “Remember that.”

“I will Pa.”

“Are you still worried or scared?”

“No, not now. I’m just happy.”

“I am too, son.” He wrapped his arms around his boy and hugged him tightly.

Then they found Little John’s knife, rifle, powder and ball pouch, and his coat. Sam got him bundled and buttoned against the cold. Then he snuffed out the fire with the sand bucket, gathered up Crowell’s weapons, and they went outside.

“Our horses are a fair ways off. Climb on my back and I’ll carry you. The snow’s too deep for you.”

He crouched down and Little John climbed up onto his back.

God had blessed him with a strong body, broad shoulders, and well-muscled back, so carrying his son for a distance would pose no problem. In fact, it felt good to feel Little John resting safely against him, heart to heart.

“I love you, Pa.”

Sam had to swallow his emotions a few times before he could speak. “I love you too, son.”

Chapter 14

S
am’s feet felt like twin blocks of ice and his numb fingers required painful attempts at thawing by clenching and unclenching his hand. The trip back, riding tired and cold horses, seemed to take forever. Little John fell asleep, facing his chest, and sitting in front of him. The boy’s body warmth was welcome, but far more than that, it warmed his heart knowing his son was now safe.

As before, he led them quietly through the woods and then to the rear of the large barn before they dismounted. He wanted to surprise Dixon.

Before dismounting, Sam pointed to Crowell. “Put that bastard in the stall with the most horseshit and chain him in it.”

Little John still slept and, after carefully dismounting, he gently laid his son on a pile of fresh hay off to the side. The boy’s fair skin, light hair, and delicate features made him think he was looking at the face of a cherub. For sure, he gazed upon a precious gift of God. A gift given to both him and Catherine.

While the other men tended to their weary mounts too, he unsaddled Alex and then covered the gelding with a dry sheet to absorb moisture and walked the horse around the snug barn. The frigid temperature they’d endured made it important for the horse to cool gradually. He finished with a quick brushing. “Will you feed and water him for me Harry? I need to take Little John inside.”

“Of course,” Harry responded, taking Alex’s lead rope.

“You men get some rest and get warm, but wait a bit before you go to your quarters. It won’t be long before Garvin brings Dixon out to join our prisoner. Keep them both locked up until I say otherwise.”

He scooped Little John up, trying not to wake him, and placed his son’s head over a shoulder. Then he grabbed his long rifle and hurried towards his home’s back door. As he hiked through the snow, he glanced up at the sky, now filled with piercingly bright stars and whispered, “Thank you, Lord.”

Sam opened and then closed the door slowly. As he made his way through the nearly dark kitchen and into the hall, he could hear someone snoring. It must be Dixon. When he reached the front room, Bear and Garvin stood right away, smiles covering their faces at the sight of Little John asleep on his shoulder.

Sam placed a finger over his lips, indicating they should remain quiet. He handed his rifle to Bear and then proceeded down the hall toward his son’s room.

He entered the bedroom, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness for a moment. Little John’s room held that scent unique to little boys. With five brothers, he recognized the scent well. It smelled like the forest after a rain, and sunshine too, and grass mixed with dirt. All that mingled with the earthy aroma given off by his son’s assorted treasures— mostly rocks, bird nests, and feathers.

With one arm, he tugged the bed’s blanket down and then laid Little John on the sheet and pillow. He removed his son’s coat and boots and then tucked the blanket around his little body. At the foot of the bed, Catherine had lain an extra blanket and he covered him with that too. Morning wasn’t far off, but Little John would likely sleep for some time. He stepped to the room’s window and pulled the two deerskin drapes closed. The skins served as curtains and effectively kept some of winter’s chill from entering the room.

He knelt and kissed his son on the forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he
whispered.

Sam stepped out into the hall, lit by a wall sconce burning a beeswax candle. He quietly tapped a knuckle to the door of his own room. “Catherine, I’m back.”

The door flew open nearly instantly. He could tell she hadn’t slept. Again, he placed a finger over his lips so she would whisper.

“Sam, thank God. Did you find him?”

“Yes, he’s fine.” He motioned for her to follow him to their son’s room. He pointed and let her go in first.

Bending over the bed, she placed one hand over her mouth. He suspected she was trying to keep from crying out with pure joy. She placed the other hand on Little John’s head and gently stroked his hair. Then she glanced back at Sam, eyes glistening with unshed tears of happiness and relief.

She turned and hugged Sam as tightly as she could with the significant barrier protruding between them. When she released him, she gazed up into his face, her beautiful eyes still sparkling like afternoon sun dancing on blue water.

He softly brushed his fingers against her check and then lifted her chin and kissed her fully, letting the love that filled him flow through his lips. Her mouth felt luxuriously warm against his chilled lips and the skin on her face seemed almost hot to his icy fingers.

“Sam, you’re nearly frozen. Let’s get you warmed up.” Taking his hand, she led him out.

“Is Artis still asleep?” he asked as they made their way toward the front room.

“Yes, I believe so,” Catherine answered. “She was exhausted.”

When the two of them stood in front of a still snoring Dixon, Catherine did something completely out of character for her. She kicked Dixon in the shin.