Rexanne Becnel (14 page)

She turned to stare at the long line of wagons, picking out their own sturdy outfit by the trailing Eenie tied behind. She could just see her father and Reverend Harrison seated side by side, involved in animated conversation if her father’s gesturing hands were any indication.

“Speak of the devil.” Sarah elbowed Abby in the side, drawing her attention. “Isn’t that your young man?”

Sure enough, cantering from off to their left, Tanner McKnight angled toward the wagon train. He’d been hunting, it appeared, for an awkward bundle lay lashed behind him. If he recognized them, he gave no indication, and he was moving fast enough that he would cross their path some way ahead of them.

“Hurry up, Abby. Walk faster so’s he’ll see you.”

“No. If he wants to speak to me, he knows very well where to find me.” She ignored Sarah’s mutterings—something about “lost opportunities” and “hard-headedness.” But despite her best intentions to appear uninterested, Abby couldn’t help following Tanner’s progress toward the forward wagons of the convoy. He sat his horse so easily, as if Tulip were an extension of him, not a separate beast with a will of its own. His hat dipped low over his brow, shading his eyes, but in her mind she could picture every detail of his face. Sun-browned skin. The shadow of a beard. Blue eyes, so dark as to be mistaken for black. And lines of weariness bracketing his mouth.

“That’s Martha McCurdle’s wagon.”

Abby squinted across the green-gold expanse of knee-high prairie grasses, trying to see past the ever-present clouds of dust that hung like a haze over the land. It
was
Martha’s wagon. She’d lost a husband fording a river somewhere in Iowa and traveled now with her brother and his family, though she was very free about criticizing everything about them. It gave Abby no comfort to remind herself that, although Martha was looking for a husband, Tanner was not searching for a wife. She’d heard enough whispers about the widow and seen how her disposition changed so dramatically whenever a man was near. No doubt she would turn on all her charm for Tanner. But would he be as gallant with Martha as he’d been with her?

Abby’s uncertainty grew tenfold when the buxom young widow waved to him, and his horse changed direction.

“She’s after
your
man,” Sarah muttered. “And you’re not doing anything about it.”

“And what precisely do you expect me to do?” Abby exclaimed. “Anyway he’s not my man, as you put it.” But she knew her anger was poorly directed at Sarah. It was Martha she resented. No, Tanner was an even more appropriate target. Why was he being so difficult?

Abby and Sarah walked on, drawing nearer until they were almost abreast of the pair. Tanner sat the patient Tulip, leaning slightly to one side as he spoke with Martha. Martha meanwhile was gazing up at him in clear fascination, bending a little forward, Abby noted sourly, in order to give Tanner the best possible view of her generous bosom.

So engrossed were Abby and Sarah in glowering at the oblivious pair that neither of them at first heard the startled cry.

“Carl! Don’t move. Don’t move!”

“Get help!”

By the time the panicked voices broke into Abby’s awareness, four of the children came scrambling toward them.

“Snakes! A whole nest of ’em!”

“Carl’s been bit!”

Without a moment’s thought Abby took off running, holding her skirt high as she raced toward young Carl. She could barely see him—he was only six, and small for his age. Another child was there, too, his sister, Estelle.

“They’re rattlers,” the nine-year-old girl called in a strained tone when Abby neared.

“Carl. Are you all right?”

Carl’s tearstained face turned toward her, but otherwise he didn’t move a muscle.

“They bit his toe—but his boots are thick.”

Abby stared at Estelle. How could she be so composed when Abby was petrified with fear? She could see one of the snakes, a small, poisonous coil between herself and Carl. But the rattling sound so common to these snakes came from beyond Carl. How many were there?

She untied her apron from her waist and unpinned it at the shoulders. Then, holding the sturdy fabric at arm’s length, she slowly circled Carl.

Five feet from him she stopped. There were three small snakes together, not just one. All of them were too young to have rattles, but that made them no less dangerous. For a moment the rattier behind Carl quieted, and she saw the quick leap of hope in the boy’s round eyes. It mirrored her own hope that the creature would just slither away. Then if she could just fling her apron over the others and grab Carl …

“Be careful, Abby,” Sarah called in a hushed tone, still breathing hard from her run.

“Get back and take Estelle with you.”

She heard their retreat, but her eyes stayed on the trembling little boy. “All right, Carl. Here’s what we’re going to do. You peek over your shoulder. See if you can spot any more snakes.”

“There—there’s a big one right behind me. I heard him.”

“Yes, but look anyway. Is he still there?”

After a cautious peek the child shook his head. “He’s gone.”

“Don’t move,” Abby ordered when the boy looked ready to bolt. “He’s moved, but we don’t know where.”

She took a step nearer him, reaching her hand out. “Now get ready. When I throw this apron on those little snakes, you grab my hand and I’ll pull you away from there.”

He nodded, willing to do anything she said, believing she could save him. Abby, however, was not so sure. Still she knew she had to do something.

Somewhere in the distance she heard the vague sounds of the day: the hoofbeats of a horse, the erratic rush of the wind. But her concentration was on the tense nest of snakes. She must throw carefully, just a little this side of the snakes to distract them and block them should they strike.

“I’m scared,” Carl whimpered pitifully.

“Me, too, sweetheart. So get ready. Now!” Abby flung the apron at the three small snakes, then snatched Carl’s hand. She heard the dry rattling, the quick, deadly threat of it, but couldn’t tell where it came from. But it was too late for her to change direction anyway. She jerked Carl so hard, she feared his arm would be pulled out of the socket. But once they stumbled back from the nest, he flung his arms around her, nearly crawling up into her embrace.

At once the shadow of a tall rider fell across them.

“Dammit, Abby! That was a foolhardy thing you did!” Tanner bellowed. With his eyes blazing and handgun drawn, he looked at once both wildly dangerous and like the most heavenly of saviors.

The rattle buzzed louder, a frightening warning that seemed to come from all around them. Tanner reached down to pluck her away from the danger. But before he could, Tulip squealed and lurched back. Already unbalanced, Tanner tried to right himself, but the mare twisted and started to fall. Before he could free himself from the stirrups, they were down, lost for a moment in the high grass and choking dust.

“Tanner!” Abby had scrambled away from the struggling horse. Now she thrust Carl toward Sarah and circled Tulip, afraid of the snakes, but even more afraid that Tanner was hurt.

Tulip squealed again, a harsh, guttural sound. Somewhere beneath the mare Tanner cursed. Abby made a mad grab at Tulip’s reins. She knew the animal would run once she found her footing. If Tanner were caught in the stirrups he could be dragged…

Suddenly Tulip was up, trembling and wild-eyed. Abby wrapped the reins around her hand. No way was she letting go until she was sure Tanner was safe.

Tulip reared, jerking Abby forward. “Get back!” Tanner’s cry came from just behind the mare. “Get the hell back, Abby!”

But she couldn’t. The mare bucked, squealing madly. The rattles hummed their deadly threat. Where was the snake? Where was it!

Then in the midst of the chaos a gun went off, a deafening crack of thunder that shook the very ground beneath her feet.

At once the rattling ceased. Once more Tulip reared, and Abby feared the panicked mare would trample Tanner. But he rose, gun smoking, and limped to her side.

With a firm grip on Tulip’s bridle he calmed the terrified animal. But his eyes searched the trampled ground around them and he held his gun at the ready.

Then Abby spied it, the mangled body of a huge rattlesnake, its head just a bloody stump, shot off by Tanner. Not aware of what she did, she unwound the reins from her hand. But her eyes stayed on the dead snake. They’d come so close to disaster.

“There are more snakes—over there, under my apron.” Was that her voice, so thin and wavering?

“Let’s get out of here—Dammit to hell!”

Abby tore her eyes away from the dead snake. “You’re hurt,” she cried when he crossed to her. He nearly fell when he tried to put weight on his right leg. She met him halfway, not hesitating at all to put her arm around his waist for support.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, clenching his teeth. “Son of a bitch.”

Though she winced at the vulgarity, Abby couldn’t fault Tanner for it. His face was closed in a painful grimace—in concentration—as he struggled not to fall and yet not lean too heavily on her.

“Sarah, go for help. He can’t walk all the way to the wagons. Tell my father to bring our wagon here.”

“Wait. Someone’s got to take care of my horse first,” Tanner insisted. “She may have been bit by that rattler.”

Abby glanced at Tulip, who now stood with her head lowered and her flanks heaving. She held one of her forelegs gingerly off the ground, and Abby could already see the first indications of swelling.

Tanner, too, had seen it, for once more he swore, words that Abby had never heard before. Still, she was certain they were curses.

“Come on.” He hobbled toward the mare, forcing Abby to edge forward also. “Hold her head. Use all your weight, because she’s not going to like this.”

“Tanner, I don’t think this is a good—”

“Do it, Abby. Just do what I say.” He put the reins in her hands then hopped over to Tulip’s side and pulled a wicked-looking blade from a sheath strapped to his leg. “There’s no time to waste arguing.”

He meant what he said. While Abby held Tulip’s big head down, Tanner grabbed the mare’s leg and deftly sliced open the mare’s bony knee.

“She’ll need a poultice, or at least a mud pack. Can you get some mud?” He looked up at her.

Abby nodded. “I’ll find something. But first I have to see to your leg. Is it broken?”

“My leg will keep,” he barked. Then spying her concerned expression, he blew out a huge, exasperated breath. “My leg will keep,” he repeated, but more gently. “If we don’t get a poultice on her leg, though, she won’t make it. We’ve got to draw as much of the venom out as possible.”

“All right. All right,” Abby conceded. She squinted toward the wagon train. She could see Sarah gesturing and barely make out her father—or was it Dexter—upon the seat. Another wagon had also pulled out of line. Little Carl and Estelle’s family. It was that wagon that turned and began to rumble their way, followed—reluctantly, she thought—by her own.

“Sit down,” she ordered Tanner. “I’ll get water from the wagons and a rag to tie the poultice on. You just sit down and wait. Once Tulip is taken care of, though, I want to take a look at that leg. All right?”

Tanner lowered himself awkwardly to the ground, then looked up at her. Now that the immediate danger was over, he gave her an ironic look. “Once Tulip is taken care of, you can look at any part of me you damn well please.”

“H
E STAYS WITH US
!” Abby hissed, hoping Tanner would not hear this conversation, but afraid he could. “If not for him, I might have been killed. He’s hurt because he saved my life—”

“You’re making more of it than it was, Abigail—”

“You weren’t there!” she burst back at her father. “You have no idea how terrifying it was. Just go take a look at that snake, why don’t you?” She planted her fists on her hips and jutted her chin out. “He stays with us, Father, until he can get around on his own. He came to my rescue—mine and little Carl’s. I intend to do everything I can to make sure he heals. It’s my Christian duty,” she added, daring him with her eyes to contradict that statement.

Her father glared at her for a long moment, then, as if he needed help in this argument, turned to Reverend Harrison. But the younger man only raised his fair brows slightly and gave a helpless shrug. Abby seized on that at once.

“Even the reverend knows I’m right. Mr. McKnight helped me when he did not have to—”

“It’s his job to help everyone in the company,” her father interrupted.

“And it’s our job to do the same,” Abby countered. “You have absolutely no reason to be so suspicious of him. He helped me, and now I shall help him. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Abby made her way to the back of the wagon, still simmering at her father’s bullheadedness. Then she paused and looked back at the two baffled men. “By the way, would you please fetch my apron? It’s over there.” She pointed toward the trampled area. “There may still be some baby rattlers under it, though. So use a stick and be careful.”

When she climbed into the wagon, her haughty attitude fled at once. Tanner lay on her bed, staring up at the canvas wagon cover.

“Are you all right?” she inquired, her voice barely above a whisper. He lay so still. Perhaps his injuries were worse than she’d suspected.

“Are you?” His gaze shifted to her and his lips curved in a wry grin.

Smiling her relief, she replied, “If you’re referring to my father, don’t worry. He sounds stern, I know. But he’s really a very good man.”
Except that he’s taken to suspecting everyone lately,
she silently added.

As if to underscore her words, her father’s voice came to them, and the wagon lurched as he and Dexter climbed into the driver’s box. “Don’t know what’s gotten into the girl lately.”

Abby sighed at that. Yes, she was changing from the mild-tempered, dutiful daughter she’d always been. But what else could she do? Her father had changed too. She was just trying to make the best of what was often a very difficult situation.

Tanner must have sensed her mood, for his smile faded. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Abby. But I’m sure I could ride in another wagon.”