Hope (11 page)

She checked her thoughts. The fever had addled her brain. Aunt Thalia would say, “Keep your mind on your business, young lady!” Unfortunately, her business wasn’t Dan Sullivan. Her business waited for her in Medford, and she was now more than a month late.

For all she knew, Dan might very well have a lady in Washington awaiting his return. The idea didn’t set well with her. In fact, it reminded her of one of Aunt Thalia’s awful duck recipes that soured her stomach.

She checked her thoughts a second time. What was she thinking? Riding around the countryside, depending on Dan to look out for her welfare. She’d never depended on anyone except family and God. In spite of the goodness she saw in Dan, she didn’t know him—didn’t know anything about him. What if he was deliberately misleading her—hoping to gain her confidence and—?

What if he had other reasons for befriending her—sinister reasons? She shivered.

“Cold?”

“No, someone just walked over a grave.”

“Pardon?”

“Someone just walked over a grave: Aunt Thalia says that’s what causes shivers.”

“Is that right?” Humor colored his tone.

“That’s what my aunt says.”

“Then it must be true.”

Kidnapped, mistaken for someone else, held captive in a filthy cabin, fed vile food, been deplorably ill . . . and now, riding through the darkness with a man who makes me have thoughts I have no right to think.

I’m weak, Lord! I’m not able to do this!

“You’re tired,” Dan said, and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. Heat crept up her neck and covered her cheeks. Oh, she hoped not! It was bad enough to think them!

“We’ll stop for the day.”

His kindness brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, wondering anew how he could be so attuned to her necessities.

He cut the horse into a thicket and a few moments later lifted Hope down from the saddle. She closed her eyes, trying to absorb his strength, wishing that she had a small portion of it. To the left was a low outcropping where she assumed they would rest for the day. Dan held her for a moment, decidedly a bit too long, then gently set her aside.

“We should be safe here for the day. I’ll get a fire going. You’re chilled.” When he stepped away, she felt as if part of her left with him.

Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed, fighting to stem the rising tide.
Don’t cry, Hope!
All he needed was a weepy woman to add to his troubles. Yet teardrops formed in her eyes, and she realized whatever earlier strength she’d boasted of having had vanished with the night. She felt weak and drained.

Dan returned momentarily. Removing the lid from the canteen, he handed it to her, his eyes gentle.

“Thanks.” Did he understand what she was feeling? She couldn’t meet his gaze for fear of bursting into unmanageable sobs. Right now, she was primed for a pretty good pity party he wouldn’t want to attend.

A smile touched the corners of his eyes. “You don’t have to be so polite. If you want to scream, tear your hair out, you’ve earned the right.”

She gave him a lame smile, lifting the canteen to take a long swallow. She’d like nothing better than to scream and rail at the injustices she had endured, but no one except Dan would hear, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be party to her hysteria.

“Hungry?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time food interested her.

“Well, no matter how bleak our situation looks right now, a person has to eat. John Jacobs won’t take kindly to my depositing a skeleton on his doorstep.” He wiped away the one tear that trickled down her cheek with this thumb. The intimate gesture was oddly comforting. “No matter how pretty she might be.”

Hope searched somewhere deep within herself and managed to come up with something she hoped resembled a smile. At least he was still optimistic that they’d reach John Jacobs. She wasn’t so sure.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be whiny—”

“You’re not whiny, Miss Kallahan.” He stripped the saddle off the horse and carried it to the outcrop. Her eyes focused on the ridge of impressive muscle that played across his back, shamefully aware that her thoughts should dwell on more fruitful ground. She followed him to the campsite.

“The kidnapping, Big Joe and the gang. It all seems like a bad dream.”

“It will be over soon.” He straightened, his gaze assessing her soiled appearance. She must look a sight. Her dress was disheveled and dirty, and she’d only half managed to twist her hair into a bun and secure it with the precious few pins she had left.

“Do you like fish?”

She nodded. “I like fish.”

“Good, because I spotted a stream a short while back. With any luck, I’ll catch our breakfast.”

He settled her on a blanket and started a fire. Then he took off in search of the stream. Huddling close to the snapping fire, she watched his tall form disappear into the undergrowth. Goose bumps swelled, and she rubbed her arms, uneasy when he was gone.

Within the hour he returned, whistling and carrying his catch. She smiled at the sight of the large bass. Dan Sullivan’s woman would never fear for her next meal.

“Breakfast,” he announced with a cocky grin.

“Congratulations.”

Squatting, he piled more brush on the fire and grinned up at her. “Dan, you incredible man, you. How did you get so good at catching fish with your hands? she asks.”

She blushed at his teasing.

“Well, thank you, Miss Kallahan. I hoped you’d notice my exceptional sporting skills. I got good at catching fish with my hands during the war. Many nights our company would have gone hungry if we hadn’t devised our own means of providing food.”

“You fought in the war?”

“Yes, ma’am, for way too long.” A mask dropped over his features, and she realized she’d touched on a painful subject.

They chatted while he cleaned then skewered the fish and hung it over the flames. They talked briefly about the War between the States and the terrible atrocities it brought upon the people. Kentucky had tried to remain neutral, Dan told her, but that wasn’t possible.

“How do you know so much about Kentucky?”

“Had a good friend who lived here.”

“Is he here now?”

“He’s buried in Lexington.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Do you ever feel as if the world is spinning out of control?” She sensed his smile, though he had his back to her.

“Occasionally.”

“I never had, until recently. I thought God would keep me safe from all harm.”

Lately, God had challenged those thoughts. He never promised there’d be no trials, but somehow she’d just expected her life to be different. Adversity happened to others, not to her. Not until Papa died. Or until she and her sisters split up, and she didn’t know when, if ever, she’d see them again. Or until Big Joe took her hostage.

“No one is protected from trouble, Hope. Not on this earth,” he said quietly.

They shared the moist, tasty bass, and then Hope slept the day away. She was vaguely aware of Dan keeping watch as he dozed intermittently, but she was too tired to insist that he rest while she guarded their small sanctuary. Toward evening, they finished the last of the fish before Dan doused the fire and saddled the horse.

As twilight faded, they rode on, pausing the second night only long enough to rest the horse and drink from icy cold streams. By the time the sun came up the third morning, although Hope was still reeling with exhaustion, the healing rays were warm on her face, and she thanked God for a new day.

Dan’s soft warning jarred her from her lethargic state. “Let me do the talking,” he said quietly.

Half-asleep, she started at the sound of his voice. “What—what is it?”

“There’s a wagon coming.”

Her heart raced. Would they be discovered? Why didn’t he cut off the road? “Big Joe?”

“No, Joe wouldn’t use a wagon. Probably a farmer on his way to town.”

A team of sleek black horses came around the bend, and Hope spotted an old man and woman sitting on the spring seat of a short wagon. The woman’s pale hair, shot with silver, had come loose from her bonnet. Her body was more square than angular. The old man looked exactly like her—
bookends,
Hope thought, except for the rim of snow white hair protruding wildly from beneath the battered hat he wore low over his lined face. The wagon pulled even with Dan and clattered to a halt.

Smiling, the old man showed a row of uneven, yellow teeth.

“Howdy. You folks are out purty early, ain’t ya?”

Dan eased Hope down from the back of the horse. She straightened, working the kinks out of her back. She was grateful for the brief reprieve. The old couple looked harmless enough.

Stepping out of the saddle, Dan walked over to shake hands. “My sister hasn’t been well lately. We started out before sunrise to find a doctor, but she’s feeling poorly again.”

Hope shot Dan a disbelieving look. Sister? Of course. They couldn’t announce they were unmarried and traveling together. His returning gaze warned her to go along with the facade.

“We were about to rest a spell when we heard your wagon.”

Hope would play along, but she didn’t approve of fibs. She could still remember the sting of Papa’s hickory switch on the backs of her legs when he’d caught her lying.

Removing his hat, the old man scratched his head. “Well, our place is up the road aways. You and yore sister are mighty welcome to stop in for a cup of Harriet’s coffee.”

Hope studied the old woman. Her face was flushed, and she looked as if she’d wallowed in a mudhole in her plain brown cotton dress.

“You shore are!” she invited. “We’d be right proud to have you join us for breakfast.”

“Oh no. We couldn’t,” Hope protested. She shot Dan an anxious look.

“No.” Dan smiled. “We don’t want to impose—”

“Land sakes! Be no imposition! Got plenty of fresh eggs, and it won’t take a minute to whip up a fresh batch of biscuits. Come on now, yore sister looks downright peaked.”

Dan glanced back to Hope and she smiled. Lamely, she knew, but it was the best she could do. The thought of a hot meal did sound good.

“I guess we could stop for a minute. Much obliged.” Dan reached for the horse’s reins. “If you don’t mind, would it be all right if my sister rides with you? As I said, she’s been feeling poorly. . . .”

“Why, she’s welcome as rain. Name’s Harriet Bennett. This here’s my husband, Luther.” She grinned, showing a front tooth chipped clear to the gum. “Just tie your horse on to the back, mister, then hitch yoreself a ride on the tail.”

She jerked a thumb toward the back of the wagon. “Just shove the pig out of the way. She ain’t gonna give you no trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pig? Hope peered over the side of the wagon. An old sow was standing in the back of the wagon—a very large, very smelly old sow—taking up a full third of the bed. She glanced at Dan, frowning.

He lifted an amused brow. “You heard the woman, Sister—just push the pig out of the way.”

Hope climbed aboard the wagon, keeping an eye on the sow.

It eyed her back, snorting.

If they thought she was going to push anything that size out of her way they had another think coming. Scooting to the far side of the bed, she settled back against the sideboard, drawing a deep breath. A pig! She was now riding with two strangers and a pig! She hoped Aunt Thalia never heard about this.

Lord, can it get much worse?

Securing the horse to the back of the wagon, Dan hopped aboard. Luther slapped the reins, and the wagon lurched forward.

“You see ol’ Doc Jimster?” Harriet turned to ask above the clattering wheels.

Dan glanced at Hope. “No—the one in Medford.”

“Medford!” The old woman turned further in her seat to look at him. “Land sakes! That’s a fur piece away.” She looked at him as if he, not his sister, needed medical attention.

Dan smiled. “He’s family—Sis won’t let anyone but Doc—”

“Power,” Hope finished. She grinned. “Good ol’ Doc Power—worth his weight in gold. Wouldn’t see anyone but . . . Doc.”

“Well.” Harriet frowned. “Ain’t goin’ nearly as far as Medford, but one more mile along the way is a help, I’d reckon.”

Leaning back, Dan met Hope’s worried gaze with his own. “Reckon it is, ma’am. We appreciate the ride.”

Harriet again turned to look over her shoulder. “Dearie, you look real feverish. You doin’ anything for what ails ya?”

Dan answered. “We’ve been doctoring it, ma’am.”

She reached back to give Hope’s leg a pat. “We’ll have you in a nice warm kitchen afore too long, drinking one of my hot toddies.”

The old man chuckled. “Harriet’s hot toddies will either kill ya or cure ya.”

“Oh . . .” Hope smiled, preferring the latter. “I’d like that. Without spirits, of course.”

The old woman nodded enthusiastically. “’Course!”

The four looked up as the sound of fast-approaching horses caught their attention. Two men, leaning low over the necks of their animals, galloped full speed around the bend.

The old woman grasped her husband’s arm. “Luther!”

About the same time Harriet yelled at her husband, a bullet whizzed past Dan’s head. Bolting upright, Hope tried to see what the commotion was all about, but Dan pinned her back down with a hand.

Luther whipped his team of horses to a full run. A second bullet whistled overhead as Dan bent over Hope and pulled out his revolver.

“What’s going on?” Hope shouted above the clacking wheels. The old buckboard threatened to break apart as it churned headlong down the road, hitting potholes and deep ruts.

“Stay down!” Dan shouted.

“Hang on!” Luther cracked the whip and the team strained, running harder. The horses barreled down the road, trying to outrun the two men on horseback who were now pursuing them with devilish fervor. “Hold on! We’re headin’ for th’ barn!”

“What’s he mean?” Hope grunted, clinging to the side of the wagon. “Heading for the barn—what’s going on?”

The pig squealed in protest, rolling wildly about the wagon bed on its fat sides. Hope moved her foot to keep it from being squashed, scooting more to the left.

The old man cackled with glee as he swung the whip over the team’s backsides. “Hold on, kiddies!”