Sarah's Surrender (33 page)

Sarah pushed away from the comforting cocoon of Luke's arms. “Fire?” She followed Luke and Jack around the side of the house and found flames crawling up the side of her parlor wall and creeping through the open window. “No! No!”

“Get buckets. Blankets.” Jack raced around the back of the house. Sarah heard him order Cody to stay at the barn and to yell if the fire started in that direction.

The two Peterson men who'd been working on the barn, rushed toward them then turned and followed Jack toward their camp.

“Stay back. I'm going upstairs to get blankets.” Luke pinned her with his sapphire gaze. “Don't come in. I can't lose you.”

He jogged to the front of the house, and she followed. “I can help.”

“No! Stay there.” He rushed inside.

Sarah gazed in the open door at the flames licking her window. “Oh, God. Please don't let my house burn. I've already lost Claire. Protect Luke.” Her thoughts turned to Claire, and for just this moment, she was grateful the girl wasn't here. What if she'd been inside napping? Her heart felt split in two, but she'd rather the Powells have Claire than for her to have perished in a fire.

Luke raced out the door and tossed the blankets at her. “I'm going to saddle Golden Boy so we can get water faster.” He jumped over the porch railing to the ground and raced toward the pasture where the horses had been staked.

Sarah jogged down the stairs, carrying her new wool blankets to the side of the house. She dropped one and started swatting the fire, but her efforts only seemed to fuel the blaze. Heat seared her face. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

Amos and Johnny returned, one carrying her soapy dishwater and the rinse pot. Jack raced past the back of the house, holding four buckets, and headed for the river.

Amos tugged the blanket from her, dropped it in the rinse pot, and then pulled it out and slapped it against the siding, over and over. The stubborn flames refused to yield and continued spreading out of reach at an alarming rate.

Johnny tossed the soapy water onto the fire, grabbed the empty rinse pot, and charged toward the river. Sarah lifted the other blanket, so heavy with water that she had to drag it over to the grass nearest the house, and dropped it onto the smoldering sod. The fire charged up the side of her house in almost a straight and narrow line.

Jack returned from the river, carrying two buckets. He set one down and splashed the other on the fire then grabbed the other bucket and repeated the action, his mouth pressed together in a tight line. “This fire was no accident.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah held her hands to her mouth, watching the flames lick higher.

Jack waved his hand at several empty bottles on the charred grass. “Powell must have done this.”

“It's true.” Breathing hard, Amos tossed aside the smoky blanket and grabbed the one she'd put on the grass. “This fire was set on purpose. No other way it could've started.”

Sarah sucked in a breath then started coughing. “Why would Mr. Powell do this? We gave Claire to them.” She couldn't bring herself to call her Elizabeth.

“I don't know.” Jack shook his head, snatched up the other empty bucket, and ran for more water.

She stepped back, not liking where her thoughts were taking her. Luke rode up to her on his horse and leading Jack's mount. Hungry for answers, Sarah touched Luke's leg. “Jack thinks Mr. Powell set the fire. I don't understand. Why would he do such a heinous thing?”

His normally happy gaze grew hard. “Because they aren't Claire's grandparents. He probably set the fire, thinking we might realize they were frauds. The fire would keep us busy while they made their escape.”

Sarah covered her mouth as she gasped. She squelched the instant speck of hope that tried to blossom. “What makes you say that?”

“I remember Jack said Claire had blue eyes the same as her mother, not green ones like Mrs. Powell said. A real mother wouldn't forget something that important.”

“No, a mother wouldn't.” Tears stung Sarah's eyes. She should have caught Mrs. Powell's mistake herself, but she'd been too distraught at the possibility of losing Claire. She pressed her fingers to her aching eyes. “Oh, Luke, I let them take her. I just gave away the little girl I love.”

The horses pranced and stared at the fire, the whites of their eyes showing. Pain filled Luke's eyes as he gazed at her. “What should I do? If I go after Claire, I can't help fight the fire. You could lose the house.”

“Go! Forget the house.” She could build another one—live in a tent—but there was only one little girl who'd stolen her heart.

He tossed the reins of Jack's horse to her. “Get him to Jack.” He stared hard at her. “I'll get our Claire back.”

He wheeled Golden Boy around Jack's horse, sent her a stare that said so much she could hardly breathe, and then he slapped the reins on the palomino's flanks. The gelding bolted forward into a gallop.

“Here.” Amos held out his cupped hands, his face blackened from sweat and soot. He boosted her onto the horse, and she turned him toward the river. “Help us, Lord. Please help Luke to find Claire and get her back.”

As she drew near the river, Jack jogged toward her, lugging two buckets. She pulled the horse to a stop and slid off. Amos ran up behind her and grabbed the buckets, and headed back to the house.

“Where'd Luke go?” Jack leaped onto his horse.

“He just realized the Powells aren't Claire's grandparents.”

His eyes widened. “I had a gut feelin' something wasn't right. I shouldn't have forced you to give her up.”

She shook her head. “It wasn't your fault.”

Amos ran up to him and handed Jack the empty buckets. He trotted the horse down the hill, passing Johnny, who carried the other buckets.

Sarah didn't know what to do.

She stared at her house, knowing in her gut it was a lost cause. Too little water and manpower, and too much fire. She gasped. “My clothes!” She hurried toward the front of her home. If only they'd had rain recently, but everything was dry as old dead bones from the summer heat. At least she could save a few of her things. She hiked up her skirts and charged into the house. Surely she had time to save her clothes and the trunk of things Lara had loaned her.

The buggy wheel tracks made an easy trail to follow as they cut through the dry grass toward town. Luke scanned the area ahead between him and Anadarko, but he didn't see the couple. They'd be harder to find in town. He'd check Dr. Worth's office first, since Mr. Powell mentioned it, but he didn't expect to find them there. What if they merely drove through town then headed away from Anadarko on the other side? He'd never find their tracks.

Several men on horseback galloped toward him. He hoped they weren't looking for Lottie, because he didn't have time to deal with that now. As he drew nearer, he recognized Dr. Worth. He rode up to Luke, looking concerned. “Some men in town said they saw smoke coming from this way.”

“It's Sarah's house.”

The man's brown eyes widened. “Is she all right?”

“She's fine. Can you help?”

The four other men nodded in unison and rode off toward Sarah's at a fast pace. The doctor struggled to hold back his horse.

“Did y'all pass a fancy surrey with a well-dressed couple in it?”

The doctor shook his head. Luke didn't like the look on the man's face as he gazed in the direction of the smoke rising from the house. Was he concerned about Sarah because he was a doctor, or was it something more?

No time to worry about that. He nudged Golden Boy forward then slowed as they entered town. He glanced at every buggy he saw, hoping—praying—he'd see the Powells' gray horses. He continued on First Street, peering down the side streets each way. When he reached the end of First, he rode across to Second and went through town again. People ambled along both sides of the streets, and several buggies were parked along them. He searched each one.

“Help me, Lord. Don't let those lying kidnappers get away.” He wished there was a marshal in town, because he doubted the soldiers would be willing to help him. He reached the end of the street, trotted his horse over to Third, and started down it. He
had
to find Claire. He couldn't return to Sarah without her.

He'd almost passed Hampton's General Store when he recognized Mr. Powell coming out, carrying several cans of milk and a thick package. The man had removed his jacket and tie and showed no signs of having a bellyache. Luke's eyes narrowed. He faced forward and kept riding, but as he passed the next alley, he flicked his gaze sideways. His heart bucked. A buggy was parked up next to a building. Mrs. Powell stood beside it, bent over. Claire's frantic cries gutted him. Mrs. Powell yanked off the wet diaper and tossed it behind her. She stood Claire on her feet and shook her. “Hush, I said. All that racket is making my head ache.”

Luke clenched his jaw. He tapped Golden Boy's sides, making the horse trot. Once he came to the end of the block, he reined the horse to the left, and then left again on the next street. He dismounted and tied the gelding to a hitching post in front of a lawyer's office. The Powells were sure going to need a lawyer once he was done with them. He quickly walked to the alley where he'd seen the buggy and peered around the corner. Mr. Powell sauntered toward it.

“Hurry up, Henry. You want them to come after us? You know they will soon as they get that fire out.”

Mr. Powell belched. “They ain't getting it out anytime soon. I made sure of that.” He set the cans of milk in the back of the buggy.

“Hurry up and open that package. I need a diaper.”

Mr. Powell did as ordered and handed her one. Mrs. Powell laid Claire on the floor of the buggy and put the fresh diaper on her. “C'mon! We need to get out of town. Fast!”

Mr. Powell spun around. As he rounded the buggy, his boot clipped the wheel and he fell flat on his face.

Luke licked his lips, tasting success. This was the best chance he'd get. He glanced around, relieved that no one else was near, then pulled his gun and stepped into the alley. Mr. Powell lay on the ground, his face to the wall. Luke tiptoed toward the wife, whose back was to him.

“Get up, you fool. We gotta get going.” She bent down and yanked on her husband's shirt.

“Hush, woman. I hit my head when I fell.” Mr. Powell reached a hand to his forehead.

Claire's wails slowed as she spied him. She sniffled, reaching out her hands and stealing a huge chunk of his heart. Luke reached the buggy and snatched Claire. She clutched him so hard she pinched a hunk of skin. She sobbed against his shirt, much as Sarah had done. The woman rose and glanced at the buggy then froze as she realized she wasn't alone. Luke prayed they'd go peacefully to the army office.

Mrs. Powell snarled like a guard dog. She spun around, and faster than he could believe, drew a pistol from her waistband. She fired.

Claire wailed. Hot pain pierced Luke's shoulder, but he held onto his precious cargo and his gun. He gritted past the pain and glared at the woman. “Drop that gun. Now!”

Her face turned several shades of red before she complied. She shook her head, finally looking as if she'd given up. “Why couldn't you just let us go? You'll break our daughter's heart.”

Luke wasn't sure what she was talking about or how he was going to handle the pair now that he was shot. Blood oozed from his wound. “I don't know what game you're playin', but we both know you aren't related to this girl.”

She dabbed at her eyes. “Our Ellen has lost three babies. She's pining away for the want of a child. I thought that little gal would make her happy. I never counted on the lady that had her wanting to keep her so much.”

Several men rounded the corner then paused to take in the scene.

Mrs. Powell pivoted toward them. “Help us! He's trying to steal our baby.”

The men glared at Luke, and one pulled out his pistol.

“She's lying. That woman shot me and stole this sweet child from a friend of mine. I aim to take her back.”

“No-o-o! Don't let him take my baby.” Mrs. Powell clutched her heart and fell to her knees. The woman should have been an actress.

“Maybe you oughta give the kid back,” the taller cowboy said.

Luke lifted his chin and stared hard at the man. “Take us all to army headquarters, and we'll get this farce straightened out.”

Mrs. Powell hopped up. She searched the ground, turning one way then the next.

Mr. Powell slowly rose, moved around to the front of the wagon, and pointed a gun at Luke. “Give my wife that girl, or I'll put a bullet in the kid.”

Luke made eye contact with the man standing behind Mr. Powell and knew the man had finally realized the truth. The man flipped his pistol around, grabbing it by the barrel and knocked the butt into the back of Powell's skull. Powell dropped like a steer whose back hooves had been lassoed.