to stay with him until he died, which, from the looks of him, couldn’t be much longer.
Carefully, she crawled up on the bed and positioned her body against his back. Now if he tried to roll onto his wound, he’d only press against her.
Wes settled in his sleep with her warmth near. Allie closed her eyes and let the tension pass. She was vaguely aware of Nichole pulling a blanket over them and of rain tapping lightly against the windows. She would stay a while, until she thought it safe, until Wes was better or he died. She couldn’t leave without knowing.
It seemed long after dark when she awoke. The room was in shadows and empty. The fire was low, but blankets kept their warmth beneath the covers.
Allie slipped from the bed and tiptoed to the desk, where someone had left a tray of food. She took a piece of bread and the glass of milk then crossed to the windows once more.
Fall’s first storm had blown in while she slept. Even if she’d planned to leave tonight, it wouldn’t be a good time. The rain could turn to ice by morning. Without warm robes, she’d freeze before she could reach her caves in the hill country.
She felt the chill of the night move across her. Winter in the hills would be cold, with endless days of looking for food and checking over her shoulder. She would only be able to risk a fire once a week to cook. The rest of the time she’d have to live on roots and sleep in a cave colder than the outside. On rainy days like this one, she’d be trapped in the darkness without a fire to warm her. In the rain or snow, she’d be easy to track, and Allie knew she’d have to move over the land like the wind if she planned to stay free.
She shivered more from the glimpse of the future than from the present. Almost running, she crossed to Wes and slid beneath the covers on the other side of him from where she’d been sleeping. For a second, she feared he might turn away from her and roll onto his wound, but he didn’t.
After a few minutes, she drew closer to him for warmth. She was only a hair’s-width away when she looked up and saw him watching her. His brown eyes told her he was still too much in sleep to question her nearness.
‘‘Allie,’’ she whispered. ‘‘My name is Allie.’’ It was the first time she’d spoken words in any language for more than five winters and the first time she’d said her real name since the day she’d run with the boy toward the trees. Since the day she’d seen her mother’s body, all bloody and twisted, piled with others. Since the day she no longer had a home.
‘‘Allie,’’ Wes mumbled. He closed his eyes and placed his arm over her, pulling her near as he drifted back into sleep.
SEVEN
WES MCLAIN PULLED HIMSELF TO A SITTING POSItion. He fought back a groan of pain in favor of a few swear words. Tugging his trousers on slowly, he stood.
As the fog inside his head cleared, he glanced around the tiny space that had once been his brother’s rented bedroom in this huge house. After Adam and Nichole married, they bought the place from a widow who was in a hurry to get back East. They moved their living quarters upstairs and used the downstairs rooms for Adam’s medical practice and study. But they’d left this little room between the kitchen and the office as a spare bedroom.
The floor was cold. Wes had no idea where his boots were… or his shirt, for that matter. Nor did he much care. He needed a drink, maybe two, to kill the throbbing in his side and back. Only thing worse than getting shot was having a doc pull the bullet out. At least Adam knew what he was doing, even if it did feel like Adam had made what felt like a cannonball-sized hole in his back.
But the pain didn’t erase the memory of Vincent’s map or what Wes had to do as soon as he was able. Time was ticking away.
Wes stumbled to the dresser. The compass he’d carried through the war lay next to his saddlebags. He shoved the compass in his pocket and unbuckled one side of his bag. The map was still there, folded in a square of oilcloth just as it had been before the stampede. Waiting.
A wealth buried in gold, Wes reminded himself. Gold enough to make a fresh start.
Wes rebuckled the bag. The map’s secret had waited over thirty years; it would have to wait a few days more. He wasn’t sure he could sit a horse in his condition, much less ride. Vincent Edward had known the land; if he’d lived, finding the treasure would have been much easier. But Vince was dead, and Wes would have to trust the map.
Moving to the door, he shoved his hair from his eyes and felt a week’s growth of a beard along his jaw. A beard he’d shave as soon as he had the energy. Without looking, he knew the whiskers didn’t grow along the scar across his cheek. His almost-black brown hair would only make the thin lightning bolt an inch above his jaw look whiter.
He pushed away from the door frame without looking in the mirror. He was across the hall and two steps into the kitchen before anyone noticed him stumbling around.
When Nichole let out a little cry of joy, Adam stood from beside her at the table. The easy smile that always came to Adam brushed his face at the sight of Wes. Adam took a step toward him then halted.
Wes couldn’t help but grin. His younger brother knew him well. If he could stand on his own, he wanted no help or coddling.
‘‘I see you’re up,’’ Adam stated the obvious.
Wes fell into more than sat in the chair across from them. ‘‘I could use a drink.’’ He glanced toward Rose, the cook, who was openly crying with relief. ‘‘Whiskey, Rose.’’
‘‘Coffee,’’ Adam corrected. ‘‘Or better yet hot cocoa.’’
Wes frowned at him, but didn’t argue. He’d never admit it out loud, but he respected Adam more than any man. All through the War Between the States, Adam had been Wes’s only touch with family. Now, he was still Wes’s only link to what he thought living should be like. For Wes, life was an endless swing of highs and lows. He’d be rich one month and dead broke the next. Adam’s life was stable. He had a home and a wife. Everything Wes once thought would be important. But Angela’s coldness had finally convinced him. That kind of life would never be his.
Wes accepted the shirt Adam handed him. He wasn’t jealous of Adam, he wished him the best. But Wes couldn’t help but wonder from time to time why some men have to fight for every inch of ground they stand on and others don’t.
Rose brought a coffee laced with whiskey. After setting it before Wes, she wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘‘I’m so glad you’re gonna live.’’ She sniffed loudly. ‘‘I made them apple turnovers you like every day, hoping you’d smell them and wanta wake up.’’
‘‘That’s what brought me from the grave.’’ Wes winked at her. ‘‘How long was I out?’’
‘‘Four days,’’ Adam answered. He returned to his seat next to Nichole.
Wes downed half the cup, enjoying the way it warmed his throat. ‘‘I’ll eat a few turnovers if you got them ready now, Rose. It appears the knitting Adam did across my back didn’t kill me this time.’’
Adam grinned. ‘‘If you’re well enough to eat and complain, you’re fine. But you cut it close, brother. If the woman hadn’t got you here, McLain blood would have puddled a wide spot of prairie.’’
Nichole could be silent no longer. ‘‘Tell us about the girl, Wes.’’
For a moment, Wes wasn’t sure who Nichole was talking about. Then he remembered. The woman from the cage. The one who’d slept beside him and kept him warm. From time to time while he slept, his mind registered her moving near. He remembered her holding his head, making him drink once when all he wanted to do was sleep.
‘‘Where is she, kid?’’ he asked over his cup. Nichole might be one fine lady now, but Wes could still remember the Nick who rode like the wind and proved herself a friend.
Rose returned with two apple turnovers on a plate. The little cook leaned close to Wes and whispered, ‘‘That strange woman is in the laundry room taking a bath. She takes one every morning. ’Bout used the winter’s supply of soap.’’ Rose raised her nose. ‘‘It ain’t healthy, a person being that clean in the winter. But I ain’t saying a word, of course, ’cause I’m the last one on this earth to judge-’’
‘‘We’ll buy more soap,’’ Nichole interrupted with a warning glance at Rose to hold her tongue. ‘‘Except for when she bathes, she never leaves your side, Wes. We can’t get her to say a word. Not even her name.’’
‘‘Allie,’’ Wes answered between bites. ‘‘Her name’s Allie. I promised to get her to her family.’’
