“Tell me what to search for and I’ll find it. I won’t give up until I do or until I’m sure I can’t.”
He thought he saw her chin quiver a bit, but she didn’t admit she was scared. Tough little thing. Poor, tough little thing.
He frowned when she shook her head, squared her shoulders. She stopped and turned toward him. “You say you’ve seen this before?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe . . .” Her hand tightened on his arm, and her eyes filled with something almost as scary as tears. Was it concern? For him? But when had he ever learned the skill of reading what was in a woman’s eyes? Must come natural. “You should stay here,” she said. “There’s no sense in both of us walking into this, and I have to go. I believe you when you say I shouldn’t.” Her teeth clenched until her jaw was a rigid line.
Trace shook his head. “I’m not letting you walk in there alone.” He made it sound like the circle of burned-out wagons was the gateway to hell. He was sure it wasn’t, but then hell must be so vicious . . . well, it’d keep him to his faith just thinking of it.
“Very well.” She let go of his arm. “I appreciate your warning and your offer to take this responsibility. I do. But I have to do it myself.” She headed out again.
Giving his horse a dismayed look, Trace followed along like a pull toy on wheels—he’d seen such a thing once as a child. Rolling along her trail, he gave up on saving her from the experience. Instead, he caught up and rested his left hand on the small of her back.
She turned slightly, her eyes widening in surprise. Then she laid one hand on his shoulder, nodded, and whispered, “Thanks.”
Thanks for what? he wondered. After all, he should be thanking her for going with him. He was probably as sickened to be doing this as she was. Once he thought of it, he knew it was true. He was dreading it more because he’d seen such horror before and understood exactly what lay ahead of them. Her turn was about ten paces away.
They reached the nearest blackened hulk of a wagon, and he tied his mustang to a charred wheel hub. The horse started grazing.
Trace was glad someone’s stomach was working.
CHAPTER
3
“Did you find it?” Gwen whispered.
“Yes, I found things hidden in nearly every wagon.” Deb had her knapsack, now bulging and heavy, that she’d carried with her when they took the children away from the wagon train before sunup. She had her skirts gathered and full of things too, and Trace carried a load that he was quietly placing into a pack.
Deb handed over all Gwen could carry. Gwen had also taken her small bag this morning. Both of them always kept their guns with them along with a few basic supplies. The Scotts had trained them well to be prepared for trouble.
Gwen filled her own sack while she sat in the grass with Maddie Sue asleep on her lap. Ronnie slept on the ground, on his back. The dog stretched out beside Ronnie like a warm, loyal pillow. It lifted its head and panted while watching Deb as closely as Gwen.
Deb was trying to keep it hidden, but she could tell both sister and dog were noticing how upset she was. She concentrated on the charred cans she’d gathered.
“I found three cans of milk. I don’t know how far we have to travel, but we’d best set out soon because this is less than a day’s supply.” Deb dropped her leather bag on the ground with a dull clank as the cans knocked together.
“Ronnie eats solid food now. He can get by without milk for a while.” The words halted, and Gwen gave her a long, searching look. “Are you all right?”
“It was hard to see, but I’m fine.” That was just a plain old lie. She wasn’t going to be fine for quite a while—maybe never. She had images in her head that would never fade. She did her best to regain her composure after what she’d seen, yet she knew Trace’s talk of nightmares would be true for her now, too.
She noticed a gray pallor to Trace’s complexion and suspected he was as sick to his stomach as she was. It helped somewhat that a strong man was as affected as she by the ugliness and brutality of what they’d seen.
“Some of us will have to walk. I’m so sorry we’re adding such a burden to your journey, Mr. Riley. Thank you.”
“Call me Trace. ‘Mister’ sounds like an old man to me. Although”—he glanced at the wagon-train ruins—“I’m feeling older by the minute.”
“And we are Deb and Gwen. Calling both of us Miss Harkness will be confusing.”
Nodding, he said, “Let’s get the little ones up on horseback. Black here is strong enough to carry all four of you, but with all these supplies to add, I just don’t think you’ll all fit.”
“That’s fine. Gwen and I walk along with the wagon train most days.”
“That’s what we’ll have to do, then. One of you riding and holding the young’uns. Each of you will take a turn walking.”
“You’ll have a turn riding, too.” Deb was determined.
“Let’s get moving. We’ll worry about who’s riding later.” The dog, Trace had called it Wolf, or some such odd name, got up and went to his master’s side and nosed at his hand. A quiet whine that sounded like sympathy came from the dog, and Trace looked down at it and rested one big hand on his pet’s head. Deb could see Trace’s very carefully concealed dismay in the gentle way he stroked the dog’s gray fur. His eyes lifted and met hers, and she knew all he felt.
It was a
