She did a full-body stretch and was surprised to discover there wasn’t an achy muscle in her body. If she’d taken an hour-long hot yoga class and followed it up with a deep-tissue massage, she wouldn’t feel any better than she did right then.
Adding to the feel-good moment was the juicy scent of roasting meat. Man, she was hungry enough to eat a bear. But that wasn’t a bear roasting on a spit over the campfire. It was a rabbit, and while she could eat two or three of them, one was enough to take away the hunger pangs.
She climbed to her feet and did a few more deep stretches, still surprised by her pain-free hip. After a quick wash in the river, she sat down next to the fire. A fresh batch of dandelion greens had been chopped up and stored in one of the birchbark bowls, and the roots were simmering in another one.
How thoughtful.
She glanced around, wondering if he was watching her from a distance. But she didn’t have a sense of anyone out there. He was gone. And for some reason, she didn’t think he’d be back. What did that mean for her? Was she out of danger?
After removing the roots, she sat back and sipped the dandelion coffee while she watched the sunrise. It was incredibly gorgeous this morning and cast its intense, live-coals colors over the glittering cottonwood leaves. They seemed to join her in a quiet sigh.
I almost died yesterday.
She shivered at the thought. It was a wake-up call, and she needed to pay attention to it. No matter how competent she thought she was, she couldn’t get through this on her own. She had to depend on others to survive.
17
Little Missouri River (1885)—Ensley
After spending two nights resting at a sweet oasis next to the Little Missouri River, it was time to follow the meandering river northwest. She couldn’t delay any longer. It reminded her of when she boxed up the few belongings she kept at her ex-boyfriend’s apartment. She’d put it off until the unfinished business was nearly debilitating. But that kind of delay could be a matter of life and death out here.
It was time. Ensley was refreshed and hopeful and ready for whatever came next.
She didn’t know how many miles lay ahead of her, but if she followed the river, she’d eventually reach Medora. And if it was 1885, she’d pass TR’s Elkhorn Ranch, and if he wasn’t off hunting or rounding up his cattle, he might be there. What would she do then? Go all fan girl on him? Probably.
Since the days blended into each other, she notched a stick every morning so she wouldn’t forget how many days she’d been wandering in the wilderness. One day she’d tell her story, and the details would add flavor to her tales, like special sauce or seasoning. That’s how she explained it to the authors whose stories she edited.
Damn! She was almost glad the brooch had abandoned her here. At least she didn’t have to return to her office to reclaim her stuff. How embarrassing and humiliating.
For now, she’d do what the English did. When anything embarrassing or emotional threatened to come up, she’d discuss the weather. Always a safe topic.
So instead of thinking about her lost job, she studied the sky. No rain today, thank goodness. She didn’t have the energy to slog through the mud. The rugged terrain was awful enough, and the constant backtracking—when the heavy-growth forest blocked her path—added miles to the trip. She often ended the day frustrated with her slow progress. Her hip pain returned, and it cut into her mileage. From experience, she knew how many miles she could do in a day, and she was barely getting in eight or nine miles before she had to stop. At that rate, it might be winter before she reached her destination.
After another long day, she found a suitable campsite, started a fire, then went fishing. While dinner cooked, she sipped a cup of dandelion coffee, thinking over what she could add to her diet when the distinct sound of horse hooves clopping through the tall grasses sent her into a panic. The shaman had never appeared on horseback, so it probably wasn’t him. Whoever it was, she couldn’t sit here and wait for trouble or hope he would ignore the smoke from her campfire and pass her by.
Her mind screamed, Move! Now! She grabbed her spear and Clovis Point, and with her adrenaline surging, dashed into the trees for cover.
She peeked through a branch and noticed the horse before the man. That was dumb because the man was the one who could hurt her. But it was rare to see a magnificent black stallion with such fabulous conformation. His head, long neck, and white median star above his eyes were stunning.
Focus on the man.
The rider’s posture was perfectly suited to the horse. He sat tall and relaxed in the saddle, shoulders back with both reins in one hand. The other hand rested on his thigh. His black cowboy hat was low on his brow, hiding his face. Any man riding with perfect posture on a beautiful horse couldn’t be a threat to her.
Don’t be naïve.
The rider approached slowly, the horse snorting.
Could she sneak around and come up behind him? She could try, but the man exuded a shitload of confidence and wouldn’t be taken by surprise, especially by a woman half his size.
He was still a good twenty yards from her when he yelled, “Hello, the camp!”
She lowered her voice and gripped the spear at shoulder height. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Ensley Williams. Have you seen her?”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head, and her heart went straight to her throat.
What the hell?
No one knew she was here. “Who’s asking?” she croaked out.
“A friend.”
“She doesn’t have any friends.”
The man chuckled. “Yes, she does. Come on out, Ens. It’s me, JC Fraser. I’ve been trailing
