Guarding the Mountain Man’s Secret (Brothers of Sapphire Ranch #7)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

H olloway and the others mounted their horses, taking her mare and her uncle’s gelding with them. None of the men even sent them a backward glance as they rode away. The sound of hoofbeats faded, replaced by an oppressive silence broken only by the rustling of leaves in the icy wind.

Panic rose like nausea, but she fought it back. She had to stay calm, had to think. There must be a way out of this. Her teeth had already begun to chatter. The chains were too tight to allow her body to tremble.

The flow leaking from her eyes absorbed into the nasty cloth over her face.

Across the camp, Uncle Hiram caught her gaze. She'd never seen him look so broken, so utterly hopeless.

This was all her fault. If she’d only spoken up, told Miles everything.

What a fool she’d been, trying to protect everyone, thinking she could handle this on her own.

She was no smarter, no more capable than that foolish seven-year-old girl who’d hastened her mother’s death.

But she couldn’t let despair overwhelm her. She had to do something. Her legs were helpless. She could only kick at the leaves and pine needles around her. The chains were too tight to allow her to shimmy up the tree and stand. What good would that do anyway?

If she could get the gag out of her mouth, she could call for help. They might even be close enough to the ranch house to be heard. Like that night she and Miles had heard Goodwin’s violin. Or maybe Miles and his brothers would be out searching for the kidnapper.

She believed now the fire, the stranger creeping toward the house, even the dead cow. Holloway and the others had been responsible for all of it. Maybe he was trying to scare the Coulters, or just keep them off-kilter.

She wouldn’t put anything past those men anymore.

She closed her eyes, and realization mixed with shame. Not once had she cried out for God’s help since she and her uncle reached the camp with Holloway.

Lord, I’m sorry for not turning to You first. We need You. More than I’ve ever needed you before. Don’t let my uncle die. Bring someone to save us. Show me what to do.

Letting herself rest in that prayer, she drew in a slow breath, as much as the chains would allow. Then released it just as slowly. Thank you . God never failed to share His peace when she asked.

She finally opened her eyes and set to work on the gag. Over and over, she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, working to pull the fabric down from her mouth. He’d tied it so tightly though.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as she worked, her jaw aching, her neck burning from the strain. The knot wouldn’t loosen.

She couldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever.

Her face grew numb from the cold and the constant pressure. Her hands had long ago lost their feeling. Her legs too, now that she thought about it.

This wasn’t working.

This wasn’t working, and even if it did… What? What did she think was going to happen?

Nothing. Nothing was going to happen.

They were trapped. The sun was going down. And they were going to die.

And it was all her fault.

She gave up, working her jaw to release the ache.

As her teeth brushed the fabric, a new thought rose up. Maybe she could bite through the foul cloth.

Maybe if she did, then maybe…maybe someone would hear her call.

Anyway, she wouldn’t quit until she breathed her last.

She clamped her teeth down on the rag, ignoring the acrid taste that filled her mouth. She worked at it, gnawing and pulling, her jaw screaming with the effort. The fabric was thick and unyielding.

At first.

Little by little, she worked her side teeth through the edge seam, until finally she heard a rip.

Now came more twisting and craning her neck as she used her shoulder to pull at the cloth, tearing the rip more and more. The tension in her gag eased. Not much, but enough to show she was making progress.

Help me get this, Lord.

Dusk had settled. How long had she sat here tugging at her gag? She could almost taste freedom though.

If freedom tasted like Holloway’s filthy stocking.

She allowed her neck to rest a moment, then started again.

A blessed ripping sound surged hope through her.

Heart pounding, she redoubled her efforts, chomping on the weak spot. Please, Lord, let this work. Let me save my uncle.

With a final, desperate tug, the gag tore free, falling away from her face. She gulped in lungsful of frigid air, coughing and sputtering. Her throat was raw, her tongue thick and clumsy, but she’d done it.

She could call for help.

It was dark now, and she couldn’t see her uncle. “Uncle Hiram! Are you all right?” The temperature had dropped with the sun, and her breath puffed in a cloud.

A muffled grunt was her only response. He must be still gagged. But at least he was alert. How badly had he been hurt?

Fresh strength surged through her. “Keep praying. I’m going to call for help.”

She tried for a deep breath to yell, but the chains didn’t give a bit. She used what breath she could and screamed, “Help!” Her voice came weak, no louder than the bleat of a goat.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “Help!” This time the word sounded stronger.

Pausing, she strained for any hint that she’d been heard.

Only the rustling of leaves on the breeze and the distant cry of a bird answered.

“Help!” She could try to yell something else, but it seemed that one word would get through better than a full sentence.

She continued to call, pausing every few tries to listen for a response. As the minutes ticked by with no answer, icy tendrils of fear crept up her spine.

What if no one was close enough to hear?

Taking in another shallow breath, she screamed as loud as her body could manage. “Help! Someone help!” Her voice broke on the last word.

It would weaken soon. Her entire body would weaken.

She strained to hear any return noise.

The mournful howl of a wolf carried on the icy wind.

God, no! Surely this wasn’t the way the Lord planned for their lives to end.

I’m sorry, Father. I’m so sorry I participated in Holloway’s sins. Please. Send someone to save us.

Clara let her head fall back against the rough bark of the tree, tears freezing on her cheeks. Their fate lay in God's hands alone. She had to trust that the Lord had a plan in this nightmare.

I n the barn, Miles scraped his knife over the wood in a steady motion, deepening the groove in the design he’d decided to carve into the rifle stock.

This would be a Christmas gift for Jericho, if Miles could finish it in time. But keeping his hands busy only allowed his mind to spin in circles.

Why had he let Clara go? Lord, should I have asked her to stay?

He’d been so blindsided by her sudden departure, his first reaction had been to assume God was taking her away.

That this was His way of saying she wasn’t the one for him.

Yet, the connection with her had been so natural. She’d felt like an extension of himself, so easy to be with. Her heart as lovely as her face.

Had God been pushing him to take action? To share how he felt about her, and maybe ask her to stay?

Maybe she’d just needed to know how he felt. Needed to know she could have a future here.

They were both young. If she’d stay, they could take time to get to know each other better. But the thought of never seeing her again twisted a knot so tight in his insides that he could hardly breathe.

Should he go after her?

Darkness had fallen outside, bringing with it icy cold. The thought of her out there, in this weather…

He could be at their camp first thing in the morning and follow their tracks. He would move faster than the group, and they would stop eventually to set up camp.

He would find them. Maybe she and her uncle would both agree to come back. But he couldn't let her go without trying. Without telling her how he felt. The alternative—a lifetime of wondering what might have been—was too painful to consider.

He needed to talk this through with someone. If only Sampson were here.

Maybe Jude, who possessed a thoughtful, steady wisdom that would help Miles see the situation from all angles.

Laying the knife and rifle on the workbench, he strode out of the barn and headed for the bunkhouse to find Jude and Angela. But as he neared the door, a sound made him pause.

It might have just been the wind, but he waited, listening hard. There it was again—a voice, faint. Almost like…

"Help!" The word came clearer this time.

His blood ran cold. Either he’d gone mad from losing Clara and his mind was summoning the sound of her voice.

Or she was in trouble.

He sprinted through the snow to the bunkhouse and burst in.

Everyone in the building looked up—both Jude’s and Eric’s families.

“Hurry!” He motioned for them to come outside. “Someone’s calling for help. Come out and listen.”

They all followed him into the frigid night, Eric carrying Mary Ellen and Naomi gripping Anna’s hand.

The group stood silently, straining to hear over the howling wind. A beat passed, then another.

There. The sound came again, distant but unmistakable. "Help! Someone, please!"

His lungs squeezed out his breath. “It’s Clara. I know it is.” He spun toward the barn. “I’m going out to find her.”

"Not alone you aren’t." Jude’s steady voice cut through the wind. "I'm coming with you. Eric, let the others know.”

Within minutes, Miles and Jude were tightening girths when Jericho and Dinah pushed into the barn, followed by the rest of his family.

"We need to think this through." Jericho glanced between Miles and Jude. "What if it's a trap? Someone trying to lure us away from the house."

A cold fist squeezed Miles's lungs. He hadn't considered that. But the thought of Clara, alone and in danger, overrode all else. "It's a risk I have to take. That's Clara out there. I'll never forgive myself if something happens to her."

Jude shifted uneasily. "Miles is right. If it's Clara, we can't just leave her."

Jericho’s lips pressed into a thin line, then he gave a curt nod. "All right. But I'm coming too. Jonah, stay here with Eric and Gil to guard the house and women."

“Should I ride with you?” Dinah looked up at her husband, worry furrowing her brow.

Jericho rested a hand on her shoulder, his eyes softening. "Stay here where you’re safe. I can’t risk you. If she's hurt, we'll bring her straight back."

Dinah's eyes glistened, but she nodded. "Go. Save her."

While Jericho readied his gelding, Miles and Jude tied blankets and a bit of food and water behind their saddles. They could each carry lanterns.

At last, they headed out the barn door. Angela stood next to Dinah as they passed. “We’ll be praying for you.”

“It sounds like she might be at their camp still.” Miles called to his brothers as he turned that direction.

“Let’s try it.” Jericho nudged his mount beside Miles’s, and they pushed the animals into a run.