Chapter 25
The Line They Follow
Jo found Isaac on the porch steps, shaking so hard his breath came in little hiccups. Scout stayed pressed against his side, hackles still raised, watching the trail where Boyd had vanished as if he could bring Tessa back by sheer will.
“Isaac,” Jo murmured, kneeling in front of him. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
He dragged a trembling hand across his face. “They took her, Miss Jo… T–Tessa’s gone…”
Jo gathered him close. “I know. You did everything right. You stayed safe, and you helped Eli get to her. He couldn’t have reached her without you.”
Isaac sniffed hard, burying his face in her shoulder.
Pike jogged into the yard with a rifle slung across his back. Reed tightened his cinch, hands moving with controlled urgency. Rafe checked his cartridges, then looked up sharply as Sam came out of the house like a man barely keeping himself together.
“Jo,” Sam rasped, “you stay here. Keep Isaac inside.”
“No,” Rafe cut in, stepping forward with authority Sam didn’t have hold of right now. “Take them to our place.”
Sam blinked, as if only now realizing Jo and the boys couldn’t stay alone.
Rafe continued, steady and decisive. “Kincaid house is safer. Abby’s there. She’ll help you with Isaac, and Jesse’s there. Stronger doors. Better vantage. Scout can guard the front.”
Jo nodded instantly. “All right. We’ll go now.”
Jesse appeared behind her, pale but determined. “I’ll help Miss Jo, sir. I’ll watch Isaac.”
“I know you will,” Sam whispered, voice fraying.
Scout growled low, still glued to Isaac’s legs as if he could hold him to the earth.
From the barn, Rafe’s voice carried: “Reed—grab water and jerky. We don’t know how long this’ll take.”
Pike added, “Bedrolls too. Might be out overnight.”
Reed didn’t argue. He ducked inside and came back with a small bundle: canteens, dried meat and biscuits, a blanket roll strapped tight. Pike gathered a tin of beans, flint, and another canteen, shoving them into his saddlebag.
Rafe snagged a small medical kit off a shelf by the barn door. “Just in case,” he muttered. “Hope we don’t need it.”
Sam stood frozen for half a breath, eyes flicking between Isaac’s frightened face and the trail where Tessa and Eli had vanished. Rafe crossed the space in two strides and gripped Sam’s shoulder hard.
“Your boy will be safe with Jo and Abby,” Rafe said. “Focus. We’re bringing them back.”
Sam steadied enough to kneel and cup Isaac’s cheek. “Listen to Miss Jo. And Abby. And Jesse. Stay inside. I’m coming back.”
Isaac nodded fiercely, clinging for one last second before Jo eased him into her arms.
Rafe swung into his saddle. Reed mounted beside him. Pike tightened his reins, face like carved stone.
Sam climbed onto his gelding, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Jo lifted Isaac higher on her hip. “We’ll ride straight to your house,” she told Rafe. “Abby will help me settle him.”
Rafe tipped his hat in tight acknowledgment. “You’ll be safe there. Lock up. Don’t open the door for anyone but us.”
Jo set Isaac back on his feet, keeping one hand on his shoulder as Jesse stepped in. Jesse grabbed Scout’s collar and guided Isaac toward the gate. The dog paced beside them, tail stiff, watchful.
Sam looked at them once—just once—then turned his horse toward the open land.
Rafe raised his hand. Reed and Pike fell in behind Sam.
They thundered out of the yard, hooves shaking the earth, dust rising behind them in a long, determined trail.
Jo pressed a kiss into Isaac’s hair and whispered, “They’ll bring them home.”
***
They swept out of the valley with a pace hard enough to punish both horse and rider, horses stretched long across the evening light. The air felt thin with fear, edged with dust, and Pike rode ahead as if his eyes were made for reading stories only the ground could tell.
“Here,” Pike called, raising a hand without slowing. “Eli’s trail.”
Sam nearly ran him over in his urgency. Rafe reached across and caught Sam’s reins just enough to steady him.
“Let him work,” Rafe murmured.
Pike dropped from his saddle and crouched. The prints were unmistakable: Sam’s gelding, running hard but keeping its balance—Eli using every inch of training Sam had ever put into the animal.
“He’s flyin’,” Pike said with a quiet nod. “The boy’s got his heels in it and purpose on his mind.”
Sam swallowed hard. “He’s not hurt?”
“Not from these prints,” Pike said. “Balanced seat. No drag. No signs of fallin’.”
Reed blew out a breath he’d been holding. “Good boy.”
They pressed on.
The land began its slow shift from wide, forgiving stretches to harsher ground—patches of scrub, loose shale, pockets of red dirt scattering under hoofbeats. But they weren’t in the deep badlands yet. Just the beginning of the country that leaned toward it.
Pike never broke stride. He led them across a dry wash, over a low rise, and then pointed again.
“Boyd’s trail crosses here.”
They all saw it—four heavy horses now, fast-moving, kicking up dirt and stone. One print pattern was different from earlier.
Reed frowned. “That hoof print’s wrong—lighter.”
Pike nodded. “New horse. They stole one.”
Sam’s whole chest seized.
“For her,” he whispered.
Rafe didn’t sugarcoat anything. “Quicker to keep her mounted. They’ll tie her hands to the horn so she can’t fight ‘em.”
Sam’s hands shook on the reins.
Reed moved his horse close. “Alive. Mounted means alive, Sam.”
Sam nodded but couldn’t speak.
Pike continued following the interlocking trails. The four adult riders pressed south, while Eli’s horse angled slightly west before turning back in—tracking them, cutting corners like he was using every trick he’d ever seen Sam use.
“That’s a smart boy,” Rafe murmured.
“He learned from the best,” Reed added.
For several miles, they rode in tight formation, Pike calling things over his shoulder without stopping:
“Fresh manure here!”
“Print scuffed—someone’s horse stumbled!”
“Boyd’s keeping them moving fast—he’s scared of bein’ followed!”
And always, next to the heavy tracks: the clean, strong, familiar prints of Sam’s own gelding—Eli riding like he’d been born in the saddle.
He’d closed the gap.
The sun slid lower, dragging shadows across the uneven ground. They passed through a shallow rock pocket, then out across a ridgeline where the wind tore at their hats and muted the sound of their hooves.
Reed scanned the western horizon. “He’s keeping to higher ground,” he said. “That’s Eli. He’s watching them.”
“Keeping her in sight,” Sam said, voice breaking.
Rafe nudged Close Enough forward. “He won’t make a move till he sees an opening.”
“And he won’t do anything foolish,” Reed added. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
But Sam wasn’t borrowing. It had already moved into his bones.
They rode on.
The country grew rougher—more broken stones, more shallow cuts—but still not the true badlands. Here, the ridges sloped low, and dry creek beds laced the earth like old scars. The brush was sparse, brittle under the fading light.
“Hold up,” Pike said, pulling back.
He dismounted, crouched, and ran his fingers along a ridge of sand.
“What is it?” Sam asked, already too close.
Pike kept studying the ground before answering.
“Eli’s horse slowed here. Walked a minute.”
Sam went white. “Why?”
Reed was already down beside Pike. “Not injury,” he said. “See how even the prints are? Boy was lookin’. Probably saw somethin’ in the distance.”
“Or someone,” Rafe said softly.
Sam could barely breathe. “He saw her.”
Pike pointed to a place where Eli’s horse angled slightly downhill, following the main trail closer.
“He cut in tighter,” Pike said. “He’s shadowin’ ‘em now.”
Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, fighting himself. “Damn stubborn kid…”
Reed swung back into the saddle. “Stubborn saves lives.”
They pressed on, keeping the pace hard but not reckless. Rafe and Reed flanked Sam openly now, making a loose cage around him to keep him from outriding his own sanity.
Pike lifted his voice again. “Tracks are fresh. Maybe an hour ahead.”
Dust kicked up from the horses’ hooves. Sweat stung their eyes. The sky burned red-gold as the sun dropped lower.
They passed another dry wash.
Then a place where a horse had shied sharply—hoofprints splayed, dust torn up in a fan.
“Boyd’s mount spooked here,” Pike said. “Could’ve been somethin’ Eli did. Or the land.”
Sam swallowed. “If he spooked Boyd, that means Eli’s close.”
“Close,” Reed repeated. “But smart.”
The land rose slightly, forming a broad shoulder of stone. Pike halted again and stared ahead.
“They’re headed for the broken country,” he said. “But they ain’t there yet. Maybe three, four miles.”
Reed nodded slowly. “Then we’ve still got time.”
Sam leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut for one heartbeat.
“I’m coming, Tess,” he whispered. “Hold on, Eli—just hold on.”
They rode on into the dying light, following the clean, sharp trail of a brave boy running down danger on horseback, chasing a woman he loved like a mother, into the first teeth of the rough country—but not yet into the mouth of the place where the real nightmare waited.