Chapter 16

16

T he sky was slate gray when Edgar startled awake.

In the swirling haze between asleep and consciousness, he'd remembered the wedding vows he'd spoken to Fran days before. He'd promised to honor her and comfort her.

And to love her.

He wasn't a man to break a promise.

The shock of the realization—what he'd promised all those days before—held him immobile, leaning back against the large, flat rock he'd found in the night.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, not with the threat of Underhill's men hanging around.

Now, trying to shake the sleep from his noggin, his promise from their quick wedding service stuck in his mind, stuck in his craw.

He'd said he would love her.

And he did.

He loved her.

No matter that she might be a fugitive from the law or might've omitted something important the whole time he'd known her. None of that kept his emotions in check.

None of it kept his heart safe.

He already loved her.

She'd challenged him to be more than his past.

And he'd pushed her away.

From the start, she'd done more than he'd asked of her, even when what he was asking—like driving a team all day—was difficult for her.

She'd done everything she could to protect her sister.

And wouldn't he have done the same? He'd pitched that snake out into the night to keep it from even having a chance to bite Seb.

Would she be able to forgive him for not listening to her the night before, when she'd come to him?

He would imagine so.

Because unlike him, when bad things happened to her, like her parents' death or her brother's abandonment, she hadn't shut down. Somehow she'd kept her heart open for a big lug like him.

He was astounded by what she'd given him, even if she hadn't said the words.

He had to go to her.

He pushed himself off the ground, heading for his horse a few feet away. He'd left the animal saddled in case there was trouble in the night.

He was a little surprised that things had been quiet. He'd half-expected Underhill to attempt something—either against the cattle or with the girls.

And then he registered the silence.

It was almost eerie in its totality.

No cowboys whistling. Not even a cricket chirping or a whippoorwill calling. The cattle were still, as if they were poised on the edge of?—

Shots fired broke the early morning stillness and startled him.

His horse nickered and bobbed its head, but didn't bolt.

Unlike the cattle.

They scattered.

He heard several surprised shouts from the other cowboys, but didn't have time to dwell on it.

Several steers headed right for him and he jumped into the saddle, quickly guiding his horse to join them.

They jostled him until he was sure his leg was bruised. He gripped the horse with his thighs, fighting to stay on. Then he gained his seat and his horse got a burst of speed. He got in front of them far enough to look behind.

The cattle had gone in all directions, and he caught glimpses of the other cowboys riding along, trying to guide them into one cohesive group. With no luck.

The largest group of cattle was headed to the east. Without anyone out front to try and turn them.

His stomach dropped, and fear coalesced in his veins.

Those cattle were headed straight for the wagon, where Fran and Emma were.

He hesitated.

Among the cattle like he was, he couldn't turn his horse too sharply. If a steer plowed into the side of his animal, they'd both go down and be trampled.

He urged his horse in that direction as best he could, fighting through the cattle.

It was like riding through molasses. Like trying to swim across a raging river.

Nearly impossible.

He started praying that the girls had been awake, had heard the thundering hooves, and had somehow known to get on one of the draft horses. If they could stay on the horse long enough for it to outrun the cattle, they might have a chance…

But then he remembered they were city girls. What if they'd thought the noise was a thunderstorm? After the last disaster, would they even stick their heads out of the canvas wagon cover to see?

Fran was smart. He had to remember that, to think positively.

They were going to survive this.

He kept pushing his horse, fighting through the cattle, but he could tell it was a losing battle.

Then he caught sight of Ricky doing the same from the opposite direction. Ricky was a little closer.

But the first of the cattle were also closing in on the wagon.

Edgar couldn't see any movement around the wagon. Where were the girls?

The horses weren't where they had ground-tied them the night before.

Had the girls managed to escape somehow?

Or had the animals panicked and managed to tear their ties from the ground, only saving themselves?

Fear and desperation drove him to push his horse too hard. The animal stumbled, and Edgar desperately tried to right the both of them.

To no avail.

He cried out as his horse went down, surrounded by the horde of racing beasts.

"The big one went down."

The man with the binoculars spoke, his voice slightly muffled.

With her hands tied in front of her and sitting on the horse behind one of Underhill's men, Fran could only see some of the cattle racing around.

At the man's words, everything went perfectly still and silent.

The big one?

Edgar?

She could see the other men's mouths moving, knew the stampede must still be unfolding in the slight valley below them.

She couldn't hear any of it.

Edgar had fallen? In the midst of the stampede?

Could he survive that?

She didn't know, and the fear and desperation choked her. She closed her eyes, praying for Edgar, praying for Emma. The men, including the federal marshal, hadn't found her in the dark. Fran could only hope she'd reached one of the cowboys or was far, far away.

Edgar couldn't be gone. She hadn't had a chance to tell him what she should've told him the night before. That she loved him.

She'd chickened out because he'd distanced himself from her and because he'd been right—she should have told him about Underhill's accusation from the start.

If she had, would they have gotten to this point? Would Edgar still be hurt—or worse? Emma lost and alone?

She didn't know.

The horse shifted beneath her and she struggled to keep her balance with her hands bound.

"Let's get her back to the boss," one of the men said.

She ducked, hoping that her unbound hair obscured her face enough for them to think she was Emma. The longer they went without chasing after her sister, the safer Emma would be.

Edgar shoved to his feet, trying to shake off the jarring sensation of falling.

The horse had stumbled, and they'd both gone down, but blessedly, the animal seemed to be okay.

It struggled to its feet, eyes rolling and white around the edges, head raised in fear.

"Easy, boy," he said, loud enough to be heard over the thundering hooves.

A steer brushed by, close enough to knock into Edgar's shoulder. He staggered.

Kept his feet by sheer force of will.

He had to get to Fran.

The horse seemed to know the danger they were in. If they didn't get up, they could be killed.

Edgar waited as the animal pushed to its feet and then threw his leg over its back.

They were moving again, Edgar feeling that he'd be battered and bruised tomorrow morning.

It didn't matter.

He had to get to Fran.

He pushed his horse, edging toward the wagon.

He could see cattle crashing over where the wagon had been.

Heart in his throat, he wondered if they'd survived. They had to. He had unfinished business with Fran.

Ricky got close enough to take a look and shouted back to him, waving his hat.

That was either good or bad.

Edgar quit fighting the herd and spurred his horse.

He passed one of the rangy beasts. Another.

He kept going, even though his eyes blurred with emotion, and sweat poured into them and stung.

He kept pushing, because he had no choice.

An eternity passed, watching the backs of the steers, until he edged out in front. Looking to the side, Ricky had done the same.

There were two ways to stop a stampede. Wait for the cattle to tire themselves out, or get out in front and lead them in a circle.

Edgar and Ricky signaled each other and started turning the herd back to the south. It took time.

Time they didn't have.

But the other choice was to let the cattle run and possibly hurt themselves, possibly damage homes or other people who might be out on the prairie.

Soon Matty, John and Chester joined them, pushing the cattle into a tighter and tighter circle, until they didn't have anywhere else to go and had to stop in a tight bunch.

Edgar took off his hat, waving it in front of his face to cool the sweat from his brow. Ricky untied a handkerchief from around his neck and mopped his face.

"You all right?" Ricky asked. "Thought you were a goner. Nasty spill you took."

"You fell?" Matty asked.

Edgar rolled his shoulders. "I'll be sore in the morning. What about the girls?"

Ricky shrugged, mouth tight. "Wagon was smashed to bits by the time I got there."

Heart thundering, Edgar wheeled his horse. He trusted the other cowboys to take care of the cattle. He had to see for himself what had happened to the girls.

Ricky and Matty trailed him.

"What of Seb?" Edgar called over his shoulder.

"Dunno. He was on last watch with the girls. Didn't see him with the cattle, either."

Edgar hopped off his horse even before they'd reached the wagon. Ricky was right—the wagon was crushed. One side had been completely obliterated; the other was in large pieces. Remains of food were mixed with grass and mud.

There was no sign of the girls.

Heart in his throat, Edgar turned over the largest piece of the wagon—part of the bottom panel. He was afraid of what he would find beneath, but only found hoofprints and smashed grass. No blood.

"They're not here," he said. "They're not here." Repeating the words sent a wave of relief spiraling through him. Sharp and painful and joyful enough to cover his eyes with the sheen of tears.

Fran was still alive. Somewhere.

"You all right? You got pale all of a sudden," Matty observed.

"Yeah." He turned in a circle, scanning the horizon. "Any sign of the draft horses?"

Ricky took a turn looking around. "I haven't seen 'em since last night when they were tied by the wagon. What're you thinking?"

"The girls have got to be somewhere," he said. "Either they got on the horses and escaped?—"

"Or Underhill and his men have got them."

Edgar went to his horse, grabbed his rifle. "You thinking the stampede was meant to be a diversion?"

"Could be." Matty shoved back his hat.

Ricky had been quiet and serious since they'd gotten back to the wagon.

The morning sun was bright and warm on his shoulders. Edgar's mind spun, trying to determine the best course of action.

He was a planner, someone who looked at every angle before he acted.

But if Underhill had the girls, he didn't have time to plan. If the man had caused the stampede to delay Edgar from following him, he could already have a lead on them.

And where was Seb?

Where were the horses? If they tracked down the horses, would they find the girls?

In the midst of his mental scrambling, a shrill whistle brought his head up.

There was Seb, leading one of the draft horses by its reins. Riding double with another hand.

Except as they got closer, he saw that the second person had long dark hair cascading down her back and was clinging to his brother, obviously not comfortable on the horse.

His heart began to race and he found himself running toward his brother.

Only to be disappointed.

Seb's passenger was Emma.

Then he saw the dark stain on the side of Seb's face and jaw, running down onto the shoulder of his shirt. Blood.

Edgar's heart pounded. Seb had been hurt.

"They've got her!" Emma cried out before Seb had brought the horse completely alongside the three men.

"Who's got her?" he asked, knowing before she even said what he knew was coming.

"Underhill's men. They came in the night?—"

"What happened?" he asked his brother, helping Emma off the horse.

"They got the jump on me. That marshal hit me over the head," Seb said. The boy-man was obviously upset, jaw tight with emotion. "I'm sorry."

Edgar squeezed his brother's knee briefly. "I'm due my share of blame. I fell asleep. We've all been exhausted from pushing these cattle. We've been on edge the last two nights. It's not your fault."

Seb shook his head, jaw still tight.

"Are you all right?" Edgar asked. He held Seb's eyes until his brother nodded tightly.

Edgar knew his brother would get over it eventually—especially when they got Fran back.

"Start at the beginning," Edgar said to Emma. "What happened last night?"

The girl was shaking. He took her hands and had her sit down on the grass before she fell down.

He squeezed her hands gently. "Can you tell me? We need to know what we're riding into."

"Fran and I were scared in the wagon. We…we couldn't tell if any of you cowboys were close-by…"

Seb grunted and shifted, his horse shifting with him.

Emma sniffed. "And Fran got this idea to ride out to you. She said since we couldn't sleep anyway, we could be awake with the cowboys."

Edgar found the corner of his mouth turning up, even with the fear and desperation filling him. That sounded like Fran.

"We still had the trousers and shirt, so she made me put them on, just in case."

He squeezed her shoulder when she started to break down.

"And we sneaked out, got to the horses… and there was noise behind us and voices…not you…"

She could barely get words out now, sobbing into her hands.

"Calm down," he said, rubbing her back. "We're going to get her back."

"She got me up on the horse and slapped it. I can't ride! I was so scared?—"

"That's about when I came to," Seb said tightly. "Somehow I hung on to the horse, didn't go down. Then her horse must've run past me. The rush of air about knocked me out of the saddle. I took off after it, not knowing who it was."

"I couldn't make it stop. It just kept running."

"But you did a good job of staying on," Seb told her.

She just shook her head, dissolving into sobs.

"I lost them in the dark, had to wait until it lightened up a little to follow the tracks. The horse was tucked up next to the creek, winded and worn out. And she was still clinging to him like a burr on a dog's butt."

"Good job." He hugged Emma again from the side, the same way he would've hugged Breanna if it had been her.

"But…but they've got Fran," Emma gasped. You've got to get her back?—"

"We will."

He had no other option. Fran belonged to him.

And she would expect him to comfort Emma. "But she wanted you safe. That was important to her. And it's important to me."

She quieted, staring into his eyes. He did everything he could to return her gaze levelly. He'd promised her sister his protection from the beginning. He wouldn't shirk that duty now.

"I want you to stay with her," he told Seb. "Until you get back to Tuck's Station, ride as fast as you can. Bring the town marshal and any men you can round up to help us. And settle Emma with the preacher."

"What about the cattle?"

Yes, what about them? They'd come this far, pushing the men past their endurance, endangering his wife, all so he could make the buyer's deadline.

"There's a box canyon about a quarter mile west of here. I remember passing it on a drive with Pa several years ago. Have John and Chester drive them into it, then come after us."

He went to his horse and mounted up. "We're going after her."

He looked to Ricky. "I need you. Everything else between us can wait. Are you with me?"

By the time Matty and Ricky rounded up the other cowboys, Edgar realized they had a major problem.

The cattle had scattered in all directions before they'd gotten them under control, and the hoofprints of that many stampeding cattle had obliterated any tracks from Underhill's men.

Smart.

It forced them to waste time ranging out to find the real tracks.

Edgar worried for Fran. What would Underhill do when he realized he'd captured her instead of Emma?

They were running out of time. He knew it.

A single shot brought his head up. Ricky. On a bluff within sighting distance. Must be about a quarter of a mile away.

He must've found the tracks they were all looking for.

Edgar kicked his horse into a gallop, noting that the other cowboys were making for Ricky's location too.

Before he'd gone half the distance to his brother, a lone rider coming from the wrong direction caught his gaze.

Edgar's hand went to his rifle by instinct, and he went to meet the man.

He got close enough to see that the man rode like a city boy. The horse wasn't any kind of decent. Seller probably took him for a ride. He was pale, not like he'd been surprised, but like he was sick.

And his dark hair and features were familiar.

"Halloo!" Edgar hailed the man.

The man reined in the horse—badly—and his hand went to his waist. Armed.

"I'm looking for a pair of young women," the dark-haired man called out. "My sisters."

His familiar features suddenly made a lot more sense. "You Daniel?"

The man's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. "You seem to know who I am," the man said. "Might I have the pleasure…?"

Edgar took off his hat. Took stock of himself. Hair, tangled and matted from his hat and the wild ride that morning. Beard, too long. Clothes, trail-dusted and well-worn.

He didn't look like much.

"I'm Edgar White. Riding with my brothers and some other cowboys. I'm Fran's husband."

The brother looked surprised. "I understood she and Emma only came west several days ago. How did you come to marry her? Have you taken advantage of my sister?"

Edgar supposed he deserved that suspicion, but he had a little of his own. "I understood you abandoned the both of them. What do you care that she's in trouble now?"

Daniel's face took on the look of a thundercloud. "Is that what she told you?"

Edgar shrugged. "In as many words." Although Fran had been more worried about what had happened to her brother than anything else.

Daniel suddenly coughed. And couldn't stop. He hacked and hacked, nearly unseating himself from the horse. If the horse hadn't been so old and uninterested, it might've taken offense, but as it was, it stood still, grazing on some of the grasses in front of its feet.

Finally, the cough stopped. Daniel took a white kerchief from one pocket and dabbed at his mouth.

The violent cough had brought some color to his cheeks, but he still looked peaked.

"I've been ill."

Edgar could believe it, judging by the other man's pallor. "All right now?"

Daniel nodded, still looking as if he could vomit or fall from the horse. "Where are my sisters?"

"Emma is with one of my brothers. Riding back toward Tuck's Station."

The other man didn't look particularly happy that she wasn't right there. "And Fran?"

"It's complicated."

The suspicion returned to Daniel's face. "What do you mean?"

Edgar's horse shifted beneath him, reminding him of the urgency of the situation. "Ride along, and I'll explain," he told Daniel.

By the time they reached the other cowboys, Daniel had been filled in and seemed angry at both Underhill and Edgar.

Edgar didn't blame the man.

"What's going on?" Edgar asked as they joined the other cowboys.

John, the best tracker among them, stood over a spot on the ground. "Looks like several of them convened here and stood for a while. Maybe right after those shots scared the herd into a stampede."

"Can you tell which direction they went?" Edgar asked. His horse was fairly dancing beneath him, reading Edgar's anticipation of the chase.

"Yes, that way," John pointed.

"What's the plan?" Ricky asked.

The other cowboys looked to Edgar for direction, and even Daniel seemed ready to defer to him. Seemed like the city boy didn't really know how things were out here in the West.

"I don't have a plan," Edgar admitted. "I just have to get her back."

Underhill had not been happy to see her.

Fran sat silently among the tall grasses, hands bound before her, head down. She pretended the prairie could hide her, would keep her safe until Edgar came. She knew he would, if he was alive.

She listened to everything.

Underhill's men had left the overlook shortly after their exclamation that Edgar had gone down amongst the stampede.

Surely he'd survived. Surely God wouldn't have let him die like that.

Not without giving her time to tell him she loved him.

She needed to keep her head, and figure a way to escape Underhill and his men.

Her only comfort was that they hadn't found Emma.

"She can't have gone far," Underhill argued now. "She was with them up until nightfall, right?"

The federal marshal nodded, shifted the cigar he was chewing to the opposite side of his lips.

He was in on it. That had been a surprise to Fran as the sun had come up. Underhill must've paid him off. Or maybe he wasn't even a real lawman, she didn't know.

But knowing that he'd been collaborating with Underhill and apparently had assaulted Seb just made Fran angry.

And made her escape more urgent.

"Somebody got away on a horse, just before we grabbed her ," one of the other men reminded them all.

Underhill glared at her, but Fran simply turned her head on her bent knees and stared out at the horizon.

"You think the cowboys are still hiding her?" asked another of the men. "We've got more guns than them. Let's go back and get her."

Underhill shook his head. "We can get away with taking one girl back to Tennessee for trial. If we murder several men…someone will notice."

"What if they come after her?" another of the men asked, motioning to Fran.

If Edgar was alive, and did come after her, he wouldn't bring Emma, would he? He'd promised to protect Emma, and that would be bringing her right into the hornets' nest of danger.

Would he even care enough to come after her?

She didn't know.

And that's why she was doing her best to get herself out of this situation.

She'd worked at the knots behind her hands. Her skin felt chapped and raw beneath the rough ropes, but she had managed to loosen the bonds somewhat.

One problem was that she had to make sure Underhill or his men didn't notice.

She'd also been unobtrusively attempting to gauge their surroundings. They'd convened near a wooded area. She thought if she could somehow get away from the men, she might have a chance in that direction. The trees were close together and it wouldn't be easy for horses to move through them, meaning the men would be forced to chase her on foot.

But she wasn't sure she was faster than them, especially hampered as she was by a skirt.

Other than the wooded area, there was open prairie all around, which meant the men would be able to run her down on horseback.

Unless she was able to get on one of the horses.

If she somehow broke away, could she get onto the horse? There was one smaller pony, but it was on the other side of the men, far away.

Perhaps she could make some kind of diversion.

Why, oh why, had she left the pistol back in the wagon?

"We've got to do something soon," the man dressed as a federal marshal said. "Daylight's burning."

That meant her window for making an escape could be closing. She needed to make her move.

But what move?

There was a loud crack. A gunshot.

The men turned as one to face the noise—turning away from Fran.

She hadn't been able to get her hands untied, but she pushed to her feet anyway and ran on wobbly legs toward the pony.

One of the men shouted.

She didn't stop.

She reached for the saddle knob and got her hands on it.

The horse whickered and stepped away, maybe afraid of her skirt fluttering in the wind.

"Easy, boy," she said, even as the shouts behind her probably spooked the animal more.

She managed to get her foot into the stirrup and pulled against the knob.

Her leg swung over the saddle, and she squeezed the way Edgar had shown her. The animal jumped forward, but a larger horse and rider got right in front of Fran.

Her horse pulled up, rearing.

She shrieked and bobbled, tried to stay balanced, grasped the saddle as best she could with her hands bound, but she couldn't stay seated.

She hit the ground hard on her shoulder.

Rough hands grabbed her as the pony's hooves hit the ground only inches from her face.

She scrambled, arm screaming with pain, trying to get up, get away.

It was no use. The men were upon her, fighting against her.

A loud whip cracked.

Everyone stilled. Including her.

Terrified, breathing hard and in pain, she looked up.

Underhill stood close, a long leather whip in hand. His eyes were a little wild.

"You're the reason for all this," he hissed. "You've brought me on this chase and kept Emma from me?—"

"C'mon, Mr. Underhill, sir," one of the men said, attempting to calm him.

The whip snapped again and the man recoiled, putting a hand to his cheek. His hand came away bloody.

There were murmurs from the other men.

It was clear Underhill had lost his mind, if he was attacking his own men.

He was dangerous and insane.

If the men were afraid, maybe she could convince them to help her escape.

"He's crazy," she said. Her voice wobbled, showing her fear, but she pressed on. "He's violent?—"

"Quiet!" Underhill screamed, this time at her. The whip cracked again, a warning.

"Will you let him hit me?—"

The whip cracked again and she rolled away, instinct bringing her arms to cover her head.

She cried out as the strike connected across her back.