Head in the Clouds (28 page)

Chapter 38

Reginald urged his buckskin into a canter, eager to put some distance between himself and Westcott’s base of operations. He’d been pleased to see that the mouse of a governess wasn’t much of a horsewoman. He’d nearly chuckled aloud at his good fortune when he spied her and the brat inching their way through the trees at a laggard pace. He’d probably be halfway to the line shack before she even arrived back at the house to deliver his message. The shortlegged mare she rode wasn’t much bigger than his niece’s pony, either, so even if she broke out of her trot, she wouldn’t exactly be eating up the ground.

It was a shame he didn’t have any of his hunters. With one of those sleek Thoroughbreds beneath him, he could fly over this brown wasteland.

Was nothing green in this cursed country? Even his horse was brown. His peasant horse. A cow pony, the man had called it. Reginald snorted. Noblemen didn’t ride ponies. They rode horses— grand horses with lineages that could be traced for generations, not stocky animals without record of the stallion that sired them. Disgraceful. At least this creature had decent endurance and didn’t seem to labor under the additional weight of the child in his lap.

He steered his mount northwest, keeping to low ground. As he turned, a speck of black flashed at the edge of his vision. He craned his neck to get a better look and swore.

That jezebel!

Not only had she completely disregarded his instructions, but she had the audacity to ride as if she’d been born in the saddle, not at all like the straightlaced governess she pretended to be. And worse, she was gaining on him.

He dug his heels into his mount. The beast lunged forward and Isabella squealed. Reginald ignored his niece’s fear and pushed his horse to a gallop. Every few strides, he stole a glance over his shoulder. The blasted woman dogged his heels, closing the distance bit by bit. His horse carried twice the weight of hers, giving her a gross advantage.

His buckskin stumbled, and Reginald turned his attention back to the front. The horse regained his stride but seemed to be tiring. Lather was forming on its neck. Reginald ground his teeth. That slip of a girl was outriding him.

Time to go on the offensive.

Reginald brought the buckskin’s head around until his path ran perpendicular to his pursuer. Loosening his hold on his niece, he shifted the reins into his left hand and pulled his revolver free. He slowed to a canter as he stretched his gun arm across his body and over Isabella’s head.

He squeezed the trigger. The shot sailed high. Reginald scowled. The tenacious chit didn’t even veer off course. Instead, she ducked low over her mare’s back, making herself an even smaller target, and continued following him. Relentless. Like a hound after a fox.

A growl rumbled in his throat. Why had the devil plagued him with such contrary females? First Lucinda escaped with his inheritance before succumbing to the poison he’d so patiently worked into her body, and now this cheeky governess thought to thwart him. But she didn’t know who she was dealing with. Reginald Petchey surrendered to no one, especially not to a little American jezebel who didn’t comprehend her own insignificance.

He took aim again, sighting in on her bobbing head barely visible through the mare’s flowing mane. His hunting instincts rose to the fore, blocking out all else. Rhythm coursed through him, the gait of his horse overlapping hers. He had the timing. His finger tightened on the trigger. But Isabella knocked her head into his arm. She set about wiggling and screaming to such an extent he couldn’t hold his aim steady.

“Be still or I’ll let you fall,” Reginald snapped. The girl whimpered and covered her eyes with her hands, but she stopped flailing around. He didn’t trust her, though. He lowered his sight to a bigger target.

The gun fired with a loud crack. The recoil pressed his arm upward, but he felt the trueness of the shot in his bones.

The black mare crumpled, nose first, into a heap, her momentum skidding her forward several yards.

Satisfaction surged through him. He reined in and searched for a sign of the annoying governess. Nothing. Maybe she lay pinned beneath her horse. He could hope.

Reginald didn’t take the time to investigate. Whether she was dead, injured, or simply unhorsed, it mattered not. She wouldn’t be following him.

Gideon sat at the desk in his study composing a letter to his parents. If they hadn’t yet received the letter James had posted regarding his dying request to have them care for his wife and child, they soon would, and he wanted to assure them that his health was much improved.

However, if this second letter caught up to them before they left for America, he had a favor to beg of his mother. He wished to ask her permission to present his bride with the topaz ring that had belonged to his grandmother. Anticipation filled him as he visualized slipping the delicate jewel onto Addie’s finger. His mother’s collection contained several costly diamond and emerald pieces which she had offered to him in the past, but the more modest gem would suit Adelaide better, a reflection of her warmth and the way she found joy in the simple things of life. Besides, it was yellow. Gideon grinned. A fitting token of love for his sunshine girl.

He lifted the top corner of his correspondence and read over what he had written. Then he picked up his fountain pen to sign his name. He had shaped no more than the G when a door slammed and heavy footfalls echoed in the hall.

“Señor … Señor Westcott!”

Miguel’s urgent call cut through him. Gideon dropped the pen in a skid of black ink and pushed to his feet.

“In here!”

He grimaced at the dull pain that continued to plague him as he hobbled to the doorway of the study. Miguel met him there. James rushed down the stairs, not far behind.

“What is it?” James called out.

Gideon’s eyes pierced his foreman, silently reiterating the question.

“The little miss’s pony … He come back without the niña.”

Gideon’s gut twisted, but he tamped down his alarm. “Any sign of Adelaide or Sheba?” Addie would have brought Bella home straightaway if she’d been thrown. She’d want to tend to the child’s scrapes and bruises.

“No, patrón. I ride out to see if anyone is hurt, but I no find them. I find something else.” Miguel hesitated as if not wanting to impart the rest.

Gideon’s neck tensed. “What?”

“Three sets of tracks.”

Foreboding stabbed him. “Saddle my horse, Miguel. James, help me up the stairs to get my gun belt and boots.” Already in motion, Gideon lumbered toward the banister with as much speed as he could manage while keeping his feet beneath him. James wedged his shoulder under Gideon’s arm and helped him navigate the steps.

“You can’t think of going after them, Gid. You’re in no condition to ride. Let me and Miguel track them down.”

They reached the top of the stairs and Gideon pierced his friend with a heated stare. “That’s my wife and my daughter out there, James. I won’t be deterred.”

James shook his head and then steered them toward the bedroom. “I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

“It’s Petchey, James. It has to be.” Self-recrimination tore at him, torturing him with gruesome images of what could happen to his girls.

How could he have been so stupid? Gideon stomped his foot into his left boot, welcoming the pain. Petchey had hidden away for weeks. Then he suddenly decided to show up at the ranch to make a final plea? It had all been a ploy. They might have watched him leave and even followed him to the railhead, but the fiend had doubled back.

Gideon shoved his foot into the second boot and strapped on his gun belt. He would find Addie. Bella, too. They would be fine. No other option was acceptable.

Chapter 39

From her prone position beside her fallen horse, Adelaide kept her eye on Petchey’s departing figure, making careful note of his direction and the landmarks he passed. It was probably safe to get up, but she continued to hold Sheba’s head down anyway, playing dead a little longer. She had no doubt that her mare was injured, but hopefully it wasn’t too serious.

Petchey finally faded from view, and Adelaide took her first full breath. As the immediate danger passed, the aches and pains from her fall became harder to ignore. Her left leg cramped, pinned as it was under Sheba’s weight. Her arm was scraped up pretty good, too, and her back muscles protested the awkward angle she’d twisted them into in order to watch Petchey.

“All right, girl. Let’s get up.” Adelaide released Sheba’s head. But the mare didn’t move.

“Come on, Sheba. Up!” She thrust against the animal’s side. No response.

Adelaide’s heart thudded in her chest. “Sheba?”

She remembered the mare trying to get to her feet when they first went down, didn’t she? Yes. She was sure of it. But she had lain still for the last several minutes. Amazingly still, now that she thought about it. She’d assumed the mare had just responded to her mistress’s touch, but what if more than obedience had kept her down?

“Sheba!”

Please, God, no.

Frantic now, Adelaide pushed with all her might against the horse’s side. “Get up, girl! Get up!”

She had to get free so she could pull the mare to her feet. Sheba needed help. That was all. She couldn’t get up on her own.

Adelaide wriggled and writhed in an attempt to free her leg, but she only extracted it a few inches. Her foot was wedged tight. She rolled to a half-sitting position and started digging the dirt out from beneath her leg. Desperation lent her speed. She had to get up. Sheba needed her. Isabella needed her.

Her nails clawed at the ground. Faster. Deeper. When she could reach no farther, she rolled back onto her side. Adelaide braced her right foot against Sheba’s ribs and pressed her palms into the ground behind her. She pushed with leg and arms, grunting with the effort. Her pinned limb moved a little. She readjusted her position and tried again. The moan erupting from her lungs grew into a scream as she pushed with every ounce of her strength. All at once, her foot pulled free and she sprawled backward into the dirt.

Her head collided with the earth, sending a sharp pain into her skull, but she wasted no time rubbing the offended spot. She lurched to her feet and limped to Sheba’s head. Grabbing hold of the reins, she gave a mighty tug.

“Come on, girl. Please. You have to get up!”

When Sheba failed to respond, Adelaide leaned down to grab hold of the bridle’s cheek piece. Only then did she notice the blood seeping from a hole in the mare’s chest.

“Noooo!” Adelaide fell to the ground. She flung her upper body across Sheba’s back and pressed the side of her face into the mare’s dusty coat, hugging her close. No rise and fall of breath. No movement at all—just an awful stillness that she could no longer deny.

“Oh, Sheba … No …” Her voice broke and sobs of grief poured out of her like a river plunging over a cliff.

She had no idea how long she lay there, huddled over her beloved companion, weeping her heart out. It was like losing her father all over again. The devastating heartache and pain came crashing back. She had survived his death by keeping a piece of him alive in his last gift to her—Sheba. Now that had been torn away from her, too, leaving her nothing real to hold on to, only hazy memories that were becoming harder and harder to grasp.

Petchey had stolen that from her.

Petchey!

Adelaide jerked her head up. Heaven help her. Here she was crying all over her dead horse when that madman had Izzy.

She gave a loud sniff and wiped her cheeks with the back of her wrist. Mourning would have to wait.

“You’ve been a good friend to me, Sheba,” Adelaide said, patting the mare’s neck a final time. “The best. But I can’t afford to give you a proper good-bye. I have to go after Isabella.”

Adelaide’s legs wobbled as she pushed to her feet. She staggered for a second, then caught her balance and squared her shoulders. Gideon and the others would come looking for her soon. In the meantime, she’d head for the rise where she last saw Petchey and locate his trail. Every minute was precious. If she could save Gideon even a small amount of time in finding their daughter, the hot trek on her bruised body would be worth it.

Using the heel of her boot, she scraped a large arrow into the dirt in front of Sheba, indicating the direction she would take. Then with a deep breath, she trudged ahead, trying not to think about the friend she was leaving behind.

Gideon pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve cuff as he waited impatiently for Miguel to signal that he had reestablished the trail. They’d been at it for nearly two hours now, with little to show for it. Gideon shifted his weight on Solomon’s back. The creak of his saddle broke the quiet, but the change in position did nothing to relieve the tension stiffening his muscles. Then again, he hadn’t really expected that it would. Not until his girls were safe.

Gideon blew out his breath and, for the hundredth time, bit back a complaint about their sluggish pace. His jaw ached nearly as much as his abdomen from the constant effort of holding his tongue. It wasn’t Miguel’s fault. The sheepman’s only experience consisted of trailing slow, recalcitrant ewes—not racing steeds. And the man’s companions were of no help whatsoever. An English gentleman and a lawyer knew blessed little about tracking.

At first, Gideon had scoured the ground, too, but he soon realized that calling Miguel over to examine meaningless scratches in the earth only slowed their progress further. So he stayed in the saddle, grinding his teeth while Miguel did the searching.

Finding the initial trail had been easy enough, since the dirt had been soft near the creek bed. Miguel quickly distinguished Sheba’s smaller hoofprints from those of a larger horse and pointed them out to both Gideon and James. Gideon memorized the markings and experienced a few moments of acute relief when they seemed to lead back to the ranch. But then the tracks veered sharply off to the west. He should have known better than to think Adelaide would let Petchey make off with Bella unchallenged. She’d proven to be a fighter when it came to the people she loved, and he had no doubt she would give her life to keep Bella safe. It was one of the things that made her such a good mother. And one of the reasons he fully expected to go gray at an early age.

After their initial progress, however, tracking became more difficult. The horse’s path traversed a large section of rock-hard ground, where differentiating between a partial hoofprint and a crack in the sunbaked earth became guesswork. They repeatedly lost the trail.

“This way, patrón.” Miguel’s focus remained pinned to the ground as he walked, leading his horse behind him.

James fell into line without a word, but Gideon held back for a moment, trying to find a shape in the dry grass that matched the template of Sheba’s hoof branded on his brain. His untrained eyes found nothing. For all he knew, they were following some random game trail. His hand tightened involuntarily around Solomon’s reins. He’d felt more in control when he’d been ambushed in the north pasture. Addie and Bella were somewhere out there in harm’s way, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

God, I need you. You can see them. You know where they are. Show me. I beg you.

While Miguel studiously stared at the ground, Gideon raked his gaze over the land in front of them, desperately searching for a clue. However, the familiar view offered little hope. No human shape. No flash of yellow. Just scrub brush, black rocks, and crooked—

Wait.

Black rocks?
Gideon stood in his stirrups to get a better look at the dark form ahead. There were plenty of limestone outcroppings on his land, but they varied in shade from gray to sandy brown. Not black.

Thank you, Lord.

“I see something!” Gideon urged Solomon into a run, his heart in his throat. The closer he came, the more certain he became. The black mass was his wife’s mare.

He pulled abreast of the fallen horse and swung to the ground. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled in every direction. “Addie!”

But she didn’t appear.

He knew before he touched the animal that Sheba was dead.

Flies buzzed around her, and the stench of spilled blood clogged his throat. Yet in a strange way, he derived comfort from the presence of the mare who had loved his Addie so well.

Gideon circled Sheba, his heart aching for Adelaide’s loss. When he reached the horse’s belly, he noticed a small trench. He bent down and pressed his fingers into the hole as his mind filled in the events that must have taken place.

By the time James and Miguel rode up, Gideon was pulling himself back into the saddle.

“She’s this way,” he said. “Follow me.”

Miguel raised a doubtful brow. “Are you sure, señor?”

Gideon nodded and pointed to the carved ground in front of Sheba’s head.

“She left us a marker.”