Forgotten Son. Linda Warren
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exhaustion, but he never wavered or stopped. He wasn’t sure if Buford and his men would follow, so he wanted to get them far, far away.
Finally, Eli tripped, and they tumbled in a heap on the spring grasses. Neither moved—they were too exhausted. Caroline lay on top of him for a moment, then moved to his side to lie on her back.
He sucked air into his starving lungs. “You okay?” he gasped.
“Yes,” she breathed, panting, then pointed to the sky.
“Look, Eli, look.”
He glanced up and saw the sun peeking above the treetops, heralding a new day. He took joy in that. He’d found her and they were out. Buford would not control or ruin her life. Eli took joy in that, too.
“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” she said, her eyes shining as the morning sun chased away the night, the darkness.
He looked at her and saw her clearly for the first time. Her blond hair was dirty, as was her skin and clothes, but her green eyes were bright with wonder.
“Isn’t it, Eli?”
He lost the gist of the conversation, but quickly recovered. “Yes,” he answered, his eyes never leaving her face.
She brushed back her hair and he caught sight of her hands.
He sat up and reached for them. “Oh, my God.” Both palms were scratched and bleeding, the blood caking with the dirt on her skin.
“They’re okay,” she said, pulling her hands away and sitting up.
His eyes traveled to her bare feet, then he lifted a foot to stare at the bottom. He closed his eyes briefly. The sole was one bloody mess, and he knew she had to be in a lot of pain. Dammit. He should have carried her when he realized she didn’t have any shoes on. But after the encounter with the dogs, he’d just wanted to get her to safety. He unlaced his sneakers.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You need something on your feet.”
“Your shoes are too big for me.”
“I know,” he said. Pulling off his socks, he gently slipped them on her feet. “That’s not much, but it should help.”
“Thank you.” She touched his arm. “You’re hurt, too.”
His right sleeve was torn and bloody. “It’s just a scratch.” He put his sneakers back on and got to his feet.
“We’d better make it to the road.”
He bent to pick her up, but she pushed his arms away. “No, you’re not carrying me.”
“You can’t walk on those feet.”
She stood. “Watch me.”
He grunted. “God, you don’t take orders very well.”
“No. Now let’s go.” Her eyes held his. This woman was a fighter, a survivor. Buford and his clan would never have been able to brainwash her. She would have died in that dark hole of a grave. Eli wondered about the “others” that Ruth and Amos had mentioned. How many women had died in that makeshift tomb?
Eli shook his head and started walking. Caroline followed. Even though he was perturbed at her stubbornness, he admired her courage. That courage would help her in the days ahead.
After another long walk, the road at last came into view. They sat in the bushes, out of sight in case Buford was looking for them.
“We’ll wait until a vehicle comes along so we can get help.”
“Okay.” Caroline was glad to rest, and she stared down the blacktop road toward a bend in the distance. She hoped someone would come soon, but as long as Eli was with her she could wait. Her hands and feet burned and her clothes were torn and filthy, but freedom was an exhilarating feeling.
Eli had saved her life. Her sanity.
She was out of the darkness, and her thoughts weren’t so disoriented or confused now. Fresh oxygen had cleared away the cobwebs, the near insanity, and she knew this was real. The man beside her was real.
She glanced at him and took in this extraordinary person. He was tall, his features prominent and sharp, as if they’d been carved from stone. He had an aura of strength that would deter anyone from daring to change anything about him. She didn’t know him, but she instinctively knew that Elijah Coltrane did not take well to change.
“How are your hands?” he asked, watching the road.
“They’re burning a little, but they’ll be fine.”
He turned his head caught his left sleeve with his teeth and jerked. The fabric tore at the seam. With his right hand Eli unbuttoned the cuff and gathered the cloth, which he continued to rip into strips with his teeth. She watched in awe.
Without a word, he took her hand and wrapped some strips around it. He did that to the other one, and she knew better than to tell him it wasn’t necessary.
When finished, he asked, “How’s that?”
“Better,” she had to admit. “The burning isn’t so bad.”
“You couldn’t have done all this on the fence.”
She swallowed. “When I was scared, I’d beat on the wall of that room with the palm of my hand, then my fist, hoping someone would hear me. I just wanted out of there.”
“You’re out now and you’ll soon get medical attention.” She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew he was upset.
“My hands feel much better now,” she said again, to reassure him.
“Good.” He turned his attention to the road.
Caroline watched his unyielding face. He hadn’t removed his shirt, because he didn’t want her to see his right arm. She had a feeling it was bad. Maybe he didn’t want to see it either—not yet.
They sat in silence. A squirrel ran across the road and a crow landed in a tree with a frantic squawk. Everything was peaceful—another spring day in the Texas Hill Country.
But it was so much more to Caroline.
“Did you volunteer for this job?” she asked.
“The FBI asked for my help, since I know the area.”
“Why didn’t an agent volunteer?”
“The agents went in with a warrant and searched the place, but found nothing.”
Goose bumps popped up on her skin as she remembered the prophet’s chilling words and the devastating effect it had had on her.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“A woman in the group gave me a clue. They call her Jezebel, but she’s not one of them. Buford said they found her wandering the streets and they gave her a home. They treat her like a slave.”
“You have to get her out of there, too.”
“I plan to, but right now you’re my top priority.”
The words had a soft, sincere ring to them. She just wanted to keep hearing his voice.
“So the Texas Rangers help the FBI?”
“When they ask. The FBI was getting a lot of flak from Washington and they needed something done quickly. The sheriff knew I had investigated Buford before, so the FBI called me.”
“And you agreed to go undercover?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“Usually it’s my job to investigate, but I have personal reasons for wanting to get Amos Buford.”
“Does he know you?”