Prairie Courtship. Dorothy Clark
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“Our little Jenny has come up missing. The missus asked all around for her and no one has seen her. We—we figure she fell out of the wagon during our run here. But I’ll find someone to move the wagon while I go look—”
The wife jerked the apron from her face. “I ain’t leaving this place ’till she comes back, Joseph Lewis! If this wagon moves, it goes without me. She’ll come here, and I’ve got to know one way or…or the other.”
“Hush, Lorna! I told you if Miss Allen—”
“Miss Allen?” Zach’s scowl deepened. “What does Miss Allen have to do with your daughter?”
“She went to look for her.”
Anger shot him bolt upright in the saddle. Fool woman! He’d told her not to go riding off by herself. Now he’d have two lost people to search for! At least she couldn’t have much of a head start on him. His face tightened. “How long ago did Miss Allen leave?”
“Why, right away. When I was askin’ round about Jenny. She said she would find her, and she got on her horse and rode off.”
“During the storm?”
The woman nodded. Her lips quivered. “She took the blanket with her. To warm Jenny when she found her.”
The fury of the storm was nothing compared to the anger that flashed through him. Zach stood in the stirrups, looked behind him. “Blake! Get these wagons moving! Every one of them!” He looked down at the man beside him. “Lewis, you move your wagon out with the others. I know this land, and if it’s humanly possible, I’ll bring your daughter back to you.”
He glanced up at the misty light filtering through the rain. It would soon be night—and Miss Allen was out there searching unknown land with no trail experience to fall back on. Fool women. May he be spared from them all! He urged Comanche into a lope and started back along the wagon trail.
Chapter Four
Zach swiped off the water sluicing from his hat brim and squinted through the rain at the dark shape ahead. It was a horse, all right. One with an empty saddle. Where was the Allen woman? He scanned the area as far as he could see through the downpour. There was no sign of her. Had the horse been frightened by lightning and thrown her? Had he ridden past her unconscious, injured body in the storm?
He muttered a couple choice words he’d picked up in the cavalry and urged Comanche into a walk. If he spooked her horse, he might have to chase it for miles and he needed it to carry Miss Allen and the child back when he found them—no matter what their condition. His stomach knotted. He was used to handling injured or wounded or even dead soldiers—but a woman and child…
Zach shoved the disquieting thought away and focused on the job at hand. The first thing was to catch the horse. He reined Comanche to circle wide to the right, so the horse would not perceive them as a threat and bolt. He watched the horse, saw it lower its head and kneed Comanche left to move in a little closer. If he— There she was!
Zach halted Comanche, stared at the figure kneeling on the ground in front of the horse, head down, shoulders hunched forward, her back to the driving rain. It was, indeed, Miss Allen. And she was likely injured, else she’d be riding. He told the wind what he thought of foolish women, slid from the saddle and dropped the reins.
Water squirted from beneath his boots as he strode to Miss Allen’s huddled body. Why was she holding that blanket instead of— She’d found the child!
“Miss Allen?” Zach touched her shoulder, felt the icy-cold flesh beneath the soaked gown, the shivers coursing through her. She lifted her head, stared up at him. Blinked. Her trembling lips moved.
“I f-found her.”
He nodded, swept his gaze over her. “Where are you injured, Miss Allen?”
“Not inj-jured.”
“Not—” Irritation broke though his control. “If you can ride, why are you sitting here?”
An expression close to disgust swept across her face. “Sh-she’s injured. I c-can’t mount.”
Zach stared. Scowled. What was she planning to do? Sit here all night in the storm, shielding the child with her body? She could have— He squelched the thought. What did he expect of a greenhorn woman? “You can now.” He leaned over and held out his arms. “Let me have the child.”
She shook her head.
“Miss Allen! You and the child both need to get back to warmth and shelter. And I—”
“Have to…b-be careful. Her arm is broken…h-head injured. I will c-carry her. And we m-must walk horses.”
“Walk them! But you need to get out of—” He stopped, stared at her lifted chin, the sudden set look of her face. “All right, Miss Allen, you will carry the child, and we will walk the horses. Now, give her to me, and let’s get you mounted.” He took the blanket-swaddled child, cradled her in one arm and held out his free hand.
Holding the child was a handicap. And Miss Allen was so stiff and sluggish with cold, so weighted down by her long, sodden skirts, it took him three tries, but at last he had her in the saddle. He handed her the reins, placed the child in her shivering arms and whistled for Comanche. The big roan came dutifully to his side.
“I’ll have you warmer in a minute.” Zach unlashed the bedroll from behind his saddle and yanked the ties. He shook out his blanket, tossed it over Miss Allen’s shoulders and covered it with his India-rubber groundsheet. He grabbed the flapping ends, crossed them over each other in front to cover the child and secured them to the saddle horn with one of the ties. It was the best he could do to warm and protect them.
“Th-thank you.”
Zach looked up. Rain washed down Miss Allen’s face, dropped off her chin onto the rubber sheet and sluiced away. She was shivering so hard he had doubts of her ability to stay in the saddle. He took off his hat and clapped it on her wet hair. It slid down to her eyebrows. “Keep your head down, we’ll be facing into the storm on the way back. And hold on to that horn, I’ll lead your horse.” He took the reins from her and leaped into the saddle, started Comanche toward the wagons at a slow walk.
Rain drenched his hair, funneled down his neck to soak his coat collar and dampen his shirt. Zach frowned and hunched his shoulders as a drop found an opening and slithered down his back. It was going to be a long ride.
A pinpoint of light glowed in the darkness ahead. Only one reason for that. Someone had got a fire started. Zach stared at the welcome sight, a frisson of expectation spreading through him. That should cheer the Allen woman. It made him feel better. There was nothing like a fire when you were cold and wet and feeling miserable. Especially if there was a pot of coffee simmering on the coals.
Zach scanned the area as best he could through the rain, trying to spot the night guards. It wouldn’t do to startle them. The greenhorns were liable to shoot before they were sure of their target. He looked back at the fire, close enough now that he could see the light flickering and make out the crude, canvas canopy someone had rigged. He hadn’t expected any of the emigrants to figure a way to start a fire in a rainstorm, let alone know how to protect it. Likely it was the Lewises, guiding their way back.
The fire disappeared, blocked from his view by the wagons as they approached. He spotted it again through a gap between the bulky vehicles. Looked like Lewis had switched places with the Lundquists. Joseph Lewis and his wife were tending the fire. He could make out the two of them silhouetted against the rosy glow as he rode to the Allen wagon. They appeared to be the only ones about. Not surprising, given the late hour, the weather conditions and the hard day. But where were the guards? They should have challenged him on their way in.
He frowned, halted Comanche at the back of the Allen wagon, slid from the saddle and tethered the woman’s horse. “We’re here, Miss Allen.”
“Yes.”
She sounded