Salvation in the Rancher's Arms(63)

“Stay here,” she said, stepping around Ethan.

She walked toward Jasper, calling him quietly so as not to startle him. He glanced up briefly then resumed munching the grass.

Rachel took hold of his reins. There was no sign of Caleb in the barn or along the pathway that led into the woods. Her gaze ran over the horse. His saddlebags were still attached; everything was as it should be, except for the missing rider.

The growing fear seeped into her bones. She had taken off, annoyed and angry, assuming he would be right behind her. But he should have been here by now, even going at a sedate pace.

Where was he?

“Stay in the house,” she called back to Ethan. She had no idea what had happened but she wasn’t taking any chances. She mounted the horse and turned him around, heading for the line of trees.

Half an hour later she dismounted and ran across the uneven path toward the figure sprawled unmoving on the ground.

“Caleb!”

His back was to her. She rounded him and dropped down. Shock made her rock back on her heels.

“Oh, Lord.”

His face was a bloody mess, covered in cuts and bruises, and she guessed beneath his clothes would be even worse. One ungloved hand bore raw knuckles. His hat lay off to the side.

Rachel leaned forward and gently rested a hand against the side of his head. When she pulled her hand away it, too, was covered in blood. His hair, matted against his skull, had turned dark with the stain. Stark terror froze her bones. She couldn’t move. All she could do was sit there and stare at the blood on her hand. This was her fault. She should never have left him behind.

“Caleb, please...say something.”

Tears sprang to her eyes but she blinked them back, taking a deep breath. She needed to stay calm, to keep her wits about her. There would be time to give in to her emotions later, after she got him home.

“Caleb...”

One eye fluttered. The swelling prevented it from opening all the way. “Hey.”

Relief swept through her, turning her bones to liquid. She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a sob. She couldn’t lose control. Not yet. Later perhaps, but right now she had to get Caleb home.

“What happened? Where are you hurt?”

“Kirkpatrick.” He winced, his voice thick with pain. “And everywhere.”

“Can you stand?”

“Guess I’m gonna have to.”

He didn’t move.

“Caleb?”

“Think I’m gonna need some help.”

Rachel slipped an arm beneath his, angling her body to help him up. It took several tries before she finally had him about as upright as he was going to get. He called Jasper in a raspy, pain-filled voice and the horse walked over.

She kept her hands on his back as he slid his foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up onto the horse. A grunt of pain punctuated the effort. Jasper stood blessedly still. With careful movements, Rachel swung up behind him.

She reached around Caleb and took the reins.

“I can do it,” he said, but didn’t fight her when she ignored him. She took a quick look to her left and right, fearful that whoever Kirkpatrick had sent may still lurk in the cover of the thick trees, but saw nothing but the forest. With a nudge of her heels, Jasper started. She hoped the horse knew enough to take them home, given that she couldn’t see around Caleb’s broad back, and he couldn’t see through swollen and bloodied eyes.

The trip seemed to take forever. Rachel tried to concentrate on each step the horse took, telling herself it was one step closer to home. One step closer to having Caleb tended to. If she let her mind stray much beyond that track, fear and guilt would take over and she would break down.

She kept talking to Caleb to keep him conscious, afraid that if she didn’t he would fall off the horse and do more damage to his already beaten body. Finally, she half dragged, half carried his large form through the door. It was no easy feat, but fear fueled her actions, though she did her best to hide it from Ethan. Which seemed ridiculous considering the shape Caleb was in, battered and staggering like a drunkard.

“Ethan, run out and get Freedom. She’s in the smokehouse. Tell her to bring whiskey. Hurry!” The boy swallowed once, turned and ran. Rachel hated seeing the terror in his eyes. She knew how much he feared losing anyone. But she had no intention of putting Caleb on that list. He would not die. He couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for him to leave her, and definitely not in this way.

Rachel managed to get Caleb into her bedroom, rid him of his sheepskin jacket and heave him unceremoniously onto the bed. The soft mattress cushioned his fall, but not enough to keep pain from marring his battered features.

“I will kill Shamus for this,” she muttered, and in that instant she believed it. If he had shown up at her door she would have grabbed the rifle hanging above the coat pegs and made him answer for this atrocity. This was the last straw!