back to the road, she
was certain of it.
But when she reached the wagon, she had another unpleasant
surprise. The canteen, a last-minute purchase, was gone. It had been thrown
from the wagon. Worse than that, her carpetbag was missing as well.
She spotted something white blowing in the scant breeze
behind her and knew with heartsick dread that it was one of her petticoats. The
carpetbag had broken open and her worldly belongings were strewn over half of
Texas.
"My money!"
She'd transferred most of the money from her running bag to
her carpetbag this morning. She could hardly attach it to trousers.
She ran across the uneven ground in the direction of the
petticoat. The carpetbag lay on the ground nearby—empty. She picked it up and
began running willy-nilly around the area she had just traversed in the runaway
wagon, scooping up dresses and stockings and undergarments as she went. She
threw them in the back of the wagon and set about searching in earnest for her
money, digging in the dirt for scattered coins.
Sweat streamed down her face and into her eyes, blinding her.
She wiped it away impatiently with the sleeve of her shirt, ignoring the
burning thirst that built within her and the punishing heat of the sun on the
back of her head, but she recovered precious little of the money she'd had that
morning.
Finally, she dropped to the ground in exhaustion, panting for
breath, battling against the anger and fear that clogged her throat. Her dress,
wet with perspiration, hung on her in cloying folds. Lifting the mass of unruly
hair that had come loose, she allowed the scant breeze to touch the moist skin
beneath. The sun was so hot she could feel her scalp burning.
She swallowed past the knot of fear lodged in her throat. She
would die if she stayed here. Her situation was hopeless, utterly hopeless.
No water, no shelter. The road was her only chance.
She had to make it to the road. She squinted and shook her
head, but the dizziness persisted.
"Well, I'll just have to walk fast, that's all,"
she said aloud, gasping for breath. She ran her dry tongue over parched lips,
grimacing at the acrid taste of road dust.
"I'd rather die walking than sitting here waiting."
And with that, she struggled to her feet and headed south toward the road.
* * * * *
Rafe steered his horse off the road, following the path the
wagon had taken. He could tell by the tracks that the horses had bolted and
headed across country. A knot of dread formed in his gut and he tried not to
speculate what might have happened to the driver as he came across pieces of
debris: clothing, splintered wood. He remembered her courage in San Antonio,
the way she’d stood up to those rough teamsters on the street, and the thought
of finding her body twisted and broken because of a wagon spill was something
he refused to contemplate.
He dismounted at sight of a canteen. Picking it up, he shook
it and the water inside sloshed around. Wherever she was, she was out of water.
If she was alive, it wouldn't be for long.
Damn. It was beginning to look as if she might have survived
the wreck, but if she'd been out here without water for long, she was probably
sick or dead.
Something in the distance caught his eye as he started to
mount his horse: an abandoned wagon. He reeled from the images that sight
stirred in his mind: blank eyes staring at him, a sky full of buzzards....
He shook his head to clear it, his chest rising and falling
with the force of his ragged breathing.
This was Texas, not Mexico. The woman he sought now was a
stranger, a stranger who was stupid enough to strike out on her own.
He wiped the sweat from his face with his kerchief and swung
up in the saddle, sending his horse galloping toward the wreckage.
How she had managed to keep the wagon from rolling over and
crushing her, he couldn't imagine. Where could she have gone?
Dismounting again, he walked slowly around the wagon, looking
for signs that would tell him what he hoped for: that she
was certain of it.
But when she reached the wagon, she had another unpleasant
surprise. The canteen, a last-minute purchase, was gone. It had been thrown
from the wagon. Worse than that, her carpetbag was missing as well.
She spotted something white blowing in the scant breeze
behind her and knew with heartsick dread that it was one of her petticoats. The
carpetbag had broken open and her worldly belongings were strewn over half of
Texas.
"My money!"
She'd transferred most of the money from her running bag to
her carpetbag this morning. She could hardly attach it to trousers.
She ran across the uneven ground in the direction of the
petticoat. The carpetbag lay on the ground nearby—empty. She picked it up and
began running willy-nilly around the area she had just traversed in the runaway
wagon, scooping up dresses and stockings and undergarments as she went. She
threw them in the back of the wagon and set about searching in earnest for her
money, digging in the dirt for scattered coins.
Sweat streamed down her face and into her eyes, blinding her.
She wiped it away impatiently with the sleeve of her shirt, ignoring the
burning thirst that built within her and the punishing heat of the sun on the
back of her head, but she recovered precious little of the money she'd had that
morning.
Finally, she dropped to the ground in exhaustion, panting for
breath, battling against the anger and fear that clogged her throat. Her dress,
wet with perspiration, hung on her in cloying folds. Lifting the mass of unruly
hair that had come loose, she allowed the scant breeze to touch the moist skin
beneath. The sun was so hot she could feel her scalp burning.
She swallowed past the knot of fear lodged in her throat. She
would die if she stayed here. Her situation was hopeless, utterly hopeless.
No water, no shelter. The road was her only chance.
She had to make it to the road. She squinted and shook her
head, but the dizziness persisted.
"Well, I'll just have to walk fast, that's all,"
she said aloud, gasping for breath. She ran her dry tongue over parched lips,
grimacing at the acrid taste of road dust.
"I'd rather die walking than sitting here waiting."
And with that, she struggled to her feet and headed south toward the road.
* * * * *
Rafe steered his horse off the road, following the path the
wagon had taken. He could tell by the tracks that the horses had bolted and
headed across country. A knot of dread formed in his gut and he tried not to
speculate what might have happened to the driver as he came across pieces of
debris: clothing, splintered wood. He remembered her courage in San Antonio,
the way she’d stood up to those rough teamsters on the street, and the thought
of finding her body twisted and broken because of a wagon spill was something
he refused to contemplate.
He dismounted at sight of a canteen. Picking it up, he shook
it and the water inside sloshed around. Wherever she was, she was out of water.
If she was alive, it wouldn't be for long.
Damn. It was beginning to look as if she might have survived
the wreck, but if she'd been out here without water for long, she was probably
sick or dead.
Something in the distance caught his eye as he started to
mount his horse: an abandoned wagon. He reeled from the images that sight
stirred in his mind: blank eyes staring at him, a sky full of buzzards....
He shook his head to clear it, his chest rising and falling
with the force of his ragged breathing.
This was Texas, not Mexico. The woman he sought now was a
stranger, a stranger who was stupid enough to strike out on her own.
He wiped the sweat from his face with his kerchief and swung
up in the saddle, sending his horse galloping toward the wreckage.
How she had managed to keep the wagon from rolling over and
crushing her, he couldn't imagine. Where could she have gone?
Dismounting again, he walked slowly around the wagon, looking
for signs that would tell him what he hoped for: that she
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