“Mr. Hawk, are you in there?”
Nathan poked his head above the stall door. A figure stood outlined in the entrance of the livery. It took him a moment to recognize Caroline Martin. He propped the pitchfork he’d been using against the wall and headed out of the stall. The moment he stepped into view, Caroline hurried forward.
“There you are. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
In fact, she didn’t look sorry. More agitated than anything else. Her face was flushed, and her bonnet had gone slightly askew. Nathan tipped his head in acknowledgment then grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. “Morning, Miss Martin.”
“Mr. Hawk, have you seen Abigail this morning?”
Nathan looked across the livery yard at Abigail’s cabin. No smoke rose from the chimney, even though she normally had her cook fire going by the time the sun crested the hills. Caution nudged his insides. The place did look unusually still. He dropped the rag on the tack bench and propped his hands on his hips. “I haven’t seen her. Did you try her cabin?”
“Yes. I knocked, but she didn’t answer.”
A second nudge followed the first. Maybe she doesn’t feel well, he mentally argued, or decided to sleep in. Not that she didn’t need or deserve the extra rest. The last few days had been pretty traumatic.
Caroline’s gaze remained fixed on him, earnest and searching beneath the wide brim of her bonnet. He gave a curt nod. It wouldn’t hurt to check.
“Mind sitting with Lizzie for a bit?” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the lean-to where his daughter slept. “I’ll go see what Abigail’s up to.”
Relief wiped the lines of worry from Caroline’s face. “I don’t mind at all. Be glad to. Thank you, Mr. Hawk. It may be nothing….”
Suddenly the nudge felt more like a push, mobilizing him into action.
“I won’t be long,” he said, striding through the livery and to the street. When he glanced back, Caroline was already standing outside the door of the lean-to, her hand resting on the jamb as she watched him go.
Nathan’s stride quickened. A woman’s instincts were rarely wrong. He’d learned that a long time ago, when Charlotte had warned against traveling west. She’d said she had a “bad feeling.” Nathan had attributed it to a mother’s natural caution. She didn’t like the idea of them packing up all their belongings and leaving home, especially when they had a small child to care for. If he’d listened to her then, she might still be alive.
All of that has nothing to do with Abigail, he told himself as he climbed the steps to the cabin. She was fine. Probably tucked inside sleeping, wondering why half of Calico was bent on turning her out of her warm bed.
“Abigail?” He knocked and then paused to listen. “You in there?”
Slight scuffling drifted through the cracks in the door. The noise didn’t make him feel better, as it should have. It wasn’t like Abigail to leave a person standing on her doorstep, wondering if she was all right. He knocked again, louder.
“It’s me, Nathan. I just came by to see if you needed anything.” At the silence that followed, his hand fell to the latch. “Abigail?”
And then he heard it—more scuffling, followed by a soft moan.
“Abigail!” He pushed against the door. It gave a little, but something kept it from fully opening. Jamming his shoulder against the wood, he gave a hard shove. Finally it parted enough for him to squeeze through.
The dim sunlight filtering through a broken window revealed the shambles inside the cabin. The sawback table was overturned, the chairs strewn across the room. One of those chairs had kept the door from opening. In the middle of the floor, a large hole yawned. The plank that had covered it lay haphazardly across the hearth, and next to it—
Nathan’s heart jerked.
Abigail was crumpled in a corner, her hands and feet bound and a gag in her mouth. Tears streamed down her face, what wasn’t covered by the hair clinging to her damp cheeks, and her nightdress…
Before he could stop it, a groan ripped from Nathan’s throat. Blood speckled her nightdress from her neckline to her waist. Thrusting the chairs out of the way, he ran to her and dropped to his knees at her side. He forced himself to be gentle as he worked the knot on the rag that gagged her mouth, but his fingers shook so that it took him several attempts to tug it free.
“What happened?” He had to force the words out, so thick was his voice with outrage and concern.
She only cried harder. He couldn’t stand it. Nathan pulled her onto his lap and held her to his chest, his fingers smoothing the ragged tendrils of hair from her forehead. “Oh, Abigail, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes against the sight of the bruise on her temple and the ugly, purple cut on her chin. Her whimpered sobs, however, sliced straight to his heart. He’d kill whoever had hurt her—hog-tie them and string them up from the nearest tree.
Abigail turned her face into Nathan’s shoulder, where the collar of his jacket served to muffle her sobs. Though he could do nothing to erase the memories from her mind, he well understood that the power of her tears would wash away some of the fear. He held her close, murmuring to her until he felt her shaking subside. When she stopped crying, he shifted her weight until he could slip his knife from its sheath on his belt. With a quick flick of his wrist, he severed the ropes that bound her hands and then leaned forward to do the same for her feet. She was barefooted, her flesh clammy and raw beneath his fingers.
The muscles in his midsection clenched as he rubbed the angry, red skin around her ankles.
“What happened?” he managed after a moment. He lifted his head to look into her wide, tear-soaked eyes.
“A m–man—” Her throat jerked as the words caught.
“Someone broke in?”
She nodded.
He smoothed a strand of damp hair that clung to her forehead. And though it galled him to ask, he had to know. “Did he—hurt you?” His teeth clenched, he waited for her answer.
She shook her head. “He h–h–hit me, but he didn’t—didn’t—”
The relief was more powerful than Nathan could stand. He grabbed her and pulled her again into his arms, squeezing so tightly that she gasped.
“Sorry,” he said, loosening his hold.
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” she stammered. “It’s just—”
A second wave of tears rolled down her face, smudging the streaks of dirt and dried blood. Nathan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed the tears away. “What is it?”
“He took the money. All of it.” She pointed to the hole in the floor. “Everything I’d saved. There’s nothing left.”
Nathan peered at the hole. “I don’t understand. There wasn’t but a week’s worth of wages in there. What could he have been after?”
Abigail shuddered. “I don’t think he meant to rob me. I think he wanted—he was going to—”
With each word, her voice rose. Worse, Nathan knew nothing he could say would make any of it better. Pulling her with him, he stood and led her to the door. “Come with me.”
She resisted before they stepped onto the porch, looking down at her soiled nightdress. “Wait, I don’t think—I don’t want anyone to see me and think—”
He shrugged out of his jacket. How foolish of him not to consider her modesty! Wrapping the jacket around her shoulders, he waited until her approval registered on her face before ducking back inside to retrieve her shoes. Only a pair of red boots sat near the door, but they had to be hers, so he grabbed them and slipped back outside. “Will these do?”
A strange look crossed her face as she gazed at the boots.
“Abigail?”
She blinked and then nodded slowly. “They’re fine.”
He followed the direction of her stare. Except for the color, they were ordinary boots—scuffed a little at the heel, but otherwise in good shape. He’d seen her wear them before, even caught himself smiling as she sauntered through town with the toes peeking out from the hem of her calico dress.
Her body shook as she stretched out her hand. A moment later she sat on one of the stumps, jammed her feet into the boots, and stood.
He didn’t have to be a genius to figure out that the boots meant something to her, something he’d missed before, but she looked him in the eyes with her chin lifted and her shoulders squared. Rather than question her, he stepped forward and took her hand. She was doing her best to be brave, and if he could help by offering silent support, so be it.
For a moment, she did nothing but stare at their clasped hands. Finally she took a deep breath, ran her finger underneath her lashes one last time, and then bobbed her head. “I’m ready.”
Nathan walked slowly with her toward the livery, moved beyond words that she would trust him enough to put herself in his hands and sensing as they went that he needed to let her set the pace.
Caroline waited for them at the entrance to the barn. One hand rested on her hip; the other shielded her eyes. When they drew close enough for her to see the bruise on Abigail’s temple and the blood on her nightdress, she blanched, and her mouth dropped open.
“What happened?”
Aware of Lizzie’s questioning frown behind Caroline, Nathan forced a smile. “We’ll talk inside,” he said, tipping his head toward his daughter.
Following his gaze, Caroline nodded then rushed forward to clasp Abigail’s hands. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
In spite of himself, Nathan found he hated relinquishing care of Abigail to Caroline. Her small hand, which fit so perfectly in his, slipped from his grasp. Battling an unreasonable amount of disappointment, he turned and scooped his daughter into his arms.
“Come on, sugar. Let’s get you some breakfast.”
His noisy kiss on Lizzie’s cheek served to dispel her concern. She giggled and threw her arms around his neck, but even as he started for the cook fire, his thoughts remained elsewhere and his gaze—his gaze stayed fixed on Abigail.
Her face, what she could see in Nathan’s tiny shaving mirror, was puffy and red. The bruise on her temple felt as if it grew larger by the second, and the cut on her chin would require a stitch or two and likely leave a scar. Still, things could have been much worse.
Abigail shuddered, remembering how close she’d come to having more than just her home violated.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to fetch the marshal?” Behind her, Caroline’s dark eyes narrowed. “Surely there is something he can do? Maybe it’s not too late.”
A heavy sigh rose in Abigail’s chest. She ran her fingers over the rope burns on her wrist. It would be nice to think that Marshal Harris might be able to catch Justice—maybe even recover some of her money—but he’d disappeared hours ago, and chances were slim.
“He’s long gone,” she said, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. “That’s why he tied me up in the first place—to give himself a head start. Reckon he’s halfway to the border by now.”
Caroline placed both hands on Abigail’s shoulders and bent to press her warm cheek against Abigail’s cold one. Abigail breathed deeply, comforted by the familiar fragrance of Caroline’s delicate perfume. At least that was still the same.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wish there were something I could do.”
“I know,” Abigail whispered.
“Try to believe that God has a purpose in all this, something we cannot see. He hasn’t forgotten you. I just know He’s going to take care of it all, in time.”
Tears burned Abigail’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She hadn’t told Caroline so, but what hurt worse than anything was the fact that when she needed Him most, God abandoned her. Despite her wavering faith, a part of her had clung to the hope that after her father died, God would somehow step in and be a Father to her, seeing as how He’d seen fit to claim her earthly one. Instead, He’d left her to fend for herself.
Anger deeper than anything she’d ever felt flared inside her chest. She dipped her head to keep Caroline from seeing her emotion.
“Don’t worry, dear,” she cooed, obviously mistaking the movement for distress. “Everything will work out. We just need—”
“How?” Borne by rage, the word burst from Abigail’s lips as her head came up. “How will it work out when I have no money, no job, not even a place to live?”
Confusion clouded Caroline’s face. “What?”
“I have nothing, Caroline. Not even the cabin is mine, and in a couple of days…” What? Where would she go? The mountainous weight of it settled on her shoulders, pressing down, suffocating her.
“I—see.” Caroline cleared her throat and then fidgeted with the frothy lace surrounding her collar. “Surely you have family to whom you can turn—”
Abigail whirled away, her arms clutched tightly around her middle. Caroline didn’t know about the suspicions regarding her father or how those suspicions had led to her decision to remain in Calico. She hadn’t told her because she thought she’d have more time, a few weeks at least. Now…
Caroline’s light footsteps glided to a stop behind her. She squeezed Abigail’s shoulder. Compassion flowed from her, comforting but useless. “What will you do?”
Abigail shook her head and found she couldn’t stop. “I don’t—I don’t—”
It felt as if the air had been drawn from the room. Her head began to throb. She put out her hand but found nothing upon which to steady herself. “Oh, Caroline, I just don’t—”
“Marry me.”
Both Abigail and Caroline spun in the same moment. Nathan stood at the entrance to the livery, his hat in his hands, his face solemn.
Caroline recovered first. She folded her hands at the wide blue sash around her waist, and when she spoke, she sounded surprisingly calm. “Did you say something, Mr. Hawk?”
He took a step toward them, and Abigail saw that he clutched his hat so tightly, his knuckles were white. “I said…” He paused, and his gaze swung from Caroline to Abigail. “You can marry me.”