Page 14 of The Widow and the Wanted

Horseless. On foot. In snow.

Christ above.

“Should we wake her?” I ask.

A wrinkle forms in his brow, his smooth tawny skin stretched taut over his wide-set cheekbones, and I can see what he’s thinking.

“We ain’t leaving her here, Okee.”

He sighs, dark eyes moving as he thinks aloud, like he’s reading a note behind his face. “But taking her slows us down. Winter is already against us. She’s another mouth to feed. A body to slow for. Winter is difficult enough.”

“You really mean to leave her laying’ here?” The blame comes out sharp. This poor lady’s in danger because of us. Maybe not wholly, but some. “Come on. We’re better than that.”

She breathes softly, her nostrils twitching with each slow breath. Like the pup my baby sister found behind our barn, sleeping so deep it looked to be chasing bunnies. Poor thing. Hope whatever she’s dreaming is nice, because she’s fixing to wake up in a real flaming shit pile.

Okee nudges her. “Ma’am.” Then he shakes her shoulder. She inhales sharp, eyes flinging open. Our bodies are pressed so close, I can feel her heart startle, rattling fast. She shifts between us, seeing me and then Okee. Recognition—and the memory of the horrors—slowly returns.

Seeing her look at me like that—like I’m a wolf in a man’s coat—does something ugly to my stomach. I hate that I earned it.

“Ma’am,” Okee says again, firmer than what’s needsome. “We need to move. It’s not safe to stay.”

She shoots him a hostile glare. “Move where?”

“Cabin. Ten miles east, give or take. Deep in the woods. They won’t know to look for us there.”

It’s been such a long while since we been out that way, I’d almost forgotten it. Ain’t more than one room of rough-hewn logs and a stone hearth, a tiny loft with a ladder. But there’s plenty of wood for fire.

“That’s a right fine plan,” I say, sitting up, spreading out a bit now that the cold is less cruel. Okee loosens the flap and swings it open, letting in a shock of sunlight reflecting bright off the white plain. He crouches and creeps toward it to look outside.

The woman wipes her hair off her face, and I catch the line of her throat in the light. Clean, soft skin. I breathed it all night, that damn sweet smell of her. Kind of scent I reckon God made a living thing like her to get a soul’s attention on purpose.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says. “All of my things are in Fort Smith. I must return there.”

“It ain’t safe, ma’am,” I tell her. “Those boys’ll be lookin’ for you. For all of us.”

“But why? What could those men possibly want with me?”

“Can’t have witnesses living’ to tell a tale.”

She stiffens. “You mean to tell me that I’m in danger even now?”

Okee sits up and offers her a woeful nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But,” she says, voice cracking, “who have I wronged?”

“There is no cause to assign fault where there is none. You were simply caught in dangerous circumstances, I’m afraid.” There’s an urgency in the hitch of his breath, the shift of his dark eyes around the wagon as if taking a mental note of each item to take on the way out. “These men are on horseback. We’re already at a disadvantage—time is of the essence.”

“No,” she whimpers, smoky green eyes glittering with tears. “There’s nothing left for me.”

“Ma’am, I promise, I⁠—”

“Leave her,” Okee interrupts me, hard and final.

Okee sighs and jumps out of the wagon, muttering something about not begging her for the privilege of being inconvenienced.

“Ma’am,” I say soft, resting my hand over hers. “I know this is terrible. And we want you to get to feeling’ safe again soon as possible. But right now, if you don’t want nothin’ worse to happen, we ought to get goin’ quick.”

Her lip trembles, eyes tearing.