Page 5 of Fairest of Heart

After six months of traveling with Madame LaBelle, Penelope had learned to make the most of the rare occasions when she was granted an hour or two of freedom. And today she’d been given an entire afternoon. She could barely believe her good fortune, especially on such a fine day. The sun shining overhead. A gentle breeze cooling her as she walked. The only thing missing was a cozy reading tree to sit beneath as she escaped reality for a few hours. Thankfully, she’d spotted one a few moments ago that would suit her perfectly. All she had to do was surmount one tiny obstacle.

Well, tiny might have been a misnomer. The embankment had seemed small enough from a distance, but now that she stood at its base and craned her neck back to see the top, it proved quite imposing. Not to worry, though. She was young. Nimble. Relatively intelligent. She’d find a way to overcome.

The sling bag carrying her worn copy of Oliver Twist banged against Penelope’s thigh as she began her ascent. Loose dirt made it difficult to gain purchase on the ravine wall, but after a handful of failed attempts, she sought out protruding tree roots and clumps of vegetation for hand- and footholds and started making progress.

The first six feet proved easy enough. Sure, her nose was pressed into a dirt wall, and a family of ants circled her wrist in search of a way inside her sleeve, but all in all, she’d made admirable progress. She would be reading beneath her tree in no time.

“Almost there, Oliver.” She tipped her head backward to judge the remaining distance. “About three more feet. Hang in there.”

Talking to books now, Pen?

She shook her head and chuckled softly. One made friends where one could, she supposed. Madame LaBelle demanded such constant attention that Penelope had little opportunity to interact with the other troupe staff. Even during performances, her mistress insisted Penelope be on hand to assist with costume changes as well as keeping her throat atomizer ready in the wings. So when Narcissa took ill with a megrim this afternoon and closed herself up in her tent demanding to be left alone until supper, Penelope grabbed freedom with both hands and didn’t look back.

Until now. Yet seeing the camp in the distance only strengthened her resolve. This was her chance to be her own woman. Set her own agenda and absorb a peace only nature could supply. Returning her attention to the climb, Penelope bent her right knee and planted her toe in a crevice that looked somewhat stable. Then she took aim at a thin tree shoot near the ridgeline and lunged for it. Her right hand fisted around the slender stem at the same moment her foothold gave way. She squealed and scrambled for purchase. Thankful for scrawny saplings with deep root systems, Penelope dangled for a heart-stopping moment before catching the toe of her shoe against a sliver of rock.

No time to catch her breath, however, for the dirt around her anchor shifted, dusting her face. Gritting her teeth, she pushed off the rock, lunged upward, and grabbed wildly at the grass atop the embankment. A tuft in each hand, she steadied herself and clambered the rest of the way over the rim. Penelope rested on her hands and knees, catching her breath and enjoying the feel of solid, flat earth beneath her. She whispered a quick but heartfelt thank you to the One who’d kept her from falling, then, with victory surging through her veins, she jumped to her feet and celebrated her triumph with an arms-spread pirouette.

A horse’s high-pitched cry pierced her whirling haze. A pair of black hooves pawed the air not four feet from her face. She gasped and squeezed her eyes tightly closed but fought the instinct to dart away. More flailing on her part would only agitate the horse further. Besides, she didn’t want to risk tumbling down the ravine she’d fought so hard to scale.

“Steady, Rex. Steady.” The deep voice echoed with such calm authority that Penelope’s pounding heart slowed in response.

The thud of hooves hitting the earth told her the voice had worked its magic on the horse as well, encouraging Penelope to open her eyes.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She had to look up quite far to find the face attached to the voice. Shaded by a hat as black as his horse, the rider’s features were obscured, but she could make out a chiseled jaw, a straight nose, and a thick mustache that framed a mouth pulled tight in concern. Or perhaps disapproval. He couldn’t be too pleased to have his ride interrupted by a woman popping out of the ground and twirling about like some kind of deranged prairie dog.

“I’m sorry for startling your horse.” Keeping her movements slow and measured so as not to repeat her offense, she approached the cowboy. “I should have paid closer attention to my surroundings. I didn’t realize I was so near a . . . road.” The word dissolved on her tongue as she noted the field of untamed prairie grass spreading in all directions. Not even a game trail in evidence. She shrugged, and her lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. “Well, road or not, I was clearly in the wrong, and I apologize.”

Embarrassment at her mistake tugged her gaze downward, where it snagged on the dark form draped across the cowboy’s lap. Her breath caught, and her eyes grew moist. “Oh no.”

She moved nearer, drawn by a dog’s limp form. “Is he . . . ?” She couldn’t finish the sentence, aching for the poor creature.

A small whine echoed in answer, and a weight lifted from Penelope’s heart. Thank heaven! She stroked the dog’s head, trying to impart some small measure of comfort. That’s when she noticed the bandage tied beneath his front leg.

“What happened to him?” Slowly, she raised her attention from the injured dog to the man who cared enough to carry him upon his horse.

The cowboy’s expression proved hard to read. His mouth and jaw were set in hard lines, but his eyes . . . She glanced down.

Don’t be foolish, Pen. This man doesn’t need you. He’s a complete stranger. One you’ll never see again.

Yet that truth didn’t stop the twinge of recognition from vibrating across her chest. God had blessed her with a compassionate nature. Too compassionate sometimes, leaving her open to the machinations of people like Gerard Carlisle, who had no qualms about taking advantage of a young woman’s naïveté and tender heart. Nevertheless, she couldn’t ignore people or animals who were alone or in pain. Perhaps because she herself had been unwanted and discarded, she recognized loneliness and heartbreak in others. And this man, with all his strength and capability, had been hurt. Deeply.

By the time she found the courage to study his face again, he had turned his eyes away from her, lifting his head to gaze upon the land before him. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his horse sidestepped as if sensing his rider’s impatience.

“Dog took a bullet in a shootout with a pair of bank robbers. I’m trying to get him to a retired doctor I know who lives out this way. So if you’re not hurt, I need to be on my way.”

A shootout? Bank robbers? Good heavens. Who was this man?

It didn’t matter. Such a wild tale was bound to be fiction. Nevertheless, the dog’s injury was genuine and needed to be tended.

“Of course.” Penelope withdrew her hand and stepped back. “I’m perfectly fit. Please go. Get him the help he needs.”

The man nodded and nudged his horse forward.

“I’ll say a prayer for him,” Penelope called as the horse’s gait expanded into a canter. Beneath her breath, she murmured a second promise. “I’ll say one for you, too.”

Don’t look back. Your concern is the dog, not the girl.