Her Cherokee Groom Page 8

  Pausing because he had, she was caught unawares when he suddenly sprang into action, took the final two steps as one and whirled to one side before he lunged out of sight.

  She saw his leap. Heard a scuffle. A muted cry.

  Afraid to follow too closely, she hesitated. Her breathing was ragged, her heartbeats thundering in her ears, throbbing in her temples. Annabelle desperately wanted to call out to Charles.

  Was that wise? she asked herself. The man had obviously tangled with someone or something beyond her field of vision. If she spoke now, would she be putting them both in jeopardy?

  Before she could decide what to do she heard the rumble of his voice bidding her to join him.

  “It’s safe?” she whispered back.

  He stepped into view. One hand was grasping the back of Johnny’s shirt and lifting him off the ground the way a mother cat carried her kitten by its scruff. The other hand reached out to her.

  Annabelle was glad for the assistance because the welcome sight of the child, coming on the heels of the fright of hearing Charles grappling with an unseen foe, had left her weak in the knees.

  She let Charles pull her the last few steps, then asked, “How did you know?”

  Grinning, he released both her and the child. “Wrong bird.”

  Little Johnny looked angry and embarrassed as he straightened his clothing and glared at the man who had treated him so unceremoniously.

  Bending over so she’d be eye to eye with the child, Annabelle touched his arm. “Are you all right? We were very worried when we couldn’t find you.”

  His chin jutted, his stature stiff. “I am fine.”

  “Wait here,” Charles told her. “I’m going down to fetch your traveling case.”

  “I thought you were in a hurry to leave?”

  “I was, until I saw this place. We can wait here, rest and watch below. It will be safer to ride out just before dawn, if we can, than to travel in the middle of the night.”

  “Safer like it was when you walked by the river?” Annabelle countered.

  “No. Safer armed and on horseback.”

  “So, you’ve given up stuffing me into a coach and sending me south like a Christmas package?”

  “One move at a time,” he said, quirking a smile at her. “My first plan was to put you both on the rented horse with me. If we delay our departure until everyone is asleep, I can turn him loose and we can borrow a couple of Eaton’s horses, instead.”

  She was appalled. “Steal them?”

  “No,” Charles countered. “Borrow. They’re used to being stabled here. Horses love to eat. They’ll head home for a good meal as soon as we release them.”

  He was right, of course. The bothersome element was that they were planning another crime that could also land them in jail. And this time they’d really be guilty.

  * * *

  It was a long night. Although Annabelle did doze, she noted Charles’s shadowed form at the dormer window every time she opened her eyes.

  Johnny was so excited about their pending trip, his exuberance almost gave them away several times before they’d even reached the door leading outside, let alone made it as far as the carriage house. A glow was beginning to peek over the trees to the east, making the morning mist seem like fog.

  Evidently, one of the stable hands was already at work, mucking out the stalls, because there was a lantern burning in the barn. He had fortuitously hitched both the Eaton horses in the courtyard while he worked.

  As Annabelle saw it, the only problem remaining was how to get her hands on suitable saddles and bridles. The gentlemen in her escape party might be fine riding bareback but she knew she needed a saddle if she hoped to stay on the horse for long.

  “I’ll go scout inside the stable and see about getting bridles, first,” Annabelle said in a coarse whisper. “You two wait out here.”

  “No. We’re coming with you.” At Charles’s side, the boy was nodding vigorous agreement.

  “Johnny might get away with it but you won’t,” she countered. “If I’m spotted, it won’t really matter since I live here—used to live here.”

  “I can go,” the child insisted. “I am like tsula, the fox.”

  Charles’s chuckle was little more than a rumble. His smile was cynical. “If you were a fox, you would starve to death. You make so much noise, your prey would be gone before you got close enough to pounce.”

  The boy made a face and crossed his arms, looking for all the world like a tiny Napoleon. His pose was so amusing she almost laughed aloud despite the tense situation.

  “All right,” Annabelle said. “Johnny, come with me. If we are seen, I want you to distract the groom and keep him busy while I pick out proper tack.”

  “I can do that, too,” the boy insisted. “I know all about horses.”

  “I’m sure you do. But the bridles are hung on high pegs and the saddles are too heavy for you.”

  “I am strong.”

  Charles interrupted. “I have an even better idea. You two can both distract the groom and I will steal—I mean borrow—the saddles.”

  His common sense was irrefutable. Annabelle grasped the eager child’s hand. “All right. Johnny and I will go in first and keep the groom busy while you get what we need.”

  “A horse for me!” the boy added.

  She held tight to his smaller fingers, afraid he might bolt when she told him, “The Eatons have only two horses here in Washington. They left the others behind in Tennessee and brought their favorites, so unless your uncle chooses to keep his horse, we’ll have to share.”

  “I might, if the bay were half the mount that these are,” Charles said flatly. “The boy will ride with me on one of these. I’ll fetch my bed roll, then turn loose the rented bay and send him home so they don’t think I stole him, too.”

  “Where did you leave him? I’d think someone would have seen him by now and figured out you were nearby.”

  “I left him hidden behind this building in the old corral we found. I needed a place to give him hay and water and let him rest. He should not have drawn interest by being there unless one of the grooms stumbled upon him.”

  “That’s why you kept looking out the window.”

  “One of the reasons.” He canted his head toward the carriage house door. “You had better get going before that groom finishes and comes for these horses.”

  “All right. The tack room is on the far right, just inside these double doors.” She touched his sleeve. “Be careful.”

  “The same to you.”

  Annabelle could tell how apprehensive he was. That was understandable, particularly since the Cherokee child was staying with her. Still, she had no trouble imagining that the concern in the man’s piercing blue gaze extended to her, personally. They had been acquainted for a mere few days, yet their lives already seemed inexorably entwined.

  And they are about to become more so, Annabelle realized, expecting her heart to grow heavy with the portent of doom. Yet it did not.

  On the contrary, she was looking forward to their journey, no matter how difficult it might prove.

  The reason was clear, although she was loath to admit it, even to herself. Her elation and sense of adventure came directly from her traveling companions—particularly the tall, handsome one on whom she had come to rely.

  There was no one, anywhere, who meant as much to her as Charles McDonald.

  Without a backward glance she stood tall, lifted her chin and strode boldly into the carriage house with the child at her side.

  Chapter Eight

  Charles hid next to the wide, wooden doors, thankful they’d been left propped open. If he could not have watched Annabelle—and Johnny—from there as they entered the stable, he would have found another vantage point. Neither o
f them was going to get out of his sight for an instant, if he could help it. Not until he was certain all danger was past.

  Consciously slowing his breathing and heartbeat the way he had just before the attack at the river, he waited.

  There was plenty of lantern light inside the modest structure. He would have no trouble choosing the proper tack. As soon as he got a clear signal from either Annabelle or the boy he would make his move.

  She was pausing at one of the stalls and standing on tiptoe to peer over the walled-in front.

  Charles judged that that enclosure was empty because she quickly moved on to the next, skirting the straw-and-refuse-filled pushcart that sat next to its gate.

  Her lilting voice carried well as she greeted the male servant who had been tending to the stable.

  “Ah, there you are,” Annabelle said as her hand waved a signal behind her back. “I wondered why the horses were tied to the hitching post.”

  Charles made his move. In three long strides he was through the exterior doors, across the straw-strewn floor and had entered the tack room. It was well kept and sensibly arranged, facilitating his task.

  He chose two bridles and the most useful of the saddles to carry out first, draping it over his forearm. One quick look told him the coast was still clear and he made his escape unseen.

  Rather than take the time to ready one of the horses, he dropped the bridles and flung the first saddle over the hitching rail.

  One down, one to go.

  Furtive and cautious, he rechecked his access. Annabelle moved to bodily block the stall’s open door and Johnny, who had been too short to peek over the solid, lower walls of the enclosure, was stepping up beside her.

  Suddenly, the boy gave a whoop that sounded like a coyote with its leg caught in the jaws of a steel trap.

  Charles froze. He couldn’t make out everything the child was shouting but there was no mistaking his alarm. He was wildly waving one arm and had Annabelle by the hand, trying to drag her away in spite of her resistance.

  Johnny kept pointing at whoever was inside the stall. Charles thought he heard the Cherokee word for bad, uyoi, but could not be sure.

  Abandoning his quest for the second saddle, Charles ran across the carriage house to confront who or what had frightened the child.

  He was almost there when Johnny spotted him and began to jump up and down, screaming warnings.

  “It’s him! The man who wants to kill you. Run!”

  Annabelle was forcibly restraining the boy.

  Charles swept them aside, out of danger, and boldly faced his foe.

  Instead of drawing a gun, Caleb raised the four-pronged iron pitchfork he’d been using to clean the stalls, held it waist high and charged at Charles like an angry bull.

  Annabelle screamed.

  Johnny continued to shout.

  Charles dropped into a crouch, arms extended, and dodged the thrusts of the lethal tines.

  His goal was not merely to avoid injury. He had the others to worry about, too. If the ruckus drew more servants or even the master of the house, someone was bound to get hurt. He just didn’t want it to be either of the two souls he was looking after. They mattered too much. Both of them.

  That momentary diversion of thought caused a slight hesitation. A deadly error.

  Caleb’s next jab caught a piece of Charles’s coat. Threw him off balance. Made him stagger.

  By the time he had regained his defensive stance the other man was almost on top of him, the newest thrust of the pitchfork aiming for his neck.

  * * *

  Annabelle was desperately casting around for a weapon. She could see the boy doing the same. The stable was simply too clean, too neat.

  “Please, God, help me. Show me what to do?”

  She considered throwing herself between Caleb and Charles, but quickly decided against it. The groom was very likely to stab her as well, particularly if he’d heard gossip that she’d been ostracized. Besides, she had Johnny to protect.

  Johnny! Oh, no!

  He had clambered up onto the refuse in the manure cart and was crouched as if ready to leap at Caleb. Waving both arms she yelled, “No!”

  In the few moments it took him to process her order and decide to ignore it, Annabelle had reached the piled-high cart where he was poised. An idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. “That’s it!”

  Her triumphant shout stopped Johnny in his tracks, caused him to stare.

  Struggling to overcome natural loathing, Annabelle reached into the piles of straw in the cart, plucked out a stinking missile—of horse dung—and flung it at Caleb’s back.

  The plop against his homespun shirt was audible but not enough to stop him from trying to spear Charles.

  Rolling, the Cherokee avoided another wild jab.

  Johnny followed Annabelle’s example, aiming for the back of the man’s neck with far more accuracy and effectiveness than she had shown.

  Roaring, Caleb ducked and wheeled, raising his weapon.

  Johnny’s next effort caught him in the center of his forehead, spilled over into his eyes and began to drip down his ruddy cheeks.

  Screaming, spitting and clawing at his face, the stable hand dropped the pitchfork.

  Charles scooped it up and held him at bay with it while the boy continued to lob handful after handful of gooey, green manure.

  “All right,” Charles said with a chuckle. “That’s enough. You’re already so filthy, yourself, I may not want you in the same camp with me.”

  Annabelle was holding her hands out as far from her burgundy traveling dress as possible. “We can wash in the horse trough.”

  She pointed at the now subdued groom who was still sputtering and trying to clear the mess from his eyes. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “I saw a rope in the tack room. Get that stuff off your hands and fetch it for me. We’ll tie him up to buy time. Hopefully, nobody heard the ruckus.”

  Her overwhelming sense of relief brought thankfulness and a smile. Although she was still uneasy, the sight of their nemesis sitting in a pile of horse leavings and whimpering about his face being dirty struck her as delightfully amusing.

  The weapon the Lord had provided was certainly unusual, yet it had worked flawlessly.

  The next time she prayed for divine assistance, however, she hoped God was not in quite such a playful mood.

  * * *

  It had been Charles’s decision to bring the horses inside the stable and saddle them there, out of sight, while the only member of their party who was not wanted by the law went back into the house to fetch their meager belongings.

  “What about the rest of your things?” Annabelle asked Charles when Johnny returned.

  “There’s nothing left at the hotel.” He pointed to the rolled blanket he’d retrieved when he’d released the rented bay. “I sent most of my clothes home with Elias. Getting safely out of the city was more important.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Knowing that his companion was still on edge Charles decided to tease her. “I may want that in writing. I believe that is the first time you have admitted that my choices are best.”

  “It is not.” She began to smile. “Well, not entirely, anyway.”

  “Thank you for that concession.” He returned her grin. “With Caleb bound and gagged we’ve bought ourselves a little time. Anyone who looks out from the main house and sees that the horses have been taken back inside will think he’s finished his chores and put them away.”

  Charles tightened the final cinch. “You’ll have to ride astride like the boy and me.” He paused, concerned. “Are you sure you’re able or do you want me to harness a horse to the carriage.”

  She set her jaw. “No. The only way we can safely send these hor
ses home is if they’re unencumbered. A carriage would get in their way.”

  Charles almost laughed. She still believed it would be possible to return Eaton’s property? Well, maybe it would be. But he wasn’t going to count on it. Nor did it bother him much. Until a few hours ago Annabelle had been a part of the Eaton family and therefore entitled to use of the animals. Besides, the rich, powerful politician was not going to be left afoot. Not when he had so many connections and such great influence among his peers.

  The way Charles saw it, their main goal had to be getting out of Washington and losing themselves in the countryside. That would mean traveling byways and even forging their own trails from time to time. A carriage would have seriously complicated their escape.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ve fastened the traveling bags behind one saddle and your coat and my roll behind the other. You will ride the smaller horse.”

  Annabelle had been stroking the velvety soft nose of the dappled gray mare. “I’m glad. This one has always been gentle and friendly.”

  Before boosting her aboard he handed her a leather pouch jingling with coins. “Take this.”

  “Why?”

  “In case we are separated. You will need money.”

  “But...”

  “Don’t waste time arguing.” He waited until she put the sack of coins into her pocket, then bent and laced his fingers to make a step, lifting as soon as her foot was in place. Although she sat the horse well she failed to pick up the reins as he had expected.

  “It is a help if you can tell the horse which way you want to go,” he said. “I thought you had ridden before?”

  “I have, but I usually just stood on a fence and hopped on an old mare that was out to pasture. She went wherever she pleased.”

  “We don’t have enough time to make you a proficient horsewoman.” He motioned to the boy. “Come here. You’ll ride up front and handle the reins. Miss Annabelle will sit behind you.”

  The look of triumph on the boy’s impish face caused Charles to add, “And remember what I have told you. No tricks. You will be responsible for her well-being. See that you take your job seriously.”