Free Promise Bridge by Eileen Clymer Schwab

somethin’? I know what the two of you are up to.”
    My heart sank like a rock in my chest. Were we that transparent? Or was it simply that his instincts were as keen as he often boasted? Visions of bloodthirsty hounds tearing at dark, defenseless flesh swirled in my mind. From the corner of my eye, I saw the subtle movement of Colt’s finger sliding in position over the trigger of the rifle tucked in the crook of his arm. But would a warning shot give them enough time?
    “You think I can’t see the dirt on the front o’ your dress where you was on your knees?” Twitch grinned with rotted teeth. “You may have snuck off into the trees, but it wasn’t to do no huntin’.” Twitch cackled back over his shoulder toward Willy Jack. “There ain’t even no buck-shot in that mangy hare.”
    Colt raised his fist to deliver a blow to the filthy-mouthed snake, but I caught him by the arm. I knew that once I had the chance to digest Twitch’s insinuations, I would be as fiery as an angry bull, but for now I figured it was best he believed his titillating fantasy rather than have him look to uncover some other reason for Colt and me to be on the peak.
    Seeing Colt’s restrained anger, Twitch looked squarely at him. “Guess I don’t need to waste time sniffin’ the smoke of another man’s fire. Maybe Hannah will hunt with me next time. I been known to spark a fire or two myself.” Then, winking his dead eye in my direction, he added, “The torch down in my belly burns a might hotter than straight-laced Colt’s.”
    With one forceful yank, Colt freed his arm from my grasp and clamped his hand across Twitch’s throat. Twitch quickly countered by swiping a knife from the leather pouch tied on his belt. The sleeve on Colt’s outstretched arm creased under the pressure of Twitch’s blade.
    “Take your hand off me, Purebred, or it will be the last thing you use it for.”
    The veins bulging in Colt’s neck pulsated as deep shades of red migrated across his face. I slipped a gentle hand under his arm.
    “Don’t let him bait you, Colt.”
    Finally, he forced his uncooperative hand to let go. Colt echoed Twitch’s gasp as the fierce stalemate ended with each taking a guarded step back. Twitch holstered his knife, then crinkled his face into a devilish smirk. Satisfied he had won the standoff, he turned and headed back down the meadow toward West Gate. And although the threat was only temporarily defused, I breathed a little easier with each step he took in the opposite direction.
    Once back in the quiet retreat of my bedchamber, I was awash with thoughts and emotions. My worries were buffered by the fact that Aunt Augusta was on leave from the house, allowing me sufficient privacy to sort out my thoughts. Am I crazy thinking I can keep Livie safe? Where will Marcus and the others go from here? When will he return? Is that his touch still lingering on my fingertips? So much had happened, I could barely digest it all. To calm my uneasiness, I busied myself with needlework in the sewing room. By the time Esther Mae tapped on the door, it was time for supper. When Aunt Augusta was away, it was Colt’s habit to have dinner with me; however, I was not surprised to find myself alone at the dining table. Although a degree of uneasiness came with his absence, I believed it was for the best. I was not in the mood for polite chatter with someone whose stubborn insistence at driving the runaways onward could very well put them on the path of inevitable capture.
    Upon scooping the last few morsels of snap beans and pearl onions from my plate, I told Esther Mae I would take my tea on the front porch. I settled on the rocker and creaked in rhythm to the evening chorus accompanying the sun as it lowered in the sky before me. Uncle Mooney’s blacksmith, silent James, led a team of workhorses to the stables. James was hired out to Hillcrest to fulfill Winston’s duties when Aunt Augusta’s business took her away for more than a day