Free Sweet Boundless by Kristen Heitzmann Page B

pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from under his feet. “Here.”
    Carina pulled a hand from its nest and took the package, wonderingly. “What is this?”
    He didn’t answer, so she tore the paper off a pair of caramel-colored kidskin gloves with a tiny pearl button closure on the side of each. Amazed, she lifted the gloves and held them to her cheeks. They were soft and supple but would be warm as well. Tears stung her eyes as she turned to him.
    He scowled. “I could hardly let you freeze. We don’t know what we’re going into.”
    “You’re kind to me.”
    He looked away with an expelled breath. “I know my responsibility.”
    He made it sound like the cross he must bear. She knew he felt that way. But why? The smiles and stares proved she was attractive; she’d always been sought after. Why did he disdain her?
    She tugged the gloves onto her hands. They were a good fit and every bit as soft as they’d appeared. Her fingers curled with ease, then stretched out, and she admired the look of her hands in the brown leather. At Quillan’s smirk, she brought her hands to her lap. “Thank you.”
    He said nothing, and they rode in silence. The wind would have made conversation difficult anyway. Nestled against her, Sam whined, whistling softly through his nose it seemed. Carina put an arm around him, and they warmed each other. Quillan drove with grim resolution up the winding pass.
    “Why is it so cold?” she called at last.
    “At this elevation, September means winter.”
    She eyed the dark gray sky they climbed toward and remembered the flood that had washed all of Placer and part of Crystal away. Could this sky hold something as dangerous as that? The river was low. There was no chance of flood. But the clouds looked ominous.
    Quillan, too, seemed tense, and the dog shivered beside her. Every time they stopped to let the horses blow, Quillan eyed the sky and chafed. She guessed he pushed the horses harder than he normally would, though their load was full. She didn’t complain about the biscuit and jerky for supper. She didn’t want to stop and make a fire. She wanted to get home.
    The horses strained as the grade steepened. The wind beat against them, howling now through the peaks and valleys. Any brief windbreak was a godsend, but it made the next blast that much harder to take. Dusk descended and the wind turned wet. Carina opened her eyes to flakes swirling like dervishes before her face. One moment it was dry; the next, they were engulfed.
    Quillan barked something, but she didn’t hear what. He reached over and shook her arm, then pointed to the wagon bed, and she heard the word blanket. She turned, worked a corner of the tarp loose, then lost hold of it, and it flapped wildly. She dug for the blanket, pulled it free, and stuffed it under her thigh, then fought the tarp back into place.
    Shaking out the blanket, she handed one side over to Quillan, but he shook his head. His concentration was on the team. She pulled the blanket around herself and Sam. The dog licked her cheek, and she could have cried for the simple gesture of reassurance and affection.
    She huddled under the blanket, fighting for breath, and prayed. Signore, per piacere, please help us now. Calm the storm and bring us through . The snow thickened, a white barrage that dazed her senses and masked the way ahead. Quillan reined in suddenly, and Carina saw the edge of road they’d almost headed off.
    He yanked the horses to the right as her heart pounded her chest. This was pazzo! How could they continue? Why didn’t he stop? “Can’t we stop? Can’t we wait?” Her words were swallowed by the storm.
    He drove the team on until again he yanked them to a stop. Before she could speak, he jumped down and went to the front. There he grabbed hold of the harness and began leading the team on foot. Carina gripped Sam to her side as the wagon lurched forward. She had to trust that Quillan knew what he was doing.
    Soon there was nothing but the