Free The Texan's Dream by Jodi Thomas

sorry.” She gulped back a cry. “I wish there was something I could do.” The thought that in a few minutes she’d have to walk out of the tent with empty arms shook her heart with pain. Quil would see. He would know.
    “There is something you can do.” Raven let loose of Kara’s hands. “You can go from this place with the child in your arms.”
    Kara shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”
    Aging hands began to unlace the cradleboard. “If you walk out holding the child as if he is still alive, it will do no harm to the boy. But Quil will not know of his son’s death, and he will live another day.”
    “But he’ll find out.” Kara watched as the woman gently lifted the baby out of the cradleboard.
    “One day, far away, maybe. But not this day.” She held the baby up and waited for Kara to open her shawl.
    Fighting back cries, Kara opened the white shawl with trembling hands.
    Raven brought the baby’s cheek against her own. In the shadows of the tent the child could have been only sleeping. “Son of Quil will be free tonight. Free from this place. Free from the earth. Son of Quil will walk proud into the next life.”
    Gently, as if not to awaken the child, the old woman wrapped him in Kara’s white shawl. He was so tiny, her bundle didn’t look any larger than when she’d carried it in.
    “You must not cry,” Raven said as she handed the baby to Kara. “My mountain man said there are those called saints who watch over the one who carries the dead with honor.”
    Kara slowly stood and curled the child next to her heart. By the time she stepped from the tent, all tears were gone from her eyes. She walked the few feet to Jonathan. Without a word, he took her elbow and guided her out of the camp.
    As they passed the one she knew was Quil, Kara saw him straighten and nod slightly at Jonathan. She was thankful he didn’t look at her face. She wasn’t sure she could hide the sorrow she felt. EIGHT
    THE THREE OUTSIDERS MOVED AWAY FROM THE Apache camp and onto a converted hospital wagon the commander had provided. Kara sat next to Jonathan on the rear seat of the wagon for the ride back to the hotel. The bench offered little comfort, as they moved down uneven roads. She hardly noticed.
    Wolf talked to the driver, embellishing their story—saying how they’d looked from fort to fort for relatives. When the driver said that maybe it was better if they didn’t find anyone alive, she felt Jonathan tense by her side.
    “You know once they’ve been captives, they ain’t nothing but wild savages.” The driver spit a stream of tobacco the same color as the muddy road. He continued talking around the wad of leaves still soaking along his jaw. “The boys are never right in the head … and the girls, well, it’s always better if the girls die. Nobody wants them after they’ve lived with the Apache.”
    Wolf changed the subject, but the driver’s words left Jonathan silent. She felt him shifting angrily. When his leg accidentally brushed hers, the muscles felt more iron than human.
    Kara held the baby close as if she could protect him.
    When they reached the hotel, Jonathan helped her down from the bench, then hurried ahead to open the hotel door. He didn’t bother thanking the driver. Wolf said good night to the soldier. The southern warmth had left his voice. Only cold formality remained.
    Kara walked slowly to her room. Jonathan and Wolf followed.
    As soon as the door was closed, Jonathan moved closer to Kara and brushed the shawl with his hand. “He’s so quiet. Is the baby ill?”
    Wolf didn’t look at the child. He only stared at Kara with knowing eyes.
    “I had the maid bring up a few cans of milk. That will have to do until …” Jonathan stopped.
    Silence draped the air in sorrow. Kara held the bundle close as if she could somehow pass her warmth to the child.
    “What is it?” Jonathan demanded, glancing from her to Wolf and back.
    Kara stared at him and said the old woman’s words: “Quil’s son walks among the