Free The River Girl's Christmas (Texas Women of Spirit Book 4) by Angela Castillo Page A

Go on, then. Sheriff n’ I will wait here for you.”
    Wylder tied his horse to a bush and stomped off a few yards down the road. He’d battled with his anger since he was a little boy and always found chopping wood as a healthy way to let it out. Don’t have a woodpile or an axe. He picked up a good-sized limb and smashed it into a tree, over and over again, until it was splintered and scattered on the forest floor. He threw down the remains of the branch and picked up another. The movements felt good, and his rage dwindled down into a smoldering flame.
    As he reached for his fourth limb he saw it, a flicker of color, fluttering at the very edge of his vision. He blinked. There it was again. He took a few steps, hardly daring to breath. A tattered ribbon of blue, his sister’s favorite color. Above, a crude carving of a bird, beak stretched and pointing north.
    “Grandpa!” he yelled. “Sheriff! I found something!”
     
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    The buggy jostled through the mud, making Soonie’s head ache. She tried resting it against the wall, but it only felt worse.
    Zillia leaned over and peered into her face. “Are you all right? Poor dear. As soon as we get home, I’ll fix you a hot supper.”
    Soonie gave a tiny smile. “I’d rather have a bath first.” A pang of guilt stabbed her heart. I can’t believe I’m thinking such a thing, with Lone Warrior hungry and waiting for me. She closed her eyes. Soon it will be all over, and he’ll be with the doctor. And this time, we have people to help us. I’m so close.
    Zillia squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine.”
    Mr. Rawlings, a blacksmith, had agreed to come. He sat by Pastor Fowler in the driving seat of the buggy.
    Soonie peered out the window, and then rapped on the dividing wall. The carriage came to a halt and Pastor Fowler came around to the door. “Yes?”
    “I left the mark on the tree right around here.” Soonie stumbled out of the carriage and glanced through the oaks, cedars and elms that lined the road. “Yes, I remember this twisted cedar tree. Here it is.” She pointed to the tattered ribbon. “We need to go this way. There’s a bit of a road.”
    Pastor Fowler frowned. “I’m not sure if the buggy will make it all the way through. We’ll try to get as far as possible.”
    Soonie swiveled to face the pastor “The cabin’s close. It won’t be a long way to carry him, if we have to. I made a travois.”
    “You did?” A new respect crept into Mr. Rawlings voice.
    Soonie nodded and took off in the direction of the bird’s beak pointed.
    An indention in the soft mud caught her attention . Fresh hoof prints. Two--three horses heading towards the cabin. Could someone have seen the smoke over the trees? If they hurt him-- She clenched her fists.
    “We need to hurry,” she called over her shoulder. “It looks like someone’s already there!”
    “I’m coming,” said Pastor Fowler, as he attempted to steer the horses around the worst of the mud puddles. “It’s no use. We’re going to have to leave the buggy here.” He wound the reins around a tree trunk, and then reached out and pulled a shotgun from behind the seat.
    Zillia got out of the buggy and put her hand on Soonie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Maybe it was someone to help.”
    Soonie couldn’t keep the quiver from her voice. “Or it’s the owner of the cabin. Or Zillia, what if it’s the same men who hurt him in the first place?” She took off in a sprint through the trees. Mud spattered her clothes, and branches tore at her exposed skin. She gave them no heed.
    Horses nickered as she entered the clearing. Her heart sank as she saw her own saddlebag draped over the back of a chestnut. Something familiar about the horses--but she took no time to mull over where she had seen them. She drew her knife from her belt and crept up the steps to the cabin.
    Low male voices came from inside. And then a laugh. A laugh! How dare they? She held the knife high