“No!”
“Yes.”
“I mean…I’d never let that happen! You believe that, don’t you, Scully?”
Scully looked at Lacey. She was shocked and righteous. She didn’t consider for a moment that Pete might be right, that maybe he was a bad influence on her.
Something inside Scully clenched tight. Doing his best to ignore it, Scully said, “I meant what I told them, you know.”
Confused, Lacey shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“We have some important business to tend to this morning—before it gets too late.”
“What business?”
His expression sober, Scully said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“But—”
Lacey’s reply went unfinished as Scully pulled the hallway door closed behind him.
Lacey looked down at the package Scully had tossed onto her bed. He had returned within the half hour, true to his word, but it was obvious she wasn’t that easily mollified. She asked, “What’s that?”
“Open it up and see.”
“I asked you—”
“It’s riding clothes. They should fit. Mrs. Parker said she’s had a lot of experience fitting women with ready-made outfits.”
“I’m sure they will, but I still want to know what all this is about.”
Scully’s irritation at the conversation with Doc Mayberry and Reverend Sykes still smarted. He resented the implication that he wasn’t fit to properly oversee Lacey’s future. Didn’t they realize that he recognized Lacey’s special qualities as well as they did? Didn’t they realize he’d always done his best to protect her, and he was committed to that course?
Obviously not, and that thought rankled.
But it wouldn’t change anything. He had always done the most he could for Lacey. His caretaking of old Careful was only a small part of it. He had known how much Lacey loved the animal, and how important a part the small burro had played in her survival on that last, desperate day. He had wanted to spare that beautiful, dear little girl as much grief as he could. He had instinctively sought to maintain her connection to Weaver any way he could.
He had made arrangements to have the burro stabled with his own horse over the years. He had taken Careful out with him on frequent overnight trips; and the truth was, he had grown as fond of the feisty little critter as he was of his own mount. Yet, the moment when Lacey and the burro were reunited had been more than he had ever hoped for.
He would never forget it, the way that reunion had made him feel.
Yes, he was committed to Lacey, with all that word entailed.
Aware that Lacey awaited a response to her question, he said, “What do I have in mind? Just put the riding clothes on. You’ll see.”
“I don’t like mysteries.”
Scully dismissed her reply with a glance. “Just put the clothes on. I’ll be outside waiting.”
The sun was hot and steady as the morning hours advanced. The terrain was flat as they traveled toward the distant mountains, and an inexplicable tension began assuming control of Lacey’s senses.
Traces of her vexation still remaining, Lacey looked at Scully, who rode at her right. She had been upset at his attitude in the restaurant when Doc Mayberry and Reverend Sykes introduced themselves earlier, but she had gotten truly angry when he explained the reasoning behind his behavior. The thought that he might’ve believed for a moment that anyone could influence her against him had stunned her. He was her lifeline to a past she hoped to reclaim, her stability in the present and a stalwart presence as she looked toward an uncertain future. She considered the bond between them to be impervious to assault of any kind. The thought that Scully possibly did not feel the same had shaken her.
Those thoughts had deluged her as she had dressed in the riding clothes he had brought. When she opened the door, she had found him waiting, his dark suit exchanged for more common western wear. It had not escaped her notice that the ordinary shirt and trousers he wore somehow emphasized his superior height and breadth of shoulder, which set him apart from the average fellow on the street, or that the brim of the weathered hat he wore pulled down low on his forehead added a new element of determination to the strength of his compelling features. She had frowned at her certainty that the gun belt he wore strapped around his hips was not for adornment.
Scully did not smile when they reached the street and approached the two mounts waiting for them at the rail. He said, “You do remember how to ride astride, don’t you? We don’t have sidesaddles in Weaver, and the trails are a bit rough for a buggy.”
She had responded by mounting up in a fluid movement that had surprised even herself—a prideful display for which she now silently suffered stiff, aching muscles.
Her eyes straight forward, Lacey heard Scully say, “It’s getting hot. You have water in your canteen if you’re thirsty.”
Lacey turned toward him, a tart response on her lips, only to have it fade at first contact with Scully’s concerned gaze. In a flash of insight, it was suddenly clear to her that both she and Scully had gotten angry for the same reason—because, in one way or another, the bond between them had been questioned. She wondered why she hadn’t realized that before, then silently thanked the Lord for relieving her distress by imparting a bit of wisdom that had escaped her.
Lacey responded, “I’m not thirsty, but I would like to know where we’re going, Scully.”
The shadows in Scully’s eyes darkened with uncertainty as he replied, “Surely you realize where we’re going by now.”
A cold chill raced down Lacey’s spine at his response. Her mounting tension exploded into breathlessness as she turned to scrutinize the terrain more closely.
Endless wilderness…a sunbaked trail…the mountains in the distance drawing ever closer…
Lacey gasped, “I-I’m not ready to go there yet!”
“Your grandfather’s buried there.”
“No, I don’t want to go.”
Suddenly trembling, Lacey shook her head. She couldn’t go back to the site of her nightmares, not even to see her grandpa’s final resting place. Not yet.
“Lacey, are you all right?”
The terrifying shadows began shifting in Lacey’s mind.
The fire was all around her. Her skin was burning. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to call for help.
She was afraid…afraid…
Lacey did not feel the strong arm that encircled her waist the moment before Scully swept her from her saddle and settled her on his horse in front of him. She was not aware of the sob that escaped her throat when his embrace closed around her. She felt his breath against her hair and heard Scully whisper, “It’s all right, Lacey. It’s over…in the past. You don’t have to be frightened anymore. I’ll take care of you.”
Shuddering, Lacey burrowed closer against him. She knew it was true. She was safe with Scully. She’d always be safe with him.
Scully filled his canteen at the stream, then looked back at Lacey. She was sitting in the patch of shade where he had left her. Her skin was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed. Strands of pale hair hung loose at her hairline and trailed down the back of her neck, but she was unaware of her dishevelment as she leaned back and closed her eyes.
Crouched