Promise Bridge by Eileen Clymer Schwab Page B

folks was such unusual critters,” she mumbled as she ruffled some burlap Colt had brought to pillow her head. “Best be tellin’ your beau to take that there rabbit from Marcus, ’cuz we all seen down in the meadow he ain’t got no knack fo’ shootin.” She smiled to herself as she lay her head down and closed her eyes.
    “Lillabelle said she was dead.” I sniffled as Colt helped me to my feet.
    “Oh, that spirited chile is talkin’ ’bout the rabbit,” Marcus said, shoving the kill against Colt’s chest. “I trapped and strangled it this morning. Now take it so no one thinks you is doin’ somethin’ more than huntin’ up in these hills.”
    “I still say it was a damn foolish thing to do.” Colt reluctantly took the limp rabbit in hand. “If anybody had seen you, this hare would not have been the only kill of the day.”
    In my relief at seeing Livie alive and with regained strength and clarity of mind, I failed to take notice of Colt’s frustration.
    “I need a word with you outside, Hannah,” he said curtly as he pressed an unusually gruff hand against the small of my back and directed me into the pines outside the hideaway.
    “Keep walking,” he said without giving clue as to the cause of his thinly veiled anger. “We’ll speak once we are out of earshot of the others.”
    We continued through a break in the pines and up over the knoll leading to the eastern slope of the ridge overlooking the Red Hawk River. It was a pristine sight, but I knew we were not there to take in the view. I thought perhaps a compliment would soften his mood.
    “I am so proud of your doctoring skills. You saved Livie’s life. The feeling must bring you great satisfaction.”
    “The only feeling I have right now is sheer terror, and you should feel the same, Hannah. This situation is out of control. You are far too emotionally immersed with these people. We need to send them on their way before it’s too late.”
    “Livie will not survive a perilous trip in her condition.”
    “She may not survive staying here either,” he said. “My point is you have become too attached. You must distance yourself, because sentimental notions have no place in what we are doing.”
    “You probably expect me to agree with you, Colt, but I can’t help thinking maybe sentimental notions have everything to do with it. My emotions are mine and mine alone. And they are not controlled by you or Aunt Augusta or anybody else, for that matter. Maybe it’s time I face my emotions head-on and figure them out for myself.”
    “Bloody hell!” Colt growled.
    “How dare you . . . ?”
    “No, not you,” he said, pointing down across the river. “Look!”
    Just beyond the southern bend of the river, where the flatland stretched clear of the wooded landscape, a cloud of dust barreled its way along the red dirt road toward the river crossing on the distant banks of Echo Ridge.
    “Have mercy! Is that Twitch heading back to West Gate so soon?”
    It was a question that needed no answer. Even from our perch two miles above, I recognized the creaky, enclosed buckboard rattling along behind his two hard-driven palominos. And though we were too far away to see anything more than his disagreeable frame hunched over the reins, I felt his snarl right down to my bones.
    “Come, we must put the fire out,” Colt said, as he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the cave.
    “Don’t worry, Colt. Any billows rising up from the cave can’t be seen in town. You told me that yourself. All the smoke gets funneled through the rock formations in the other direction.”
    Stumbling toward the cave entrance, Colt released me so he could bend and catch his breath. After a few deep breaths, he straightened up and regained his composure with a simple shift of his shoulders.
    “A line of smoke from the cave might not be seen from town, but I am certain it will catch the eye of anyone approaching the ridge from the east or north.”
    “Even if Twitch sees