When a Texan Gambles by Jodi Thomas Page A

watching over them until Sam was at least coherent. Maybe he’d have some answers. If he had money for supplies, he might have money to hire someone to watch over the children for a while.
    She woke him by pulling the buffalo robe off him. His eyes were rimmed in red and bloodshot, and his face looked pale beneath his weathered tan. He stared at her as though he were trying to remember where he’d seen her before.
    He growled like a bear, but Sarah didn’t back down. “I can’t lift you out of the wagon, Sam Gatlin. You’ll have to climb out if you want breakfast.”
    “Go away. I’m not moving.”
    “You are if you plan to eat.”
    “Forget breakfast,” he mumbled. “Where’s the whiskey in this bar?”
    Sarah sighed, realizing he still talked out of his head. She wasn’t sure if he was drunk or in so much pain he didn’t care where he was. “The whiskey is a few feet from the wagon, along with your breakfast.” She’d made a table of water, whiskey, and jerky. It wasn’t much in the way of rations, but she thought it would keep him alive until she returned, or he got strong enough to look for the canned goods.
    He didn’t seem to see anything but the bottle. When she didn’t offer to get it for him, he slowly moved to the back of the wagon under protest.
    Sarah helped him down. When he slid off the gate, she almost buckled beneath his weight. Slowly they crossed the distance to a makeshift bed of leaves Sarah had arranged for him.
    While he downed a long swig of whiskey, she told him her plan. “I have to take the children to town. With the nights getting colder, they can’t stay any longer.” She didn’t mention that they’d eaten half the month’s food supplies. “I left you food within easy reach. If I don’t get lost, I should be back by tomorrow night. It’s not the best of plans, but it’s all I could come up with. You can’t go to town in the shape you’re in, and the children can’t stay out here in the cold.”
    “There are no children here,” he answered as he pulled the buffalo robe over him. “I’ll try not to be dead when you get back.” From the way he said the words, Sarah guessed he felt so bad he didn’t much care one way or the other.
    “Good,” she answered without feeling. “Be alive. I don’t want to have the trouble of trying to bury you out here.”
    “Bring a shovel back, just in case,” he said, already half asleep.
    Sarah swore she heard a laugh beneath the blankets. An hour later, when the children were fed, cleaned, and waiting in the wagon, Sarah checked his wound. If possible, it seemed to have healed a week’s worth since yesterday. He didn’t open his eyes while she wrapped a clean bandage across him. His skin still felt hot, clammy, and she knew when she returned, she might just need that shovel.
    She tried to cover him and make him comfortable before climbing into the wagon. He mumbled, “What children?” once but showed no sign of listening when she explained.
    Ten minutes later, when she climbed onto the wagon’s bench and picked up the reins, Sarah turned around to make sure the children were still ready to leave.
    All three were gone.
    Frustrated, Sarah climbed down and called for them, but they had vanished. She tried everything, setting out food, yelling for them, crawling into the brush. Nothing.
    After rebuilding the fire, she forced Sam to eat a few bites and began a quest to find where they had crossed through the brush. She worked her way into the foliage as far as she could and still there was no sign of them. Nothing.
    They had simply slipped from the wagon while she was tending Sam and disappeared. She waited long after dark, but they never returned. Finally she unhitched the horses once more and sat down beside Sam.
    To her surprise he looked up at her with unclouded eyes. “Back so soon?” he asked.
    “I didn’t go. The children vanished, so I couldn’t take them to town. I can’t even find them.”
    Sam looked as if