Holt's Gamble by Barbara Ankrum Read Free Book Online

blacksmith slid the semiconscious man onto one of the horses, propping him up until Kierin had mounted behind him. She wrapped one arm around Holt's chest, tightening the blanket around him, then grabbed the reins with the other hand. Brown mounted his own horse and spurred him forward. Kierin did the same, and though she kept a watchful eye on the street behind them, no one followed.
    In minutes, they reached the sheltering cover of the tall cottonwoods that lined the banks of the sprawling Missouri River. Holt's head fell against her shoulder as he slipped in and out of consciousness. His soft moans told her the jostling ride was causing him a good deal of pain, but there was no help for it. They would have to move fast to escape the ever-widening arc of Talbot's men searching the town for them.
    The April moon hung high in the cloud-swept sky by the time they reached the wagon train encampment, little more than a mile from town. The canvas-topped wagons sprouted like giant mushrooms in the darkness along the lush banks of the great river. Kierin's arms ached with her effort to hold the tall man upright.
    The encampment was quiet. Only the snapping of an occasional burning twig in a campfire or the gentle lapping of the water intruded the night's stillness. Brown slowed his horse as they approached a wagon standing slightly off by itself, parked beneath a huge cottonwood. Brown nodded toward it.
    "This here is the wagon," he told her quietly, dismounting. He helped Kierin down and then balanced Holt across his shoulder again.
    A knot of fear twisted her stomach as she approached the wagon. How would she ever explain what had happened to Holt? What if he died? Would Jacob blame her? Certainly, he could blame her no less than she already did herself. Though logic told her that she could not have changed what happened tonight, she could not help feeling partly responsible for Holt's condition. Now two men were dead and Holt was barely alive—all because of some ridiculous bet over her. Kierin swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders with resolve. There was nothing to be done for it now. All she could do was try to get Holt help as quickly as possible and put the consequences out of her mind.
    She stepped out of the shadows and lifted her fist to rap on the side of the planked wagon, but the sound of a cocking gun stilled her movement. She froze with her hand still poised above the wood. In the darkness beneath the wagon, she caught the glint of steel and knew the barrel of a gun was pointed directly at her. Behind that she could see the whites of a man's eyes, but no more. She opened her mouth to speak, but her traitorous voice failed her.
    "What you be wantin' here 'round my wagon?" came a deep voice from the shadows.
    "A—are you... Jacob?"
    "That be the name my mama give me. Who's axin'?"
    She glanced back nervously at Brown. "My name is Kierin McKendry. It's about your friend, Mr. Holt."
    "Clay?" A burly black man rolled out from beneath the wagon, his face etched with concern.
    "Yes, he—he's been hurt—"
    "What? Where is he?" Jacob demanded. He followed her gaze back to Brown and rushed to Holt's side. Laying a hand almost tenderly on Holt's back, he lifted the blanket to get a better look at him. Then, he wheeled angrily on Brown and Kierin.
    "What happened to him?"
    Brown spoke first. "He was knifed by a low-down snake named John Talbot back in Independence. The girl 'n' me was only tryin' to help him. But your friend here ain't got the time for us to worry about who did what to who. He's lost a lot of blood and he's losin' more as we're sittin' here jawin'." Brown's gaze was steady on the black man and Jacob's anger seemed to dissipate with the blacksmith's explanation.
    "Sorry," Jacob replied, running his fingers over his short-cropped hair. "It's just—can you help me git him into the wagon? I can tend him better in there."
    Jacob lowered the tailgate on the wagon and swept back the canvas flap. Together,