Little Henry leaped onto his pony, the other braves following his example. Amid the ponies’ whinnies, they rode off, yellow dust kicking up at their hooves.
Before Luke could stop her, Noelle slid from the saddle and dashed toward the prairie schooner.
“Let me go inside first! There may be others,” Luke shouted, racing after her. Before he reached the wagon, he heard her cry out.
Noelle shuddered a gasp and stared at the shambles inside the wagon. “Oh, my God!” She rushed to the splintered crate leaning on its side.
Those savages had touched her mother’s things. A jolt of revulsion raged so violently inside her that she thought she might be sick. She touched the china cabinet, its fragile door still swaying from the broken hinge. Delft earthenware, once her mother’s pride and joy, was reduced to a heap of blue-and-white shards, littering the shelves.
Noelle shook her head, refusing to give in to the threatening tears. The clamor of Indians’ taunts and galloping ponies’ hooves still rang in her head as she stared at the wooden crates and wicker cartons ripped open, mounds of clothing scattered everywhere.
Behind her, the wagon’s floorboards creaked. She jumped, expecting to see another...
Luke’s long shadow appeared across the bleached canvas sides as he stepped inside the wagon. She let out a muffled cry of relief.
Luke’s jaw tightened as he glanced about. “They’ve gone. No need to be afraid.”
“What if they come back?”
“No. The chief, Captain Henry, is a friend of mine. Little Henry will know that to do so will dishonor his father as well as himself.”
“Those friends of yours were wearing Mr. Douglas’s clothing. How do you know that they didn’t surprise my guide and frighten him to death?”
Luke picked up a broken teacup, turning the delicate china in his hands. “Because I know.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the cadaver showed no signs of fright. Death came from a massive heart attack, brought on by extreme exertion—”
“You’re not a doctor. How do you know—?”
“I was once, miss.” Luke regretted the words as soon as he saw Noelle’s eyes widen with surprise. He saw the questions forming in her mind.
How he knew those questions. Those questions had kept him awake more nights than he could remember.
“But I’m a gambler now. Not much difference between gambling and doctoring, really.” He grinned, trying to make light of something that he’d refused to think about any more. Damn, what was there about this woman that brought the past back like the deep ache of an old wound?
“It’s nothing I want to talk about, so forget I mentioned it.” He placed the broken cup fragments upon an overturned crate.
He turned his back on her as he stepped to the rear opening. “Maybe you should file a report about the Indians at the sheriff’s office, Miss,” he suggested over his shoulder. “What you do is none of my business.”
“B-but...you’re a witness.” She shouted after him.
“My witness. Just look what those fiends did.” Noelle’s hands trembled when she bent to pick up a black leather-bound book. “My Mother’s Bible,” she cried. Her eyelids closed as she caressed the gilt-edged tome to her chest. “I can still smell those savages.”
Luke turned back and leaned inside the wagon. “Most of that is whiskey smell.” He glanced around.
“Any more whiskey in the wagon?”
“No. The only jug I had was for medicinal purposes. Mr. Douglas took it with him when he left to get help.” No need to tell Luke that Mr. Douglas hadn’t asked her permission.
“Recognize the empty crock jug...broken, on the ground outside the wagon?”
She glanced out the front of the wagon, then darted back inside. “Y-yes, it’s the same jug.”
“The Indians probably found the jug where they found Douglas’s body. Drank the whiskey while they staggered along Douglas’s backtracks.” Luke stroked the dark stubble along his jaw. “That’s why it took so much time for them to get here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The whiskey. They drank the liquor first, then came looking for more.” Luke’s mouth quirked. “That whiskey might have saved your life, miss. You’re one lucky lady.”
“Mr. Douglas is dead. I’m stranded with a broken wheel a day’s ride from Crooked Creek. And you’re telling me I should be thankful for a jug of whiskey, Mr. Savage?”
His smile faded, and she regretted her words immediately. He was only trying to make her feel better.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound cross.” A rush of gratitude welled within her. “I appreciate your kindness. You came to help, and I’m indebted to you. I don’t know what might have happened if you decided not to follow Mr. Douglas’s tracks.”
“What’s in these boxes that’s so valuable?” Luke asked, as though purposely changing the subject. His dark gaze raked across the carelessly thrown floral gowns, red and black petticoats, black beaded jacket and a man’s formal top hat.
Noelle rose, then straightened the small trunk containing her father’s handmade props that he had used in his magic act. Shaking it gently, she felt relieved when nothing inside rattled. She forced a weak smile and glanced around the wagon. “My belongings are of little worldly value, but priceless to me and my uncle Marcel. It was my father’s dying wish that I deliver what was left of their magic act. How could I refuse?”
Luke shuffled his feet uneasily. “Maybe some of it’s salvageable.” He straightened a squat wooden box from its side. The crush of broken glass made him wince.
Noelle squeezed her eyes shut. The mingled scent of rosemary, oregano and peppermint told her that the herb cabinet had fallen, her precious herb jars smashed.
“What’s this?” Luke asked, peering into the largest crate of her father’s.
Noelle glanced at the padded lid, ripped from the long wooden box. “Father’s mirror!” She dashed beside Luke, forcing herself to be brave enough to view the damage. “My father and Marcel used the looking glass for their most famous act—the disappearing man.”
Luke’s brow furrowed. “The disappearing man?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Thank God, the mirror’s not broken.” She studied the mirror carefully, her pale, serious expression staring back at her. Luke stood behind her, unwrapping the stiff packing. She was immediately aware of how large he was. Broad shoulders, powerful forearms. Her blond head barely reached the middle of his chest.
She felt Luke’s warm hand when he placed it on her shoulder. “I’ll help you straighten this mess later.” He turned and his dark gaze met her blue eyes in the glass. For a moment, she thought his dark brown eyes might stare through her. He was so very attractive, in an uncivilized rugged way. His thick, wavy black hair framed his sun-bronzed face. Far away, the straight black fans of lashes gave a piercing look to his expression. But up close, Noelle saw the soft, mahogany velvet of his eyes, like warm, rich coffee.
The heat from his hand felt strangely comforting, and she made no move to remove it. For a moment, she thought of how consoling it might be to lay her head upon his chest and cry.
The shocking idea jarred her back to reality. No doubt, it was the sudden brush with danger, the loss of her possessions and the death of Mr. Douglas that beckoned such a foolish idea.
She turned from the mirror to meet Luke’s darkening gaze. He removed his hand, then averted his eyes. “While it’s still daylight, I must fetch the oxen.”
“I’ll