Instinctively she tied it off, her fingers numb. But at that instant her heart froze, a sudden, gut-wrenching possibility asserting itself in her mind.
God himself couldn't have induced Meggie to willingly leave the wagon in the midst of such a gale. But could something... someone really have dragged the child through that opening in the canvas and off into the storm she so feared?
With a cry of denial Ash scrambled to the end of the wagon. Hot wax dripped on her fingers, but she scarcely felt its burning as she tore at the canvas's drawstring with her other hand. Abandoning the quilt, she clambered out into the rain, the downpour soaking her to the skin before her bare feet even hit the ground. The candle gave a sick fizzling sound as the torrent extinguished it, and Ashleen cast it to the ground.
Help... she had to get help... find Meggie... the thoughts roiled in her mind. The little girl must be so frightened... alone...
"Garret!" Ash cried, running toward the lean-to he'd set up for himself a few dozen yards away. "Sweet God, Garret, help me—"
Lightning ripped across the sky, and she stumbled, her foot cracking into a stone, her ankle twisting painfully. But she kept running, panic tearing at her with ruthless claws.
"Ashleen! What the hell—"
She almost sobbed with relief when she heard his voice and saw him wrench out a lantern that had been obscured by the saddle leaning upright beneath the lean-to's shelter.
He jammed himself to his feet, coming out into the rain to catch her in his arms.
"Ash, what's the matter? For God's sake—"
"It's Meggie! I woke—woke up and she was gone. She hates storms... is more—more scared of them than I am, and—"
"Hush, now." His voice was soothing, his arms so warm. "She's fine, Ash, Meggie's—"
"No! You don't understand. She's not in the wagon."
"Ash, stop this. Look." His voice was low, gravelly as he pulled her toward the lean-to and shoved her, resisting, beneath its slanted roof.
She dashed the rain and tears from her eyes, her knees buckling beneath her as she looked down into Garret's blankets.
There Meggie lay, curled up as snug as a baby squirrel in its nest, her doll cuddled close to her chest, her face so unearthly, so serene that for an instant Ashleen thought her worst fears might have come true. But at that moment the child sighed, shifting toward where another crushed blanket lay, as if even in sleep she were seeking something.
"Thank God." Ash breathed a shuddery sob as Garret swept that coverlet up and draped it about her shoulders. "Thank God she's all right!"
He cleared his throat, bunching the heavy wool tight beneath her chin. "I—I was sitting with her awhile. She came out so scared."
"Meggie... wandered out here? I don't—I can't believe it."
"Neither could I. She looked like a little ghost, and she was shaking so bad, I didn't know what to do. I was going to come and get you, but she hung onto me real tight—I didn't... couldn't..." He shrugged, looking incredibly guilty. "Hell, I dried her all off, put her in one of my old shirts. And figured—figured I'd just let her fall back to sleep and then carry her over to the wagon."
Ash felt an absurd sting of anger at Meggie for doing something so foolish, at Garret for being the one the child had run to. "She is asleep," Ash snapped, ashamed to feel tears again burning at her eyelids.
"I know." Garret turned his back on her, bracing his hand against one of the lean-to's support poles.
"Do you know how terrified I was, waking up? Finding her gone? I was half crazed by the time I ran out here."
"I'm sorry. It's just that she looked so peaceful. Like she wasn't afraid. Wasn't thinking about whatever makes her so sad all of the time. And"—he turned, his voice edged with a kind of defiance—"well, she kept holding onto my hand."
He glowered at her from beneath dark brows, and Ash could have sworn she saw his lips tremble. He hunkered down beside the little girl, his fingers feathering over her cheek as if astonished by its softness.
Ashleen didn't want her anger to wane, but there was something about the look in those gray eyes, something so painful, something that left Garret so vulnerable, she couldn't lash out at him again.
And when he spoke, his words thick with grieving, she wanted only to wrap her arms around him, pull his head down on her breasts, and let his anguish pour free.
"Beth was Meggie's age when she was killed," he all but whispered. "My sister. She had the same dark hair, same big eyes. She always wanted to hold my hand, too. Sometimes I let her. But most of the time I was too busy to be bothered."
He lifted Meggie's fingers into his own, and Ashleen watched the lantern light play across his narrow, sensitive hand and Meggie's helpless one. And all Ashleen could think of was the hellish story Kennisaw Jones had spun out on the journey to West Port, the tale that had made Ashleen's heart reach out to Garret MacQuade's long before she had even looked upon that beautifully chiseled face.
He put the child's hand back onto the coverlet and pressed his fingers to his eyes. "I hated it when Beth was afraid."
