But if he didn’t tell her, the parrot would wander farther away. Theodosia would never forgive him if something happened to her pet.
Dammit!
“Roman?”
“Uh…he’s asleep.” Roman placed the cage on the wagon bed so Theodosia couldn’t see it. “Dead to the world. He—didn’t I just tell you that you had to rest today? Go to sleep!” Still refusing to look at her, he walked around the buckboard, his gaze sweeping over every inch of dirt he passed as he looked for signs of John the Baptist.
Theodosia didn’t care for the distress she heard in his voice. Something was wrong. Determined to find out what it was, she struggled to her feet, resisting the wave of weakness that passed through her. One slow step at a time, she approached the wagon.
“John,” she whispered upon seeing the empty cage. Clutching the side of the buckboard for support, she picked up the cage.
When Roman turned around, the first thing he saw was the telltale shine in her eyes. “Don’t cry. I’ll find him. God, just don’t cry.”
She nodded mutely, then began to sway. The cage crashed to the ground.
In an instant, Roman swept her into his arms. “I swear I’ll find him, Theodosia, but I won’t go out looking for him right now. I can’t leave you here, and I can’t take you with me. You’re about to pass out again, and I—”
“The wolves,” she whispered. “What if the wolves got him?”
“They didn’t. They didn’t get him. Got that?” God, he hoped the wolves hadn’t gotten the parrot.
“Please find him, Roman.”
Her voice shook. With pain or fear, Roman didn’t know. “I will, but—”
“I’ll be fine. I can drive the wagon while you ride Secret. I’ll follow you.”
“The hell you will!” He regretted shouting the second he saw more tears fill her eyes. “I told you not to—”
“I cannot stem my tears,” she whimpered, feeling several tears trickle over her lips. “John the Baptist is more than a pet to me, Roman. He’s—well, how would you feel if Secret were lost, and the only person who could find him refused to cooperate?”
The moment the question was out of her mouth, Roman knew he was defeated. Truth was, if Secret were ever lost, he’d scour every inch of the earth until he found the stallion.
And the parrothadplayed a part in keeping Theodosia safe from those Bandana Brothers, he recalled.
Roman gave a great sigh. He was going to track an African parrot through the Texas wilds while tending to an injured genius from Boston who was wearing nothing but a flannel nightgown.
This was the stupidest thing he’d ever been forced to do.
Without another word of argument, he placed Theodosia into the back of the wagon and made a bed for her. “I’ll lead your mustang. You stay here on the pallet. I know you don’t have a lot of room, but you can curl up or something.” He stared at her until she crawled into the bed.
After kicking dirt over the campfire and tying Secret to the back of the buckboard, he resumed his search for clues as to which direction the parrot had taken.
“You aren’t going to ride?” Theodosia asked, watching him examine the ground all around the wagon.
“The parrot isn’t heavy enough to make tracks I can see while mounted. I’ve got to be close to the ground. He can’t fly, right?”
“Only for short distances.” She grimaced as pain shot through her head. “His wings are clipped.”
“You sliced his wings?” Roman asked disbelievingly. There was no love lost between him and the bird, but he didn’t like thinking about the parrot being cut into.
“I only snipped a few of his feathers off. The ones he needs to fly. He experienced no pain during the procedure.” With a will so strong that it surprised her, she fought and conquered the terrible weakness that continued to seep through her limbs. “How long do you think he’s been gone?”
Roman remembered knocking the cage over when he’d dragged Theodosia out from beneath the wagon. “About three hours.”
“Three hours? Oh, Roman—”
“He’s a parrot, for God’s sake, not a roadrunner! He couldn’t have gotten very far, especially since he can’t fly.”
