Chapter Thirteen
As Clover ran across the clearing to Ballard’s house, she briefly considered falling to her knees and giving thanks. The horse tied up in front told her that someone had returned home. She prayed it was Ballard. She wanted to tell him about her ordeal first, without the others clamoring for answers. She would let him know exactly what threat they faced. And then she would go to bed.
“Are you sure you will not stay, Willie?” she asked the boy as she opened the door.
“No more’n a minute or two, just to be sure MacGregor knows where to look for that scum.”
As Clover stepped into the house, she nearly walked into Ballard, who was on his way out. He stood with a small sack in one hand and his musket in the other, and he had never looked so good to her.
As the realization that she was indeed safe at home at last struck her full force, one thing became blindingly clear. She loved the big man standing before her, staring at her as if she were a specter risen from the grave.
When he did not immediately drop everything and take her into his arms, her heart broke. She desperately wanted a hug, wanted to sink into his embrace, safe again. Instead, Ballard remained as if turned to stone.
“Ballard,” she said, and reached up to touch his arm, grimacing when she saw how filthy her hand was. “I have had a rather distressing afternoon.”
“Oh? A distressing afternoon, was it?”
He almost laughed, then wondered why. It really was the last thing he felt like doing. His insides were twisted with conflicting emotions. He was overjoyed that she was safe back home, yet devastated because again, she had been forced to take care of herself. Her presence seemed glaring proof that he could not protect her. He had dragged her from the safety of her tidy brick home in Langleyville to the wilds of Kentucky and plunged her into one trouble after another.
She looked terrible. Her dress was torn, stained, and bundled up above her knees. Her stockings were shredded and stuck with leaves and small twigs. Her hair hung down her back in a thick, tangled mass.
Finally he noticed the boy.
“What are ye doing here, laddie?” he asked, then wondered why he was talking to the boy when his recently kidnapped wife was standing there looking as if she had been dragged through the brambles backward and would dearly love to collapse onto something soft.
“I done brought your missus back to you,” Willie answered.
Ballard looked at Clover again. “Who did it?”
“Big Jim and his cohorts. They dragged me right out of my kitchen.”
“Why did they take you?” He ached to pull her into his arms and hold her close until he was completely reassured that she was safe, but he felt he had no right to offer such comfort.
“To give me to Thomas and to draw you into a trap.” She sank into a chair by the fireplace. It was clear that Ballard was not going to give her the exuberant, loving welcome she craved. Suddenly she was exhausted.
“And ye followed her?” he asked Willie as he put his bag down by the fireplace and replaced the musket on the rack over it.
“I did,” Willie replied. “Got her free of them bastards too.”
Clover told Willie, “You must not use such bad language, and I thought you were in a hurry to get home.”
“I be due for a beating no matter when I get home. I wanna stay for a while and be sure MacGregor knows everything he needs to so’s he can make that scum pay good and proper for what they done.”
“So Willie helped ye get free and ye made your way back here?” Ballard was dismayed that a small, barefoot boy had offered the protection he had failed to provide.
“More like she donerunback,” said Willie. “Nearly got caught a time or two, but we proved too quick for them.”
Ballard sat down opposite Clover, unable to take his eyes off her. She was safe but through no help from him. He saw no condemnation in her tired eyes, but he was sure there was a hint of disappointment in them. He painfully accepted it as well-deserved.
“Perhaps, between the two of ye, ye can tell me all that happened.”
Clover carefully related everything that had occurred from the moment Big Jim had burst into the kitchen. Willie added his own colorful details from time to time. All the while she wondered why Ballard looked sad, hurt, and a little angry. Anger she could understand, but not the others. And she had the strangest feeling that the anger was not directed at her kidnappers.
Ballard shook his head when they were done. “I never thought Thomas would pursue us here. Aye, I could see his madness, but I truly thought that, once we were in Kentucky, he would direct that madness elsewhere.”
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Clover murmured.
“Something like that. ‘Tis my shortsightedness that has put your life in danger.”
