“Actually, no.” She bit back a moan as the mare struggled with her footing over rocky ground. “We have to be there soon. Tell me we’ll be there soon.”
Remington lifted his chin and indicated a landmark up ahead. “See that rise? The break in the trees? That’s where we’re going. You’ll wait there and I’ll take a look around.”
Phoebe closed her eyes and then opened them abruptly when she felt herself sway in the saddle. Remington must have seen it as well because she felt his hand on her upper arm, steadying her. “Sorry,” she said.
“Frankly, I don’t know how you’ve stayed with me this long.”
“Nerves, I expect.”
“I expect you’re right.”
Neither of them spoke again until they reached the breach in the trees. Phoebe protested when she realized his intention was to get her off the mare, but she lost the argument. He left her leaning against the brown scaly bark of a spruce while he removed the blanket from under the mare’s saddle and spread it on the ground. Although she was nearing collapse, she was also so stiff that he needed to help her down. He pulled on the edges of the blanket and wrapped them around her legs, and then he closed her cape, pulling it tightly about her arms. He took her hands in his, briskly rubbing them to infuse them with heat.
“Do you want my coat?” he asked.
“No. You’re riding. You’ll need it.”
“And you’re sitting on the ground. You might need it more.”
“If you leave it, I won’t wear it.”
“Lord, but you’re stubborn. All right. I believe you.” He released her, stood. “What about the bolster? Would you like me to leave it with you?”
“What would I do with it now? It’s too lumpy for a pillow, and there’s nothing inside that I need.”
Remington nodded. He tethered the mare close by. “If someone comes who isn’t me, get on the mare and ride. I know you can do it.”
Phoebe was not as confident, but she said she would. He must have trusted her because it was mere moments later that he was gone.
Chapter Seven
Benjamin Madison looked across the wide expanse of the Butterworth’s lobby and dining room for Thaddeus Frost. The hotel had opened its doors in the middle of the night to accommodate the passengers who spilled out of No. 486. When the Northeast train had finally arrived, four hours late, the scene was as close to bedlam as Ben thought he’d ever see. That was some thirty minutes ago and it was not much calmer now. People who had been waiting for hours at the station, and he was one of them, were relieved by the arrival and full of piss and vinegar when they heard the explanation for it. The passengers were tired and excited at the same time. It did not take long for them to turn cranky.
Ben saw Thaddeus standing near the kitchen door, his silver-threaded head and sharp profile inclined ever so slightly toward the sheriff. Whatever the sheriff was saying must have been agreeable to Thaddeus because the two showed none of the usual indicators that they were about to be at loggerheads. Ben wended his way through the crowd so he could hear what was being said. He should have been at Thaddeus’s side, but one of the passengers, an older gentleman with a broken and bloody nose, needed assistance, and Ben had stopped to help. In the short time it took to find a chair for the man and thrust a clean handkerchief at him, Thaddeus had disappeared, or at least it seemed that he had. Now, when Ben was within ten feet and a cluster of six bodies away, he was stopped again, this time by a tug on his coat sleeve.
He was prepared to jerk away but good manners prevailed. He drew back the step he was about to take and looked downat his sleeve. The hand was small, possibly delicate, but that was hard to tell when it was balled into such a fierce fist that the knuckles were white. At the risk of being swallowed by the press of people around him, Ben hunkered down so he was eye to eye with the little girl who had attached herself to him like a burr.
Ben was confronted by a pair of blue eyes made unnaturally bright by a wash of tears. “I’m Ben,” he said. “You’re not here alone, are you?” Blond ringlets bounced as she shook her head. A tear dropped, then another. Ben used the pad of his thumb to wipe them away. “What’s your name?”
“Madeleine.”
He nodded. “Well, Madeleine, as it happens, I’m looking for someone, too. He’s gone missing in the crowd. What about you? Who’s gone missing?”
She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Mama.”
“Let’s find her, shall we?” He looked pointedly at his sleeve then at her. “Let me have your hand.”
“No. I want up.”
“All right. Makes sense. No one can see us down here.” He still had to pry her fingers from his sleeve, but when he did, she practically leapt at his chest. He hoisted her as he stood, giving Madeleine her first opportunity to look around from this new vantage. Her head had barely broken the surface of the sea of black hats, white hats, bowlers, bonnets, and dainty feathered hats when she began squealing and squirming like a piglet rooting for a sow’s teat. That meant, he assumed, that Mama was in sight.
“Madeleine!”
Ben rocked back on his heels as Madeleine threw her arms up in the air and leaned toward her approaching mother. He couldn’t see the woman, but recognized her advance as people began to step sideways to allow her through. When she finally appeared, Ben saw a blend of exasperation and relief on the woman’s face. He knew that blend, having seen it often enough in the handsome features of his own mother. With a chuckle, he gave Madeleine over.
“Thank you,” she said. “I called for her, but I don’t know how she could have heard me.” Awkwardly, she held out a hand. “I’m Mrs. Bancroft. And this is Madeleine.”
“We’ve already introduced ourselves.” He took her hand. A reticule dangled from her wrist, swinging like a pendulum. “I’m Ben Madison.”
