Page 82 of The Heart’s Charge

“Of course. But first, we have to get you home.”

Home. Why did that word sound so much better coming from her lips than anyone else’s?

Eliza hovered over him, sliding her arm through his and reaching around to support his back. “I’ll help you stand.”

He nodded but didn’t move. Her face was so close. So beautiful. Her eyes radiating concern. Her chin jutting with determination. Jonah reached up and cupped her cheek.

“I’ve witnessed heroic deeds on the battlefield, Eliza, but I’ve never seen anything braver than what you did today.” She’d ridden Augustus, the monster horse that, until now, she’d refused even to touch. For him. “You’re an amazing woman.”

Her gaze locked with his, and her dark eyes softened. “You’re worth the trouble.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

Mister! Please, mister. Ya gotta wake up!”

Mark’s consciousness returned in tiny, excruciating increments. Scurrying echoed around him. And whispers. Both cut off abruptly, however, when he groaned. The back of his head felt as if he’d been kicked by a horse. Or rammed by a train. At least the insistent hands that had shaken him awake and rattled his brains in the process had released their grip.

Where was he?

Sandpaper eyelids scraped open only to find darkness on the other side. His chest clenched. Had he lost his sight? He peeled his eyes wide. Blackness. Solid, impenetrable night.

Panic shot through him. He tried to sit up, but his hands were bound. No, chained. He heard the links jangle, felt the bite of the iron manacles shackling his wrists. Rolling onto his side, he used his shoulder to lever himself up onto his knees. He sat up too quickly, though, and a wave of dizziness hit, disorienting him and sending him careening downward. Unable to halt his fall with his hands chained, he toppled over, the side of his face smashing against the hard ground.

“Ow.”

A nervous giggle echoed from somewhere to his right, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

“Who’s there?” he demanded as he tried to get off his face and back onto his knees. “What do you want?”

Bits of memory started weaving together in his brain. The attack on Packsaddle Mountain. The black Palouse. Ortega. The kiddy-snatchers.

Kids. Boys who might giggle at a man who fell on his face. And the voice pleading with him to wake had been a child’s voice. He was sure of it.

Had he found the missing children?

“Wart?” He latched on to the only name he knew, praying it would convince the boys he was friend not foe. “Wart, are you here? I’m Mark Wallace. We met at Donaldson’s livery. My friend Jonah and I have been looking for you and the others. Rawley’s been helping us. Al too.” Mark tossed his sister’s name into the dark like a poker player tossing in his last chip. “Al’s safe at Harmony House, Wart. Safe and well.”

Metal scraped against metal, and then a shaft of light pierced the darkness and diffused into a dim glow. Thank God. Mark swallowed hard, his chest tightening with gratitude. He wasn’t blind. Just underground, judging by the cave-like passage he found himself in. Turning toward the light, he spied half a dozen faces staring at him. One in particular grabbed his attention, topped by a mop of matted curls that probably looked red in the sunlight.

“Al’s all right?” The boy’s voice wobbled but didn’t crack. Wart stepped away from the group of boys huddled against the cavern wall, his eyes so full of hope, it hurt to look at him.

But Mark refused to look anywhere else. He knew the weight of responsibility and how heavy it grew when helplessness stole the power to protect those one cared for. The memory of Jonah tumbling over the side of the mountain flayed Mark’s heart. His friend—no, his brother—needed him, and he could do nothing to help him. He could help Wart, though. Ease his burden at least a little.

“She’s fine,” he said. “I saw her just this morning.” At least he thought it had been this morning. It was hard to tell how long he’d been out. “She’s worried about you, but she’s healthy and safe at Harmony House.” He grinned. “Even wears dresses now.”

“Wait.” A new voice piped up from the shadows. “Al’s a girl?”

Whoops. Well, it wasn’t as if Rawley and the rest of the boxcar boys didn’t already know the truth. Word of Al’s feminine side was sure to have spread. Just not into underground caves in the middle of nowhere.

“So, where are we?” Mark asked, gingerly hoisting himself up to a kneeling position.

“Los Almagres,” one of the boys answered.

The name didn’t ring a bell. “That a town? Or a ranch, maybe? Are we still near Kingsland?” For all he knew, he could have been tossed onto a freight car and transported down to Mexico. He prayed that wasn’t the case. It would make escaping with the kids twice as hard.

Wart didn’t answer his questions. Just moved closer, frowning. He hunkered down in front of Mark and waved for another boy to bring the lantern closer. “Your face is all bloody.”