Page 46 of If the Boot Fits

The burlap undulated with the snake’s movements. The top of the sack gaped open. Any moment now, the rattler would find his way out. Should she stay still and pray it mistook her for a rock and slither away? Would it be better to kick the sack out of the wagon and hope it didn’t land close to the horses? Or maybe she should try to ease her feet out from under the sack, climb over the seat into the wagon bed, and escape out the back.

Indecision tormented her. Too many things could go wrong no matter what she chose. All she knew for sure was that her shoes and skirts offered more protection than her thin sleeves, so she released the reins and drew her arms up toward her head. She’d just about decided to try to ease her feet out from under the sack when the head of the snake emerged dangerously close to her ankle.

The brownish-gray triangular head loomed large in her vision. Nearly the size of her fist, it pushed the burlap aside and led the way for the rest of its oversized body to wriggle free.

Samantha prayed the creature would simply dismount the wagon and escape onto the prairie, but instead of taking the straight path to freedom, it curled around behind her heel.

What if it climbed up her skirts? The terrifying thought nearly unseated her.

Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.

The meditation didn’t steady her pulse. Her heart pounded harder and harder until she found it difficult to breathe. Foot after foot of scaly diamondback serpent slithered from the sack and disappeared beneath her skirt. The vile thing had to be at least five feet long. She could feel it moving. Over her shoes. Around her ankle. Rustling the fabric of her petticoats.

Something brushed against her calf, above the top of her left shoe.

Samantha whimpered, then pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes closed.

Take it away, God, please. I can’t bear it.

Terror built inside her, urging her to flee. But she held firm, heeding the tiny scrap of logic that remained in her possession. Stillness gave her the best chance to survive. Do nothing to make the snake feel threatened.

But what if the creature tangled in her skirts and couldn’t find its way out? What if it was drawn to her warmth and decided to curl up and take a nap?

One of the Morgans tossed its head and stomped a hoof. Samantha’s eyes flew open.

Merciful heavens. What if the horses jostled the wagon?

Tears filled her eyes. Her chest throbbed. Her soul cried for rescue.

Panic wound its tentacles around her mind, cutting off her access to rational thought. The weight of it threatened to pull her under. She needed to get away. Now!

She clutched the seat back and prepared to jump up onto the bench. But a movement caught her eye. The snake’s head emerged from beneath her skirt on the far side of her right foot. Samantha held her breath but not her prayers as a few ounces of sanity returned. The rattler was leaving. Its long body still slithered between her calf and ankle, but its head dipped over the far side of the wagon and disappeared.

Yes. Oh, please. Go!

The body followed. All five feet of scaly horror along with its rattled tip. Inch by excruciating inch it stretched over the wagon side until finally sliding completely from view.

The instant it vanished, Samantha kicked the empty burlap sack off her feet, her movements jerky and clumsy as desperation fogged her brain. A ravaged mewl vibrated her throat as her feet thrashed until the unholy sack fluttered to the ground. Arms shaking, she snatched the reins and slapped the lines across the Morgans’ backs.

“Yah!”

She raced for home as if the snake were giving chase. Tears streamed down her face, and her knees knocked together. A chill settled over her body, exacerbating her tremors and deepening the sense of isolation that gripped her heart.

One of her father’s hands must’ve spotted her wild approach, for two gunshots rang out in quick succession, the signal that trouble was upon them. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Daddy on his big bay gelding riding in at a gallop from the front pasture. Never had she wanted him more.

She reined in her team and scrambled out of the wagon the instant the horses stopped. Picking up her skirt, she ran across the field, straight for her daddy, sobbing as she ran.

A few yards from her, Eli Dearing leapt from his saddle and ran to her. “Sam! What hap—?”

She threw herself against his chest, cutting off his question and forcing him to stagger backward in order to catch his balance. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was her daddy was here, and she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

As if her body had taken in a poison that had to be expelled, she latched on to her father’s waist and bawled it all out. His arms came around her. Strong. Warm. Supporting her as she trembled. The anchor in her storm.

She heard the arrival of other horses, heard men asking questions about an attack. Samantha kept her face buried in her father’s chest, hiding and wishing everyone away.

Daddy’s deep voice vibrated his chest beneath her ear as he spoke, instructing Martin to see to the wagon and warning the others to stay vigilant as they returned to their duties. Saddle leather creaked. Hooves thumped. Murmurs of assent echoed. Then all fell quiet, the hiccups of her subsiding sobs and her father’s steady heartbeat the only sounds remaining.

He asked no questions. Didn’t even urge her to hush. He just held her until her supply of tears ran dry.