Once Upon a Mail Order Bride - Linda Broday Page 0,112

clear in the dirt, along with Addie’s small ones. There’d been a scuffle. From there, only one set of footprints—large ones—led away. What happened to Addie? Panic crawled up Ridge’s throat. The assailant must’ve picked her up and carried her.

Jamming on his hat, he lifted Cob’s reins and followed the footprints to where a wagon had sat. He mounted up and began the hunt. The ruts left gashes in the dirt that he could see from Cob’s back. Hopefully, they’d lead him right to the kidnapper—and Addie.

Ezekiel Jancy. The man had found her. And now he’d exact his retribution. She’d sworn never to reveal the boy’s whereabouts, but if she didn’t, Ezekiel would torture her. Ridge was sure of that.

In that case, Ridge would have to kill her father. He’d never taken pleasure in snuffing out the light in a man’s eyes, but when it came to someone hurting Addie, he’d take particular pleasure in sending them to hell. Jancy didn’t deserve mercy, nor would he get any.

There would be no turning the other cheek.

The timing was deep irony. He’d just received what was likely to be his only chance to clear his name, and now he was riding toward a man who had no right to take up breathing room on this earth. What he meant to do when he caught up with Jancy would definitely end his chances for a clear slate. It would put Ridge back on the run.

Dammit! When would the killing stop? When would he be able to live in peace? Maybe a man like him was destined to always live with a target on his back and the law on his trail.

Ridge urged Cob into a gallop. He had to get there in time. She shouldn’t suffer at Ezekiel’s hands for one more second.

The miles flew by under Cob’s hooves, and the memory of the welts on Addie’s back hovered in the forefront of his thoughts. He struggled to draw air and urged the gelding faster. “Come on, boy. We’ve gotta find her. She’s everything to me.”

The ruts in the dirt were easy to follow for a while, but in areas where the ground had hardened too much and resisted any trace, Ridge had to dismount and search until he picked the trail up again.

All of it ate up the hours, time he didn’t have to spare. And he was ever mindful of the sun slipping lower and lower. He should have caught up with them already. A lumbering wagon was forced to crawl, whereas Cob was fleet of foot. Yet he didn’t overtake them. Was it possible he’d followed the wrong set of tracks?

Where was his quarry?

Ridge rode to the top of a high escarpment and stared down at the world below.

But he saw no wagon. No travelers. No Addie. Nothing but endless desolation and an empty horizon.

Thirty-One

“Are there no tall trees, no water in this godforsaken part of Texas?” Ezekiel hollered. The wagon stopped, and the springs protested as someone—Ezekiel, Addie supposed—climbed down from the seat. “What am I supposed to use?”

Short cedar trees and thorny mesquite from the rough terrain they’d just traversed had badly scratched her arms. Her skin stung, but she couldn’t rub them or even see the damage. Relying on her ears to tell her what was happening had become difficult at times.

Her mother said nothing, as usual. Addie pictured her sitting impassive, staring straight ahead. Reduced to a beaten-down shell of a woman.

Would her mother ever find her voice, take charge, and step into life? A bit too late for that. A person had to have courage and determination, and if Ingrid had possessed any, it had been crushed years ago. This was Addie’s situation to manage. And now she had yet one more pressing need. It could be to her benefit though—and possibly provide a chance of escape.

“May I please take care of some personal business?” Addie asked in a firm, clear voice. “I don’t require long, but it is urgent.”

“No.” His voice came from quite near on her left side. He was probably leaning against the wagon, staring at her. The gurgle of liquid told her he was drinking, and a sinking feeling knotted in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t get any favors.”

“I can feel you staring. I know you’re looking at me. Why?”

“Trying to figure out how God wills you to die. Your death has to be in accordance with how you’ve chosen to live. You shall suffer for your sins, and