Lost and Found Read online

  She would die out here, alone, and no one in the world would know the horror she'd suffered in the past few months.

  Moving without consideration of where she was heading, she stumbled her way down a trail—bumping into trees as she stubbed her toes against the sharp twigs and roots that littered her path. In the distance appeared a small ramshackle home. Her vision wavered as she fought to take one more step and hoped that when she died someone who would find her.

  An ancient black cottonwood came into view several feet away from the rundown house, and she breathed a sigh of relief. There. She would force her body to make it to the tree.

  Moments later, a broken cry of dismay escaped her damaged lips when she collapsed among the tall grass, her strength deserting her.

  Before the blackness of unconsciousness embraced her, tears fell from her delirious eyes.

  Lillian's last coherent thought was that even death had refused her wish to happen where she wanted.

  The tree stood only feet away from her.

  One more thing she had failed at accomplishing.

  Kitty pointed to a spot in front of her, a mixture of horror and fascination written on her delicate, young face and exclaimed, "PAULIE, there's a body!"

  Paul angrily climbed down from his tree fort, to where his four-year-old sister stood nearby, surrounded by tall grass that bent in the gentle breeze.

  The sunlight broke through the tree limbs overhead, like fingers of warmth, to rest on the gruesome scene.

  Paul was only twelve years old, but he'd lived a hard life within those twelve years. They both wore ragged clothing, two sizes too small. Haphazard patches sewn with uneven stitches kept the material awkwardly together.

  He'd been grateful to find the morning warm after shivering through the cold night, his sister tucked against him on their narrow mattress. Their father had taken the quilt away from them, complaining he was cold before going to his room and passing out.

  "Criminy," he breathed, bending to pick up a stick near his foot, "get behind me, Kitty." He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the body.

  Dutifully, she moved behind him, looking around him as he poked the body with the stick. The blood-soaked fabric gave little resistance and tore as Paul jabbed Kitty's discovery.

  "Is she dead Paulie?" she whimpered, her rag doll hanging limply from her hand.

  "Shhh, Kitty." Nervously, he poked a little harder, "She ain't moving, so...I think she might be."

  The poor woman only wore a threadbare petticoat and ripped camisole, exposing the bruises and wounds that seemed to cover her entire body, her dress nowhere in sight. A large gash on her forehead had him worried; he didn't know how anyone could live with a wound like that.

  He knelt next to the woman, noticing a grey pallor to her skin where blood and bruises didn't cover it. Kitty bit her bottom lip and tightly clutched her brother's hand, "I want mama."

  Paul grimaced. He wanted their mama too, but she'd died two years ago birthing a baby sister that had died five days later. Paul didn't like to remember how mama looked that day or the unsettling similarities between her and the wounded woman on the ground.

  Reaching a trembling hand forward, he touched the lady's arm where it lay on her stomach and blew out a breath of relief when she wasn't cold and stiff to the touch like his mama's had been.

  He watched the woman's face as he moved closer, leaning down to hear her heart beating as he'd seen the doctor do on mama. He smiled when he heard a faint thump, thump, thump, and sat up straight.

  Looking back to where Kitty stood, staring wide-eyed at him with a death grip on her rag doll, he soothed, "She's alive, Kitty, don't worry."

  Her eyes grew huge as she stared at the woman, "Paulie...she's moving!"

  In worried fascination, they both stared as the woman's eyes fluttered and a breathy moan escaped her cracked and bleeding lips.

  He knew they needed to get help for the woman, but he didn't want to leave his sister here alone with someone who could very well die any second.

  Their father had been too drunk since their mama died to be any help in this situation. The only person he knew that would help them was Sawyer Weston. He bit his lip in indecision; he might not be able to run fast enough to get Mr. Weston if he had Kitty with him.

  The woman moaned, rolling to her side as she tried to stand without success. Her hair was scraggly and dark, with sticks and leaves ratted into the length hanging limply around her head. She looked awful. He bit his tongue, knowing she wouldn't appreciate him saying so.

  Paul scooted closer on his knees, bracing her shoulders to help her lie back down, "I’m Paul, what's your name?" he asked quietly, wanting to keep her calm.

  With a trembling hand, she touched her brow, grimacing when she felt the large bump split through the middle. Blood seeped from the open wound down her face, "Lillian..." she said groggily, fighting for consciousness.

  "This here's my sister Kitty; she's the one that found you," He motioned back to where Kitty stood, then felt foolish for the woman clearly wasn't able to see him do so.

  Hearing the soft snap of a twig, Paul glanced back at Kitty and shook his head when she took another step closer.

  Turning back to the woman, he studied Lillian's face. Swallowing, he made up his young mind. Worried he'd already wasted precious time the woman didn't have he said, "I need to go get you some help."

  He stood and took a few steps back, adding, "Please, don't die."

  Quickly, he picked Kitty up and yelled, "WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK." He took off running; strange anxiety gripped his twelve-year-old heart as he rushed to get the one person he knew would help them.

  Chapter Three

  Mr. Weston's massive barn and sturdy two-story home came into view ahead of him. His legs burned and his arms hurt, but Paul pushed forward, kicking up dust from the tree-lined road as he raced towards the home.

  Paul hoped Mr. Weston hadn't gone to town with his ranch hands, as he'd told them he might. Two days ago, he'd come to check on them while their father had been in town getting drunk at the saloon.

  Running up the stairs to the porch, he set Kitty down; his arms ached terribly from carrying her the whole way.

  "Mr. Weston!" Paul yelled, "Mr. Weston!" He gasped for air and knocked urgently against the wooden door, shouting anxiously, "Mr. Weston!"

  When no one came to the door he spun around and raced down the steps gripping Kitty's hand tightly as he pulled her behind him, panting, "Kitty we have to find him, he's the only one close enough to help us!" he glanced down at her and stopped in his tracks.

  Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes filled with terror as she looked at him.

  Gritting his teeth, he knelt in front of her, wiping the tears from her cheeks, "I'm sorry I'm scaring you, Kitty," he pulled her into his arms, "please don't cry."

  He tried to take a couple calming breaths but the tears and panic he was fighting so hard to hide made it impossible for him to breathe. He had to stay strong, if he cried like he wanted to, the woman would die, and it would be his fault.

  Kitty wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, hiding her face as uncontrollable sobs wracked her little body, "Where's Mr. Weston, Paulie?"

  Awkwardly he stood; his weakened arms struggled with her slight weight as he held her. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, "We'll find him, Kitty, don't worry," and rubbed her back.

  She raised her head as she sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand.

  He turned and scanned the property, "Let's go check the barn, maybe he's in there," he touched her chin gently and looked into her crystal blue eyes, "sound like a good plan?"

  She nodded and rested her head back on his shoulder.

  Paul jogged to the barn as he yelled, "Mr. Weston? Are you here?"

  The barn door stood wide open, allowing the sweet smell of hay and the animals within to scent the air. Hearing a metallic hammering coming from the back, Paul looked in and hollered desperately into the shadowed interior,
"Mr. Weston!"

  The hammering stopped briefly.

  "Mr. Weston! Are you back there? It's Paul Sutter!" he yelled louder.

  Metal clanged, followed by a dark figure appearing from a room at the back of the barn who yelled, "Paul?"

  The man sauntered down the aisle, closing one of the fifteen stalls as he passed into the sunshine that beamed through a window on his left. He was an extremely tall man, brawny from the hard labor of ranch life.

  A faded red shirt with a worn leather apron covered his broad chest down to his knees where his chaps then covered the rest of his legs, and his dark leather boots were scuffed but well cared for.

  Wiping a worn-out blue bandanna across his forehead, Mr. Weston ran a hand through his dark brown hair, moving the shoulder-length strands off his sweaty face. He then stuffed the bandanna back in his rear pocket as he came closer to Paul.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Paul ran into the barn and panted, "Mr. Weston—you've gotta come quick, sir. We need help!"

  Sawyer quickened his pace, untying his apron and hanging it on a hook nearby. The spurs on his boots jingled with each powerful step bringing him closer.

  His stomach clenched in dread at seeing the fresh tears streaming down Kitty's face and the fear in both of their eyes. What had happened to have them in such a state of alarm?

  Reaching out imploring arms, Kitty whimpered for Sawyer to hold her.

  "Come here sweetie," Sawyer said softly, pulling her tiny form into his strong arms.

  Although she was four years old, she was small for her age. Sawyer often wondered if it was due to the neglect she had suffered in her short life or from taking after her mother. Instantly, her tears quieted as she laid her curly blonde head against his broad shoulder and sighed in contentment.

  He gripped Paul's arm gently, "Is it your father? Has he hurt you?" Sawyer fought to keep his tone level, not wanting to frighten the children further. But, if that father of theirs had done anything to hurt them again, so help him he'd kill the damn fool himself.

  "It isn't him, Mr. Weston. He's still passed out drunk in his room. We found a lady!" Paul tugged at the man's arm, pulling him toward the entrance, exclaiming, "We have to hurry before she dies."

  Sensing the urgency of the situation, Sawyer quickly strode to where three bales of hay were stacked waist high and sat Kitty on it, kissing her cheek fondly before he told her to stay put. "Where's the lady at?" He asked Paul, hurrying to hitch two mules to his wagon.

  Paul rushed to help Sawyer, "Kitty found her near my treehouse, sir." He bit his lip and paused, tears stung his eyes as he said, "She's covered in blood and bruises...we thought she was dead when we found her."

  Sawyer's hands stilled. He stared at Paul in astonishment, "Kitty found her?" No wonder the poor girl was in tears.

  Paul nodded and rushed to explain, "But, I wouldn't let her near her. I poked the lady's ribs with a stick to make sure she was alive. We've got to hurry back and help her!" Paul insisted. He’d wasted too much time talking. He gripped Sawyer's hand in his and exclaimed, "She's hurt real bad, and I don't think she'll stay alive if we wait much longer."

  Motioning for Paul to climb into the wagon, he trotted over to where Kitty still sat watching them with tear-stained cheeks.

  "Come here honey bear," He soothed, scooping her up in his arms as he quickly walked back to the wagon, handing her up to her brother. He pulled himself up into the seat and released the brake as he took the lines, slapping them against the mules' rumps. The wagon lurched forward and raced away from his property.

  He drove the team as fast as he dared, feeling in his gut that the wounded lady had very little time left if he didn't make it there soon.

  Pulling on the lines to bring the wagon to a stop where Paul motioned the lady should be, Sawyer set the brake and hopped down lightly, taking several steps forward as he scanned the area for the woman, "Stay in the wagon, just tell me where..." he froze when he saw her.

  He cursed softly before turning and commanding, "Paul, grab the quilt behind the seat and throw it to me."

  Paul removed the blanket and threw it to Sawyer several feet away.

  Catching the blanket in one hand, he rushed to where the lady lay in the tall grass and dirt. Kneeling at her side, his hands deftly moved up and down her limbs and torso feeling for any broken bones. He was probably the furthest thing from a doctor, but he'd had enough broken bones to know what they felt like and determined she'd only broken her left forearm.

  Sawyer draped the quilt, covering her battered and bruised body and gently lifted her into his arms as he stood.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she softly whimpered in pain as he quickly walked to the wagon.

  Glancing briefly down at her he soothed, "This is going to be a mighty bumpy ride, Miss, but I'm gonna do my best to get you somewhere safe so we can take a look at these wounds."

  He laid her in the bed of the wagon as gently as he could and readjusted the blanket to cover her damaged body, then ran to the front and vaulted up onto the bench seat. Releasing the brake, he took the reins into his hands, "Paul, when we get back to my place, I'm gonna need you to run and get Riley."

  Slapping the lines against the rumps of the mules, he continued, "He should still be in the tack room at the back of the barn. Have him take you to get Doc Brennan."

  The wagon lunged into motion, racing down the road and back toward his property. Glancing down at Kitty where she sat snuggly between him and her brother, he asked, "You hanging in honey bear?"

  She gave a solemn nod and snuggled against his side.

  Sawyer smiled at her before urging the team to a faster pace. The smile vanished as his thoughts drifted back to the woman lying at death's door in the back of his wagon.

  Doc Brennan tied the bandage around the wooden splints on her arm and stood, "Well...that ought to do it, Sawyer."

  Standing to his full height, Doc still fell a foot shorter than Sawyer. Doc was of a solid build with a barrel chest and stocky arms and legs, as though his muscles were trying to make up for what he lacked in stature. His fifty-plus years showed plainly in his attractive face as he stretched with a grimace.

  Glancing up, he saw Sawyer hovering anxiously at his side and patted his shoulder, "Now we just have to wait and see if she's strong enough to recover." He rolled his sleeves back down to his wrists and ran a hand through his graying hair.

  As Doc adjusted the glasses on his nose, he said, "I can only imagine how she ended up in that condition...any idea who she belongs to?"

  Sawyer gazed at the unconscious woman and rubbed his scruffy jaw, "No. I'm pretty sure I've never seen her before." He would have remembered had their paths crossed before. Even in her battered state, she drew him to her.

  The electrifying contact had knocked the air clean out of him, but even more unsettling was the emptiness plaguing him after laying her in the wagon. His skin still tingled from having her in his arms an hour ago. What was wrong with him?

  Doc shrugged and then turned back to his tools, "Well, I guess we just have to wait for her to wake up then." He placed the last of his instruments back into his bag and took up his coat hanging on the hook by the door. "Her arm should be healed well enough in a month or two, and her other injuries shouldn't be any worry."

  Sawyer rested concerned eyes on the woman and murmured, "What about that gash on her forehead?"

  Doc scratched his head then smoothed his hair before blowing out a breath, "With head wounds, you never know what's going to happen..." He continued, cautiously, "if she survives the fever...she might have a good chance..." he paused and shook his head, looking at Sawyer apologetically before saying softly, "but, even that won't be a guarantee she'll make it." He watched his patient for a few moments with concern etched plainly across his face before he turned and walked out of the room. "I'll be by in the morning to check on her."

  Sawyer followed behind and sighed, "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it." He rubbed a calloused hand over his face�
�what a day this had turned into.

  Stopping abruptly, Doc looked over his shoulder, "Where's your sister at? I thought she was due back a few days ago?"

  Sawyer nodded and answered, "Charlie sent a telegram that there was some business issue that still needed resolving. Said she was going to be a few weeks late and would send word when it was taken care of." He shrugged, more concerned with the unconscious woman lying on the bed.

  Doc pursed his lips in disapproval. Glancing back at Sawyer before continuing down the hall, Doc stated, "Well, for propriety sake, I'm going to send Mrs. Richardson over to help you. She steps in as my nurse when needed. "

  Sawyer sighed but nodded. Mrs. Richardson was pleasant enough, but she could be a bit tiresome with her chatter and opinions on everything that he could have cared less about.

  They stepped into the main room, warmly lit by several table lamps and a fire in the hearth. Strategically placed to take advantage of the warmth from the fire were two overstuffed reading chairs and a long triple back sofa his wife had insisted on when they were first married.

  It was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture he'd ever sat upon, but since her death, he couldn't find the heart to get rid of it. A thick fur rug covered the floor, adding a relaxed masculine touch to the more feminine furniture of the room.

  The kitchen was to their right. Paul and Kitty sat around the worn table that had been in Sawyer's family for the past two decades.

  A lace tablecloth his mother had made adorned the aged wood top, hanging down several inches and exposing the intricately carved pedestal of its base. It was a comfortable home; the furnishings showed their age and yet were well taken care of and functional.

  Paul and Kitty stared around them in wonder. Their house was no better than a wooden shed compared to the more opulent surroundings of Sawyer's home.

  "Don't hesitate to send for me if she..." Doc stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Paul and Kitty sitting at the kitchen table nearby, "worsens." He pasted a warm smile on his face and said, "You've done some remarkably brave things today you two. That young lady back there wouldn't be alive right now if you hadn't found her and gotten help when you did."