Snowed In(manxman)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Turner was slumped in the saddle, freezing cold and leaving a trail of bloody drops in the water beneath him. Thankfully he had found a thawed mountain stream and taken Bernice into it, using the water to his advantage so the lynch mob would not be able to track her hoof prints or his blood trail. 

It was nearing night and it would seem they had given up. They had been chasing him for two days but the snow, the mud and the harsh, bitter cold proving to be more than they were willing to deal with--even to catch the man who had burned down half their town. 

Turner wanted to be with Will.. His heart ached with the need to know whether or not he had managed to get to the man in time. His body ached to curl up against Will’s slender form and sleep for ages. 

Too much. 

The last three days there had simply been too much….

Too much loss, too much anger, too much rage, too much desperation and too much sadness. 

Turner swooned in the saddle as his body rebelled against him. Letting him know it didn’t appreciate being so long without food, water, rest and proper care for his bleeding, burning, aching leg. 

Turner didn’t even know for certain where he was. He hadn’t been paying any attention to his destination and he wasn’t familiar with this land… for three years he’d remained on his mountain and only came down to Caudilltown for supplies a few times a year. He hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near that mountain when he’d fled because that would have been too obvious. 

Despite his pain, both physical and emotional, Turner rode on. 

Well after dark he saw a glow in the distance. Turner brought Bernice to a stop and rubbed at his eyes, ensuring that what he saw wasn’t a trick of his tired eyes. 

It was a homestead. 

Turner was too weak in the saddle to do much but Bernice seemed to sense that they needed to reach that shelter. She left the stream and headed up the bank toward it. Bernice went straight into the rickety barn and began munching on an open bag of oats. 

Turner slid from the saddle, falling upon the ground with a thud and a moan of pain. He shivered from the cold, blood loss and exhaustion. He dragged himself into an open stall and curled up on the hay piles that lay inside, burying his body within them just before unconsciousness claimed him. 

***

Movement woke Turner. 

He stirred in the hay and cracked one eye open. The sight he was meant with was a surprising one. A woman, pretty but tired in appearance, was cooing and talking to Bernice. She had unsaddled the mare and was rubbing her down with practiced ease. 

Turner sat up slowly and then pushed himself to his feet. The woman’s shoulders tensed beneath her long wool coat. She turned slowly and her light brown eyes widened, her face paled, her mouth opened and her ear piercing screams filled the air.