Page 60 of His Perfect Bride
Utmost urgencydidn’t sound good. It had to mean she was in more trouble than she’d let on, probably all she could communicate if she was with her captor.
After thanking Mrs. Roberts and heading back down the flagstone path, Sage’s expression had turned grave, her eyes solemn. She’d likely arrived at the same conclusion. “She needs us.”
He nodded. He needed Sage. In fact, a part of him didn’t know how he’d ever functioned without her steadiness.
Sage pursed her lips as if checking off items in one of her mental lists. “Before leaving Victoria, she had to have known where her kidnapper was taking her.”
“To the bridge?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps she’ll find a way to leave us another clue there.”
If his theory was correct about the kidnapper being related to one of the bridge workers who’d died, then maybe the fellow would be waiting at the bridge with a list of demands in exchange for Augusta.
If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn’t blame them. He hadn’t exactly apologized or made reparations for his role in the disaster. He’d had his accountant send the remaining earnings and a stipend to each family who had been affected. But other than that, he’d been more focused on himself than on the suffering of the families. Even if his mind had a tendency to turn inward and fixate on things, that was no excuse for being so selfish and only thinking about his own pain instead of others’.
“How far is Hope from the bridge?” Sage’s question cut through his thoughts.
He had to drag himself back to the moment. He was trying to find Augusta. He couldn’t let himself get distracted with another mission, at least not until this one was completed.
“The bridge is at least thirty miles north of Hope, up the river past Yale.”
“Could we get there yet today?”
“It’s too late.” Moreover, he didn’t know if the steamboat captain would be willing to take them the last part of the journey to Yale. The captain had indicated the need to return to Victoria tomorrow, which meant they would have to find someone else to transport them.
Once in Yale, the river became too dangerous for steamboats. From there, most of the miners set out by foot, which was why the roads—and bridges—up the rest of the river valley were so important, particularly for transporting supplies to the mining camps and for carrying the gold out of the mountains.
As they reached the street, Sage glanced to the sky overhead and then to the western range. “Are you sure we can’t leave today?”
“I am certain of it.” He was anxious for Augusta too, could only imagine her fear and the distress she was feeling at this point. Every passing day only put her into more danger in the hands of a lunatic kidnapper who most likely wanted revenge or a ransom or both.
As much as he wanted to help Augusta, he refused to risk Sage’s well-being. With the hour getting late, she would be safer if they waited to leave in the morning. They would take a hotel room, and tonight he would make sure to find one big enough that he could bed down on the floor.
As much as he loved his sister, the truth was, he was beginning to love Sage more. Though that thought should have surprised him, it didn’t. It felt completely logical and sane and natural to admit the truth—that he was in love with Sage.
Twenty
Wearily, Sage brought her horse to a halt beside Jackson’s on the high mountain road.
She drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the bridge ahead, half of it suspended above the river far below and the other half gone, the jagged edges the reminder of what had once been whole and complete and solid.
In the fading evening shadows, the skeleton was dark and eerie. The area was empty and deserted since most of the other travelers on the mountain road were already making camp in the river valley below. Hopefully Augusta and her captor were also camped someplace nearby, perhaps hidden or just tucked away for the night.
Sage’s thighs were chafed from the saddle, and her backside felt permanently bruised. But she’d insisted on continuing to the bridge, even though Jackson had suggested stopping a couple of hours ago.
With each passing day, the urgency to find Augusta kept growing. The dear woman had been a captive for at least five full days—one while Sage and Jackson had been on Salt Spring Island, the day of their traveling to Centreville, the next day in Hope, then one making their way to Yale, and finally today—the fifth day journeying on the horses Jackson had paid to use.
Sage had only ever ridden a horse once when she’d visited the Lancashire countryside, where her mum had grown up. Otherwise, she’d never had need to ride, especially since arriving in Victoria, where she and Augusta had used hired carriage drivers for their transportation needs.
When their traveling party had started out from Yale shortly after dawn, Jackson had been a patient teacher with her, had even held her reins and directed her horse during the sections of the trail that had been narrow and more dangerous. She’d thankfully caught on quickly and had been able to manage her horse for most of the journey.
The October weather in the higher elevations had been steadily growing colder, and all day Sage had struggled to stay warm. Even now, as she shifted on her mount, the cool evening breeze slithered inside her cloak and down her backbone, making her shudder.
“We’d do best to head down before it gets any darker.” Pastor Abe pointed toward the river bottoms below. The three businessmen who were also a part of their caravan had already started down the narrow switchbacks that led to the river.
The businessmen heading up to Williamsville weren’t very friendly, especially because Jackson had acted like a beast to them all day, cutting off any attempts at dialogue and practically snarling at them if they even briefly spoke with her.
The gruffness had only gotten worse the longer they’d been on the trail and the closer they’d come to the bridge. She suspected revisiting the site of the accident was difficult for Jackson, possibly something he hadn’t done since the accident.
