Page 37 of A Rugged Beauty
"He can't hear you." Hollis moved behind her. What was he doing, why wasn't he?—?
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from August's horse. She realized he was getting smaller, moving away from them.
"No!" desperation leaked out in her voice.
"I'm going to fire a signal shot," Hollis warned.
She finally turned and saw he'd taken his gun out of its holster. He was pointing it toward the ground, away from both of them.
Even though he'd warned her, the crack of the shot echoed in her chest as she stared at the far off rider.
The horse wheeled.
The moment seemed to stretch long as she waited, breathless.
And then a quiet sound, one that seemed to barely reach their ears.
The crack of another shot.
They'd been heard.
Slowly, August grew bigger. She couldn't contain herself. She ran toward him. She could feel Hollis following, then became aware of his strained breath, probably from his injuries lastnight. All morning long, she hadn't missed how gingerly he moved, how his ribs pained him.
She slowed to a fast walk, sending a concerned glance his way.
More horsemen joined August, and her heart leapt. She'd been right when she'd told Hollis that their company wouldn't abandon them in the wilderness.
As the men neared, she recognized Owen. And a cowboy–Gerry Bones, recognizable because of the stained white ten-gallon hat he wore to shade his brown-skinned face. And Mr. Beaumont, another traveler with the company that she didn't know as well. Beaumont’s pale blue shirt was a contrast to his brown skin with golden undertones.
August slid off his horse before the animal had plodded to a stop.
"Hollis! Abigail!"
She ran and threw her arms around him. She couldn’t say whether she'd ever hugged him before, but the moment his arms closed around her in a brief hug, sweet relief flowed through her. Tears sprang to her eyes. She laughed a little as one slipped free. She took a step back.
"Are we glad to see you," August said.
Owen was off his horse, his hand clasping Hollis's wrist in a firm clasp. The two other men were still dismounting.
"We found Abigail's wagon, deduced that you two had been swept away in the river,” Owen said.
August had turned back to his horse. Now he pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief. He unfolded it to reveal a biscuit, golden and floury.
He gave it to Abigail, who broke it in two and handed one half to Hollis. His eyes said his thanks as he stuffed it in his mouth.
Mr. Beaumont approached, shrewd black eyes taking them in.
"Some of the company thought you were dead," Beaumont said. “Jes’ like before.”
Abigail shuddered. August saw, shifted closer.
"You all right?" he asked low.
"We didn't know what had happened for a couple days," she told him. She explained about their memories, about the vomit they'd seen, their conclusion about the berries.
Sometime in the middle of her explanation, August had pulled a blanket from behind his saddle and wrapped it around her. It smelled clean and faintly of horse, and she realized just how badly she needed a bath and her dress and underthings laundered. The warmth from the blanket seeped in to her skin, still damp from their night in the rain.
"His memories haven't come back?" August asked her, voice low.
