She stared up at him, taking in his handsome, earnest features.
Something about this man was starting to grow on her. Something that made her want to throw caution to the wind and give him her trust.
He must have sensed she was weakening, for he moved in then with a killing blow. “If you ride with me, we will cover ground more quickly and will have a greater chance of finding this Josh you seek before nightfall.”
Great. He had found her biggest weakness. She would do anything to find Josh and see to his safety, even ride an oversized horse with an attitude.
Her wary gaze on Berserker, Beth placed her hand in the leader’s much larger one.
It was warm and tanned and callused but capable of gentleness, she learned as he folded his fingers around her own.
“Your hand is as cold as well water,” he exclaimed, frowning down at it. Curling his other hand around it, he brought it to his lips to blow warm breath on it.
Butterfly wings fluttered in her belly. “What was your name again?” she asked.
“Lord Robert, Earl of Fosterly.”
She nodded slowly, his touch doing strange things to her insides. “Well, Robert, I’m going to hold you to that promise. So, I guess you’d better go ahead and give me a boost.”
Something about the way she said his name surprised him. She saw it in his eyes and felt it in the tightening of his grip on her fingers before he frowned over the rest of her words.
Shaking his head, he dropped his hands to her waist, lifted her effortlessly and deposited her sideways on the saddle. It was an odd one, not like those she had seen in movies, but Beth barely registered it as she clutched the high pommel with a death grip.
Her heart raced madly. Her palms grew moist. The ground seemed miles away from her precarious perch. And every horror story she had ever heard about people being thrown from their horses and winding up either dead or paralyzed chose that moment to flood her mind.
She gasped as Robert launched himself into the saddle behind her, lifted her and settled her firmly across his lap. One heavily muscled arm locked around her waist while the other took the reins.
“Fear not, Mistress Bethany,” he murmured soothingly in her ear. “I shall let no harm befall you.” Then the horse beneath them moved, carrying them forward to retrace her path through the forest.
Beth had just enough time to convince herself that—under other circumstances—she might actually enjoy learning to ride horseback… eventually… on a nice, slow, elderly nag, before they broke through the trees.
The meadow in which she had awoken opened up in front of them.
Relief rushed through her when she saw her possessions. “My backpack!”
Berserker stopped at Robert’s unspoken bidding. The others followed suit.
“I shall dismount first,” Robert spoke gruffly in her ear. “Then I will assist you down.”
“Okay.”
Beth didn’t realize how tightly she was holding his arm until he carefully peeled her fingers away and settled them on the pommel. “Just hold on here and you shall be fine.”
She nodded jerkily.
Covering her hands with one of his, he gave them a comforting pat, then dismounted. Seconds later, he gripped her waist, lifted her and settled her gently upon the grass.
“Thank you.” Beth hurried over to her backpack and dropped to her knees. As she began to paw through it, she heard the others dismount. “Where is it?” she muttered. “Where is it? Where is it? Come on, you son of a— Aha!” She cried out in triumph when she finally located her cell phone. Turning it on, she prepared to dial 911.
No bars.
“Shoot!”
Scrambling to her feet, she bumped into Robert and Michael. The two had apparently come to stand beside her and now leaned down to peer curiously at her phone.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she took several steps away to try again.
No bars. Not even a flicker.
“Shoot!”
She crisscrossed the clearing at least a dozen times, holding the phone high and low, this way and that, trying to get a signal with no luck, her worry increasing with every step.
“Work, damn you!” she shouted, and tried yet again with no luck.
No phone. No Internet. No nothing.
Sighing, she bowed her head. Her shoulders slumped. She lowered the hand holding the phone and let it dangle uselessly by her hip.
How was she supposed to summon help when her freaking phone wouldn’t work?
“What precisely is it supposed to do?” Stephen asked.
Eyes narrowing, Beth turned to look at him.
Stephen and the one she now knew was called Adam had joined Robert and Michael. All stood a few yards away.
“I’m trying to call 911,” she told him, thinking it pretty obvious.
She may as well have spoken in ancient Aramaic. All four regarded her blankly.