“Thank God you’re here,” she shouted into the wind. “We’re lost! Harry is back there somewhere, and I’m afraid—you must find him!”
Morgan lowered his muzzle in a wolfish nod and turned gracefully on his hind legs, bounding off with ears pricked toward sounds only he could hear. Caitlin slumped on the seat and dared to breathe again. Strange how she had prayed for Niall when Morgan was by far the better choice to save them. Niall, after all, was only a man.
Yet she continued to imagine, with absurd persistence, that Niall was even now on his way. When Harry and Morgan returned to the wagon, the old gentleman clutching Morgan’s fur and stumbling along in the path he had made, she cursed herself for wishing Niall out in this nightmare.
Perhaps Niall was lost as Harry had been. Perhaps he would die proving false all the terrible judgments she had made of him out of anger and hurt.
At the end of his strength, Harry climbed onto the wagon’s seat, and Caitlin covered him with her own blanket. He tried to speak, teeth chattering each time he opened his mouth. His ice-rimed moustache was stiff as a board.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said. “Morgan?”
The wolf appeared beside her, his immense paws resting on the side of the wagon. His slanted eyes met hers, and he Changed.
As remarkable as it was to see a naked man standing thigh-deep in snow and unaffected by the cold, Caitlin was in no mood to marvel. “We have to get back to the ranch,” she said. “Can you lead us?”
“Yes.” He glanced the way he and Harry had come. “I’ll take word to the rest of the caravan and gather the wagons.” He paused, frowning at Harry. “He will be all right, Firefly. Keep him warm. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Morgan… Did you… did you by any chance see Niall on your way to us?”
His eyes were hard as topaz. “No. No one could follow you in this, even if he wished.” He turned and leaped into the snow, moving twice as fast as any human. Caitlin inured herself to another wait, warming Harry with the heat of her body and their shared blankets.
A horse’s urgent whinny was the first indication that Morgan had succeeded in reaching the others. Soon another wagon pulled alongside Harry’s, Ulysses at the reins. He nodded to her calmly, but his eyes told a different tale.
“Is everyone all right?” Caitlin called.
“Well enough. It is fortunate that Morgan arrived when he did.” He gestured behind him, and Caitlin saw the shadows of other wagons drawing near. Morgan ran among them, human and then, in a heartbeat, wolf again.
It was as a wolf that he took the lead and guided the troupers to shelter. The going was difficult, far more so than it had been in the other direction, but Morgan was endlessly patient and resourceful in keeping the caravan together, providing encouragement to the weary horses, and pulling wagons out of snowdrifts.
Riders met them when they reached the outskirts of the ranch. Morgan scrambled into the back of the wagon while Caitlin pulled up at the ranch hand’s signal.
“Miss Hughes?” the leader said, his face obscured under layers of scarfs and bandannas. “We thought you wouldn’t make it back. We were just headed out to look for you.”
“We are all right,” she said, glancing at Harry. “Please tell… tell everyone that we’re safe.”
The rider shook his head. “Mr. Munroe set out after you when the storm began. Some of the men went with him, but they got separated. They came back, but he hasn’t. Did you see him, miss?”
Her heart plummeted to the heels of her boots. “He… Mr. Munroe went looking for us?”
“Yes, miss. As soon as the snow lets up, we’ll be going ourselves. Mr. Munroe ain’t used to this kind of weather.”
The men saluted and rode off. Morgan jumped down from the rear of the wagon and ran alongside, keeping the vehicle between himself and the riders.
Sick to her stomach, Caitlin guided the wagon toward the barn, only half-aware of the other wagons rolling up behind. Several hands were there to help her and Harry to the bunkhouse. Shivering, miserable teamsters unharnessed the horses and secured them in the barn.