Chapter Fourteen
Every time Joe looked behind him as they wound their way deeper into the forest, Margaret was right there. Her horse picked its way through the slick, overgrown brush. The trail was starting to widen, and the trees weren’t as thick. The light from the clear sky was starting to filter through.
“Ryan!” he shouted again. He kept calling every five minutes. His throat was dry, and he coughed.
“Joe, I’ll call him. Give your voice a break,” Margaret said. Her horse stumbled. “Easy, girl.”
“You okay?” he asked, catching the way her horse tripped and then quickly righted itself.
“Joe, how close are we, do you think?” she asked, holding her reins in one hand and resting the other on her leg. Her dark slicker covered her jeans, and her hair was tucked under her wide-brimmed hat
