Homecoming. Jill Marie Landis

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      Joe’s gut tightened until it hardened into an aching knot as he stared into the eyes of the white woman turned Comanche.

      He couldn’t seem to break the spell until he heard his mother say, “Untie her, Jesse, please. No one deserves this kind of treatment. No one.”

      Beside her, Joe shifted uncomfortably. If not for his mother, he’d be hightailing it out of here, leaving the girl behind, fighting to shut out the memory of the penetrating blue-eyed stare that would haunt him for a long time to come.

      “Ma, they’re bound for a reason. Leave it alone.”

      “Look at her, Joe. Look at all of them. These are God’s creatures. These poor souls deserve better.” Hattie turned her ire on Jesse. “I can’t believe you keep them fettered like this, sitting in their own filth, after all they’ve been through. We treat our stock better.”

      “The women can be as fierce as the men, Hattie. There’s still no telling what they might do to us or themselves,” Jesse grudgingly admitted.

      Joe shoved his hand through his dark hair. “Yet you want us to take her into our home.”

      “Untie her,” Hattie demanded. Before Joe knew what she was doing, his mother knelt down before the girl and laid her hand over the young woman’s chaffed, bound wrists.

      “We’re taking you out of here, honey. We’re taking you home with us. It’s not a grand place, but we make do.” She spoke softly, kept her voice evenly modulated, the way she did when calming an injured animal. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and feeling fine in no time.”

      “Fine? You really think so, Ma?” Joe didn’t try to hide his bitterness or his skepticism.

      Hattie slowly rose and faced him. She lowered her voice so that only he, and perhaps Jesse, could hear.

      “I know you blame yourself for what happened to me and the others, Joe, but there’s a time to mourn, a time to weep, and then there is a time to give your trials over to God and let them go. ”

      No one knew that better than she did.

      “I believe with our help and God’s love, she’ll be fine.” She squared her shoulders, ready for a fight. “She needs time and care. She may never be the same person she was before she was taken, but eventually, she’ll be better. God willing, I’m going to try to help her get there. You can either help me or not, that’s up to you, but if you can’t help, then the least you can do is try not to hinder. I insist that you be civil toward her.”

      Joe glanced around, noticed all of Jesse’s men were trying to listen. Except for the low, pitiful moan from the demented captive woman, there wasn’t another sound in the room.

      Jesse cleared his throat and slipped a deadly-looking hunting knife out of a sheath hooked to his belt. He bent down, cut the cord binding the girl’s feet and, taking hold of her elbow, pulled her up. She wavered and staggered slightly. Joe reacted without thought and grabbed her upper arm to steady her.

      At nearly the same time, both of them realized what had happened. The girl shook off his hand just as he let go and took a step back.

      “Keep her hands bound until you get to the ranch,” Jesse suggested to Joe, ignoring Hattie.

      Being ignored by both men only raised her ire.

      “Free her hands, too,” she ordered.

      The two men exchanged a look. Hattie gently put her own hand around the girl’s upper arm. This time the girl didn’t shy away.

      “Please, Jesse,” Hattie added. “Cut her loose. There’s no way she can outrun Joe.”

      Joe held his breath as Jesse slipped his bowie knife beneath the thick rope binding the girl’s wrists. As the rough hemp fell away, he saw her skin beneath was raw, broken and bleeding.

      His mother was right. They would never have treated their own stock this badly.

      But then he reminded himself that rescued captives weren’t valuable stock. They may have been white at one time, but they’d been taken by the Texans’ worst enemies. They’d gone Comanch’.

      And now, thanks to his mother, he was taking one of them home.