Orchids in Moonlight (13 page)

Inside the wagon, Jaime had been dozing off and on all day. Her stomach gave a rumble, and she ate a piece of buffalo jerky, which made her thirsty. Finding her canteen, she took a long sip of water.

Stiff and sore, she longed to stretch her aching limbs.

Slowly, cautiously, she pushed away the sacks and peered about. The canvas had been laced and drawn together tightly at both ends, but rain was still blowing in. Crawling forward, careful not to knock over crates or barrels, she looked first out the rear but saw nothing but empty wasteland.

Moving to the front, she saw Jasper hunched forward, hat pulled down over his head. He was drenched, and she felt sorry for him. At least she was reasonably dry, although if she didn't return to shelter beneath the canopy and sacks, she would also be soaked by the rain.

She was about to turn away when Cord saw a big rock in the road just ahead. With a curse, he snatched at the reins and yelled out at the mules, "Whoa, easy!"

In that heart-stopping instant, Jaime's hands flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her gasp of horror.

It was Cord at the reins, not Jasper!

Cord heard the sound. With one hand, he jerked the mules to a complete halt, at the same time drawing his pistol and whipping about to demand, "Who's there?"

Jaime dove beneath the sacks, frantically, wildly, daring to hope he might think a wild animal had got inside but ran away when he yelled. It was too soon for him to find her. They had not been gone from Salt Lake even a whole day. He could turn around and take her back without losing hardly any time at all. And where was Jasper? Dear Lord, surely someone else was about.

She sank down and held her breath.

Cord dropped to the ground. Only an Indian could have been quiet enough to sneak inside without his hearing. In the language of the Shoshone, he commanded, "Come out. I mean you no harm. I will let you go in peace."

Jaime had been crouched with eyes tightly closed, dreading the moment she would have to stare up into his livid face. But when she heard the strange-sounding, guttural words, her eyes flashed open.

Cord repeated himself, then changed to the Paiute tongue. Both tribes could be found in the area, though he'd not seen any. Buffalo hunting was better farther south this time of year. Few braves ventured this far till spring.

Jaime was even more terrorized by the bizarre sounds.

Expecting a knife-wielding savage to leap out, Cord cautiously approached the rear of the wagon. "All right," he whispered. "You had your chance."

His right hand held a pointed rifle. With his left, he drew a knife from his boot. With one quick slash, he severed the gathering cord of the canvas, and it fell open, exposing the interior. He knew whoever was in there had to be hiding beneath the sacks, so with another slice, he ripped open the top bag.

Flour spilled down to cover Jaime in a cloud of white dust, and she couldn't help herself; as the thick powder covered her face, she began to gasp and cough.

"What the hell?" Cord froze for only an instant before jerking away the ripped bag, which filled the inside of the wagon with flying powder. "Who in thunderation are you?" he bellowed, grabbing her arm roughly and jerking her out.

Jaime struggled in his grasp. Hacking, wheezing, she felt as if she were choking to death. He was hurting her, the way his fingers were pressing so brutally into her flesh as he pulled her from the wagon. "Let... let me go," she sputtered amid a snowy spray of flour. "You almost killed me with that knife, you idiot."

"If I'd wanted you dead, you would be." Holding her with one hand, he swiped roughly at the mask of flour. "You aren't Indian, that's for sure. Not with this pale face."

"Very funny." She twisted in his grasp, but he held tight. "Let me go, I say."

"
You
say," he snorted. "
I'll
say when I'm done with you. Now start talking. I want to know who you are and what you're doing stowing away on my wagon. If you wanted to go along, why didn't you say so?" He studied her as best he could, with the flour caked on her face. Only her wide, angry eyes were visible, ringed with white. "I don't recall seeing you before, but that hair..." He lifted a strand of gold.

Jaime continued to squirm. It had stopped raining, but the flour was clinging to her damp clothes and was extremely uncomfortable.

He released her to stand back and stare in wonder. There was no mistaking the turquoise eyes. He'd thought of them again when he'd traded a necklace made of the blue-green stone to the Cheyenne. And that hair, the color of gold.

"You!"

"Yes, me." Jaime indignantly began wiping her face with the hem of her calico dress. It was one of her favorites, given to her by Wilma Turnage, whose daughter had outgrown it. Now it was going to be difficult to wash. "Why didn't you just yank the sacks away if you knew I was under there? Why did you have to act like some kind of crazy savage?"

Grabbing her elbow, he steered her to the side of the trail and all but threw her down on a flat rock. Towering over her, he pointed a buckskin-gloved finger. "Talk, damn it. How did you get here?"

She enjoyed the gloating triumph of being able to tell him that, thanks to a slat-side bonnet to hide her hair and too many friends to count, it had been quite easy. Uncomfortable at times, because she couldn't have all the freedom she wanted to move around, it hadn't actually been too bad. She watched smugly as he ran agitated fingers through his hair.

"Why now?"

"Why now what?" She blinked.

"Why did you come with me now? Why didn't you stay with the others?"

She quickly explained how she was going to try to find her father, adding, "And since I'd made it this far, I had to try and go the rest of the way. Besides, I thought Jasper was going with you. I heard—" She fell silent, embarrassed to admit she had spied on him.

He smiled for the first time. "So it was you all those nights."

"You knew?" she cried in wonder. "But you never gave any indication."

"What? And spoil your fun? I wanted to see how long you'd keep it up. Usually, it's the other way around–men looking at women–but I don't guess I should be surprised at anything you do."

"It was just a game, something to pass the time and—oh!" She turned away, unable to bear the way he was staring down at her.

He was not about to show mercy, enjoying his torment for her having made a fool of him all this time. "You have to admit you keep turning up in the most unlikely places. First you come to my hotel room, wanting to marry me. Then you follow me across the wilderness to spy on me. You're a strange one, all right, but that still doesn't tell me why you crawled in the supply wagon. Surely you don't think I'm taking you the rest of the way?"

"You have to," she cried, anguish shimmering in her wide, frightened eyes. "Don't you see? I've nowhere else to go. You're my only hope.

"And surely you can see now you were wrong about me," she hastened to add. "I'm not puny, like you thought. I haven't been sick a day. Not the whole trip. And even though you didn't know it, I did my share of the work, as much as I could without risking you or your men seeing me. Please. You've just got to take me with you."

A tear rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it viciously, determined not to cry, lest he think her weak despite her accomplishments.

"This is crazy." He shook his head, looked at her thoughtfully, then shook his head again as he laughed at the ludicrousness of the situation. "Absolutely crazy. I can't take you with me. On down the trail, I'll abandon the wagon to move faster. You'd have to ride a mule and—"

"I could do that," she interrupted to say.

He scratched his whiskered chin. "Yes, I'll just bet you could."

"Then why won't you agree?" She felt like grabbing the front of his fringed shirt and giving him a frustrated shake but thought better of it. "I tell you, I've proved I'm strong enough."

When he did not say anything, but merely stared at her as though he might actually be considering it, she pushed on.

"I can help you. I even know how to cook. I won't be a bother at all. Believe me, if I have to ride a mule, I will. And you'll never hear me complain, I promise."

"I've a mind to put you on one right now, and I won't hear you if you do gripe, because you'll be on your way back to catch up with the others."

"You can't send me back," she argued. "Are you so stubborn you won't admit I'm strong enough to make it?"

"That doesn't mean I want to be saddled with you."

As he spoke, he was wondering what in hell to do with her. She had indeed proved she could make it, but he was fed up with having anybody to look after but himself.

Jaime felt her temper abating. From afar, so many nights she had secretly shared his frustrations and weariness. With heartfelt compassion, she said, "What they did was wrong. They shouldn't have deserted you."

He stopped pacing to regard her in silence. She was not the demure young woman he remembered. Life on the trail had not only matured her but improved her appearance as well. She was robust, skin tanned to a soft bronze, her cheeks pink and glowing. With a warm rush, Cord realized he found her even more appealing than before.

Jaime didn't like the way he was staring at her and prodded, "Are you going to let me go with you?" She took a step back towards the wagon. "It's starting to rain again. You won't make me go back in the rain, will you?"

"Get in," he ordered brusquely. "And hang on. I'm going to get us to the crag up ahead. Then I'll decide."

She moved all the way forward to crouch behind him as he took the reins again. "I won't be any trouble. Actually, I'll be a big help, because I've learned a lot."

"Have you now? Seems to me the only thing you've proved is that you can stay hidden. And why don't you show me how well you do that by making yourself scarce for a while? I've got to watch where I'm going in this rain, and I don't need you at my ear nagging."

Jaime made a face he did not see and withdrew.

Cord did not like thinking how she had managed to make a fool of him or how most of the others had probably laughed at him behind his back. Well, by God, he would see how hard she laughed when he sent her on her way to try and catch up with the friends who had aided in her little scheme. She wouldn't think she was so smart or brave if the Indians caught sight of that long gold hair.

Instinctively, he shuddered to think of her in the hands of savages. He knew what they could do to white women, and he couldn't risk her suffering such a fate. That meant he would have to turn around and give her safe escort. His approach to the Sierras would be delayed, and he would also have to face the grinning, gloating faces of those who had deserted him.

But what if he allowed her to go with him? Evidently it meant a hell of a lot to her to get to California. Maybe, he grudgingly reflected, she deserved to make it the rest of the way. He wasn't about to tell her so, but he was plenty impressed with how she'd fared so far. Still, he was entitled to the sweetness of revenge and intended to erase that smug look on her face.

"If I let you come along," he said thoughtfully, "but there's something we have to get straight."

Jamie cried, "Anything."

"Well," he drawled, enjoying the moment, "I have to know—which do you intend to be?"

"What...." She stammered, confused. "What do you mean?"

"My wife or my whore?"

He swallowed to keep from bursting into laughter as he heard her sharp gasp and felt her instant recoil.

He made his voice gruff. "Don't be so naive, Jaime. Once upon a time, you offered to be my wife, remember? And I thought you were a whore. So if I trouble myself to take you the rest of the way, I think I should be pleasured one way or the other."

Jaime felt her confidence slipping away. "You want me to"—she swallowed hard, barely able to confirm his ultimatum—"sleep with you?"

"Of course," he said brightly. "Your free ride is over, Sunshine. From here on out, it's pay as you go, or I'll leave you stranded on the side of the road."

"You... you would do that?" she asked shakily, fearfully.

"Of course," he lied. "I wouldn't hesitate to stick you on a mule, give him a slap on his rump, and send you home."

She could have told him she had no home, but she kept silent, not wanting his pity—if he was even capable of the emotion, she thought bitterly.

"Come now," he prodded, lips twitching. "You were willing to marry me to get there. What's happened to change your mind?"

"There... there's no preacher," she floundered, trying to think of a way out of her predicament.

"We can live as man and wife and get married the day we get to California. But I'm giving you a choice. You can be a prostitute, pleasure me whenever I want, and when we get there, I'll pay you for your services.

"One choice gives you respectability and security," he pointed out. "The other gives you money, and you'll be rid of me when we arrive. It's up to you."

Jaime glared angrily, sullenly, at his back, the soaked buckskin shirt stretched across taut muscles. "I'm not surprised you would attempt to take advantage of me. You're just as ruthless as the Indians I've heard about. You... you're probably no more than a savage yourself."