Passage West (29 page)

It had been so pleasant having a man compliment her on her cooking. She’d known little praise in her life. What’s more, Abby thought as the last of the daylight faded into dusk, it had been a wonderful thing to have someone to talk to. Though Rourke revealed little about himself, she had the feeling that he enjoyed those moments as much as she.

While she cleaned up after supper and watched James and Violet get ready for an early bedtime, she thought about those nights that Rourke had kept watch while she and her aunt slept. It had been the strangest sensation to wake up and see Rourke so near. Several times she’d had the impression that he was studying her while she slept.

A shout from the river ended her pleasant thoughts and caused her to dismiss any idea of getting a night’s sleep.

The last of the train was still in the process of crossing the river. From the looks of things, it would take the better part of the night.

The Coulter wagon lost a wheel right in the middle of the river. While water swirled, Evelyn and the baby were carried to the far shore on horseback. Every able-bodied man stood shoulder deep in the water to help repair the wagon wheel. While Rourke strained to lift the wagon, he noticed that Abby worked alongside them, holding the team, murmuring words of encouragement to keep them calm.

Dusk was giving way to darkness, and still all the wagons hadn’t managed to cross.

Doralyn Peel and her son Jonathon watched helplessly as their team balked, refusing to enter the river until they were whipped and scolded. Midway across, one of the mules bolted, tearing the frayed harness, tugging Jason Peel from the wagon’s seat into the water. The frightened team began to run, sending most of the contents of the wagon sliding into the river. Abby joined the others wading into the swirling river to retrieve them. Further upstream she saw Rourke, his muscles straining as he lifted a heavy chest from the water.

Darkness had settled in when the last of the wagons, the Winters wagon, began its crossing. Amid shouts and curses, the team floundered. The wagon tipped, spilling all its contents into the river.

Men on horseback righted the wagon, then waded downstream, retrieving food, clothing, and household goods that stayed afloat. Many of the belongings sank beneath the dark, swirling water.

Lavinia Winters stood on shore, terrified to set foot in the river. While her husband coaxed and the others called words of encouragement, she stood rooted to the spot.

“Come on, Lavinia,” Abby said gently, wading across the river until she was directly beside the woman. “I’ll walk with you. The water isn’t deep. Look.”

Stepping into the river, Abby held out her hand. “We won’t sink. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” The woman’s voice rose to near hysteria. From the far shore, women stopped to listen. Men on horseback or on wagons paused at the sound of her loud wailing. “Why should I trust you? You nearly cost everyone on the train their lives. If it hadn’t been for you, our scout would still be alive, and we’d be miles from here—closer to our destination. This is all your fault.”

Abby tried to keep the hurt from her voice, but a note of pain crept through. “I know what you say is true, Lavinia. And I’m truly sorry. But you have to cross the river.”

“Why do I have to cross? Who says I can’t stay here?” Folding her arms across her chest, she planted her feet firmly. “I don’t have to do anything you say.”

“It isn’t for me. It’s for your husband. Your children. Lavinia, you have to keep going. It’s the only way to get to California.”

As Abby reached for her hand, she drew back. “Get away from me. Don’t you touch me. I don’t want you to come near me ever again. Do you hear?”

Abby’s face was ashen as she felt the stares of the others. Despite the darkness, Abby felt naked and disgraced. People on both sides of the river could hear the shrieks of the frightened woman.

Dropping her hand to her side, she turned away. Just then, Rourke rode up and lifted up the astonished Abby, swinging her in front of him in the saddle.

“Hang on,” he muttered.

“But what about Lavinia?”

“Mrs. Winters said she would rather stay here. The choice is hers. When she changes her mind, I’m sure her husband will hold her hand.”

Lavinia’s mouth dropped open. With a look of fury, she watched as the horse splashed into the water. Rourke and Abby easily spanned the river on his mount.

Instead of stopping when they reached the far shore, Rourke nudged the horse into a run. The evening breeze whipped Abby’s hair, flaying it across Rourke’s cheeks. He inhaled the clean, rainwater scent of it. The breeze created by the running horse flattened Abby’s damp shirt against her breasts. Feeling her shiver, he brought his arms firmly around her, tightening his grip.

At the crest of a ridge, Rourke reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. Roughly pulling her to her feet, he steadied her for a moment, then dropped his hands to his sides.

“What was that all about?” With her hands on her hips, Abby faced him. Her eyes were narrowed in anger.

“You’ve done enough. How much more are you going to try to prove to those people?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” He glanced down at the lights of the wagon train. People would be eating a hasty supper and settling in for the night. Already several lanterns had been extinguished. “You’re as tired as the rest of them. Still you push yourself to the limits. Why, Abby?”

She glared at him. “Because we all have to pull our share if we’re going to make it to California.”

“But you always seem to do more than your share. I didn’t see your father out there in water up to his shoulders. I didn’t see the other women wading through the river picking up wet clothes.”

“Many of them have children to care for. They don’t have the strength I have.”

“Or the guilt.”

She reacted as if he’d slapped her. Taking a step backward, her eyes blazed. “Guilt?”

“I heard how you responded to Lavinia’s attack. We all did. You practically admitted that you were the cause of Brand’s death and the Indian attack.”

“I was.” Her voice lowered, and once again Rourke heard the note of pain. “If I hadn’t brought Two Shadows to my wagon, Brand would be alive today. And the Cheyenne would have found the chief’s son along the trail instead of in our wagon train.”

“And maybe the Cheyenne would have found the son of their chief dead and attacked our train in retaliation. And of course, if Brand hadn’t agreed to act as scout for the train, he’d probably be alive today,” Rourke growled. “But he knew the risks. We all did. And if anyone is to blame for Brand’s death, it’s me.”

“You!”

“I was hired to see to the safety of everyone on this train. Everyone.” She saw the muscle working in his jaw. “But I was so busy enjoying your company, I forgot my duties.”

For one brief moment, Abby didn’t seem to comprehend what he’d just said. Then she felt her heart soar, and was afraid to speak. Rourke hadn’t resented the time he’d spent with her. He’d enjoyed it.

Touching a hand to his arm, she whispered, “It wasn’t your fault. And if it wasn’t mine, then maybe it wasn’t anyone’s. Maybe it was just God’s will.”

He pulled his arm away, and she saw the flash of temper.

“Why are you so angry at me, Rourke?”

“Angry?” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not angry.”

“Then why do you look as if you’d like to slap me?”

His gaze lowered until he was staring directly into her eyes. His voice became almost a whisper. “Because if I don’t slap you, Abby Market, I’m afraid I might kiss you.”

Her throat went dry. Before she could say a word, he pulled her roughly against him. He swore and covered her mouth with his.

She thought about struggling. Thought about it, but didn’t. The truth was, she’d wanted the kiss. Wanted it every bit as much as Rourke. A twinge of excitement raced through her as his mouth moved over hers. His thighs were pressed firmly against hers. She felt the power of the arms holding her. He could break her without effort. And yet she could sense that he was holding something back, as if aware of that very strength.

He took the kiss deeper. Instantly he forgot to be gentle. His kisses became more demanding. Abby found herself caught up in something more than she’d expected. This was no ordinary kiss. They were rushing headlong into something neither of them could control.

“God, Abby,” he breathed against her mouth. His fingers moved up her back, and she felt splinters of ice along her spine. “I’ve held a gun in my hands for so long now, I’d forgotten that hands were made to hold a woman.”

He drew her even closer, until she could feel the wild rhythm of his heartbeat inside her chest. He nibbled her mouth. Expertly he parted her lips. His tongue explored her mouth then withdrew, inviting her to do the same. Boldly she did, reveling in the dark mysterious taste of him.

His kisses were by turn fierce, then gentle. His mouth was bruising, then soft. Without giving her time to think, he took her on a wild climb, to a high mountain peak, then had her plunging headlong down a canyon, leaving her numbed and breathless. She experienced a wild rush of sensations. All she could do was cling to him and wait until the ground stopped tilting.

“Do you know what torture it was all those nights, watching you while you slept?” He nibbled the corner of her mouth, then, before she could speak, nipped at her earlobe. “I stayed awake by counting the number of ways I could make love with you.”

For a moment she went rigid in his arms. Staring deeply into her eyes, he began unbuttoning her damp shirt.

“But you never … I had no…”

Chuckling at her confusion, he kissed away her words, then ran openmouthed kisses along her jaw, then down the column of her throat.

Abby moved in his arms, loving the feel of his lips on her skin. Arching her neck, she allowed him easier access. With his tongue, he followed the line of her collarbone, then brought his lips to the soft swell of her breast. When he began nibbling, then suckling, she felt her knees buckle. Never had she felt such a surge of passion. No other man would ever be able to touch her like this.

Plunging his hands into her hair, Rourke plundered her mouth with savage kisses. Caught up in a whirlwind, she clutched at his waist and returned his kisses, until she could no longer think, only feel.

“Rourke.”

Through a haze of throbbing needs, he lifted his head. “Tell me you want this as much as I do, Abby.”

Her head was spinning, her pulse hammering. A part of her was begging for him to go on holding her, kissing her, stroking her. “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?” His voice was raw with feeling.

How could she explain? How could she make him understand how terrified she was of losing control? Of being taken over by needs that left her stunned and reeling? She shook her head and took a step backward. “Of me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “It’s all happening too fast. I don’t know what to do, where to go.”

For long seconds, Rourke studied her. How could he have forgotten how sheltered her life had been? She was a woman, and soon enough she would know a woman’s needs. But for a little while yet, she was clinging to yesterday, and the girl she had been.

He felt her tremble, and drew her into his arms, holding her tenderly against his chest. Suppressing his needs, he stroked her hair until her trembling stopped.

“Come on, Abby.” Turning, he reached for the dangling reins and helped her into the saddle. Handing her the reins, he continued to hold her hand a moment, feeling the delicate bones of her fingers. Lifting them to his lips, he muttered, “Now go to bed.”

“Aren’t you coming back to camp?”

He shook his head. “I’ll walk back. I need to be alone.”

Slapping the horse, he watched until the horse and rider blended into the shadows of the wagon train. Then, taking a cigar from his pocket, he held a match to the tip and blew out a stream of smoke.

The sound of a guitar could be heard from one of the wagons. A hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. She might not know it yet, but Abby Market had just had another lesson in the dance.

Chapter Twenty-two

The wagon train followed the Humboldt River to its sink. From there, the travelers would be forced to carry enough water to see them to the Sierras. For between the Humboldt and the Sierra Nevada range lay a waterless wasteland known as the Forty-Mile Desert. The members of Mordecai Stump’s wagon train were ill-prepared for what was to come.

The heat of the desert was suffocating. What little breeze there was had no cooling effect. The hot wind blew little dust eddies, burning eyes and throats, causing sunburned skin to shrivel and chafe.

The women of the camp were still smarting from the incident with the Cheyenne. Though they visited among themselves in the evening, after supper and chores were finished, they looked the other way whenever Abby or Violet walked by. If either felt the snub, they chose not to mention it. Violet went about her sewing while Abby continued to keep her family in game. Both women held their heads high and pretended that they didn’t notice the rift that had grown between them and the others.

It was an uneventful evening. The train had managed almost fifteen miles in the relentless heat. James was busy complaining about the rabbit stew while Abby and Vi picked at their supper, too hot to even care about eating. Doralyn Peel, who had not spoken to Violet since their confrontation over Two Shadows, came rushing into the circle of firelight, her breath coming in little gasps.

“Violet, would you come look at Jason?”

Vi looked up sharply. “Your husband? What’s wrong?”

“He’s been sick all day. Couldn’t keep a thing on his stomach. He seems to be getting worse.”

Violet nodded. “Anything else?”

“At first he was cold. Shaking like a leaf on a tree. Now he’s burning up, but I don’t know if it’s a fever or this heat.”

“Let me look through my medicines, Doralyn. I’ll be at your wagon in a few minutes.”

James sopped up his gravy with a biscuit and glowered at the woman’s retreating back. “Let her take care of him herself. I wouldn’t give her the time of day.”