Passage West (36 page)

She sighed his name and cradled his head in her hands, arching her neck as his warm lips explored her throat, her collarbone, the soft swell of her breast. His lips, his fingertips, explored, aroused, until her body was a mass of nerve endings, begging to be touched.

Stepping from the carriage, he lifted her and held her against his chest. She clung to him, her breathing ragged, her heartbeat unsteady. With great tenderness, he spread the fur throw on a nest of soft boughs, then lay beside her. With reverence, he kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her ear, all the while murmuring words of endearment. And when at last they lay, flesh to flesh, he worshiped her body with kisses, with touches that left her breathless and aching for more. And when they came together, it was she who cried his name and drew him to her. They moved in an ageless rhythm, until needs drove them higher, then higher still.

Her lungs filled with the scent of evergreen and the warm, masculine scents that were alien to her until now. And she knew, with an aching sweetness, that she would love this man even beyond death.

He moaned and called her name, and felt her shudder as she reached the crest. And then he followed her, and felt himself filled with the sweetest fragrance of wildflowers. And he knew that for all time, the woman in his arms was his. She had been made for him alone.

He wrapped the fur around them, and they lay, locked in each other’s arms, feeling themselves drifting above the earth. Wrapped in a cocoon of love, they slept.

Chapter Twenty-six

Abby awoke and shifted in her blankets. The morning chill seeped into the wagon, causing her to draw the blanket higher around her shoulders. In the dim light of near dawn, she glanced toward Violet’s blanket. It was neatly rolled against the side of the wagon. Rubbing her eyes, Abby sat up quickly. Had she overslept? Was her aunt up already, tending to her morning chores?

Drawing on a shawl, Abby stepped down from the wagon and peered through the mist. No fire crackled. No coffee hissed and bubbled. There was no trace of Aunt Vi.

Alarmed, Abby hurried back inside the wagon and began rummaging about. Her aunt’s clothes were all here, her beloved books. Dear God, what had happened to Violet?

Abby’s thoughts slipped back to the night before. She had been alarmed when her aunt had agreed to stay on after the others left. But Rourke had found her fears amusing, saying there was nothing wrong with a woman of Violet’s impeccable reputation being escorted home by a man like Andrew McClelland.

What if they had had an accident? What if their carriage had overturned. They could be lying near death along the trail this very minute.

Flinging aside the shawl, Abby pulled on her boots and ran to the cook wagon. Pounding on the side of the wagon, she cried, “Mordecai. Rourke. Someone. Please get up. Something’s happened to my aunt.”

Rourke’s head appeared in the open flap of canvas, his dark hair mussed, a scraggly stubble of beard darkening his chin. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. My aunt is missing. Something must have happened. Hurry, please. We have to look for her.”

Mordecai stepped down, carrying his rifle, and Abby could see a flurry of activity within the wagon. Soon all the men were moving about, saddling horses, checking weapons, and listening to her go over the night’s activities while they worked.

“… and I came back with the rest of you. Aunt Vi said Andrew McClelland would be bringing her home later.”

At that, Mordecai looked up, then cast a sideways glance at Rourke. “Did Miss Violet seem uneasy about staying behind?”

“Uneasy?” Abby considered for a moment. “She seemed a bit—agitated. And I noticed high color about her cheeks. You remember, Rourke? I thought she might be coming down with a fever.”

Rourke shot Mordecai a knowing look, then said softly, “I still say your aunt was just fine, Abby.”

“But she may have taken sick at the McClelland ranch. Oh, dear God,” she cried, clapping a hand to her mouth. “The cholera. What if she’s …”

“Abby. You’re making too much of this. I think you should wait until we’ve taken the time to look into this before giving your aunt up for dead.”

“Why else would she stay away?”

The men glanced from one to another without a word. Whatever thoughts they had were kept secret from the worried young woman who paced impatiently before them.

“I want to go after Aunt Vi now,” Abby said firmly.

“Aye, lass,” Mordecai said softly. “As soon as you have your team hitched and ready to go, you and Rourke can go in search of Miss Violet.”

“The team hitched?”

“We’ve lingered too long here,” Mordecai said, glancing at the sky. “There’s no time to waste. We must get moving if we’re to beat the snows. No matter what, we leave in one hour.”

“One hour?” Abby clutched Rourke’s arm. “I’ll have the team hitched and ready in half that time. Will you go with me to find my aunt?”

He nodded, and she spun away, nearly running in her haste to be ready.

The other members of the wagon train were up and loading their wagons as she ran through the camp. Ignoring the need for food, she harnessed the mules and hitched the team to the wagon. Just as she had finished loading the wagon, she looked up at the sound of carriage wheels clattering over the rocky trail.

Many of the travelers paused in their morning chores to look up at the approaching carriage. From the cook wagon, Rourke and the others left their duties to hurry to the Market wagon.

A wave of relief washed over Abby at the sight of her aunt, bundled in a robe of fur.

“Aunt Vi. Oh I was so worried. Rourke and I were just going out to look for you.”

“I’m sorry, child, to have caused you even a moment’s worry.” Abby noted her aunt’s high color and glowing features, as she turned toward Andrew McClelland. As their gazes met, Violet’s eyes seemed bluer, more intense. Then she turned once more to her niece. “Andrew and I had hoped to be here the moment you awoke. But we … were detained.”

“Were you ill?”

“Ill?” Violet laughed, soft and low in her throat, and Abby was reminded of Carrie’s youthful laughter. “Heavens no, child. I’ve never felt more wonderful, more alive.”

Andrew McClelland stepped down from the carriage, then held out his hand for Violet. Flinging aside the fur throw, she allowed him to help her alight. For long moments he held her hand, then slowly released it. Spanning the short distance between them, Violet embraced her niece. Then, holding her a little away, Violet gripped Abby’s shoulders and said softly, “Andrew and I have something to tell you.”

Abby waited, staring into her aunt’s eyes.

“He has asked me to stay here and be his wife.”

“Wife? He … wants to marry you?” Shocked, Abby glanced beyond her aunt to the tall, handsome man who was hungrily staring at Violet as if she were a beautiful apparition who might at any moment evaporate into thin air.

“And I have agreed.”

Abby’s mouth dropped open. She was so stunned, no words came out. When at last she found her voice, she stammered, “But you don’t know anything about him. He has children. Grown children. How do they feel about this?”

“We just came from his ranch, where we shared our news with them. They were delighted.”

Abby’s voice nearly broke. “Why, Aunt Vi? Why now? We’re almost there. California. Pa’s dream. How can you take this unknown stranger and his children; this barren land over Pa’s dream?”

Very simply, Violet said, “Because it was never my dream. This was my dream, Abby. I always clung to the hope that someday a man like Andrew would walk into my life. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Family. A home of my own.” As Abby’s mouth opened to protest, Violet said softly, “Child, he loves me. Imagine. Me. To him I’m beautiful, capable. Perfect. That’s why I’m staying. I must. And someday, a man will make you forget everyone, everything that’s gone before. When he does, Abby, don’t let him walk away from you.”

Abby shook her head, refusing to listen. “You can’t mean this. Come with me, Aunt Vi. To California.”

“I cannot. Stay here with me. With us. With Andrew’s children. Andrew and I would both like that very much. We’ll be a real family at last.”

Abby looked stricken. “No. I have to go. The dream.”

“It wasn’t your dream, Abby. It was James’s, after all. And he wasn’t even your father.”

Not her father? Rourke had a revelation of another piece of the puzzle that was Abby Market. He stowed it away for another time.

“It’s my dream now.” Abby couldn’t even remember when the dream had become hers. At first, she had only come along because she’d been given no choice. But now the dream of California had become her own. She began to cry, softly, the tears running down her cheeks. “If you stay here with Andrew, I’ll be alone.”

“I’ve been alone all my life,” Violet cried. “Surrounded by people, yet always alone. I never fit in anywhere, until now. With Andrew, I’ll never feel alone again.”

They were both crying now, and Rourke watched them cling, their tears dampening each other’s shoulders. Then, at the wagon master’s sharp command to head up the train, they slowly, slowly, peeled apart. He could almost see the blood spilling from their torn hearts.

“Know that I have always loved you, Abby. You seemed as much my child as Lily’s.”

“I know.” Abby wiped her tears on the sleeve of her old shirt. “I love you too, Aunt Vi. I guess more than I loved anyone, except maybe Carrie.”

Seeing the shocked, curious stares of the travelers, Mordecai shouted once more for them to mount up and pull out. Reluctantly, the people moved away. Whips cracked, men swore at their teams, and the sound of wagon wheels crunched over the rocky ground.

When Violet’s meager belongings had been removed, Abby climbed aboard the wagon and picked up the reins. “Be happy, Aunt Vi.” Looking beyond her, she said very distinctly, “See that she’s always happy, Andrew. My aunt deserves to be happy.”

“I will, Abby. I love her more than my own life.”

Abby straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She cracked the whip, and the team lurched forward.

Violet turned into Andrew’s shoulder and began sobbing. Abby turned once, then, seeing her aunt’s body shaking with sobs, twisted back and faced the trail ahead of her. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. She would not look back again. Never. Only forward.

From his position at the rear of the train, Rourke watched the scene play out and felt his own heart ache for Abby. How many people did she have to lose before she felt completely abandoned? How old was she? Seventeen? And on her own. What drove her? he wondered.

Urging his horse into a trot, he kept pace with the wagons. Tonight, he would have to take great pains to find some time to be with her. Especially on this first night. She shouldn’t be alone.

*  *  *

All day Abby threw herself into the backbreaking labor of the trail. Whistling up teams, hitching and unhitching them as one wagon after another was hauled up one mountain trail and down another, she worked alongside the men. When they stopped for a meal, she ate without tasting. When someone handed her a cup of coffee, she drank without noticing that it scalded her tongue. And when at last they stopped for the day, having progressed more than four miles, she stared at the fading twilight, waiting for the darkness. Then she would allow the tears to spill, unclogging the lump in her throat. When no one was around to witness her weakness, she would give in to the grief that threatened to strangle her.

Mordecai kept a worried eye on the girl. From the beginning of this trip, she had been special to him. He took a kind of fierce pride in her accomplishments. Like a father watching over a daughter, he admired her independence while still wishing she would bend and accept his help.

It would be so easy to position her wagon directly behind the cook wagon. That way he would be able to keep an eye on her safety and see to it that she had enough to eat. But the girl was too intelligent for that. She would know that he was singling her out, and would resent it.

While he ate one of Parker’s hurriedly concocted meals of dried meat and cold beans, he pondered a way to help Abby without hurting her pride. In the end, he decided that there was no clever way around it. He would have to risk offending her by offering his assistance.

Stopping by her wagon, he found her on her hands and knees, viciously scrubbing.

“Housecleaning, lass?”

She looked up and wiped a damp strand of hair from her eyes. “I thought, since it’s my wagon now, I ought to begin by cleaning it.”

“Aye.” He watched for a few minutes, wondering how long she thought she could push herself beyond the limits. Clearing his throat, he said, “I stopped by to offer my help, lass.”

Expecting an argument, he was surprised by her response. With a little smile, she said, “Thank you, Mordecai. I’m sure I’ll need your help many times along the way. And when I do, it’s nice to know I can go to you. But I’d like to make it on my own as much as possible.”

“I see you’ve been giving this some thought, lass.”

She nodded. “With no one to talk to, I have a lot of time to think.”

“You will come to me when you need help?” Before she could respond, he added, “Do you have enough food?”

“Yes, thank you.” Abby thought about the rabbit she had cooked. If she was frugal, there would be enough stew to last the week. If she was careful.

“All right, lass. I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Good night, Mordecai.”

As he walked away, she bent to her scrubbing, ignoring the ache in her back. It was nothing compared with the ache in her heart.

Rourke watched Mordecai walk away and waited a few minutes longer before approaching. Adopting a casual air, he leaned a hip against the wagon wheel and watched while Abby worked.

“Evening, Abby.” He liked the way the sweat glistened on her upper lip. In fact, he liked everything about her upper lip. And her lower.

“Evening.” She scrubbed at a spot so hard he thought she might scrub clear through the floorboards.

“I did some scouting after supper. The trail looks a little easier tomorrow.” God, he wished she wouldn’t wiggle her rump around like that while she worked. It was driving him mad.