Читать книгу Dreaming Of A Western Christmas - Carol Arens - Страница 15

Chapter Six

By midafternoon they still had not stopped to eat or rest the horses, or do any of the things he had done the previous day. Suzannah was too tired to ask why, and anyway, she thought she knew. Mr. Wyler was trying his darnedest to get her to turn back.

Well, she would not. She would pull up her socks and grit her teeth and keep going just to spite him. And, of course, to reach Fort Klamath and her beloved John. Her arrival would be such a surprise for him, a real Christmas present.

Her fiancé would never, ever treat her in such an inhumane manner. John was a thousand times more gentlemanly than Major Brandon Wyler. Her fiancé might be a Northerner and only a lieutenant in the army, but he was a far, far better man. And not only that—

Suddenly Mr. Wyler halted his horse and raised his hand. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of a meal at last.

“I hope we are stopping for lunch,” she ventured.

He did not answer, just dismounted and walked back past her a good thirty paces, studying the ground. Then he straightened and stood looking off toward the hills, his eyes narrowed. With a shake of his head he strode back to his horse and slipped the rifle out of the leather case.

Oh, she did hope it was another rabbit! She was so hungry she would eat it half-cooked. Or even not cooked.

But he did not raise the gun or aim it at anything. He just stood without moving, looking back the way they had come.

Suzannah shifted in her saddle. “What is wrong?” she called.

“Shut up!” he hissed. Still he did not move, and then he slowly raised the rifle, pointed it at something off to their right and sighted down the barrel. The back of her neck began to prickle.

Minutes passed and nothing happened except for the raucous cry of a crow somewhere over her head. She squinted her eyes and peered in the direction the gun barrel was pointed, but she could see nothing but scrubby brush and sparse clumps of trees.

And then she noticed a faint puff of gray dust far off in the distance. It seemed to be moving, and abruptly Mr. Wyler lifted his rifle and walked back to the horses.

“We’re being followed.”

Her body went cold. “What? Are you sure?”

He pinned her with a look that straightened her spine. “Lady, if I say someone’s following us, you can bet your diamond earrings there’s a rider on our trail.”

“But who is it?”

“Don’t know.” He swung into the saddle and positioned his horse nose to tail with hers. “Do you know who shot your driver, Mr. Monroe?”

“N-no.”

“Hate to ask this, Suzannah, but what did the wound look like?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Was there more than one shot? Where did the bullet enter? Was the flesh clean or ragged around the—”

The color left her face and Brand broke off.

“He was sitting on the driver’s bench,” she said unsteadily, “driving the oxen, and I heard a crack and he tipped over to one side and fell off onto the ground. I climbed down and...and there was a lot of blood. I dragged him to the wagon and I...I don’t know how I got him inside, but I did.”

“You see anybody?”

“No. I was inside the wagon when it happened.”

“Did you hear more than one gunshot?”

“Y-yes. Three, perhaps. Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Trying to figure out who killed Monroe. And why. Who knew that you were carrying a large amount of money?”

“Mr. Monroe did. I paid him in cash, in advance.”

“In private? Did anyone see the transaction?”

“I don’t think so. It took place at the bank in Independence.”

Brand nodded. “Pretty public place, the bank in Independence.”

“Could it have been Indians?”

“Indians would have whooped and hollered and probably taken the man’s scalp. And you.”

“Me!”

He leveled a scathing look at her. “Well, hell, lady, think about it! A pretty woman way out on the plain. Shouldn’t have to paint you a picture.”

“Oh. Well.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Then who do you think it was?”

“Had to be some lowlife out to steal some money. Probably followed your wagon train all the way from Missouri, hanging back until Monroe got separated from the others.”

Brand wondered why whoever it was hadn’t closed in on her and just taken what they wanted. Something must have scared them off—Indians, maybe. Now he figured whoever was following them would still be hanging back, trying to catch them unawares. Up ahead was scrubland, then the trail started climbing over rocky ground into the mountains. They didn’t have much time.

“Suzannah, think you could get that horse of yours to go a little faster?”

“I suppose so. How much faster?”

“We’re going to try to outrun whoever’s behind us.”

“But—”

“No time for buts. Come on.” He wheeled his mount and kicked it into a trot, then looked behind him to watch her. When he saw her gig the mare into a canter, he touched the black with his heel and broke into a gallop. He could tell she didn’t know how to run a horse full-out, because the mare’s hoofbeats flagged, then sped up, then flagged again. By some miracle she managed to keep up.

He prayed she wouldn’t lose her nerve. The trail started climbing, then veered into a section of large flat rocks. Her horse’s hooves clattered right behind him and he had to smile. She was probably terrified, but the girl was no coward. A kernel of admiration lodged in his brain.

They climbed up a mountainside so steep the horses began to slow and stumble. He shot a glance at Suzannah behind him and smiled again. Her face was white and set, but she wasn’t falling behind.

More rocks, and more struggle for the horses, and then the trail suddenly leveled out at the entrance to a cave. Bear den, probably. Or an Indian hideout. Didn’t matter. He pulled his gelding to a halt, dropped out of the saddle and waited for Suzannah. When she trotted up, he grabbed for the mare’s bridle.

“Whoa, girl. Easy, now.”

Suzannah’s breathing was coming in hoarse gasps. He waited until she could talk, then signaled her to dismount.

“We’ll hole up here,” he said.

“What? Where?” She leaned over the saddle horn, panting hard.

“In that cave. Horses, too. Hurry up.”

She slid from the saddle like a sack of wheat. He grabbed the reins out of her hand and led both horses to the mouth of the cave.

“Inside,” he ordered. “Quick.” He laid his free arm across her shoulders to hurry her up. She was shaking so hard she could scarcely make her legs work, but she managed to stumble to the cave entrance.

“It’s dark in there!”

“Yeah. Move it!”

She shrank back. “Are...are there wild animals in there?”

He gave her a little shove forward. “Only in the winter.”

She took two steps past the opening and froze, her eyes huge with fear. “But it is winter.”

“Keep moving,” he ordered. He maneuvered the two horses under an overhanging rock near the cave.

“Mr. Wyler, I do not think—”

“Right. Don’t think. Just do what I say, and do it quick. Get the saddlebags and the bedrolls and stash them inside.” He lifted off both saddles and set them just inside the entrance, then grabbed his rifle and a length of rope. Quickly he hobbled the horses, caught his saddlebag as Suzannah lifted it off and dug in the depths for two handfuls of oats.

The cave smelled musty, but it was clean except for wisps of dried grass here and there. Dark as Hades, but safe. When his breathing returned to normal he assessed their refuge.

He assessed Suzannah, too. She’d moved only a few steps past the entrance, and he could see that her body was still shaking. Her breathing was so jerky he thought she might be crying, but a glance at her face told him she wasn’t. At least not yet.

He moved forward and laid one hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be safe here. Not comfortable, maybe, but alive come morning.”

She just stared at him. “And what do we do in the morning?”

He thought her lips were trembling, but in the dimness he couldn’t be sure. “In the morning we’ll find out who’s following us.”

“And tonight?” she said in a small voice.

He hesitated. She was plenty scared, but she wasn’t crumpling up into a pile of jitters. “Tonight we count our blessings and give thanks to the god of caves. Then we eat supper and get some sleep.”

“Can you build a fire? It is extremely dark in here.”

“No fire. Can’t risk someone seeing the smoke.”

“H-how will we keep warm?”

An inappropriate thought popped into his mind. He squashed it flat before it made a permanent home there and swallowed over the sudden thickness in his throat.

“We’ll manage.”

For their supper he handed out cold biscuits and slices of jerky, which he pared off with his jackknife.

After her first bite, she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t guess I care for jerky.”

“Learn to like it.” He handed her his canteen. “Let it soften up in your mouth before you try to chew it.”

Suzannah knew she should be grateful she was alive and sheltered, at least for the time being, and that her stomach was reasonably full. It was strange how having very little in the way of comforts made her value all the more what she had taken for granted in Charleston. She supposed there was a lesson in that, but she was too exhausted to think what it was.

Brand dropped her saddle at her feet. “Where do you want your bedroll spread out?”

“Oh. I—” Despite the impropriety, she wanted it as close to his as possible.

Oh, my. In the past few days she had done things she had never before dreamed possible. At first she had been frightened at being alone on horseback with a strange man. She was also angry, but she guessed that was based on fear. Now she had the oddest sensation, as if her skin was stretching and stretching into some new and different creature.

He rolled his blanket out on the hard floor of the cave, looked at it for a long moment, then without a word stalked outside and returned with an armload of pine boughs. He spread them out, laid his blanket on top, and arranged her bed in the same way. Right next to his.

She should be outraged at his presumption. But she wasn’t. She should be self-conscious about sleeping next to a man to whom she was not married. But she wasn’t.

Something was most assuredly happening to her! She thought about it for the next hour as the cave gradually grew dim and then pitch-black and cold. This was like a dream, but rather than being a terrible nightmare, it was almost an exciting adventure.

She smiled up into the dark. “I miss your coffee.”

“Yeah.” After a long silence he rose and positioned both horses to block the cave entrance, then shoved his saddle to the head of his bed.

“Mr. Wyler? Do you think anyone could find us here?”

“Nope.”

Brand drew in a long, slow breath and stretched out on his blanket. God help him, he didn’t want to think about what was outside this cave, just what was inside. Suzannah and himself.

One of the horses nickered softly. He could still taste the spicy tang of jerky on his tongue, feel the rustle and crunch of the pine boughs under his body. He propped his head on his folded arms.

He could smell Suzannah’s hair, kind of sweet, like violets. He liked the way she smelled, even when her skin was sweaty.

“I miss seeing the stars,” she said abruptly.

Brand did not answer.

Sure was quiet up here. He listened hard to the sighing of the wind in the pines. Sometimes the sound made him feel lonely, and sometimes, like now, it made his throat feel so tight it was hard to swallow.

Except for his baby sister, Marcy, he’d never really understood women. He could never grasp how they could be so blind, how they could marry someone because of some kind of romantic dream, giving their life over to someone else just to satisfy an itch.

Maybe that was why he’d never been tempted to get too close to a woman. At least not a respectable woman.

Marcy had only been four years old when he’d lit out. When she turned twelve, he went back for her, to get her away from Pa. She boarded with their aunt Sally in Klamath Falls until she got engaged, and then...

He closed his eyes.

His horse moved restlessly at the mouth of the cave and Suzannah stirred in her sleep. He rolled sideways to look at her, but she was facing away from him, hunched up like a kid. Watching her, something flickered in his chest, something warm and insistent, like the feeling he got when he was hungry or craving a shot of red eye after a long ride.

He guessed he’d been without a woman for too long, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching this one so closely. But he was watching her. In fact, he’d been acutely aware of her ever since they’d ridden away from Fort Hall.

A small animal of some kind made a skittery noise outside the cave and Suzannah murmured something in her sleep.

“It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Maybe a squirrel.” Very carefully he curled his frame around hers, and when she muttered uneasily in her sleep he laid his arm across her waist and pulled her backward, tucking her hip into his groin.

Big mistake. Her warm body made his breath catch and damned if he didn’t start to get hard. Then she made things worse by wriggling her curvy little butt tighter against him.

He clenched his jaw. Don’t think about it. He shut his eyes and concentrated on taking in air as slowly as possible. And for God’s sake, don’t move.

Never should have listened to the wind. All at once he felt more alone than ever before in his life. Somewhere deep inside he understood something he’d never confronted before—being connected to someone, someone he cared about, was damn dangerous. His sister had given her heart to someone she loved and died because of it.

Not for him. He would never hand his heart over to another human being. Never. He might feel lonely at times, but that was a damn sight better than the agony of losing someone.

But God, Suzannah felt good pressed up against him.

He needed to think about something else, anything else.

Who was trailing them? And what would he do when he figured out who it was?