Читать книгу Silver Hearts - Jackie Manning - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Darkness came suddenly, along with a driving rain. By the time Luke had finished gathering grass for the oxen, he couldn’t see one boot-length in front of him. Exhausted, hungry and soaked to the skin, he unsaddled his horse, untied his bedroll, then ran to shelter beneath the wagon.

Luke spread the buffalo hide in the dry space under the wagon when Noelle appeared. She grabbed the coal oil lantern, hooked on the trail box and carried the lamp inside the wagon. A few minutes later, a flickering glow slanted through the floorboards above his head.

Over the wind and rain, he heard her while she readied for bed. She must be near dead from exhaustion, he thought, remembering how she endured the storm without complaint.

After positioning the horse blanket on top of the buffalo skin, Luke laid down and rested his head on the horse’s saddle. “I’m right within a holler if you need something, miss.”

The bustling noise above his head stopped. “You can’t sleep beneath my wagon.” Her words barely carried above the storm. “It’s simply not... proper.”

“Just where do you expect me to sleep?”

Noelle climbed down from the back of the wagon and leaned toward him. The wind and rain plastered the loose hair from around her face, but she made no move to pull it back. “I-I would think you’d be gentlemanly and find a dry spot under a bush, or something.” She flicked her hand in a pointless gesture.

Luke angled the flat-crowned Stetson low on his head and squinted back at her. “Not this gentlemanly cowboy!”

“You must find other shelter. It’s simply not decent—”

“Decent?” Luke sat up. “Is it decent to ask me to spend the night out in the rain?” He shook his head. “Sorry, lady. I’m quite comfortable just where I am.” He leaned back and settled his hat over his face, again.

He heard an indignant sniff. In his mind, he could imagine those morning glory eyes sparkle with outrage. He knew the only thing that kept him from Noelle’s tongue-lashing was that proper Eastern upbringing of hers. And he’d bet a grubstake that she could really let loose, if she wanted.

Suddenly, he wondered what that volatile passion that flared beneath her Goody Two-shoes facade might be like in bed.

His bed.

Relieved that she couldn’t see how quickly she affected him, Luke rolled over on his back and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. Through the cracks between the floorboards, he could see her, if he was so low-down rotten as to take advantage of the situation. He grinned, wondering when she’d notice, and notice she would.

He heard the clatter of her boot steps above his head, then the wagon jarred as she jumped from the tailgate. He muttered to himself as he lifted his hat and saw her leaning down, staring at him.

“Get out from under there, or so help me, I’ll shoot you.”

Luke sat up and stared at her. A shawl covered her head, and she aimed that antique of a rifle on him.

“Is this how you thank me for fixing your wagon?” He scowled back at her. In the lantern’s glow, he noticed a wide black smudge extending from her left eyebrow to her chin. Noelle must have gotten soot on her hands when she touched the blackened campfire rods, then wiped her face.

As self-righteous as a new preacher in a town full of sinners, Noelle studied him, her one blackened eyebrow lifted with superiority. He couldn’t help but grin.

Noelle motioned with the rifle barrel. “And what’s so amusing?”

Luke forced his most practiced poker face. “Tell me, Miss Bellencourt. How does one tell a refined city lady like yourself that she has soot all over her face?”

Noelle relaxed the rifle. “I beg your pardon!” Luke smiled. “My my, little lady. The last time I saw a face like yours was at a minstrel show in Kansas City.”

She moved the weapon to one side and glanced at her hands. She gasped, and Luke knew that she finally realized that her face was covered with soot.

“You don’t look like a cactus blossom, yourself.” Noelle lifted her smudged chin in that defiant way that was becoming all too familiar.

Luke scratched his three-day growth of beard and shook his head. “Won’t argue with you there, Miss.” He shot her a side glance.

As serious as a preacher scrubbing away the devil’s footprints, Noelle furiously wiped her face with her drenched apron, all to no avail. The sight of her jaw clenched in steely pursuit as she wiped at the black circles, which now spread across her nose and cheeks, caused Luke to chuckle.

“You’re despicable!”

“I-I’m sorry, but—” A round of helpless laughter overtook him. “I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that I can’t remember when I’ve been so damned tired, so damned wet and so damned miserable.” He gasped before laughing again. “Go ahead, Sunshine. Shoot and put me out of my misery.” Another fit of hilarity overtook him.

Noelle’s mouth tilted with a hint of a smile. “I guess I do look rather... disheveled.”

“Rath-er.” He pronounced the word in two exaggerated syllables, then fell back, laughing.

Noelle’s smile deepened. “I’ve never been so utterly miserable, myself.” Her lips parted, revealing perfect, pearl white teeth. She laughed, and the light tinkling sound reminded him of his summers during the family picnics along the Delaware River. The image gave him a start. He hadn’t thought of his childhood since his brother, Chad, died.

“Good night, Mr. Savage.” Noelle retreated inside the wagon.

Jarred for a moment, Luke muttered, “G’night.” After Noelle had washed and prepared for bed, she listened to the rain pounding the canvas ceiling above her head. She eyed the covering warily. This was the first rain she’d endured since Nebraska, while she and Mr. Douglas traveled with the main wagon train over six weeks ago. What would she do if the priceless objects she had brought all the way from New York became ruined with water?

As though to assure herself that her things were safe, Noelle opened the creaky lid and peeked inside the metal trunk. Cocooned in paper lay the blue satin gown and feathered bonnet that she planned to wear when she finally met her uncle. How she wanted him to be proud of her.

Despite all the upsetting events, ending with Mr. Douglas’s death, she knew that her troubles would be over once she found her uncle. Tomorrow. She would have a family again.

Noelle hummed softly as she covered the hat with paper and straightened the blue satin hair ribbons before closing the trunk lid.

If only she could wash her hair, but she knew better than to waste precious water with such frivolity.

Raindrops hammered a steady rhythm as she towel-dried her wet hair. Suddenly, she had an idea. Noelle rose, wrapped a blanket around herself and stepped from the shelter of the wagon into the storm.

Luke’s hat lifted from his face when he heard her steps on the tailgate. “Where are you headed?”

“I’m going to collect rainwater.”

He raised his head and watched her. “Why?”

She sniffed. “I need to wash my hair, if it’s any of your business.”

Luke shoved his hat over his face and laid back. “No need to gussy yourself up for me, miss. You look as pretty as a filly.”

She knew he was teasing, and she refused to take the bait. “I care nothing for what you think,” she huffed, but she knew that wasn’t true. As if to validate the lie, she added, “My uncle would expect a Bellencourt to arrive looking respectable, Mr. Savage. I shall not let these primitive surroundings affect my personal standards, but I wouldn’t expect someone with your sensibilities, or lack of them, to understand.”

Luke watched her unhook several enamel wash basins from the side of the tail box and place them along the ground. “We’ve got another hard day of travel ahead of us, lady. You’re going to get all dusty again. You can clean up at the public bathhouse in Crooked Creek. Only costs a nickel.”

“Good night, Mr. Savage.”

Luke knew he had been dismissed. Well, let her get gussied up for whomever she thought would be waiting for her in Crooked Creek. For once, she wasn’t bothering him.

He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but the ping of the rain pelting the metal washbasins echoed above the storm like rifle shots.

“Jeezzo, woman! What other kind of torture will you think up next?”

Noelle chuckled as she slipped inside the thin bedroll and blew out the lantern. Outside, the wind and rain droned like a coyote howling at the moon. Despite the storm’s fury, she felt safe and protected, thanks to the disquieting man who slept beneath her wagon.

Noelle bolted up from her bedroll, wide awake. She glanced about. Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed, then another clap of thunder boomed. The wagon creaked against the wind. Brushing the loose tendrils from her face, she laid back against the makeshift pillow. Would the rain prevent them from reaching Crooked Creek by tomorrow? If so, would Luke go on ahead without her?

Another crack of lightning lit the sky, then earsplitting thunder. Suddenly, Noelle remembered the basins of rainwater. A gift from heaven.

Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, Noelle braced for the storm. Wind tore at her as she wedged her way to the ground. As quietly as she could, Noelle crept to the enameled pans. Delighted to find them almost full, she lugged each container back inside the wagon.

Excitement rushed through her as she realized this was her first preparation for the most important event in her life since her father died. Of course, deciding to leave New York City had been the most important decision, but finally to meet her uncle—the only relative she had. Yes, it was decidedly the most important event.

Noelle carefully poured the precious essence of lilac into the cold water. The fragrance always restored her spirits with happy memories. She smiled as the sweet floral essence filled her lungs. She felt as if she were ten years old, hand in hand with her mother, strolling Central Park after attending Noelle’s father’s Saturday matinee performance at the Niboli Theater. How her mother had loved the hedge of blooming lilacs along the park.

A sudden sadness wrenched her as she remembered her mother’s tearful surprise when Noelle purchased the essence of lilac for her mother’s birthday. Noelle had tutored students in Latin and mathematics to earn the extra money. She knew the perfume was extravagant, but that was why she bought the gift She knew her mother would never lavish something so expensive on herself.

Noelle blinked back the sting of tears. The smell of lilacs also reminded Noelle of her own wish. Someday, she’d have a house and garden, just like the one her mother had always wanted. But Noelle would have her dream, unlike her mother, who had no choice but to settle for the rented rooms above Harrison’s Saloon where Noelle and her parents lived.

Noelle put the thought from her mind as she poured the soft water over her head. Then, she soaped her long hair, enjoying the simple luxury. When she’d finished, she carefully squeezed the thick, white lather from her coils of hair before dipping her head into the rinse bucket. The rainwater felt silky to her fingers. Definitely a gift from heaven.

Soap stung her eyes. She muffled a cry as she squeezed her eyes shut while carefully feeling in the darkness for the towel she had carefully laid on top of the trunk. Suddenly, the water bucket tipped and a whoosh of water spilled into her lap. She forced her eyes open.

“What the hell!” Luke yelled, coughing and sputtering below the prairie schooner.

Oh, no! Noelle felt her way in the darkness for the lantern. She reached on the top shelf for the Mason jar filled with matches. “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Savage,” she offered. Her eyes stung with soap as she forced herself to see. “I-I tried not to disturb you—”

“Disturb me? Jeez, woman! You just drowned me.” Her fingers shook as she lit the lantern. “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Savage.” She winced at the thought of him beneath the wagon, jarred from sleep by the deluge of water between the floorboards of the wagon.

She crouched down beside the sputtering lantern, moving clothing and boxes out of the way of the spilled water.

Suddenly the curtain jerked back and Luke stood, glaring at her. Black hair streamed down his face, his shirt and vest were splotched with white suds, his leather pants and boots glistened with dampness, and essence of lilac permeated the air.

“Mercy!” Her hand shot to her mouth as she took in the sight of him.

“Where’d you think the water was going to go?” Luke’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. His anger vanished, replaced by a feeling like a boot kick to the stomach. In the soft yellow lantern light, Noelle bent over the spilled water bucket. The neckline of her gown dipped provocatively over one shoulder. He caught sight of the dark cleft between her breasts.

Cursing himself for the effect she had on him, Luke tried not to look at the wet-stained bosom where a long tangle of hair, the color of saltwater toffee, fell over one shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, jumping to her feet. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin, wet nightgown. Suddenly aware of her appearance, she grabbed her shawl and pulled it modestly around her. Unfortunately, the gesture did nothing to halt his imagination of how she would look, naked beneath him.

She rose to her feet, clutching a thick towel. Before he could say anything, she took a step toward him and daubed his wet shirt and vest with the cloth.

“I-I’ll do that,” Luke managed to growl, yanking the towel from her. Their fingers touched, and he felt as if he’d been struck by the lightning streaking outside the wagon.

Noelle released the towel as if it were a hot branding fork. She stepped back, suddenly self-conscious for touching him. “I-I didn’t mean—” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “I-I’m so sorry.” She stroked her wet hair, as though she didn’t know what to do with her hands. He wondered if she could possibly feel the same way as he did.

Of course she didn’t. She was a proper New York bluestocking, and she trusted him, damn his soul. She had no idea what low-down thoughts were going through his mind faster than a Nevada jackrabbit.

He forced his gaze away, but in his mind, he could still see the way her breasts strained against the drenched, sheer cotton nightgown. “I’ll dry myself off with the horse blanket.” He chanced a darting glance at her. “Here, you need this worse than I do,” he said, tossing the towel back at her.

Noelle shivered, catching the towel. For the first time, Luke realized that she might take a chill. He took off his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders.

“Dry your hair and change into warm clothes. I’ll bring you some whiskey to chase that chill.”

“Whiskey?” Her chin lifted a notch. “Amelia Bloomer says that liquor is the devil’s own hell’s broth. Look what trouble those poor Indian braves encountered after drinking Mr. Douglas’s whiskey, besides—”

“Who the hell is Amelia Bloomer?”

She sniffed. “Amelia Bloomer is the publisher of Lily, a very respected ladies’ periodical—”

“You’re in Nevada, Little Miss Sunshine, not New York City. Here, whiskey is medicine, among other things.” He turned and shot out of the wagon while he still could. He swore, then put on his hat while he trudged to his saddlebags. He reached inside, pulled out the bottle of whiskey and gulped a generous swig himself. Noelle’s shadow was silhouetted against the schooner’s stretched canvas, reminding him of her every feminine curve, much to his consternation.

Damn, what did he ever do to deserve this temptation? He swallowed, then strode back toward the tailgate. He could force himself to be a gentlemen for one more day. But once they reached Crooked Creek, that lady was on her own, Uncle Marcel or no Uncle Marcel.

“I said I don’t drink spirits.”

He pulled out the cork and handed the jug to her. “This might be the only thing that will keep you from catching a fever. Just how far will we get if you get sick, huh? Now, take a swig. You won’t go to hell—I promise.”

She shot him a reproachful glance. “Very well, I’ll take one taste if you promise to quit pestering me.” She closed her eyes, held her nose with two fingers, then took a mouthful and swallowed.

Her eyelids flew open, and she gave a choked cough.

Nick grabbed the bottle from her before she dropped it. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I bet ol’ Amelia Bloomer couldn’t have belted one down any better.”

Noelle managed a scathing glare before she coughed again. Finally, she inhaled a deep gasp of breath.

Nick grinned. “Now get out of those wet clothes. When you’re dressed, blow out the lantern. G’night Miss Bellencourt.”

Noelle heard him climb down the back of the wagon. The whiskey burned a path straight to her belly, and already she felt flushed from the experience. Or was it Luke Savage?

What was she feeling? She wasn’t afraid of him, of that she was certain. Luke was nothing like the men who would frequent Harrison’s tavern late at night, ogling her when she came home from the theater. Maybe that was it. She had never met anyone quite like him.

Her pulse quickened when she recalled how Luke had stared at her. Soaked to the skin, he was justifiably angry. But she recognized the dark and mysterious way that his eyes brightened when his gaze raked over her.

Desire.

She’d admit that it was desire that stirred her being when he grabbed her waist, earlier. When she began to touch his leather vest, she felt him tense beneath her touch, and in that fleeting moment...

Nonsense. What she felt was appreciation, nothing more. She was grateful to him, and Uncle Marcel would repay his services once they arrived in Crooked Creek. Then she could forget Luke.

And they would arrive safely, thanks to Luke. Yes, it was gratitude she felt and nothing else.

She removed her wet garments and put on a high-necked cotton nightgown. After blowing out the lantern, she turned her bedroll over, then curled up to sleep. “Pleasant dreams, Mr. Savage.”

Luke’s low mumbling from beneath the wagon renewed her feeling of safety. She closed her eyes, content.

“Come on, Sunshine, time to wake up!”

Noelle opened one eyelid and peered into the darkness. A few inches from her, Luke leaned on one elbow and smiled down at her. He lay on a rumpled bedroll, the horse blanket hugging his shoulders.

Noelle jerked her head up. “Wh-what are you doing in my wagon?”

Luke’s mouth tipped slightly. “I was sleeping. What did you think?”

She gasped, unable to hide her astonishment. “I didn’t give you permission to—”

“No sense asking for something you can’t get,” Luke drawled. “Besides, only a fool would sleep in a mud hole if there’s a dry space available.” He stretched lazily. “C’mon. The storm has stopped. I noticed you’ve got dry kindling under the wagon. You make the fire, I’ll be back in a while.”

Noelle clasped her shawl in front of her and pointed to the closed curtains at the rear. “Now that you’re awake, get out!”

Luke raked back the hair from his face. “Jeezzo, woman! Are you always this snappish in the morning?”

“Out!” She grabbed his bedroll and blanket, tossing them after him. His deep chuckle made her cheeks burn.

After he left, Noelle took a deep breath, then tried to calm herself. But his words plagued her mind: Only a fool would sleep in a mud hole if there’s a dry space available.

She sighed. What he had said made a logical sense, so very much like Luke. After all, his gear was soaked because of her—although it had been an accident. And with all that he’d done for her, how could she begrudge him a dry place to sleep?

She peered out the back of the wagon. Early dawn hugged the prairie in a stretch of deep violet shadow.

“Mr. Savage?” she called into the stillness.

Only the buckskin’s answering whinny disturbed the silence. The horse was tethered to the side of the wagon. Perhaps Luke had gone to fetch the oxen. When he returned, she’d apologize for her testy words.

By the time Noelle had finished dressing, Luke hadn’t returned. The unbidden thought that something might have happened to him flashed through her mind.

Tossing her shawl around her shoulders, Noelle grabbed the rifle and set out to look for him. Even a man as invincible as Luke Savage was vulnerable to wild animals and Indians, although he probably didn’t think so.

Her shoes sucked in the mud as she strode through the prairie, her eyes becoming accustomed to the half light. Although it should be easy to follow his steps in the wet sand, it was still too dark to see them. The storm rumbled in the distance; the moon hid behind low clouds.

Mesquite and sage hung heavy with last night’s rain, splattering her skirts with droplets as she strode past. She moved along the swaying shadows of brush, while visions of crouching sharp-fanged beasts or Indians with raised tomahawks intruded on her logic. Her heart began to pound. Had a pack of wolves or bandits sneaked up on Luke when he’d untied the oxen?

No, she would have heard something. Then where was Luke? Maybe he was disgusted with her earlier bad temper and felt she needed to be taught a lesson.

No. He wouldn’t deliberately cause her to worry. The idea surprised her, and the thought made her realize that not only could she trust him, but she knew he’d protect her, even with his life.

The thought gave her pause. Luke Savage was basically a decent man, despite the darker side of him that she’d rather not know about. Gambling—the social ill of the lowest kind. But she sensed he’d do her no harm, and for that, she’d be eternally grateful.

A coyote howled in the distance. She trembled, pulling the shawl tighter about herself. Maybe she should have started a fire before she went to look for Luke. Without a campfire to keep away wild animals, the coyotes, hungry and smelling the oxen, were a threat.

The wind picked up, cool and damp with the smell of sage. Noelle sidestepped a large tumbleweed rolling toward her, safely avoiding its sharp prickers.

So, where was Luke? The fine hairs on her forearms tingled. She took a deep breath, wilting herself to keep a calm head as Luke would do.

Suddenly, a whiff of something dreadfully familiar drifted on the wind. Her head lifted toward the scent of death. Since her journey West, she had smelled its presence more times than she cared to remember.

Bracing herself, she picked her way slowly toward the source of the stench. The area of the prairie grew open, flat and sparse of grass. After a few minutes, she hesitated, wondering if she should wander so far from camp. She glanced over her shoulder, astonished at how far she’d walked. She should return to the wagon. Then after sunrise, she would return to pursue her curiosity. Besides, maybe Luke had come back and was searching for her.

Before Noelle had time to turn around, she heard a whisper of movement beneath the wide branches of a mesquite bush. She wheeled around to see a hunched figure in the shadows. Her mouth went dry. She raised the rifle to take aim, while juggling the lamp. Her fingers shook on the trigger as she drew the object into her sights.

“Luke? Is that you?” she called out, hopefully. The only answer was the rustling of branches as the dark shape crept closer.

“Luke?” Her voice rose to an unrecognizable pitch. Her mouth filled with the metallic taste of fear.

A feeble cry shattered the stillness as a wobbly-legged calf staggered toward her. Noelle gasped with relief. She lowered the rifle and the lantern, her heart racing like a runaway mare.

Not more than a few weeks old, she’d guess. She’d witnessed many cattle births while she traveled with the wagon train.

Where was its mother? Then Noelle saw the silent, dark heap of an animal, obviously the calf’s mother, lying nearby. Her throat tightened with the harsh reality of life.

“Come here, precious,” she whispered to the orphaned calf. She knelt beside the furry animal. She rubbed the calf’s velvety white face, and checked the animal’s rib cage for broken bones. She winced at the frail little body, but the animal appeared not to be injured.

“Wait until Uncle Luke sees you,” Noelle said, smiling. She set the lantern on the ground and slung the rifle over her shoulder. When she gathered the calf in her arms, she was surprised at how tame the calf appeared to be. Poor thing. Probably too weak from hunger and thirst to protest.

“You won’t have to worry about those bad coyotes any more,” she whispered.

Its saucer-size brown eyes gazed up at her with such innocence, that Noelle felt her throat strain with unshed tears. She hugged the calf and strode purposely in the direction of the wagon.

When she arrived at the camp, the horse whinnied, but there was no sign of Luke. Her worry returned. Although she wanted to search for him, she decided she’d wait until the sun rose. By then, she wouldn’t need the light, but she wouldn’t forget to retrieve the lantern where she left it in the prairie. She put the rifle down near the wagon.

The calf uttered a weak, mooing sound. She patted its head while she thought. It would be dawn within the hour. If Luke wasn’t back by then, she’d follow his tracks to see where he’d gone.

The calf nuzzled against her warmth, and she rubbed her fingers across the pink nose. The animal grabbed her finger, sucking hard. Noelle felt a pang of sympathy for the starving animal. She felt inside its mouth; a row of teeth protruded along the lower gum, but the upper gum was bare. She picked up the calf and placed it down inside the wagon, then she rummaged through the sparse food supplies. The only suitable food she had was canned milk and cornmeal.

She jumped down from the wagon and opened the trail box, but nothing she found would provide a container to give the calf a drink. The buckskin whinnied nervously, pawing the ground, as though jittery that its master hadn’t returned.

Noelle glanced toward the horse, then noticed Luke’s leather gloves shoved under the ties on the saddle. She took one of the large gloves and tried it on her right hand.

Yes, this would do nicely. She smiled as she strode to the water barrel. First, she’d poke a hole in the finger, then fill the glove with milk mixed with water. At least it would provide the calf with immediate nourishment until she made a gruel out of cornmeal. When they were on the trail and into better pasture conditions, she’d cut needle grass for the poor little thing.

With a knife, she poked a small hole in the fingertip of the sturdy leather. She winced at what Luke might say. But when she arrived in Crooked Creek, she’d ask Uncle Marcel to advance her enough money to purchase a pair of gloves for Luke from her first week’s wages.

Luke’s long strides gained ground as he strode in the direction of the prairie schooner. Coffee. Black and hot. Sizzling bacon and a pile of feathery flapjacks as only Hoot, the cook at the Crooked Creek’s café can make ’em. Luke groaned at the tempting images in his mind as his stomach growled louder than a grizzly.

If only Luke had kept riding instead of following the dead man’s tracks back to Noelle’s wagon. By now, he’d be waking up beside Jubilee at the Silver Hearts Saloon, well rested, with all of his needs deeply sated.

Instead, he’d have one more day of walking through prairie, back to town, leading a team pulling a busted wagon, with nothing to quiet his appetite but beef jerky. He swore as he shoved the binoculars back in the case and looped the strap around his neck.

Appetite, hell. What bothered him wouldn’t be satisfied by food, damn him. Noelle Bellencourt was a hindrance he couldn’t afford. Yet she ignited a flame in him that grew each time he saw her.

He swallowed, remembering how she’d looked when he crawled into the wagon, drenched from last night’s storm. He’d made the mistake to steal a glance at her after he’d fashioned a makeshift bed from his saddlebags and blanket.

Her flaxen blond head nestled against the pillow of blankets where she lay, asleep. Even in the darkness, he’d been able to see her lovely face, framed in the white lace of her nightgown, like an angel in repose.

He’d tried not to stare, but damn, he couldn’t help himself. The memory brought an unbidden rush of feelings, feelings he didn’t want to feel. Women like Noelle Bellencourt came with a high price. Marriage. Home. Children.

He drew a deep breath. She needed a responsible man to take care of her, and she wouldn’t find him in a rough mining town like Crooked Creek. She’d learn that lesson sooner or later, and he didn’t want to be around when she did.

Early streaks of sunlight began to appear along the hilly horizon. The chimney of a lantern glimmered in the sun. Luke’s eyes narrowed as he strode toward the familiar object. When he recognized it as Noelle’s lantern, his mind raced. What the hell had she been doing this far from the wagon? And where was she now?

Luke charged toward the prairie schooner. Deuce tossed his head, nickering a welcome as the animal sensed his master approach the camp. Before Luke reached the unlit wagon and tore open the curtains, he heard Noelle’s humming from inside the wagon.

Relief, as monumental as he’d ever felt, coursed through him. When he returned his rifle into the saddle scabbard, he realized his hands were shaking. He took a calming breath, while he scratched along Deuce’s neck. The sweet sounds of Noelle’s voice drifted on the sage-scented air, and he could hardly keep himself from running inside, holding her to be sure she was all right.

What are you doing, Savage? He took another deep breath, but nothing seemed to burn the image and the resulting thoughts from his mind. He forced himself to face her.

“Miss Bellencourt. I’m back,” he called before climbing onto the tailgate and peeking inside.

Noelle glanced up from her place in the center of the wagon. In her lap was a calf, not much bigger than a large dog. She was spooning a thin, yellow liquid down the animal’s throat.

“Jeezzo, woman—”

Noelle’s smile faded, and she stiffened. “I found him while I was searching for you. His mother had died.” She frowned. “And where have you been? I was worried to death.”

“I’ve been out checking the trail ahead.”

“Why didn’t you take your horse?”

“Too noisy.”

“How could you see in the dark?”

“I was looking for campfires.” Luke studied the scrawny calf. “Besides, I can see in the dark as well as an animal.”

Her brows lifted in skepticism. “Did you see any Indians?”

“Indians are too smart to leave signs. We can only guess that they’re out there. I did see a campfire up ahead, about three hours away. With any luck, they’ll be gone by the time we get there.”

“Do you think they’re friendly?”

“Prepare for the worst.” He glanced toward her. “We’ve got to be on our way. Let the calf go.”

“What do you mean, let him go?”

Luke sighed. “We can’t take the calf. It’ll slow us down. Most of the grass around here is pale green. That means alkali. We’ll have all we can handle to keep the team away from the bad grass, without having to play nursemaid to a calf.”

Luke jumped down from the wagon and strode toward the oxen.

Noelle shot her head out the rear curtains. “Mr. Savage, may I remind you that this is my wagon and my calf.”

“The calf or me, Miss Bellencourt.” Luke’s long-legged stride didn’t falter. “It’s your call.”