“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.”
Violet’s tone remained cheerful, despite her brother’s frown. “She’s asked for my help, James. I can’t refuse.”
“I’ll go with you, Aunt Vi.” Abby covered the pot of stew and stood up, dusting off her britches.
As the two women moved through the wagons, they were surprised to hear a woman’s cry.
“Now what do you suppose ... ?”
They halted in front of the Peel wagon. Doralyn Peel was standing with Mordecai and Rourke. Her face was contorted with pain.
“What is it, Doralyn? What’s happened?” Violet hurried to her side.
“It’s Jason. Mr. Stump says he has cholera.”
Violet’s eyes widened as she turned toward the wagon master. “How can you be certain?”
“I’ve seen cholera before, Miss Violet. There’s no denying the look. Jason is already becoming dehydrated. He canna’ keep as much as a drop of water down. His skin is like clay. I plucked it. It wouldna’ even snap back.”
Violet put a hand to her throat. Cholera. It was the most dreaded word she knew. More than the elements, more than Indians, the travelers heading west feared cholera.
Placing her hand on Doralyn’s shoulder, Violet whispered, “Jason is a fine, strong man. He’ll come through this, Doralyn. We’ll nurse him. We’ll stay with him through his ordeal. You’ll see. He’ll be just fine.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Violet,” Mordecai said. “No one except his wife will be able to tend him. Cholera is highly contagious.”
“What about my son?” the woman asked, beginning to cry again.
“He’d be better off in one of the other wagons, but I’m afraid he might carry the illness with him. He’ll have to stay with you, ma’am.”
A low moan came from inside the wagon. Touching her apron to her eyes, Doralyn Peel slowly climbed inside. As she turned to close the flap, her eyes met Violet’s. Violet tried to give her a smile, and found that her lips trembled instead. Turning away, she leaned heavily on Abby’s arm as they made their way back to their wagon.
* * * * *
“Cholera!” James Market shoved the cork into his jug and set it aside. “Are you sure?”
“Mr. Stump was certain. He said he’d seen it before. He had no doubt that what Jason Peel has is cholera.”
“By God!” Lumbering to his feet, James walked away without another word.
“I’m worried about your father.”
Abby glanced at her aunt. “Why? He left his jug here.”
“That’s why I’m so worried.” Violet’s tone was thoughtful. “What would be more important tonight than his liquor?”
Abby fell silent. Jason Peel’s cholera. But what did that have to do with her father?
The answer wasn’t long in coming. As the two women worked by the light of the fire, they heard the sound of voices raised in anger.
Dropping her mending, Violet glanced at Abby. “I think I hear James’s voice. We’d better see what’s happening.”
By the time they reached the cook wagon, most of the people from the train were gathered around, listening to James Market.
“. . . careful, we’ll all be infected. I say, if Jason Peel really has cholera, he and his family should be forced to leave this wagon train immediately. Otherwise, the next one stricken might be me. Or you,” he said dramatically, pointing toward Jed Garner.
“I have a wife and baby to think of,” Jed shouted. “I don’t want to see them die.”
“No one wants to see anyone die,” Mordecai said, trying to be heard above the crowd.
“People die every day of cholera. The only way to prevent the spread of this disease is to send the Peels away.”
“What chance would they have alone in this desert?” Violet called.
“You stay out of this, woman. I’m only trying to look out for your safety.”
“Is that what you call it, Market?” Reverend Coulter asked. “I call it running scared.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’re afraid to be around a sick man, so you want to send him away and deny he even exists.”
“Oh, he exists, Reverend,” James said quickly. “There’s no denying he exists. And so does the cholera.”
“We can’t just send them away,” Reverend Coulter retorted.
“I hope that little baby of yours—what’s her name? Jenny?—isn’t the next one to come down with cholera.”
Reverend Coulter’s face turned the color of ash. The protest he was about to utter died on his lips.
Pressing his advantage, James Market pointed a finger at Lavinia Winters. “How many children are in your wagon, Mrs. Winters? Three? What chance will they have if this disease spreads?”
Lavinia’s lips compressed into a tight line.
“If you want to know what I think, the people on this wagon train have the right to protect themselves. I vote we ord
er the Peel family to leave this train tonight.”
“Wait a minute.” At the sound of Abby’s voice, the crowd turned to study her.
“I understand your fear of cholera. But we have a duty to be humane,” Abby said in a pleading voice. “The Peels paid their money, the same as everyone else. They have a right to the protection this train offers. Instead of sending them away, why can’t we just ask that they fall behind the others?” Glancing at Mordecai for support, Abby went on quickly, “That way, they won’t be able to contaminate the rest of us. But they’ll be close enough to fire a shot if they need help.”
“That sounds fair to me,” Reverend Coulter said. The relief in his voice was evident. He wished he had thought of this solution himself.
“I like that better than sending them away completely,” Aaron Winters said. His wife nodded her head in agreement.
“I still say they should be sent away,” James Market shouted. “This calls for a vote of the majority.”
Mordecai interrupted him. “This is my wagon train, Market. I’ll tally the vote. And if there’s a tie, I’ll cast the deciding one.” Glancing over the crowd, the wagon master said, “Miss Abby has suggested that the Peel wagon pull back from the train until the illness is cured. I will add to that, any wagon containing a cholera victim will be asked to do the same.” He saw the way the people began reflecting on the possibilities of their own family members becoming ill. When they realized that they could suffer the same fate as the Peels, they were willing to look for more humane treatment. “I ask for a show of hands,” Mordecai said.
After counting the hands, he said, “James Market has suggested that the Peel wagon be sent away from the train and left on its own. I will add, any other wagon whose family members become ill with cholera will be forced to do the same.” Glancing at the scowl on Market’s face, Mordecai said, “I will now see a show of hands for that suggestion.”
Only Jed Garner raised his hand. Swearing, James Market went off in search of his jug. Quickly the crowd dispersed. This was not a night to be out. This was a night to draw close around the family and pray that each would be spared the fate of Jason Peel.
* * * * *
Each morning as the travelers broke camp they would turn to look at the Peel wagon, far back but keeping pace. Whenever Abby went out to hunt, she left some of her game along the trail, with a marker, where she knew Doralyn and Jonathon would find it. Her heart went out to the mother and son who valiantly contended not only with illness but with isolation.