“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.
“That’s good.” She moved her blanket and scrubbed the corner of the wagon.
“How is your food holding up?” From where he was standing, he could see the shadowy cleft between her breasts. He felt as though a fist had slammed into his gut. He held a match to the tip of a cigar and pretended to study a stream of smoke curling above his head.
“Fine. I cooked a rabbit tonight. Carrie used to love my rabbit stew.” Her words trailed off as she became lost in thought and felt the lump in her throat start to grow.
He swore under his breath. Why had they all abandoned her? “Maybe I’ll find time to hunt tomorrow. If I do, I’ll bring you something.”
She lifted a callused hand to her brow, then bent once more to her scrubbing. “Don’t go hunting on my account, Rourke. I’ll be just fine.”
He felt like shaking her, and didn’t know why. “I know you will.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He glanced up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t think I’ll do fine at all. You and Mordecai and the others. You’re all waiting for me to curl up and die, aren’t you?”
Rourke ground the cigar under his heel. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know what you think.” Frustrated, Abby tossed the wet rag and watched it drop in a soggy heap on the far side of the canvas. She jumped down from the wagon. With her hands on her hips she faced him. “You think I was a fool not to stay with my aunt and Andrew McClelland, where I could have lived on his big, fancy ranch. I could have worn pretty dresses and had servants to cook and clean for me. No more trail. No more working until I drop.” Her tone grew more strident. “No more hard times.” With narrowed eyes, she said, “You think I can’t possibly make it on my own.”
Rourke’s voice was deadly calm. “Is that the argument you’ve been having with yourself all day?”
She looked thunderstruck. “Of course not.” Tossing her head, she clasped her hands, nervously twisting her fingers. “Well, I mean, I thought of it. But I knew it wouldn’t be right for me. If that was Aunt Vi’s dream, she can have it. But my dream is still to make it to California.”
“That’s a pretty big dream for such a little woman. And if you don’t?” he asked softly. “Can you settle for a lesser dream?”
Her eyes flashed. “There you go again. Doubting me. I know you think I’ll never make it.”
“Lady, you don’t have any idea what I’m thinking,” he growled.
Abby started to say something, but her lips quivered and the tears brimmed in her eyes before she could stop them. Embarrassed, she tried to turn away, but Rourke caught her and drew her close. The action was so tender, so unexpected, she felt herself crumpling against him. With her arms wound around his neck, she began to cry. Once the tears started, it was as if a floodgate had been opened. With racking sobs, Abby buried her face against his throat and wept until there were no tears left.
Holding her like this was the sweetest torment he’d ever known. While she cried, he was achingly aware of her breasts flattened against his chest, her thighs molded to his. She was so small, so slender. She fit so perfectly in his arms.
Handing her his handkerchief, Rourke waited while she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Then, before she had a chance to argue, he grabbed her up in his arms, carried her inside her wagon, and deposited her on a nest of blankets.
“What you need is sleep,” he said, drawing a blanket around her shoulders. “You’ve pushed yourself beyond the limits, Abby. By morning, you’ll feel better.”
“I feel fine.” She sniffed.
“Yeah. And you look fine too.” Lifting her hand, palm up, he examined the raw flesh. “My God, look at you. You can’t keep this up. These hands will never heal unless you give them a chance.”
“Stop bullying me.” Snatching her hand away, she scowled at him.
He glared back at her, then let out a long stream of breath. “You want me to stop? All right. I intend to. You want to be left alone? You can have your wish. Right now.”
As he turned away, Abby felt a moment of terror and clutched at his sleeve. Turning back, he studied her for long, silent moments.
The tears were very close to the surface, and she was afraid she was going to embarrass herself by crying again. Swallowing down the lump she whispered, “I’ll be just fine, Rourke.” She licked her lips. “But would you mind very much staying awhile longer? Just until I fall asleep?”
Would he mind? He had to fight the urge to crush her in his arms and love her until the morning sun broke through. If he could, he would kiss away every hurt, every ache, every pain. Instead, he sat down beside her and tucked the blanket up to her chin. A wisp of her hair brushed the back of his hand, sending shock waves through his system. God, she was so damned innocent, so vulnerable.
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go back to the cook wagon tonight,” he said, forcing his voice to remain casual. “Parker snores like a bear.”
Her trembling lips curved into a half smile. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You get some sleep. I’ll just sit here and keep watch.”
Taking a fresh cigar from his pocket, he struck a match until the tip glowed, then blew it out. He was glad for the darkness. His hand wasn’t quite steady. Swearing, he decided that he’d better not look at the shadowy profile of the woman beside him. It would be a whole lot safer to concentrate on the sky, the mountain peaks in the distance, the weather. Anything but Abby.
Beside him, the object of his concern fell into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As the grueling days wore on, Abby’s sense of loss diminished. Thrust into the business of surviving the harshest part of their journey, she found little time for grief.
The Sierras had seemed impenetrable. But mile by painful mile, the determined travelers were making progress. If the snows held off, they were convinced they would soon see California.
Though they prayed for good weather, the lack of snow made it impossible to track game. In this rocky wilderness, blessed with icy water trickling down the mountainsides, they found they had to ration food. The meat and broth from a single rabbit, doled out to each member of the train, proved inadequate to keep up strength. It became
necessary to slaughter their first ox.
Evelyn Coulter and Aaron Winters combined their two teams and offered to sacrifice one of their oxen. The meat, apportioned to each wagon, brought no sense of celebration. Instead, the travelers gave in to the nagging fear that this could be the first of many sacrifices. How could they survive without teams to haul their goods?
They would walk, Mordecai assured them, rather than starve to death.
“Your animals must serve whatever purpose is necessary,” he said, his burr becoming more pronounced. “And if it is necessary to slaughter them in order to survive, then we willna’ hesitate to do so.”
Conversation during supper that evening was muted. Even the children seemed strangely subdued.
Feeling the bite in the air, Abby glanced skyward as she went about her evening chores. Please God, she prayed. Not yet. Not until we cross the Sierras.
Pausing, she studied the yellow aspens lining the hills around the camp. Autumn had come while they weren’t looking. And behind it would come the howling winds of winter.
Because it was so cold, she kept her boots on and rolled herself into her blankets. Blowing out the lantern, she cradled her head on her hands and willed her muscles to relax.
After that first night, when Rourke had eased her fears and kept watch while she slept, she had forced herself to accept the fact that she would have to learn to live alone. By working until she dropped, she discovered that it was possible to fall asleep instantly. But often she awoke in the middle of the night and was seized by an almost paralyzing fear. Recalling old Bible verses that Aunt Vi had often read aloud, Abby found she was able to hold the fears at bay. Gradually, repeating the comforting words over and over, she would drift back to sleep. It gave her a measure of satisfaction to know that she had faced her demons alone. And though she was certain they would return, she was equally certain that she would find the strength to fight them again and again.
* * * * *
Abby awoke to a dazzling snowfall. As she opened the flap of canvas, the sun’s reflection nearly blinded her. For one brief moment, she could only savor the beauty of it. The land looked softer somehow. Lines and ridges were filled and rounded. Trees and rocks wore caps of glistening snow. All of nature’s sounds were muted and muffled. The craggy peaks were no longer harsh and forbidding, but softened. The pristine beauty of it made her heart quicken.
Even as she enjoyed the sight, she realized the danger. Wagon wheels would be mired in snow. The mules and oxen would have to work even harder. Walking would be painful. There was the chance of frostbite. But they dared not stop now. The next snowfall could be a blizzard.
“Abby.”
She glanced up at the sound of Rourke’s voice.
“Mordecai will be hitching double teams to each wagon to make it through the snow. It could be an hour or more before they can get to yours. Would you care to join me in a hunt?”
Her smile was radiant. There was something good about the snow after all. It would be easy to track game.
“I’ll just be a minute.”
She checked her gun and rifle, then rummaged around for rags to tie about her feet and ankles before pulling on her boots. Slipping on a buckskin jacket and crushing her old hat on her head, she climbed from the wagon and untied her horse.
“Which direction?” she asked.
Rourke pointed to a shelf of rocks that rimmed the canyon. “I spotted tracks heading up there.”
He wheeled his horse and led the way while Abby followed.
It felt good to be away from the train. It had been too long, Abby thought. Besides, she was glad to have the chance to be alone with Rourke. Every waking minute lately had been spent pushing and shoving the wagons across these hateful mountains. Some days, the only thing that kept her going was the thought of a lush, green valley, filled with ripe fruit and fat, sleek cattle.
And then what? she wondered. Would Rourke leave and go back to doing whatever it was he did before he joined the train?
She studied his broad shoulders as he paused to gauge the animal’s tracks. How strong he was. How safe she felt whenever he held her. Safe and yet—unsafe. He would never harm her. Of that she was certain. But each time she allowed him to touch her, she felt as if she were losing a part of herself. A part of her hard-won independence. Sometimes she was almost overcome with a desire to forget the dream, forget California, forget everything, and just lie in his arms forever. What would it be like, she wondered, to lie together and love? Was it wicked to have such thoughts?
He turned and motioned for her, and her fantasies fled.
“A second set of tracks. Deer. At least two of them. They’re heading up there.” He pointed, and Abby shielded her eyes from the sun and followed the direction of his hand.
“It could take longer than I thought. Want to go back to camp, or stay with me?”
“I’ll stay with you.” She hoped her tone didn’t sound too eager.
“If this snow gets much deeper up ahead, we may have to leave the horses and proceed on foot.”
Without waiting for her response, he nudged his mount forward. Abby followed, absently watching the way the sunlight glistened on his dark hair. He’d been so patient with her, so kind, especially since Aunt Vi left. Maybe that was another reason why she loved him so.
Loved him! Stunned at the direction of her thoughts, she reined in her horse and stared at Rourke’s back. When did she fall in love with him? She couldn’t remember. Was it the first time she saw him, leaning against that tree beside the stream in Independence? Was it the day on the plains when he’d shown her the herds of buffalo? Or the night he’d danced with her in the shadows?
She didn’t know. She only knew she loved him. Loved him desperately. And in her ignorance, she didn’t know how to show him. Fool, she berated herself. Silly damned fool. “What’s keeping you?”
Abby started at the sound of his voice. Digging in her heels, she urged her horse forward. “Nothing. Just looking around.”
“Keep up. I can’t afford to lose you up here.”
You aren’t going to lose me, Rourke, she thought, feeling a well of laughter bubbling up inside. I’m not going to let you lose me. I’m going to let you find me. If I can just figure out how to do it.
They followed the deer tracks higher and higher, until they could see clear across the mountain range.
“Look,” Rourke said, pointing to the far horizon. “There’s your dream, Abby. That’s California.”
Her eyes widened and she stared at the point of land barely visible beyond the mountain range. “So close?”
Rourke nodded. “Five, maybe six days away at the most.”
Five or six days. In less than a week, they would reach the promised land. “That’s the Sacramento Valley,” Rourke said. Abby’s heart leaped to her throat. Was it possible? Had they really come clear across the country?
“Come on. We’ll see it a lot clearer in a few days.” He urged his horse along, and Abby followed.
At last reining in his mount, Rourke slid from the saddle. Abby did the same.
“We’ll have to go on foot from here,” he whispered. “If those deer are in these rocks, we have to stay downwind of them.”
Clutching her rifle, Abby scrambled up rocks and slid down ridges, staying as close to Rourke as possible.
“There.” He pointed and they both ducked behind a boulder.
Abby watched as Rourke took aim. Beside him, she studied the animals, ready to fire off a shot if he missed. Before he could shoot, they heard a rumble echo across the mountains. Frightened, the deer bolted.
Rourke and Abby stared around in confusion.
“Thunder?” Abby asked.
Rourke’s eyes narrowed. “Gunfire.”
He began running. Without questioning him, Abby dogged his tracks, until, their lungs straining in the thin air, they came to their horses.
While the horses picked their way among the rocks on the downhill trail, Abby and Rourke strained t
o see. There was nothing but ridges, and boulders, and cliffs blocking their view.
When at last they came to a clearing, they were stunned at the sight that greeted them. Below, in the camp, black smoke billowed from burning wagons. The acrid odor drifted to them on the breeze. Abby heard a sound and couldn’t tell if it was a moan or the sigh of the wind.
Spurring his horse, Rourke cocked his rifle and yelled, “Stay here.”
“I’m going with you.”
His horse was running, but he managed to turn. “I don’t want you hurt.”
She hesitated, torn between wanting to do what Rourke asked and wanting to help if she could. These people were her friends. And more. They were all the family she had left. She had to go to their aid. Digging in her heels, she urged her horse into a run.
Holding the reins firmly, Abby forced her mount through the black smoke at the head of the train. It wasn’t until she was on the other side of the wagons, past the smoke, that she realized she was face-to-face with a band of Indians. While she looked on helplessly, four of them wrestled Rourke to the ground. When she saw one of the Indians raise a knife as if to plunge it into Rourke’s throat, she fired. The Indian slumped to the ground. Instantly two braves leaped at her, hauling her roughly to the ground. Enraged, Rourke leaped into their midst, shielding Abby with his own body. Several more braves attacked them, yanking Abby from his arms. Her buckskin jacket fell to the ground. As she was dragged away, her hat was knocked from her head and her hair tumbled about her face and shoulders.
While three Indians held a kicking, fighting Rourke, pinning him to the ground, the others stared at Abby in amazement. Who was this white woman, with hair like flame, dressed in men’s clothes?
One of the braves, shouting to the others, walked up to her and grabbed a handful of her hair. When he tugged on it, she slapped his hand. The others roared with laughter.
Angry, the brave slapped her back, then pulled on her hair again. With tears stinging her eyes, she kicked at him. Immediately he brought an arm around her throat, nearly choking her. As she scratched and bit, he tossed her to a second brave. The second one began making fun of her britches, then tore at the front of her shirt. When she tried to run, he caught her, then tossed her to a third brave, who ripped her shirt from her. She was indeed a woman, they laughed, pointing to her breasts. Wearing only a pale, ivory chemise, trimmed with ribbon and lace, Abby crossed her arms in front of herself and tried to evade their hands as they reached for her and tossed her back and forth in a circle.