Logan's Lady

by Tracie Peterson

  Logan continued, trying hard to ignore the graceful blond as she moved about the riverbank studying the ground. “As inappropriate as you might think my addressing the subject of women’s undergarments might be, it is a matter of life and death. Up here beauty is counted in the scenery, not the flesh. The air is thinner and you need more of it to account for what you’re used to breathing down below. Losing those corsets just might save your life. I wouldn’t even suggest putting them back on after we arrive in Estes. The altitude there is even higher than it is here and I’d sure hate to have to run around all day picking up women in dead faints. Now I’ve wasted enough time. Eat or don’t, the choice is yours. I’ll water the horses and mules while you decide.” He started to walk away then turned back. “I hate to approach another delicate subject, but should you take yourself off into the trees for privacy, keep your eyes open. I’d also hate to have to deal with an agitated mother bear just because you startled her while she was feeding her cubs.”

  With that said, he walked away grumbling to himself. These prim and proper Brits were more trouble to deal with than they were worth. This was the last time he’d ever act as a guide for anyone of English nobility.

  He tethered his horse at the riverbank and pretended to adjust the saddle while he watched Amelia picking flowers and studying them with an almost scientific eye. From time to time, she drew out a small book and pressed one of these samples between the pages before moving on to the next point of interest. He found himself admiring the way she lithely climbed over the rocks and couldn’t help but notice her lack of fear as she neared the rushing river for a closer look.

  As she held a leaf up to catch the sunlight, Logan was reminded of her atheistic views. How could anyone behold the beauty of this canyon and question the existence of God? It was one thing not to want to deal with God, or even question whether He truly cared to deal with mankind, but to openly declare there to be no God—that was something he couldn’t even fathom. Even the Indians he’d dealt with believed in God. Maybe they didn’t believe the same way he did, but they didn’t question that someone or something greater than man held the universe in order and sustained life.

  Logan tried not to stare at Amelia, but he found himself rather helpless to ignore her. The other women were huddled together relaying their misfortunes, hoping for better times ahead and assuring each other that such torture could be endured for the sake of their menfolk. The men were gingerly sampling the lunch fare and after deciding it was better than nothing, they managed to eat a good portion before convincing the women to partake.

  Logan wondered if Amelia would partake, but then he saw her draw a biscuit from the deep pocket of her skirt and nibble at it absentmindedly as she bent to pick up a piece of granite. She is an industrious woman, he thought, watching her turn the stone in her hand. Who else, could have gotten that sour-faced brood of travelers together in such a short time? Who else too, would have thought to get Emma to pack food for them to take, rather than whine and beg him to allow them a bit more time for breakfast?

  As if sensing his gaze upon her, Amelia looked up and met his stare. Neither one did anything for a moment and when Amelia returned her attention to the rock, Logan tried to focus on the mules. His stomach did a bit of a flip-flop and he smiled in spite of himself at the affect this woman was having on him. Stealing a sidelong glance, he watched her cup water from the river’s edge and drink. Yes, Lady Amhurst is quite a woman.

  

  “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” Logan announced to the weary band. “Take care of your needs before that.” He walked to where Amelia sat quietly contemplating the scenery. “It’s impressive, don’t you think?” he asked, wondering if she’d take offense.

  “Yes, it is,” she admitted.

  “Those are cottonwood trees,” he said pointing out tall green-leaved trees. “Those with the lighter bark are aspen.” He reached down and picked up a leaf. “This is an aspen leaf.” Amelia seemed interested enough and so he continued. “I noticed you were saving flowers and if you need any help in identifying them later, I’d be happy to be of service. I’m pretty knowledgeable about the vegetation and wildlife in these parts.” He tried to sound nonchalant for fear he’d frighten her away or anger her.

  “I especially like those blue flowers,” Amelia replied.

  “Those are columbine. ’Tis said that absence conquers love! But, O, believe it not; I’ve tried alas! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot.’ A fellow named F. W. Thomas wrote that. It’s from a poem called ‘The Columbine.’ ”

  “How interesting.” She said nothing more for a moment, then added, “What of those white ones with the short hairy stems?”

  “Pasqueflowers. So named because they usually start flowering around Easter time. Comes from the Latin word pascha or the Hebrew pesah meaning ‘a passing over’, thus the Jewish feast of Passover and the Christian celebration of Easter, the death and resurrection of Christ.” He really hadn’t intended it as a mocking to Amelia’s earlier lessons on incarnate, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that was what they’d sound like.

  Amelia stiffened, picked up her things and walked back to the horse without another word. Logan wanted to kick himself for breaking the brief civil respite from the tension between them. Sometimes, Reed, he thought,you can sure put your foot in your mouth.

  Chapter 5

  Amelia tried not to remember the way Logan Reed had stared at her. Or how green his eyes were. Or how his mustached twitched whenever he was trying not to smile. She found herself unwillingly drawn to him and the very thought disturbed her to the bone. He was refreshingly different from English gentlemen and far better mannered than she’d given him credit for. His gruff exterior was mostly show, she’d decided while watching him help Lady Gambett onto her horse. He had tipped his had and said something that had caused Lady Gambett to actually smile. Keeping these thoughts to herself, Amelia concentrated on the scenery around her.

  “You are particularly quiet,” Jeffery spoke, riding up alongside her. It was one of those rare places along the path that allowed for riders to go two abreast.

  “I’m considering the countryside,” she replied rather tightly.

  “Ah, yes. America and her rough-hewn beauty.”

  Amelia frowned. “And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”

  Jeffery smiled tolerantly. “Simply that I’ll be happy to return home to England. I’ll be even happier when you reconcile yourself to our union and allow me to properly court you.”

  “I do not wish to discuss the matter.”

  “I know that very well, but I also know it is your father’s intentions that we do so.”

  He lifted his face to catch a bit of the sun’s warmth and Amelia was reminded of a turkey stretching his neck. Perhaps he might let out a gobble at any moment. She chuckled in spite of her resolve to be firm.

  Jeffery lowered his head and stared at her soberly. “Have I somehow amused you?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No, not really. I’m just a bit giddy from the thin air. I’m sure you will understand if I wish to save my breath and discontinue our conversation.” She urged her horse ahead and was relieved when Jeffery chose to leave her alone.

  

  Their stop for the evening came early. The sun was just disappearing behind the snow-capped peaks in front of them when Lord Amhurst’s pocket watch read 3:35. Amelia slid down from the horse and stretched in a rather unladylike display. Margaret gasped and Penelope laughed, while the Gambett women were too intent on their own miseries to notice. Amelia shrugged off her sisters’ questioning stares and began pulling her bedrollfree from behind the saddle.

  “Get your horses cared for first,” Logan called out. “Take down your things and I’ll come around and take care of the saddles and staking the animals out.”

  Moans arose from the crowd and Amelia wasn’t sure but what even Mattersley was echoing the sentiment of the group. The older man looked quite wo
rn and Amelia felt concern for him. He would die before leaving her father’s side, and thus, he accompanied them whenever they traveled. But this time the trip was so much rougher. Amelia wondered if he would be able to meet the demands of the American wilderness.

  “You did good today,” Logan said, taking the reins of her mount. “If you think you’re up to it, I could use some help putting up the tents and getting dinner started.”

  Amelia nodded and for some reason she felt honored that he’d asked for her assistance. While Logan removed saddles, Amelia went to Mattersley and helped him remove his bedroll. She didn’t know why she acted in such a manner but felt amply rewarded when Mattersley gave her a brief, rare smile. She took his mount and led it to where Logan was staking out Lady Gambett’s mount.

  “I see you’re getting into the spirit of things,” Logan said, quickly uncinching the horse.

  “I’m worried about Mattersley. He doesn’t seem to be adapting well to the altitude.” Amelia looked beyond the horses to where Mattersley was trying to assist her father. “He won’t be parted from my father,” she added,as though Logan had asked her why the old man was along. “He is completely devoted to him.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have someone devoted to you like that,” Logan replied softly.

  Amelia looked into his eyes and found him completely serious. “Me either,” she murmured. He made her feel suddenly very vulnerable, even lonely.

  Logan’s green eyes seemed to break through the thinly placed wall of English aristocracy, to gaze inside to where Amelia knew her empty heart beat a little faster. Could he really see through her and find the void within that kept her so distant and uncomfortable?

  “My mother was devoted to my pa that way,” he added in a barely audible voice.

  Amelia nodded. “Mine, too. When she died, I think of a part of him died as well. There is a great deal of pain in realizing that you’ve lost something forever.”

  “It doesn’t have to be forever,” Logan said, refusing to break his stare.

  Amelia licked her dry lips nervously. “No?”

  “No. That’s one of the nice things about God and it isn’t just a theory to give you comfort when somebody dies. If you and your loved ones belong to Him, then you will see them again.”

  Amelia swallowed hard. For the first time in many years, in fact since her mother’s death, she felt an aching urge to cry for her loss. “My mother believed that way,” she murmured.

  Logan’s face brightened. “Then half the problem is solved. She’s in heaven just waiting for you to figure out that she knew what she was talking about. You can see her again.”

  Amelia’s sorrow faded into prideful scorn. “My mother is entombed in the family mausoleum and I have no desire to see her again.” She walked away quickly, feeling Logan’s gaze on her. How dare he intrude into my life like that? How dare he trespass in the privacy of my soul?

  

  “Come on,” Logan said several minutes later. He tossed a small mallet at Amelia’s feet and motioned her to follow him.

  Picking up the mallet, Amelia did as she was told. She wasn’t surprised when she found Logan quite serious about her helping him assemble tents. He laid out the canvas structures and showed her where to drive the stakes into the ground. Pounding the wooden stakes caused her teeth to rattle, but Amelia found herself attacking the job with a fury.

  Logan secured the tent poles and pulled the structure tight. To Amelia’s surprise and pleasure, an instant shelter was born. Two more structures went up without a single mishap, or word spoken between them. Amelia was panting by the time they’d finished, but she didn’t care.

  Logan had sent the others to gather wood, but their production was minimal at best. When he and Amelia had finished with the tents, he then instructed the weary entourage to take their things into the tents. “The ladies will have two tents and the men can use the other. It’ll be a close fit, but by morning you’ll be glad to rug up with the other occupants.”

  No one said a word.

  Amelia took her things to the tent and started to unroll her bedding. “Leave it rolled,” Logan instructed from behind her.

  “I beg your pardon?” She pushed back an errant strand of hair and straightened up.

  “Unrolled, it will draw moisture or critters. Wait until you’re ready to sleep.”

  Amelia nodded. “Very well. What would you like me to do now?”

  “We’re going to get dinner going. Hungry?”

  She smiled weakly. “Famished.” In truth, she was not only hungry but also light-headed.

  “Come along then,” he said in a rather fatherly tone. “I’ll show you how to make camp stew.”

  “Camp stew?” she said, concentrating on his words against the pulsating beat of her heart in her ears.

  He grinned. “Camp stew is going to be our primary feast while en route to your summer home. It’s just a fancy way of saying beans and dried beef. Sometimes I throw in a few potatoes just to break the monotony.”

  Amelia allowed herself to smile. “At this point it sounds like a feast.”

  “You can take this to the river and get some water,” he said, handing her a coffee pot. “I’ll unpack the pot for the beans. You’ll need to fill it with water first; then bring the coffee pot back full and we’ll make some coffee.”

  She nodded wearily and made her way to the water’s edge. Her head was beginning to ache and a voice from within reminded her of Mr. Reed’s warning to drink plenty of water. Scooping a handful to her lips, Amelia thought she’d never tasted anything as good. The water was cold and clear and instantly refreshed her. With each return trip Amelia forced herself to drink a little water. On her last trip she dipped her handkerchief in the icy river and wiped some of the grime away from her face. She drew in gasping breaths of chilled mountain air, trying hard to compensate for the lack of oxygen. For a moment the world seemed to spin.

  Lowering her gaze, Amelia panicked at the sensation of dizziness. It seemed to come in waves, leaving her unable to focus. She took a step and stumbled. Took another and nearly fell over backward. What’s happening to me? she worried.

  “Amelia?” Logan was calling from somewhere. “You got that coffee water yet?”

  The river was situated far enough away that the trees and rocks kept her from view of the camp. She opened her mouth to call out, then clamped it shut, determined not to ask Mr. Reed for help. Sliding down to sit on a small boulder, Amelia steadied the pot. I’ll feel better in a minute, she thought. If I just sit for a moment, everything will clear and I’ll have my breath back.

  “Amelia?” Logan stood not three feet away. “Are you all right?”

  Getting to her feet quickly, Amelia instantly realized her mistake. The coffee pot fell with a clatter against the rocks and Amelia felt her knees buckle.

  “Whoa, there,” Logan said, reaching out to catch her before she hit the ground. “I was afraid you were doing too much. You are the most prideful, stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”

  Amelia tried to push him away and stand on her own, but her head and legs refused to work together and her hands only seemed to flail at the air. “I just got up too fast,” she protested.

  “You just managed to get yourself overworked. You’re going to lay down for the rest of the night. I’ll bring you some chow when it’s ready, but tillthen, you aren’t to lift a finger.” In one fluid motion he swung her up into his arms.

  “I assure you, Mr. Reed—”

  “Logan. My name is Logan. Just as you are Lady Amhurst, I am Logan. Understand?” he sounded gruff, but he was smiling and Amelia could only laugh. She’d brought this on herself by trying to outdo the others and keep up with any task he’d suggested.

  “Well?” His eyes seemed to twinkle.

  “I understand!” she declared and tried not to notice the feel of his muscular arms around her.

  His expression sobered and Amelia couldn’t help but notice that there was no twitching o
f that magnificent mustache. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to touch that mustache. Is it coarse and prickly, or smooth and soft like the pet rabbit Margaret had played with as a child?

  He was looking at her as though trying to say something that couldn’t be formed into words and for once, Amelia didn’t think him so barbaric. These new considerations of a man she’d once thought hopelessly crude were disturbing to her. Her mind began to race. What should I say to him? What should I do? I could demand he release me, but I seriously doubt that he would. And what if he did? Did she really want that?

  This is ridiculous, she chided herself. Forcing her gaze to the path, she nodded and said, “Shouldn’t we get back? Maybe you could just put me down now. I’m feeling much better.”

  Logan gave her a little toss upward to get a better hold. She let out an audible gasp and tightly gripped her arms around Logan’s neck.

  “Don’t!” she squealed with the abandonment of a child. Logan looked at her strangely and Amelia tried to calm her nerves. “I—I’ve always been afraid of falling,” she offered lamely. “Please put me down.”

  “Nope,” he said and started for camp. When he came to the edge of the clearing it was evident that everyone else was still collecting firewood. Logan stopped and asked, “Why are you afraid of falling?”

  Amelia’s mind went back in time. “When I was very young someone held me out over the edge of the balcony and threatened to spill me. I was absolutely terrified and engaged myself in quite a spell until Mother reprimanded me for being so loud.”