by Pam Hillman
Soon the others dispersed, leaving Caleb, Connor, and William alone. Connor scraped a hand along his jaw. “There’s going t’ be trouble between those two.”
“Aye.” Caleb nodded. “The good news is that we’ll be leaving for Natchez soon. Mayhap Sam will cool off while we’re gone.”
“What do you think?” Connor looked like the landlubber he was as he struggled to keep his balance on the logs.
“It’ll do.” Caleb walked the length of the eighty-foot raft. He’d put a halt to Vickers’s ideas of making it bigger, wider, longer, and even more cumbersome. They had to be able to control the logs or they’d float all the way past Natchez and New Orleans into the ocean.
Vickers had proved himself to be knowledgeable about timber rafting and trustworthy to boot. And just from hearing him talk, Caleb expected he knew more about the river than the rest of them combined.
Connor stepped off the logs back onto the sandbar. “Will it hold up t’ the ravages o’ the river?”
“No reason it shouldn’t.” Glad he’d grilled Vickers, Caleb pointed to the massive oar mounted to the front of the raft. “That’s the sweep. The sweep man will make sure to keep the front of the raft away from the bank, keeping an eye out for snags and such.”
“And those on the side? Does Vickers plan t’ row the thing?”
“They’re not for rowing. They’re more for steering and shoving the raft off sandbars. And see those poles at the back? Those are snub poles. When we want to slow the raft, we drop the ends in the river and they create a drag.”
“I hope this works.”
Caleb slapped his brother on the back. “It’ll work. Have faith.”
“Easy for you t’ say. I’ve got a crew o’ loggers here itching for their wages.”
“They’ll have them. Vickers says we’ll be back in three to four days if we don’t run into any trouble.”
“Closer to five. Maybe six. William plans t’ buy more horses, mules, wagons, whatever he can get when he sells the logs. Locating what he needs might take time.”
Thankful to hear that William would be making the trip with them, and that they wouldn’t have to walk back up the trace, Caleb hunkered down and pounded a plug through a crossbar to hold the logs in place. “Are you sure you do no’ want t’ go along?”
“No. We’re still on edge because o’ Jed Willis’s death, and I won’t leave Isabella and Patrick.” Connor squinted at the raftsmen securing logs, Massey among them. “Even though I do no’ think Massey had anything to do with Jed’s death, I’d sink this whole raft on the hunch that he knows who did.”
“Aye. He’s a cagey one, that’s for sure.”
“Watch yourself. I do no’ like keeping him on, but I have no reason t’ let him go.”
“Do no’ worry, Brother. I’ve dealt with the likes of Whiskey Massey before.”
“Whiskey?” Connor scowled. “Fittin’ byname, I suppose.”
“Aye.” Caleb’s chuckle was cut off by a shrill whistle.
“Connor!” William beckoned from the bluff overhead. “We need you up here. Björn has a problem with one of the teams.”
Connor stepped off the raft and headed toward the bluff, and Caleb started making rounds on the timber raft, checking rigging, tying down their supplies, securing the three-sided lean-to in the middle of the raft. It was rough, but plenty decent enough for a night or two on the river.
Not long after, he heard Gimpy’s dinner gong sound. Massey, Vickers, and the others stopped and trooped up the steep road. Caleb finished securing the supplies, then measured the rope coiled on the raft. From what Vickers had said, they’d need eighty to one hundred feet of rope to snug up to shore if they didn’t want to miss their chance of a good landing spot at night.
“Caleb?”
Heart jumping at the sound of Alanah’s voice, he turned, spotted her standing on the sandbar, looking . . .
All golden and beautiful with the late-afternoon sunlight haloing around her.
Gone was the patched and worn shift she usually wore, and instead she’d donned the clothes Isabella had given her.
When he continued to stare, the expectation on her face faded, and she turned away, motioning to a packhorse loaded down with two canvas bags. “Tiberius said you were leaving in the morning, and I brought the herbs. That is —if you’re still willing to deliver them to Natchez for me.”
“You changed your mind, then?”
“Lydia insisted.” She looked away. “We’ll need every bit of coin we can scrape together if Uncle Jude is serious about heading north.”
Caleb didn’t stop to wonder at the knot that lodged beneath his heart at the thought of never seeing her again. “You do no’ sound convinced that he’ll really go.”
“I’m hoping he’ll change his mind because . . .”
“Because o’ what?” He stepped off the raft. “Because you want t’ stay?”
“Yes. I want to stay. Very much.”
Caleb stared into her golden eyes and found himself agreeing with her. Very much. She looked away, and clearing his throat, he reached for the horse’s lead rope, led the animal closer to the raft.
Alanah followed, her gaze taking in the logs connected to each other with poles secured by plugs. “It’s huge.”
“Vickers wanted t’ build it even bigger.”
“I can’t imagine how you’ll manage something this big. You must be taking half the logging crew.”
“Just five or six men.”
“May I ask for one more favor?” She reached into a pocket and held out a piece of paper. “Do you mind picking up these supplies from Mr. Weaver?”
“I do no’ mind.” He tucked the note inside his jerkin and hefted one of the heavy packs, then peered under it to catch a glimpse of her face. “Did your uncle load these packs?”
“Uncle Jude is still away.” She reached for the other pack.
“I’ll get that.” But she paid him no heed. Caleb led the way toward the raft. “He should no’ leave you women alone like that. Tiberius will check on you while I’m gone.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Do no’ be pigheaded. You, Lydia, and Betsy need someone to look after you, especially after what happened to Willis.”
“He won’t bother us.” She tapped her temple with her finger. “I’m touched in the head, you know. We all are.”
“Anybody in his right mind would know you’re no’ tetched, so that argument will no’ hold water with me.” He stepped onto the raft, ducked into the lean-to, and tossed the cumbersome pack toward his bedroll.
He turned, found Alanah behind him, the smaller pack cradled in her arms. A smile played across her lips. “So you weren’t fooled? Not even in the beginning?”
“Especially no’ in the beginning.” He took the pack from her and stored it next to the other one, then moved out from under the shelter and leaned close. “I saw you first in Natchez, remember, looking like you had come from one o’ those fancy mansions up on the hill.”
“You’re poking fun.” Cheeks pinkening, she turned away.
Caleb chuckled. “Now why would I poke fun about something like that?”
She shrugged, then picked at the bark on the poles they’d used to construct their shelter. “I’ve seen those girls at brush arbor meetings and such, and no way would I ever be mistaken for one of them.”
Caleb closed the short distance between them. Lifting her chin with his forefinger, he searched her eyes, perfectly shaped face, and golden-streaked hair that begged for his touch. Even as his gaze roamed over her face, his hand slid along her jaw, his fingers plunging into her hair at the nape of her neck.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “There’s no way you could be mistaken for one o’ them.”
And as the timber raft rocked gently on the water’s surface, his eyes slid shut and he dipped his head closer to hers.
Alanah froze as Caleb tugged her closer, panic warring with anticipation.
His
long, dark lashes swept down over black eyes, and his lips closed over hers, soft, warm, and sweet. Her mind and Uncle Jude’s warnings told her to pull away, to run as fast as she could back to the cabin, to shuck the pretty clothes and cover the sweet-smelling jasmine that lingered on her skin with the odor and filth of dirt.
But her heart . . .
Oh, her heart said otherwise.
For just a moment, she gave in to the call of her heart. Closing her eyes, she savored the feel of Caleb’s lips against hers, marveling at the way he angled her body to fit against his, one arm fitting around the curve of her waist as only he could, the other supporting her shoulders as he dipped into the kiss.
Nothing had prepared her for this gentle assault on her senses.
Her eyes jerked open when the timber raft shifted against the current. Caleb pulled back, and as if in an herb-induced stupor of her own making, she blinked to clear her head. Caleb looked as dazed as she felt. His eyes, at half-mast, flickered over her face, and her fickle heart gave a delicious shudder. The raft rocked with another surge of the current, and she clutched at his shirt. Caleb’s arm tightened around her waist, his hand splayed across her back, and his lips curled into a smile.
“Do no’ worry, lass. I’ve got you.”
And so he did. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t let her fall, but even if she did, he’d be there to catch her. Her heart pounded at the trust she’d just handed this man. She hadn’t had that much faith in anyone, and especially a man, since her father had died. She pressed her hand against his jerkin, the feel of his chest warm beneath her palm. But still —
“Please.”
Her plea snuffed the light in Caleb’s eyes as surely as if she’d pinched out a candle. Just like that, it was gone. He put some distance between them but held her elbow, keeping her steady.
“Forgive me for taking liberties.”
Her face flamed. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Well, that’s good t’ know.” A grin played with his lips, the same lips that had been pressed against hers only moments before, and she —
She jerked her gaze away from his lips before he got the impression she wanted him to kiss her again. Because she didn’t. Oh, but heaven help her, she did.
Before she gave in to the crazy, wild riot of feelings he’d awakened in her, she motioned to the sandbar that looked a world away. “I should go.”
“Aye. You should.”
And as he led her across the log raft, the surface rocking gently with the current, she realized that more than one thing had been tilted out of balance today.
Chapter 15
ONCE THE TIMBER raft got under way, it was like gliding over butter.
The heavy logs eased right out into the center of the river, and they were on their way. It wasn’t long before they rounded a bend, and Cypress Creek came into view, spread out before them, the sprawling tavern that doubled as a way station for travelers perched on a hillside.
As they passed, Caleb could see why travelers liked to stop. A wide sandbar allowed flatboats to beach with ease. Someone had pounded heavy pilings into the sand to tie off boats and had taken the time to build a pier.
And Alanah lived less than half a mile beyond on the road past the landing. Suddenly he was transported to the soaring feeling of holding her close, his lips against hers. For a moment, when the raft had shifted under their feet, he’d seen complete and utter trust in her eyes, in the way she relaxed against him as if she knew he’d keep her safe no matter what.
“Stop your woolgathering, O’Shea. Pull away from the landing like this.” Vickers grabbed the sweep and pushed the blade far to the right to force the raft to turn into the current. “Feel the river?”
Thankful for something tangible to distract him from his thoughts, Caleb concentrated on the long pole. “Aye.”
The raft turned, but not as much as he’d hoped. The press of a hundred tons of logs drove them on a collision course toward the shore. Suddenly he realized what he was up against. The power of the river was greater than the placid waters of any ocean surface current save those driven by wind. “We’re going to ram the bank.”
“No, we’re not. Keep sweeping.” Vickers manned the pike pole on the starboard side of the next section of logs. The much smaller sweeps on the sides helped control the serpentine twisting of the raft as it plowed downriver.
Caleb kept up the motion that Vickers had shown him, his efforts seeming to do little to turn the timber raft away from the landing. Even as he watched, figures left the tavern and congregated on the knoll overlooking the river, pointing and slapping their knees. He could hear their guffaws echoing across the water. If they didn’t turn it soon, they’d plow right into the landing. Frantically he glanced over his shoulder.
William and another raftsman stayed at the pike poles attached to the third and final section of the raft, but it didn’t seem as if their efforts were helping to steer clear of the shore either. Teeth clenched, Caleb dug the sweep into the water. “Vickers!”
Vickers ignored Caleb’s distress call but instead moved to the port side of the raft, where Massey was stationed. “Give way, Massey.”
Massey waved him off. “I’ll do my job, old man. You do yours.”
“Well, if you were doing your job, I wouldn’t have to.”
Ignoring him, Massey remained at his post.
“It’s not turning!” Caleb called out.
“I told you to leave off.” Vickers shoved Massey out of the way. The raftsman went sprawling across the rough timbers. Vickers grabbed the oar and started sweeping the river, using a countermotion that pushed the center of the chain raft inward toward the shore each time he dug the long sweep into the water. Caleb immediately felt the front of the raft start to turn.
It was working!
Caleb put muscle behind the sweep, keeping the momentum going.
“Ease off, O’Shea. Don’t overcompensate. Drive easy-like toward the center of the river.” Vickers didn’t sound the least bit frazzled. “We don’t want to get tangled up in a knot of pinewood.”
Caleb did as instructed and felt the raft pull into the current. Feeling elated, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Massey regain his footing and charge Vickers. “Look out!”
The wiry old river hand ducked under the handle of the sweep, jerked it down, then shoved the heavy beam forward and upward, clipping Massey under the chin as he came in swinging. Massey dropped like a rock, and Vickers went back to sweeping the water as if nothing had happened. Caleb stood frozen in shock, hardly able to believe what he’d just seen.
“Keep your mind on the task at hand, boy.”
“Aye, sir.” Caleb chuckled.
And just like that, the timber raft slid into the current, curled neatly around the bend, and straightened out. Caleb stopped trying to turn the raft and let it drive forward on its own. Vickers lifted the oar out of the water, strapped down the pole, then joined Caleb and William in the center of the raft.
He glanced toward Massey, still out cold, and winced. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. William. From what Massey said, I thought he could handle sweeping round a bend. But when he refused to relinquish control, I kind of lost my head.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, Mr. Vickers.” William shook his head. “If it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t have made it. I owe you a debt of gratitude. And an apology of my own.”
“An apology, sir?”
“Yes. I underestimated your knowledge of the river. We could all use a bit of training on how to navigate the river with this much weight pushing us downriver.” William looked at Caleb. “Don’t you agree?”
“Aye, I agree.” Caleb held out a hand. Slowly Mr. Vickers took it. “Captain Vickers.”
“Captain?”
“T’ the best man goes the title.”
“Thank ya both, but —” Vickers twisted his hat in his hand —“if it’s all the same to you, I’d planned to stay in Natchez at the end of this trip with my
wife and family. I’d hoped to see Mr. Wainwright about a job at the sawmill.”
“I think that could be arranged.” William slapped Vickers on the back. “If you’ll teach us everything you know about manning the raft during this trip.”
Vickers grinned. “Be happy to. More than happy to.”
Caleb grabbed a bucket, filled it with river water, and tossed the entire thing over Massey. The man groaned and sputtered, rolling on his side. Caleb hunkered down, pinning him with a look.
“Ya just bucked the captain, Massey. I’d tread lightly from now on if I were you.”
A heavy fog rolled in a couple of hours before nightfall, and Vickers took down a horn, blowing it every few minutes in warning. When the fog grew so thick they could no longer see, they snugged up to the bank, secured the raft with ropes, ate supper, and were in their bedrolls by dark.
Caleb took the first watch, then woke Vickers. Seemed like he’d just dozed off when William nudged him.
“Somebody’s stirring.” William’s voice was hardly more than a whisper accompanied by the lapping of water against the logs.
Caleb eased his pistol out. Keeping still, he primed and cocked it, the sound masked by the creaking of the logs as they shifted and rubbed against each other. From where he lay, he could see Vickers, seated in the center of the raft, his back to him.
There. He heard a faint rustle to his right, out of his line of sight. The scrape of boots along the timber raft was so quiet that if William hadn’t woken him, he wouldn’t have stirred from his slumber. Squinting against the darkness, Caleb spotted a figure, nothing more than a shadow.
There was no way to warn Vickers without alerting the intruder. Then he heard a second sound, one right outside the shelter. A whoosh of air and he rolled away, heard the thud of a blade as it stabbed into his bedroll.
William’s pistol blasted next to his ear, and his attacker fell backward, tearing the canvas covering away. Caleb crouched, turned toward Vickers, and saw him grappling with the first man. He didn’t dare shoot for fear of hitting Vickers. He rushed forward, knife in hand.