Dangerous Waters
Page 7
Victoria laid on her stomach beside the wagon, reaching a hand out to Lucky. "It's going to be all right, pal," she murmured to the boy, his wide eyes striking a stab of painful memory through her. "I'm not going to let you go."
Chris inched closer, the avalanche of rocks and caving earth terrifying them. "Stay back, Seth," he called to the deputy.
"And get a rope and see if you can secure this thing somehow," Jake ordered in a tone that surprised Chris, if he had
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time to think about it. Seth obeyed as Chris positioned the chisel between the wood and metal and raised the mallet.
"Are you crazy?" Victoria hissed. "One jolt and we both go. You're going to have to either take the wheel off or bend the metal back."
Chris's gaze narrowed, though he wasn't going to argue. Jake was right. He slipped the chisel into the loop of the carter pin, first trying to pry the rusted metal loose, then gently tapping. Lucky winced with every jolt.
The wagon shifted, spilling rocks and broken planks over the cliff and they all froze. It was a few seconds before they heard a responding crash.
Chris turned his attention to the pin, trying to concentrate as Jake spoke to Lucky, never stopping the silly chatter, asking the kid all sorts of questions.
About a minute into the conversation, Jake met Chris's gaze and Chris knew he'd realized Lucky had some problems, aside from being alone.
. A lasso whirled through the air, catching around the wagon's tongue and Chris worked frantically to loosen the pin. Finally it gave.
"Don't let it up, deputy," Jake called out as the line went taut, then looked at the boy. "I'm going to let go now, Lucky."
' 'No, no, no!" came in a high-pitched scream as he grappled for her hand.
The wagon scrapped against the bolder.
"Lucky," Victoria said firmly, bending closer. "Look at
me.'' The child lifted teary eyes to her and her chest tightened.
He was terrified and not understanding any of this. "I'm going
to come under there and hold you." /
"Jake!"
Her head snapped around and she sat up, her white blue gaze clashing with his. "Have Seth tie the lasso to Caesar. It will brace the wagon. You work the wheel off the axel and I'll hold onto him. As soon as the axel's free, cut the line to the wagon."
"Hell no, I won't. You'll both go over!"
"Not if you rope my legs." His expression told her he thought this a lousy idea. "He's terrified, Marshal. He'll panic, try to help you get the wheel off. It's the only way we can do this."
She didn't wait for him to argue, tossed her hat up the hill, then called for and caught the extra rope, knotting it around her calves. She crouched, slipping through the narrow gap beneath the wagon as the marshal tossed the second line to Seth. God, she hoped this worked.
Caesar backed up, tightening the wagon line as the deputy secured Jake's leg rope to a saddle. Chris rose up carefully and grasped the bent wheel. He tugged, shifting it left and right and the instant it started to move, Lucky shook his leg, whimpering, as if trying to shoo off a bee. But Jake talked to the boy, murmuring softly, holding his leg still and cradling him against his body, preparing for the moment when the weight of the broken half of the wagon was going to fall.
Then it happened.
The wheel hub popped free of the axle and Jake rolled on top of Lucky just as wagon dropped. "Cut it! Cut it!"
The line whipped free like a curling snake, the abrupt release springing the fractured wood up and over the cliff.
Jake and Lucky went, too.
Chris grappled and the line on Jake's legs snapped tight. The horse reared in protest. Seconds passed before the wagon hit bottom, the sound of shattering wood like a gun blast.
Chris pulled on the line while Seth shouted at the horse, waving his arms to force it back. Caesar stomped. And Chris's hands burned against the rope, his booted heels digging into the dirt.
His heart thundered in his throat, fear racing through his blood stream.
If the rope cut on a rock—he heaved, his muscles screaming as he yanked the dangling weight up the cliff. He saw boots soles and the wheel first. They were on their side, Jake's arms and legs clutched tightly around the boy, the wheel spokes no
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more than misshapen scrap metal. Chris pulled harder and dragged the pair onto firmer ground.
He rushed forward.
"Jake?"
Lucky lifted his head, smiling his innocent smile and Chris had to pry him from Jake's arms. He handed him up to Seth and the boy clung to the deputy, allowing him to bring him away from the edge and take up the challenge of removing the metal bracelet.
Jake lay perfectly still.
"Jake?" Chris touched his shoulder and he flinched. "You all right?"
"Give me a minute," came a dry croak.
"Why did you do it? You could have been killed."
"He's just a baby. What was I supposed to do?"
It was another moment before Jake pushed himself up, backing up the hill on all fours, then sitting back on his haunches.
Chris frowned at him, then stood, moving over to the boy. Lucky showed off his freed leg as if it were a new toy. It was bloody, Chris thought, but not broken.
"Take him to Abigale," he told Seth. "She'll see to him."
Seth nodded and he and the boy departed. Lucky chattered about the pretty sunrise and what Abigale might cook him for breakfast, telling Chris the near death experience was already dismissed from his fragile mind.
Jake dropped back on his rear, bracing his forearms on his bent knees and finally catching his breath.
Chris stared for a moment at his back, then scooped up his hat and crossed the distance, squatting beside Lucky's true rescuer.
"Christ, I'll be bruised for a month," Jake said'tiredly and Chris whipped out a knife to sever the ropes.
"Thanks."
Hands pulled away the scraps.
"You're bleeding."
"And you're something else, Victoria Mason."
Victoria's head snapped up.
He grinned. She groaned.
"Damn. How did you know?"
Lightly, he tapped the hard soles of her work boots with the blade. "Your feet are just too small for a man."
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Chapter Seven
She chucked a stone over the ridge. "Rats."
"Well, that's about the cleanest thing I've heard out of your
mouth lately." *
She glanced to the side, her gaze suddenly caught on the chiseled curve of his mouth. "Appearances are deceiving Marshal. Her gaze flicked to his. "Vic and Jake have an entire repertoire I haven't begun to scratch."
It's like acting to her, he thought. "And what about Victoria?
"Depends on my mood." Which wasn't great, she thought then flopped back on the dirt spread eagle and sighed She'd hoped to keep up the disguise for a while, but now that she'd been made, she didn't know how to explain it. Damn boots No one had ever noticed her feet before. And she couldn't afford any that fit with the times. Her gaze slid to his, but he was looking over her clothes, lingering at her breasts hidden beneath Ace binding, foam padding, a dirty shirt and a short leather vest.
"Yes, it hurts," she said to the question in his eyes His skin darkened a fraction as he settled beside her.
Damn, but the woman was blunt. ' 'Then why do you insist on masquerading this way?"
"None of your business." Being rude looked like the best way to get out of this right now.
Chris didn't take offense. She was stand-offish from the start, yet he was naturally curious as to why. Victoria Mason was hiding more than her gender behind the masks and padding.
"I can see where you might feel safer," he said, contemplating the sunrise. "Though-yo
u certainly smell bad enough to keep people away."
She shoved his shoulder and he glanced back, smiling. Like he meant it, she thought, something warm springing in her chest. "How'd you find Lucky at this hour?"
"I was heading home and heard him talking to himself. He would have never called out, he was just entertaining himself until someone found him."
Learning disabled, she realized. And he was alone. God, what opportunity did kids like him have in this century? "He doesn't have any family?"
Chris drew up his knees, propping his forearms there and shook his head. "Some people said he was dumped from a wagon train, but I don't know. He just turned up, alone and hungry." Chris remembered the day he found him, his ribs cracked from being kicked around by some bored drunks like a bothersome dog. "He wasn't treated well, not that he'd know the difference."
"He knows." She sat up, selecting pebbles to hurl over the ridge. "He just buries it to where he feels safe."
Chris sensed sudden pain and turned to look at her profile, a little shock running through him, for she'd discarded the raspy masculine voice to her own softer normal tone. It was hard to look at her like this, knowing what was beneath the paint and mask. But who was it hiding?
"You act like you know him."
"I know children like him, Marshal. He's—" she glanced down at the dirt between her boots and if Chris didn't know
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better he'd swear she was holding back tears. "Special. Very special. Needs a lot of patience."
"That's if he'd stay put long enough." He joined her in flinging rocks. "I've tried to find where he hides, but the kid's too fast."
He loves the boy, she thought, swallowing the rock climbing up her throat. It warned her not to get involved, with anything but Ivy League. You're leaving, a voice reminded. You can't stay. You're from another age, another life.
Right.
What life?
"So where's home, Marshal?"
Chris nodded to the ravine and she came to her feet, dusting off the seat of her jeans as she walked several yards along the ridge until she could see the area without threat of falling off the mountain.
She whistled softly, planting her hands on her hips. "Now that's what I call paradise." She didn't see Chris smile, her gaze on his home, a lush green tree-filled valley, a winding narrow river cutting it in half, and on the right side, their side, was a ranch, a couple thousand head of cattle meandering where they pleased, two barns, a paddock, corrals, and horses shifting and stomping off the cool morning dew. The quiet peaceful surrounding stole her breath and she wished she had binoculars, yet even from the distance she could see Seth, Lucky perched before him, the pair riding up the dirt road to the loveliest house she'd seen in ages.
She never imagined him in a place like this. But then, she'd never taken a moment to consider where he lived. Suddenly, a woman came flying out the door and off the^porch, heading straight for the boy and the muscles in her chest squeezed down on her heart. Victoria didn't want to examine her feelings or thoughts and walked briskly to her horse.
"I have to get back to making myself smell even worse," she said, leading the horse to a decent sized rock so she could climb on to the animal. Chris was there, offering a leg up and she accepted it, swinging onto the animal's back.
She stared out over the ridge adjusting the reins in her gloved hands. He was still there, beside her, moving closer and laying a hand to the horse's coat near her thigh. Victoria could feel the heat radiating from his skin, yet he never touched her. The closeness made her insides shift and hum.
"Victoria?"
The sound of her name on his lips stabbed her. She lowered her gaze and could see he was trying to pry beneath the disguise.
"Am I ever going to see the woman in the forest again?"
She almost laughed, a nasty bitter laugh. Who was he fooling? There was nothing remotely enticing about her, the normal her, and she knew it. Her job was who she was, a hunter, a vigilante of the court system. Half the time she walked the thin side of the law and in her darkest dreams thought herself no better than Becket. Christopher Swift didn't need to know her. This kind, gentle man didn't need his life complicated by the horrors that cloaked her.
"Don't be curious about me, Marshal. You have no idea what your messing with."
The brush-off made him angry. "Why don't you just tell me, so I'll understand?"
"Not a chance in hell." His features darkened and before he could speak she said, "Go home, Marshal Swift. To your ranch, your family, and stay out of my way."
"Goddamn it, woman—"
"No." She backed the horse up, breaking his hold. "There's nobody home, so quit knocking."
Christopher stepped out onto the porch in front of his office, leaned back against the support post, then fished in his shirt pocket for papers and tobacco. He rolled a smoke, watching the traffic on the street. Two boys teased a dog outside the dry goods store, a carriage rolled past, its driver having trouble keeping the rig steady. Nothing was unusual and without pause, his gaze slipped to the livery. He'd been tempted to go see her, to demand why she was masquerading as a man, for he wasn't
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dumb enough to believe it was simply for safety's sake. Women were basically narcisstic. At least most women he'd encountered—selecting and enjoying dresses and perfumes and the feminine frippery to entice a man to madness. Trap him into feeling wanted. Except Victoria. And he wondered why. Good God, that's all he did where she was concerned. Wonder—why she talked strange? Why she was downright rough, which he felt was intentional—to keep him or anyone back? How she could disguise herself so meticulously, without a shred of recognition? Where did she come by the mask and fake hair in the first place? What was in that knap-sack she refused to let him get close enough to see? Had she been raised by men without the touch of feminine presence? God knows she had the steel nerve of any man.
He'd been shocked to his boot heels when he realized Jake was Victoria. And he recalled his uneasiness around the young man—the woman—ah, shit! He slid the cigarette between his lips and struck a match, cupping his hands and dragging heavily on the smoke. His brain ached and trying to dismiss the cause, he blew out a gray stream, made smoke rings and watched as they were erased by the breeze before he bent his knee, propping his boot sole against the post. Citizens nodded as they hustled past, shopping, urging children and Chris thought of Lucky. Abigale had bathed him, bandaged his wound, filled his belly with food and put him to bed in one of the guest rooms. And he'd vanished. Chris knew he'd turn up somewhere, probably in trouble for stealing food, but it worried him, gave him sleepless nights knowing the innocent child was running around without anyone to care for him.
He'd have to remind his deputies to keep a lookout for the boy, he thought, turning back to the office and pitching the cigarette in the dirt.
He glanced once more over the street, his gaze slipping past, then returning sharply to a woman, her head bowed, her stride so long it kicked her dark skirts out enough to show her petticoats.
He smiled, his gaze dropping immediately to her feet. The boots.
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She slipped into the dry goods store, yet Chris remained on the walk, considering his next move and wondering why the hell he was so damn pleased to see her again. Even if it was in another disguise. He smiled hugely and crossed the street in a casual pace, watching her through the window as he approached and stepped inside. He ignored the surprised glances from the customers, his gaze roaming over her.
That has to be the most unattractive hair style in creation.
Her hair, now a lackluster brown, was scraped tightly against her skull, covering her ears and knotted in a fat bun. Her cheeks appeared puffed and the spectacles perched on the end of her nose made her look pinched, like a tall squirrel, the gray throat-choking blouse and brown skirt doi
ng nothing to enhance her figure. She's padded her waist, he realized, and bound her breasts again.
He strode close. "Well, this is an improvement at least."
Victoria's head jerked up, her features pulling tight, stretching the artificial scar on her cheek. "I beg your pardon?" she murmured, pushing up the spectacles, then casting a glance at the other customers. They all seemed unnaturally interested in their conversation.
"But that scar has to go," he spoke softly, folding his arms and leaning his hip against the counter. He gave her his full attention. Victoria tried to ignore him, staring ahead and handing the remainder of her list to the proprietor.
"If you'll excuse me," her gaze dropped pointedly to his badge— "Marshal. I have work to tend."
"Is that so?"
"It is." Victoria straightened her spine, hoping she appeared every bit the prim spinster. God knows she was old enough to qualify.
He tugged on her white apron and she batted away his hand, sending him a scolding look. He grinned. She leaned over the counter to arrange the cleaning products and linens. "Please don't," she hissed under her breath.
He inched closer, sinking down onto his elbow, and the scent of his cologne, something woodsy, filled her head. It made her
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think of how wonderful it would be to hold him against her, taste his bronzed skin and when he spoke, his voice was low and private.
"You're going to fess up, Victoria. Soon."
She tossed him a half-lidded stare, brown-green eyes bright with anger. "Clara, sir. Clara Murphy."
His smile widened, dark eyes dancing with the threat of mischief, and she wanted to see just how many of those perfectly white teeth she could loosen with one punch. He was going to blow it for her! Gossip would bring attention.