A voice from behind him with a thick Irish brogue spoke up, “Eh, mate, that would be C Company. Dems poor darlings are out on patrol.” Jacob turned around. The man had corporal stripes on his uniform, medium build, towheaded like himself, with freckles, a ruddy complexion, and blue eyes that looked impish. “Damn me! Was that Irish brogue I hear?”
At the sound of Jacob’s heavy Dublin accent, the soldier’s face spread into a broad grin. “Aye—in fact, it’s the most often you will run into on this godforsaken place, except for the officer-gentleman, of course.” He spat on the ground.
Jacob grinned. He hoped it wasn’t too eager a smile. “What company might be in? Any poker players amongst you soldiers?” He walked down the steps from the barracks and stood facing the corporal, who had not lost his wide grin.
“Poker is it, eh? I bet we could rustle up a game. We love fleecing you poor souls heading west.”
A surge of excitement shot through Jacob, but he kept his face impassive, and tried to make his voice sound genuine. “Well, I just like to play cards. Just for fun you know. A pastime,” he sighed and began to turn away, “sounds like you boys are too serious for me. Me fiancée and I,” he paused, “we got enough to build our house and she would never talk to me again if I lost all that money.” Perfect inflection on the ‘all’, he congratulated himself.
Jacob smiled inwardly when the soldier took the bait, the tell-tale flicker in his eyes indicating a greed that gave him away. He was obviously taken with the notion—another sucker pioneer with lots of money had wandered into their midst. He reached out his hand and introduced himself. “The name is Sean.”
Jacob shook his hand. “Jacob.”
Sean slapped him roughly on the back, and put his arm around his shoulders. “I was just kidding. We don’t play often, we don’t play for much, and my sister could beat the pants off virtually any soldier in the fort, and she’s never picked up a deck of cards in her life. It’s just for fun. Same as you.”
“You’re sure?” Jacob was pleased with the perfect, tepid tone of his query.
“Sure I’m sure. I have been on clean-up detail. My squad’s back from drill here shortly.” He pointed across the parade ground where troopers were putting horses through paces along the low mud buildings. The corporal looked around furtively and lowered his lips to Jacob’s ear, “And we got a wee taste of moonshine that no one knows. I hear your wagons are in all night, doing some repairs or some such. Come over here after dark. It will be great to talk to somebody from the old country. Did you come over recent?”
Jacob nodded. “Just three months ago.”
“Good, then the news will be current. By the time we get a paper out here, the world could’ve ended.” He laughed, “Not that any of us can read.”
“After dark it will be then, Sean—and I thank you for your most kind invitation.”
Sean slapped him hard on the back again. “It will be our honor, Jacob. Just a bunch of friendly Irishmen.”
Jacob smiled, turned, and walked back toward the wagons humming loudly to himself.
CHAPTER 31
MAY 8, 1855
PROPHECY
Rebecca’s mind kept returning to the simple, yet beautiful, Mormon sermon, and the newly married young couple. She smiled to herself. So in love. Such passion.
She snapped back to the present when she heard the horses. “Rebecca, are you ready?” Reuben stood there, the reins of Lahn in one hand, and Bente’s in the other. “Looks like we have three or four hours ’til sunset. Mac said it will take that long to help the Smiths and Johnsons repair the wheel axles on their wagons.”
“Poor Harris has had problems with that wagon since we began. Every time we stop, he is on his back or belly underneath that thing, fixing or tinkering with something.”
“Mac noticed it, too. Everyone has. They thought they had it fixed at the fort. He figures this time around they will fix it right and be done with it. Where do you want to ride? We had that brushup with the renegades little more than a week ago, and Zeb tells me he has cut track of unshod ponies several times. I don’t think it’s wise to go too far.”
Rebecca’s eyes strayed to Bente, and she gasped, “Reuben, is that a scabbard?”
Reuben’s mouth worked like a fish out of water. Finally, he simply said, “Yes.”
“How nice of you to lend that to me. That makeshift blanket wrap you taught me to do works fine, but it was certainly a bother to take on and off the horse. If I ever had to get to the rifle quickly, well…”
“It’s not a loan, Rebecca. It’s yours. Johannes and I bought an extra one in New York. It’s been in my duffel this whole time. We are getting into more dangerous country, and you mentioned a scabbard on that ride we took before the snowstorm, and…” Reuben’s voice broke off, and a look of enamored shyness flashed across his face. “Anyway, I thought you should have it.”
“Oh, Reuben…” She walked over to the big bay and ran her hands slowly and delicately down the oiled leather. She tried to wiggle the stock of her Sharps, but it was firm. “Beautiful practicality,” she said softly, looking into Reuben’s eyes, her fingertips still lightly stroking the leather.
Reuben seemed suddenly shy again. She could see the muscles in his throat constricting. “Well, Johannes and I both have Sharps,” he said quickly, “and since you do, too, I thought it might fit well, and it does.”
Rebecca broke off her stare, pretending to further investigate the scabbard, but really to mask the intense desire that had suddenly welled up inside her. She wanted Reuben to hold her in his arms and kiss her again like the day before the blizzard. Or back on the train. She could feel the pulse in her throat. Swallowing hard, she turned around and looked off in the distance. A half-mile away was a thin line of intermittent cottonwoods that wound their way through a serpentine lower area, sometimes just the top half of their budding branches visible with the soft, pale green of unfurling leaves.
“Looks like a small creek up there. I think that’s close enough to be safe, don’t you?” she said, looking back at Reuben. His eyes were focused on the pulsing in her neck. She resisted the urge to lift her hand to cover the tell-tale movement of the delicate skin at her throat, but then he raised his eyes to her lips before letting them slowly meander down to her hips. She wasn’t sure if he even realized that his gaze had wandered.
“Sure, that creek sounds good,” he answered, seeming somehow absent from his speech, as if simply mouthing the words, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Are you feeling all right, Reuben?”
“Yes. I feel fine.” He handed her Bente’s reins, and opened his mouth, about to ask her if she wanted some assistance mounting. She threw him a teasing, yet stern look of warning. He closed his mouth without a sound, shook his head, laughed, and swung easily into the saddle on Lahn.
The day was warm, the warmest by far since they had left St. Louis. They rode in shirts. The sun was hot, the air dry, the grass half green now as far as the eye could see, and, in certain places, where it had received just the right mixture of sun and water, it had matured to almost early summer. A slight wind, and the movement of air from simply riding, should have cooled her, but Rebecca felt fevered. She realized she was perspiring. There was a certain but unreal quality to the ride. Birds flitted here and there from one occasional small bush or sage brush to another. Ground nesting birds scurried and hopped through the grass, their heads appearing and disappearing, almost comical in their antics. At the approach of the horses, they chirped angry protests and flashed away, dipping and weaving in an erratic flight of defense.
She rode slightly behind Reuben. Somehow she couldn’t take her gaze off the taper of his shoulders to his waist, and the easy movement of his buttocks and hips as Lahn moved steadily toward the tree line. She ran her tongue over her upper lip, and, with her fingers, wiped the thin film of perspiration at her hairline. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Reuben’s back. She gave Bente a gentle spur and rode up alongside of him. Can’t
be distracted by what I can’t see!
He threw her an easy glance, the fiery green of his eyes lingering in her mind long after his head turned, and he continued his careful scan of the land around them. She noticed the thong was off the hammer of his Colt.
Reuben reined in Lahn and pointed, “See where the trees are sparse up there? Be tough for anyone to sneak in on us, and, with a couple of quick steps, we would be visible to the wagon train, and they to us.”
Rebecca leaned forward slightly, patted the small canvas bag suspended from her saddle horn, then nodded back at the blanket rolled and lashed behind her saddle. “As long as there’s a level spot where we can roll out this blanket and have lunch, that is fine with me, Reuben.”
Reuben’s head jerked in surprise. “I thought we were just going for a ride. Did you bring food?”
Those green eyes. Rebecca forced her stare from his eyes and was distressed when her gaze merely went to his lips. “Yes, I’m hungry!” Hungry for what? an inner voice called out.
Reuben laughed, “Well, truth is, my stomach’s been growling for an hour. What did you bring?”
“I brought some pemmican…”
“Now, that’s a surprise,” Reuben chuckled.
She laughed in return. “Yes. While our meals are filling and nourishing, one could hardly call the menus equal to the high epicurean standards of Europe,” she said dryly. “And some dried fruit…and…,” she reached into the canvas bag, drew out a small bottle of red wine, and held it up proudly, “French, I brought it all the way from England. Alas, in my frantic preparations to leave London, I forgot the obvious. A corkscrew.”
Reuben was looking at her with his eyebrows raised and a slight, astonished smile. “I’m sure I have something we can get it open with, but aren’t you saving it for a special occasion? You have brought it all this way.”
“This is a special occasion, Reuben,” she said softly. What exactly do I mean by that? she chided herself.
Reuben looked puzzled, but nodded.
“We survived the blizzard, over six weeks on the trail, an unsavory encounter with ruffians, and we are only two or three weeks from Cherry Creek.”
He bobbed his head. “Then I suppose you could say this is an occasion.” His eyes were again fixed on the pulsing in her neck, which seemed to have been increasing in intensity as they drew close to the little creek.
“And this land, Reuben, this glorious expanse of earth. Other than the few farmers we saw as we were leaving the Mississippi, and that dreadful Black Feather group, the people in Fort Kearney, and, of course, the Mormons, we’ve traveled over six hundred miles without seeing another soul. If I started on one coast of England and went that distance, I would have already walked into the sea on the other side, and I would have had to avoid millions of people along the way.”
She laid the reins across the saddle horn, raised her arms, and spread them toward the sky. “And the sunshine. Absolutely glorious. Do you remember the weather in Europe? Damp and rainy half the time. No skyline. No horizon. The city smell of too many people in one place.” She swept her arm around, “I am breathing air nobody’s ever breathed. I’m seeing things quite possibly no one has ever seen. Every moment of every day is like a different painting, never the same.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped when she saw the look on Reuben’s face. Strangely excited, softly intense, knowing but wondering. “Rebecca, is that the way you truly feel? You are not just saying it, not simply caught up in the moment?”
“I’ve never been more serious, Reuben, and I have never felt more free.”
There was a mysterious smile on Reuben’s lips. He said nothing. They entered the tree line of the scattered cottonwoods, some besieged by age, others, their time already passed, toppled, young shoots of growing trees reaching upward, eager for their share of the sun, the mature trees, coarsely barked, standing tall and proud.
A tiny stream wound back and forth through the thin stand of trees. It gurgled and tinkled. Almost a wind chime, thought Rebecca. Sparkles glittered off tiny rivulets where the water ran over small rocks and descended in miniscule waterfalls to a frothing reunion with the current. “Oh, Reuben, this is delightful.”
Reuben nodded but continued to look carefully around. She knew he was gauging the safety of the place. “This’ll do. But let’s keep our rifles handy,” he said, dismounting.
Still astride Bente, Rebecca reached forward for the canvas bag. One of the straps had somehow wound around the saddle horn. As she tugged at it, she felt strong hands on her waist. Reuben lifted her out of the saddle effortlessly and lowered her gently to the ground, the length of the front of her body sliding sensuously against his, their eyes fixed on each other. She felt as if her throat would explode. Breathing was deliciously difficult.
Reuben tenderly put two fingers under her chin, raised her face, and then lowered his lips to hers. The kiss built in intensity as her fingers wound tightly through the fabric of his shirt. Gripping his shoulder, she pulled him down to her until she could feel the muscles of his chest against her breasts, his hardness pressing into her belly above her hips. The kiss was more than the kiss on the train, more than the kisses the day before the snowstorm. The depth of it sucked the air out of her, replacing her breath with an equally weightless essence, as if she were breathing in a part of his soul. She felt lightheaded, almost dizzy. Panting, her mind pleasantly hazy, she pushed him gently away, trailing her fingertips down his arm and across his partially outstretched hand. She took a half-step back, and took a deep breath.
“That creek looks so inviting. I want to wash the dust from my face and clean a bit. Then we could have lunch. Can you get that bag off the horn, Reuben?”
He nodded absently, a dreamy look in his face, but she noticed that before he fetched the lunch bag, he smoothly slid both rifles from their scabbards and placed them, ready for action, in easy reach against the trunk of the nearest Cottonwood, just a few feet away.
One small, curved part of the stream bubbled merrily in the sun, as if a beacon of light had found its way through the cracks of the floor of heaven. She walked toward it, unaware she was moving, oblivious to her own steps, fixated on a singular purpose, splashing water on her face from that mystical point of flowing creek. She knelt down, not realizing how the water had undercut the bank. As she lowered her hands and face to the creek, the slight edge gave way, and she tipped, headfirst, into the current, so narrow that her head was almost on the other bank.
With her front sopping wet, she giggled to herself, and awkwardly regained her balance. Rebecca Marx, get yourself straightened out. How clumsy. She didn’t feel cold. The water was soothing as she splashed her face, rubbed her eyes, and then rose to walk back to where Reuben and the horses stood just twenty feet away. He had spread the blanket out and was reaching into the canvas bag to extract lunch when he saw her approach. He stopped, his mouth parted, and a strange expression stole across his face, along with, she thought, a rather hungry glow in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, following his gaze to where the creek water had soaked her chemise and the white cotton shirt she wore. Her body and breasts were perfectly revealed through the wet, clinging cloth, her nipples involuntarily erect and pushing pink against the fabric.
Reuben rose.
She looked at him and then down at herself again. “Oh, oh my.”
She crossed her arms in front of her breasts. Her cheeks burned. Reuben stood directly in front of her, and she could feel his intensity. He reached up slowly, and gently, and uncrossed her arms, devouring her with his eyes before gathering her in his arms and kissing her. The world spun. She felt his fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. She wondered if she was saying it out loud, or was it just a frantic, strident echo somewhere in her mind?
Reuben peeled the shirt off one shoulder and arm, and slipped off the shoulder strap of the chemise. His lips were gently fastened to her neck, suckin
g, lathing, and she clung to him, afraid she would fall down without leaning into his strength. His lips sank slowly from her neck, to the seductive hollow of her collarbone, and then down the smooth expanse of her upper chest. She could feel the heat of the sun on her exposed skin, and then she felt his tongue on her nipple. Current shot through her. Her lower abdomen felt empty, yet filled with a desperate, primal need for satiation.
Slowly, he lowered her to the blanket. Her mind was whirling, her upper, inner thighs, quivering out of control. One of his hands slid up her legs, raising the loose folds of her riding dress. His burning, calloused touch reached the top of her pantaloons, and she felt his fingers slide beneath the waistband, then down her abdomen. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. He touched her, a light, delicate searing touch. She heard a groan and realized it had risen from her. Waves of pleasure washed over her. The empty yearning in her belly became a desperate want.
He tenderly slid off her riding dress and pantaloons as his hands touched her everywhere, each contact sending waves around, across, and through her trembling body. He knelt and raised the chemise over her breasts, and then fastened his lips to one, then the other.
She tried to cover herself, but he caught her arms and pinned them gently back against the blanket. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
Rebecca could not remember how, but his shirt was off and the fine rich muscles of his chest were against her skin. There was a dark, wide, swath of curly hair that ran down the center of his chest and abdomen and disappeared mysteriously at his belt line. She wanted to know where that trail of masculinity led.
Her question was answered as he fumbled with one hand at his belt, unbuttoned his breeches and slipped them down to his knees. She looked down at his tumescence and, fascinated, reached out a small hand and held him. Her fingers couldn’t circle his girth. He was hot against her palm, and she could feel the insistent pulse, the involuntary tightening of muscles. She felt herself drip deliciously down her upper thigh, and felt the fire in the smooth caresses of his fingertips as they traced again across her breast, savored her erect nipples, then continued down her hips and came to rest lightly, longingly on the smooth, pulsating valley between her hips.
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