"I shouldn't do this," he murmured, wrapping the other arm around her. Nellie felt the hard shape of his rifle press against her back, then she stopped thinking as his head lowered toward her and she felt his warm breath on her face.
He is going to kiss me!
The thought came and was gone in an instant, as his lips brushed hers. They might have been angel's wings, so lightly did they touch.
He drew back, and Nellie had the insane desire to catch his shoulders and pull him close.
But she didn't need to, for he bent again and this time his lips moved over hers, little soft nips, each like a hot needle laid on tender skin. She gasped as his tongue, hot and wet, touched the corner of her mouth. It was withdrawn immediately, and again she felt that urge to demand that he not stop...please..."Please, don't stop..."
He covered her mouth with his, no longer gentle, but with a wordless entreaty that she yield to him. Without thought, Nellie opened to the invasion of his tongue, welcomed it as it probed and stroked the soft lining of her mouth. As she swayed against him, she felt one of his hands slid lower on her back until it cupped her bottom. He pulled her hard against him, until she felt the ridge of his sex against her belly, its shape unmistakable even through the layers of his and her clothing.
Shamelessly she stood on tiptoe so that the hard length of him pressed into her soft middle, not caring that she was all but offering herself to him.
She might never have another chance.
The kiss lasted forever.
The kiss ended too soon.
Abruptly he drew away from her, loosened his hold on her body. Nellie tilted toward him, her legs useless, boneless things unable to support her weight.
"Steady!" he said, one hand clutching her upper arm with a grip like a vise.
"I...I'm all right," she told him, knowing that she lied. She would never be all right again. "I can stand now."
He stared down at her, his deep-set eyes shadowed. Nellie looked back, knowing her feelings were writ plainly on her face, in her eyes. For the longest moment, they looked at each other, and she wondered if his thoughts were as confused, as tumultuous, as hers.
At last he lifted a hand, touched her cheek with gentle fingers. "I shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice low and a bit hesitant. "I hope you'll forgive me."
"No," she said, feeling sick. "No, Mr. Bradley, I don't think I will." Without another word, she pulled herself free of his hand and turning, ran pell-mell back to the camp.
* * * * *
Malachi watched her go, calling himself every foul name he'd ever heard on a hundred battlefields and in a dozen mining camps. When she stumbled, he took a step, but before he could go farther, she recovered, and continued her run across the uneven ground.
He had wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to taste her for days, perhaps weeks. Maybe ever since he'd first seen those gentian eyes and that full mouth with its plump lower lip.
Well, now he had, and she'd never forgive him for taking the liberty.
For a man who'd never had a strong need for women, he was surely acting out of character. He had used whores over the years, but never often, and always with a feeling of disappointment afterward. The woman-hunger had been eased, but not satisfied--the only way he could explain it to himself.
Lately he'd found the hunger far outweighed by the distaste he'd felt when thinking of joining his body with that of a woman who'd been used by many men, a woman who saw him only as another cock and another dollar.
He'd been alone for too long, Malachi decided, as he walked slowly back to camp. How many years? Nine? No it was ten years now, since his family had died so needlessly and cruelly.
In that ten years he hadn't had a close friend, hadn't known a loving woman, hadn't had a home of his own.
Maybe it was time he did more than change his name. Maybe it was time to take all that money he'd been saving up and settle on land where he could build a future. That place of Luke Savage's had been about as close to his dreams as he'd ever seen.
* * * * *
Nellie burst through her tent flap and threw herself on her bedroll, burying her face in her pillow. How could he? Oh, how could he have said that?
He had looked at her face--her hideous, disfigured face--and was sorry he had kissed her.
Nellie had never been kissed, although she had had ample opportunity.
Epimedion College was small but had a superb science department. Most of the students were men, although a few women had attended now and again. Working in the herbarium as she did, Nellie knew most of the students, for botany was considered an essential part of a natural science education. She was never allowed to formally enroll in coursework, but over the years she had sat in on most of the science classes, as well as some of the language and literature classes. Latin had been one of her favorites, mostly because of the way the long, multisyllabic words rolled off the tongue. She now read Latin almost as well as she did English, for most botanical literature was in that language.
Despite her presence, she had never been accepted by students as anything more than a technician, available to help them when they needed it, but incapable of intelligent conversation. In fact, she had been so much a part of the background that students often seemed to forget she was present. As a result, she was conversant with young men's opinions about important topics--women, drink, fame, and fortune. This knowledge had inspired her choice of dark, heavy clothing about the time her breasts had become noticeable, for she was no chambermaid, to be taken and used like a tool or a toy.
Perhaps she should not have been so careful to be invisible to the lusty young students. If tonight's kiss was any example, she had missed a memorable experience.
She would never forget the feel of Mr. Bradley's mouth on hers, the thrilling sensation of his hard body pressed against her. The desperate hunger that had flared deep in her belly, a hunger that was a roaring tiger in comparison to the small twinges she felt sometimes when a particularly handsome man smiled at her.
He had apologized! Malcolm Bradley had kissed her like there was nothing else in the world at that moment but her, had kissed her until her spine was jelly and her legbones dissolved. Had kissed her silly, and then said he was sorry.
If she had not been raised in a Quaker home, she might be tempted to kill the man.
* * * * *
They crossed yet another divide two days later, in a drizzly rain that had been falling steadily all night and all day. Mr. Bradley warned them that it could mean flooding, since the warmer weather would melt much of the snow on the higher slopes. Nellie hoped not, for any delay now would be too long. She was sick of traveling, sick of the cold and the wet and... Stop that, Elinor Sanders! You're here because you begged and pleaded to come. You knew it would be uncomfortable and inconvenient and dangerous.
"Yes, but I didn't know that the principal danger would be to my heart," she muttered, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
They were no more than a few miles from the divide when she saw the first sign that gold seekers had been here. The creek bed had been dug up, the banks excavated, and piles of gravel and cobble lay along the banks and in the water. As they followed a winding trail alongside the creek, she saw another abandoned placer, then a third. She was thinking it was about time for them to stop for the night when they rounded a bend and saw two men working at one of the wooden troughs Mr. Willard had told her were called rockers.
Mr. Bradley rode over to speak to them, but Mr. Willard led their party on along the trail. Curious, Nellie urged Sheba forward. "I didn't think there would be anyone here," she said when she had caught up with Mr. Willard. "Uncle led me to believe that this area was relatively unexplored."
"Oh, we'll see a miner or two, but not many. I reckon there's a mite of gold in these here creeks, but they won't get rich." He turned in his saddle, looking back as he did often, checking the long line of mules. When he turned back, he said, "There ain't noplace that's not been explored some. If the
re was a creek big enough for a beaver, it got trapped. Since they found gold over in the Basin, miners have been all over these here hills like ants in a sugarbowl. But there ain't many. Where we'll set up camp ain't what you'd call prime mining country."
Nellie was disturbed. One of the arguments she'd used to be allowed to accompany Uncle--he'd intended do as he always had and hire a student from a school in St. Louis--was that she would be perfectly safe collecting in an area devoid of other people. Would he still allow to her collect on her own if the Sawtooth Valley was inhabited?
She rode beside Mr. Willard a while longer, until Mr. Bradley joined them. He nodded at her, but said nothing.
She returned the greeting, equally silent. Soon she dropped back to ride beside Uncle.
"People!" he said, as soon as she drew even with him. "Franklin assured me that this area was pristine!"
"Perhaps he did not know that the gold seekers had come here," Nellie said.
"How could he not know? Unless he doesn't know his business at all." He jerked on the reins, making his horse jump to the side. "Behave, you!" he snapped, jerking at the reins again.
"Uncle, we have only seen two men. Mr. Willard says there aren't likely to be many more. I really don't think you have cause for concern."
"That old fool! He's an ignorant ruffian. Why just the other day, he tried to tell me wolves will not harm humans, when everyone knows that we are their preferred prey."
"Perhaps he speaks from experience, rather than superstition," Nellie said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
"Are you contradicting me, Nellie?"
"Oh, no, Uncle, just presenting another hypothesis. " she said. "Is it possible that the western wolves are a different temperament than those elsewhere?"
"Nonsense!"
Mr. Bradley turned off of the trail and led the way into the woods. Nellie was happy to pull Sheba into line behind Uncle's horse. This way she could avoid the lecture that she had seen Uncle preparing to give.
That night after supper, Uncle said. "Mr. Bradley, why were we told that our destination was uninhabited? We have already seen two miners. Where two are, a hundred more could be. It is clear to me that Franklin has failed to live up to his contract with me, and I fully intend to sue for a complete refund when we return to civilization."
Malachi looked across the campfire at Dr. Kremer, wondering if he wouldn't have been better off guarding gold shipments. Doing that might have got him killed, but he'd have died a lot happier than he would be dealing with a cantankerous old man and an unforgiving woman this summer.
" Those miners said they arrived only a couple of weeks ago--"
"That was no week's worth of disturbance we saw!"
"No sir, it wasn't. They wintered over in the Boise Basin, came back here as soon as the pass was open. They worked that claim most of last summer. You'll see several claims being worked along this creek. Most of them aren't rich, but these fellows are making a meager living, so I guess they think it's worth the labor."
"Fools!"
"Those who seek gold often are. But back to your concern. I would estimate, from what those miners told me, that there may be as many as twenty men prospecting in the Sawtooth Valley, and more could arrive this summer. They won't bother you. They're interested in getting rich, not picking flowers."
"Picking flowers! Why, I'll have you know--"
"Professor, to anybody who doesn't know how important your explorations are to the sum total of human knowledge--" He was surely glad he'd listened to the old man's stories in the evenings. "Well, to those who are uninformed or ignorant of the value of plant exploration, you seem to be an eccentric gentleman who spends his time picking flowers."
"Humph. Humph. Well, under those circumstances..."
"I was sure you'd understand. Now, I have good news for you. Either late tomorrow or before noon the next day we should cross into the Stanley Basin. From there it should be an easy two days to the Salmon River, another day to the area where Franklin recommended you camp."
"How are we to know it will be a suitable camp? So far his planning has been less than perfect."
"If you aren't content with the campsite, we'll find another one more to your liking. Willard tells me that there are several good places to spend the summer farther south. The reason Franklin recommended this one is that it's a little higher than the river and dry, so you won't be bothered as much with mosquitoes, as long as we stay well back from the lake shore."
"Mosquitoes? They should not be a problem."
"Yes, sir, they can be. I don't know where you were in Montana and Colorado, but I can promise you that the mosquitoes in these mountain meadows can drive a man insane, come hot weather. I've seen them so thick on a shirt that it looked black."
"Oh, yes, of course, I had forgotten. Of course the mosquitoes can be irritating. Good job! We'll camp where planned, unless it is totally unsuitable."
"Uncle, Mr. Beckett has your bed prepared."
Malachi turned around to see Miss Sanders standing just behind him. She stared back at him, eyes enormous. There were pale shadows below them, as if she hadn't been sleeping well.
She chewed her lip, then said, "Good evening, Mr. Bradley."
"Miss Sanders," Malachi replied, touching the brim of his hat. "I have to check the stock, Professor. Do you have any more questions?"
With a wave of his hand, the Professor dismissed Malachi. "No, not now." He followed his niece to his tent. As they entered, Malachi heard him say, "You realize that the presence of all these miners means you will need..."
What would she need to do? For a moment Malachi considered following them, demanding to know what new stricture the Professor was placing on his niece's activities. He'd seen how the old man took advantage of her patience, her affection, and her even temper.
Why the dickens did she put up with him?
Chapter Seven
Uncle was pleased with the site chosen for their permanent camp. He strode around as the men set up the tents, examining what little vegetation was not concealed by snow. At last they could set up a large tent to use as a workroom and for dining. Inside there was a folding table to serve as a desk, and two chairs, wooden frames with canvas seats, so that Nellie and Uncle could be comfortable as they worked.
Nellie wanted to get the books and equipment unpacked, but found herself frequently distracted by the view. Beyond the trees to the south of their camp, bare, jagged mountains towered over the valley. The Sawtooth Mountains. Their dark rock was still snow-covered for the most part, but the sheer cliffs and sharp ridges were only slightly softened by the white mantle that lay on them.
She knew the Sawtooth Valley was surrounded by virtually impassible mountains, but to the north and the east, the towering peaks were hidden behind lower hills. What she had not expected was that much of the valley floor supported sagebrush, with forest only on a few of the higher plateaus and on the hillsides. The gray-green shrubs seemed out of place in this snowy fastness. She had always thought of Artemisia as belonging to the desert.
How she longed to explore this area, but for a few days she would be at Uncle's beck and call. She had accompanied him on a few short field expeditions in the past. Even when they were to be out only a week, Uncle always spent the first day planning their explorations. As a result they had seldom had as much time to collect as she would wish. Worse, he had required that she stay with him, something Nellie found frustrating, for Uncle seldom ventured into areas difficult of access.
She suspected that he was feeling his age, for all he was only in his late fifties. His tales of summer expeditions had always made it sound as if he was willing to tackle the steepest mountains, the most forbidding canyons.
He had promised her that she might go off on her own this summer, as long as she returned to camp each night. But Nellie had every intention of staying out as long as it took to explore the high reaches of these magnificent mountains. Let Uncle catalogue the vegetat
ion of the valley floor and lower slopes. She would reach for the peaks.
She was just putting the last of the collecting supplies in order when Mr. Bradley came into the tent behind her. "When you're finished here, there's something I'd like to show you."
She turned and looked at him. His expression was serious.
"I'll be a just a little longer. Where can I find you when I'm ready?"
"I'll wait." He unfolded one of the chairs, straddled it and laid his arms along the back.
Nellie turned back to her task, but found concentration difficult. She finally gave up, and left the books and papers in a haphazard stack on the table, the rolled maps in their hard leather tube. It wasn't as if they were going out collecting tomorrow morning. Uncle had already explained that he wanted to study the maps again, now that he could actually see the area. She brushed dust from her hands and picked up her bonnet. "Very well, I am ready."
The stiff branches of the sagebrush caught at her skirt as she half-ran to keep up with him. Soon they were among the thickly-growing pines that lay between their camp and the lake. Mr. Bradley seemed to be following a trail of sorts, but Nellie could not see what made their path any different from the rest of the forest floor. Pine needles were strewn thickly on the ground, and now and then one of the hard little cones crunched under her feet.
They passed through a dense stand of young pines and entered a grove of larger, close-spaced trees. The light was dim, but she could still see that these were the same short-needled trees. They were, she believed, the same pines Douglas had found near the Coast in Oregon, but Uncle disagreed. He insisted they were Pinus tenuis, a distinctly different species.
Mr. Bradley came to a halt beside one of the trees at the edge of the grove. She caught up with him.
"See this?" he said, pointing to the bark well above his head.
She looked where his finger indicated. Deep slashes marred the crusty black bark, slashes dug deep into the cambium layer, so that golden globules of sap dripped from them. "What in the world...?"
"Grizzly." He tapped the torn bark. "This was done recently. You can tell by the fresh sap."
Knight in a Black Hat Page 8