by Jenna Kernan
She could not suppress the shudder that rocked her shoulders.
He laughed. “We’re still down here in the desert. No need to put on your coat just yet.”
When he stopped at noon to make his recordings, she held the horses without resentment. As she watched him, she felt pride to be of some small help as he went about his work. When he returned to her, cupping the green leather cover of his journal in his confident hand, she beamed at him. His mouth quirked, but his eyes showed a wary watchfulness that reminded her of a lone wolf.
Jake found water more easily now and by the fifth day they sat at the foot of the mountains. Even as they made their way up the easy slope of the foothills, Emma kept her gaze focused on the peaks that now towered above her.
When Jake stopped to take measurements, she drew down her journal and diligently recorded the landscape about them. She sketched the stark relief of the jagged vista, taking no romantic liberties of rearranging the view to better suit her ideas of composition. Now she rendered all she saw with the utmost accuracy.
When Jake completed his readings, she was not quite done. He paused to watch her work. When she finished, she handed him the sketch.
“Damn near perfect. This record might be as useful as the maps.” He traced the outline of her sketch of the ridgeline with his index finger and cast a glance up at the mountains. “My maps don’t show topography.” He flipped through her work and nodded. “Excellent.” He returned the pad. “Keep up the good work.”
She glowed inside like a coal banked in ash. His Spartan praise pleased her enormously. Her life had been filled with few moments when her value was noted.
The pleasure stirred by his words carried her as they traveled from the foothills to the first pass. She wondered how he knew which trail to take? The animal paths crisscrossed all about them and, by his own admission, he had never been west of the desert, but he moved as if he knew every inch of the way.
When the deer trails vanished he followed the narrow path of mountain goats. Emma watched the creatures loping up the rock as they drew close. They climbed the increasing grade throughout the cold, dry afternoon until they reached the snow line.
The horses’ hooves bit into the grainy ice. The crunching reminded her of the sound made when she ground dried bread into crumbs. At first the granular snow thinly covered the ground, leaving large bare patches, particularly in the deep valleys. Emma frowned as she noted the large rocks and gravel filling the gaps.
Jake followed the direction of her gaze.
“Avalanches,” he said. “In the spring, the ice beneath the snow breaks loose and sends the entire mess down the mountain like a giant sled, ripping anything not anchored tight as it goes. I’ve seen one. Sounded like thunder and looked like a rolling wave of white.”
Emma cast her eyes to the left and right, now feeling the menace of the snow resting above them and congratulating herself on making the crossing in the fall and not springtime until she realized that when she next saw this pass, it would be spring.
The flutter in her belly accompanied an outbreak of cold sweat on her face. You have to cross over them first, before you worry about returning.
By twilight, ice covered the world. Even without the sun, the surface glowed a ghastly blue-white as they crunched along over snow of which she was quite happy not to know the depth. As the hour to stop came and went, Emma wondered if they would travel all night. Her joints grew stiff and her bones ached with the biting cold.
She drew out her lion skin and draped it over the wool coat. The hide cut the wind considerably. As they went, she blew on her hands when she could no longer feel the reins. Jake’s horse plodded on, her neck bent wearily. They crossed a ridge, avoiding the peak and then beginning their descent. She smiled in relief. That had not been so bad. It was some time later that she realized they were headed up once more.
He rested at daybreak. Emma slid from her saddle as a weariness too great to name gripped her with the cold. Numb with fatigue, she fumbled with the girth and then dragged her saddle from Scout. Her horse nudged her in a motion designed to extort a treat.
She rubbed his muzzle. “Sorry, boy. No carrot today.”
If anyone deserved a carrot, it was her horse. If she was weary from riding, how tired must he feel? With sorrow, she realized he was as hungry as she, likely more; she at least had dried jerky.
Jake brought his hat. She peered inside surprised to see water. Her water skin froze hours ago and she could not imagine how he kept his liquid.
“Oh, thank you.”
Scout stuck his nose in the hat, sucking the fluid. Once empty, Jake added grain and waited while her horse munched.
“He’s trying to eat my hat again.” Jake pulled it away.
“I’m about ready to do the same.”
He offered her a kind of dried biscuit and more jerky.
The bread required considerable gnawing. When she finished, her jaw ached from the effort. He handed her a horn cup full of water.
“How did you manage this?”
“Kept a flask against my belly.”
She paused, the cup hovering at her lips, not understanding why her heart should choose this moment to race, sending blood pounding like hoof beats in her ears. The image of a flask, pressed warm and tight against his flat stomach made her own stomach flip and flop like a pancake on a hot griddle.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
It was then that she realized she stood frozen, like the ice about her, the cup still perched on her lips. She turned her wrist and noted the water’s warmth as it slid down her throat. She handed back the cup, wondering if he noticed her rapid breathing.
He did.
“Are you ill?”
“Yes, no—oh, I don’t know. I’m…exhausted.” What a twit.
“We’ll rest here a bit and leave by noon.”
That would be only a few hours. The air felt very cold, but she recognized the temperature was much milder than it had been during the night. They would have less trouble keeping warm now.
“I only have one buffalo robe. We’ll share it.”
Suddenly she imagined herself tucked safe and tight against the warmth of his stomach, just like the water flask. Ridiculous to be jealous of the silly vessel, but she was. They had not rested together since the Rockies, in fact he avoided touching her since their kiss. Now necessity forced him to her once more and she was glad.
He shook out the heavy robe and she added her blanket. Over this he draped his wolf-hide cloak. He climbed in without removing a stitch of clothing.
“Should I take off my boots?”
“Leave everything on. It will keep you warmer.”
She slid in beside him, disappointed at the cool feel of their bed. Overcome by cold and exhaustion, Emma inched closer to the heat she craved.
He didn’t send her away. Instead he rolled them to their sides and pulled her flush against him. Her back lay against his chest and her bottom, oh my, her backside was now pressed intimately to his nether regions. The warmth of his thighs found her first, seeping through the folds of her skirt and petticoats. Gradually she stopped shivering and her breathing slowed. Who would have believed that on this frozen mountain, she would find such warmth? Safe in the harbor of his embrace she gave a sigh.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said.
She tensed. Did he think she was throwing herself at him again? Perhaps she was. Her mind was divided. If she did not want to give a man dominion over her person, why did she long to sleep in Jake’s arms?
Chapter Ten
Jake knew he should make her a proper coat of buffalo. But with the desert and the amount of snow on the mountains, he felt the pressure of time. Also, he had seen no buffalo since he had left the eastern side of the Rockies.
He hadn’t realized how cold she’d grown until they stopped and he discovered her blue lips. Why hadn’t she said something?
He never knew a woman to be so strong. Helen once had a splinter in her
finger and you would have thought she was dying. The wails only got worse when he tried to dig it out.
Jake lowered his chin to the top of Emma’s head. She never said a word.
If he left her to that ridiculous woolen blanket, she would freeze to death. It was easier to just drag her under his buffalo robe and warm her with his body. Her teeth clattered a long while, but at last she quieted, the trembling ceased and she fell into slumber. Tired as he was, he found sleep eluded him. He knew his body was exhausted, so why then did he feel this gnawing tension tugging at his gut. He sighed, drawing in a breath of cold air, laced with the scent he now recognized as Emma’s, sweet and light as meadow flowers.
The reason for his tension lay beneath his nose. Why did she have to be stoic and understanding and so damn brave?
It was enough to drive a man crazy. He stared at the inside of his own eyelids for quite a while, enumerating the reasons he needed to keep clear of her while his traitorous body pressed her close. This would be so much easier if she only had some irritating habits like sucking her teeth or drumming her fingernails.
The trouble was that he found everything about her appealing. Just the shape and feel of her body was enough to bring a lesser man to heel. But Emma wielded weapons more dangerous, like a gentle heart and a brave spirit. She seemed to have embraced his mission to the point that she had offered to stay behind to help him succeed.
What other woman would offer to stay alone in the wilderness for any reason? He could not fathom her. She contradicted all his hard-won understanding about her gender.
Just think about what would happen if you did take up with her, he told himself. How long before she’d demand he settle down? That little band of gold gave a woman ideas that you were bought and paid for.
Perhaps if he just bedded her once, he could get her out of his system. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled close. He groaned. The stupidity of his idea hit him in the groin. Once would never be enough. He wanted her. He admitted it, but that did not mean he wanted to marry her.
To offer less than marriage would be to insult an honorable woman. He had too much respect for Emma to do anything that would shame her. Besides, she might not even want to take up with him. Perhaps he should ask her what she planned to do if they made it east, just to see what she said. He remembered the day she asked him the same question and he snapped at her like a mud turtle.
She scooted down and the swell of her breast brushed his arm. His breathing stopped and he tensed, resisting the urge to measure the size and shape of her with his hand. Instead, he groaned and rolled away, putting his back to her. But she followed him even in her sleep, slipping her small arms about his waist and pressing her bosom to his back. It was in this position that sleep finally relieved him.
When the sun came to its zenith, he awakened to discover his body fully aroused before he even opened his eyes. His little miss now curled about him like ivy, one leg thrown over his and her slender arm threaded beneath his own to drape familiarly across his belly.
His pulse pounded in his groin and the sunlight burned his eyes. He patted her wrist and she gave a groan, nestling farther into her burrow. Jake knew he must get up immediately or drag her underneath him. He threw off the buffalo robe welcoming the blast of cold air. He grabbed the water skin he’d slept on like a pillow to keep it from freezing.
Moving away from Emma proved more difficult than he’d admit. Like two magnets, pulling together, she seemed to draw him with invisible force. The farther he walked the weaker the hold, until he felt truly free at last. Glancing back, he saw the robe frosted with ice like the top of a cake, the fragile layer broken and missing on his side.
He fed and watered the horses. Scout flattened his ears at Jake’s approach, but called a temporary truce when he saw the oats in his hat. Jake considered the animal as he munched his breakfast. He meant to shoot the horse when they reached the valley. By that time, much of the provisions he’d packed would be depleted and he could move Emma to his remaining packhorse. It was a shame to waste such a magnificent animal, but not worth the risk to have the beast arrive in Monterey with the U.S. brand on his flank. He’d been about to tell Emma when he glanced at her.
Damn women and their tactics. His resolve melted with her tears and he folded like a house of cards. He should have told her what would happen and why, and then dealt with the wailing. Now he didn’t know if he should let the gelding loose then track it and shoot it without her knowing or trade it to Indians and pray they kept well east until after he was away in the springtime.
The horse finished his meal and his ears flattened again, indicating the truce ended.
“I ought to put a bullet between your eyes right now.”
The horse blew hot air as if daring him to try.
He saddled Duchess and readied the packhorse and mule. He knew from experience that her mount would not let him anywhere near with a saddle. Not fancying a kick, he waited for Emma.
She staggered to her feet a short time later. He gave her privacy as she disappeared behind a boulder for a few minutes.
When she emerged, her eyes were completely open, if bloodshot, and she smiled as if the few stolen hours were a full night’s rest.
“Good morning.”
He nodded, not mentioning that it was well into the afternoon and wondering if she knew that her bangs lifted up like the comb of a rooster. Somehow made her look more endearing. A tiny tug pulled at his heart as he savored seeing her rise warm and rumpled from his bed. It was a sight only a husband knew.
That thought brought him up short. She hadn’t collared him yet. He rolled the bedding as if the hides were responsible for his upset and then looped the wolf skin over his shoulders once more, changing it from blanket to cloak with one piece of rawhide. She wore the lion cape and he paused to pull the hood up over her head. She cast a dubious glance at the fangs now nestled in her hair and sighed, emitting a wisp of white steam.
“Suits you,” he said, thinking the honey color of her hair echoed the tawny yellow of the hide. She said nothing, only set her lips together in a tight line as he looped the arms of the fur around her neck. The golden trade beads caught the light and he smiled at his scowling partner. Diana, goddess of the hunt, was angry.
When Emma was mounted, he helped drape the buffalo robe over her shoulders, determined that she stay warm this final day in the mountains. By evening they would reach the edge of the snowfield, descending into the thick pines. Tonight he planned to give himself no excuse for sleeping double. The experience was too hard on him.
As they rode along he pictured the line of oxen lumbering up the steep slopes and down the rocky inclines. An unforgiving trip, dangerous and difficult, he decided—but possible.
They crossed along a ridge that gave a glimpse of the valley still far below them. He paused at the sight. The vista took his breath away. Behind him, Emma gasped and said, “Oh, my.”
Across the valley stood half of a magnificent gray granite mountain cleaved in two by some ancient forces too great to fathom, leaving a steep escarpment. He was thankful they didn’t have to descend from that side, then admitted to himself that this lip of the canyon looked equally challenging, with no obvious path to the valley floor. His attention fell next to a waterfall, cascading hundreds of feet in a thin ribbon of silver. Another smaller falls broke in two places on its drop.
Emma pulled up beside him. “Look how beautiful.”
His gaze lifted from the valley to the mountains beyond. None were snowcapped, instead ridges of granite poked naked from the pines covering the lower reaches. He pondered their route.
“I have to draw this,” Emma said, already sliding from her saddle.
“Don’t forget the mountains beyond. I have to pick a course. Once in the valley, I won’t have this perspective.”
He dismounted and made compass readings of various peaks recording their locations in his journal. Emma took the opportunity to sketch the trail ahead as it sloped sharply down
ward. He glanced at the sky. Darkness loomed. They’d never make the valley by nightfall. Best to finish the drawings and measurements and then return the way they came. Tomorrow he would begin again following animal trails to the river he saw far below his feet. When Emma spoke, it startled him.
“How’s this?” Emma turned the page to him.
He glanced from the drawing comparing it to its source, and nodded at the accuracy of detail. “Damn good.”
“Imagine what I could do with my watercolors.” She gave a melancholy sigh as she considered the sketch. “Will we head down now?”
“Too dangerous in the dark. We’ll backtrack to the meadow.”
In a few minutes he chose a spot and left Emma to unpack the horses while he scouted the area. He found little game and no sign of Indians. Finally, he shot a groundhog and brought his meager offering to Emma.
She seemed delighted to have it.
“I’m so tired of dried meat!”
A hearty fire awaited him, a neat pile of wood lay stacked nearby and his buffalo robe beyond. He frowned, noting she made only one bed. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.
“The buffalo robes are so much more comfortable on the ground and warmer than my blanket. Is it a terrible inconvenience?”
He gritted his teeth wondering if she had the faintest inkling of what she put him through each time she cuddled against him beneath the robes. He looked at the hopeful innocence of her expression and decided she did not.
“It is an inconvenience.” His determination wavered as Emma’s expression turned forlorn. “Damn it, this is the last time, understand? And I’m killing the next buffalo I see. You need your own bedding. This isn’t proper.”
She raised her hands in supplication. “But nothing unseemly has occurred. You’ve been the perfect gentleman.”
He stepped forward menacingly. “That won’t be the case if you keep crawling into my bed like my squaw. There’s a limit to my restraint.”