Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  Emma slumped in the saddle. Feelings of abandonment resurfaced, squeezing her throat and making breathing difficult. Had her mother left her?

  Mother had begged to go east to see her family. Always he had denied her, watched her, guarded her.

  One certainty rose above the rest. She would not be returning to her father—ever.

  Instead, she would search for her mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I don’t remember this path,” said Emma.

  “That’s because this isn’t Union Pass, it’s South Pass.”

  She drew up on the reins. “South Pass!”

  He paused looking confused. “That’s right.”

  “We crossed over on Union Pass.”

  “That’s right, but that’s a hundred and twenty miles north of here.”

  “I can’t go over South Pass.”

  He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Why not?”

  “My father’s fort is at the base of the mountains. I’ll be walking right back into his control.”

  Jake sighed. “Now, Emma…”

  Suspicion gripped her. “You mean to bring me back. I won’t go.”

  Panic took her now and she wheeled Scout around, to head back down the trail.

  “Emma. Emma—stop.” He grabbed Scout’s harness, gripping as her mount tossed his head.

  “Damn bad-tempered beast.”

  “I’m not going back to him.”

  Scout yanked the leather from Jake’s hand. “Who asked you to? He’s on the Bighorn, twenty miles or more from the trail-head. We can skirt him well enough.”

  “Skirt him?”

  “Leave the trail and avoid the river. He won’t know you’ve crossed the divide.”

  She stared. “Jake, don’t lie to me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Her palms sweated just thinking of coming within her father’s reach once more. She lifted her gaze from the trail to study Jake. His serious stare seemed to beg her to trust him.

  “All right, then.”

  He smiled and turned Duchess back toward the mountain.

  Halfway up South Pass Jake knew that they were in trouble. The horses pushed through snow brushing their bellies in places and he did not like the feel of the snow.

  Uncertainty rode with him as he contemplated turning back. He pulled up.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Emma.

  “Snow is too deep. We haven’t topped the pass yet and no telling what we will find on the eastern slope. We should turn around.”

  “We have to cross eventually.”

  “Maybe in a month or two.”

  Emma set her lips together in a gesture he recognized. She was gathering to fight.

  “I can’t wait two months,” she said.

  “Well, you’ll have to.”

  She glared at him. “How much longer do you think I can ride? I’m already blossoming. I need to get over these mountains now.”

  “Snow is unstable. See how the top is crusty and the bottom kinda soft?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the snow. I’m crossing.”

  They stared at each other.

  “I’m not putting my child at risk,” he said.

  Her eyes glittered dangerously. “You have no say.”

  “I will if I marry you.”

  That shocked the tightness from her face. Astonishment now covered her features. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “I’ll not marry because you feel guilty over this child.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “This might come as a dreadful shock to you, but I think it is possible to find a man to love who will treat me as a partner, not his jailer. If I can’t find that man, I’ll stay single.”

  “I treated you as a partner.”

  Her expression softened as she nodded. “Right up until you decided I did this on purpose.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  She glared a moment then kicked Scout forward, driving Duchess into the snow.

  He watched her go. Damn stubborn woman.

  Of course he was right. They had only crested the highest point of the trail at sunset. Emma pressed on into the dark, her big strong gelding pushing the snow before him like a shovel. There was no place to stop or rest. The wind howled between the peaks as the horses struggled on.

  When one mule fell, Jake had the devil’s time bringing her to her feet once more. The night passed cold, wet and miserable as they made slow progress.

  At sunup they stopped to feed the horses and eat. Circles ringed Emma’s eyes, but her jaw remained set in steely determination.

  Finally, they headed down below the cloud cover and into the sunshine on the eastern slopes. The snow shone brilliantly. Emma brought her hat low over her eyes. As the morning progressed, the sun climbed and temperatures rose. He knew better than to remove his coat, but he unfastened the toggles.

  As the horses broke the top layer of snow, it fell in sheets, cascading down the trail before them, picking up speed and clearing a path.

  He took point again, leading them away from the gap.

  “Why are you going across the trail?” she asked.

  “I’m getting out of the low point.”

  Tension knotted his shoulders as he glanced from one snow-covered peak to the next. How thick was the layer above them? A little farther and they’d be clear of the most dangerous spot—the gap.

  The first sound reminded him of the surf on the shore of the Pacific. He turned toward the low rumble. Above him, ice broke from the cliffs hitting the smooth surface beneath. The layer collapsed, tumbling downward.

  “Ride!” he shouted.

  Behind them the avalanche rushed, booming like thunder and gathering speed as a mountain of snow collapsed before it like a breaking wave. Emma kicked Scout and they rushed horizontally away from the approaching menace.

  He beat his heels into Duchess’s sides and she lunged into the deep snow, breaking a path. He glanced behind and saw Emma struggling with Scout and the mules all tied in a string. Behind them the white death hurtled nearer.

  “Cut them loose!” he shouted, but the thunder of falling snow drowned his words.

  The ground beneath the last mule collapsed taking the creature off her feet. She pulled down the next and they disappeared into a white wave dragging the packhorse along. The line jerked Scout and he reared up.

  Jake wheeled about, dragging hard on Duchess’s mouth as Emma vanished in the cascading snow. Jake halted on packed snow as the white river of ice cascaded just before him.

  He fought the urge to dive into the current. If Emma died—no, he would not finish it. He’d find her. He’d save her.

  Down the slope he raced, Duchess somehow managing to keep her footing as he pressed her to greater speed.

  He saw a mule rise like driftwood on a wave and disappear once more. The river slowed and solidified with terrifying speed.

  Boulders of ice lay stacked like beer barrels. How could she survive? In that icy moment of dread he understood that he needed her with all the strength of his soul. It didn’t matter if she was pregnant or how she became so. He was a stupid, heartless fool.

  “God, give me one more chance to make it right with her.”

  A mule shook herself some fifty yards down the mountain. His gear lay strewn along the slope before him, scattered like wreckage from a ship. Where was Scout?

  The big chestnut had vanished, gobbled up by the greedy mountain. He kicked Duchess onto the frozen river. The ice bore his weigh easily and he understood the snow might crush her to death, robbing her of the air she needed to live.

  He galloped across the field, around a boulder of ice the size of a cabin and saw Scout, his haunches trapped and his reins buried as he struggled and pawed to escape the icy hold.

  Where was she?

  She might have fallen from him and been swept away.

  “Emma!”

  Scout extracted himself from the snow, leaving a crater. Something dropped
from his stirrup. Jake jumped from his horse and ran to the hole seeing Emma’s leg, disappearing into the crush of snow.

  Jake clawed at the ice but made little progress. Using his butchering blade he attacked this predator sending crystals flying. Her skirt appeared and next her hip. Judging where her face might be, he moved and dug again, using his hands.

  His nails broke and the ice turned bloody as he fought to reach her. At last he clutched a wisp of hair and then saw the line of her jaw.

  Find her mouth, her nose—hurry, hurry.

  He dug faster. Ice clung to her lashes and packed her nose. He cleared her mouth.

  Her gasp was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Relief weakened him and his shoulders shook with dry sobs.

  Thank God, thank God.

  He worked slowly now, carefully. Scout blew hot breath onto his shoulder as Jake struggled to unearth his mistress. When he reached her hand, he found her fingers still gripping the reins.

  Lifting Emma from the icy grave, he felt her chilled skin and shuddered himself. He had to warm her. He left her only to gather the animals, finding a single mule and the packhorse. He tied them in a line. Then he wrapped Emma in his buffalo robe and carried her to his horse.

  He held her in his arms as he rode down the mountain. She did not shiver, but lay ice-cold, blue lipped and still as death. Twice he stopped just to assure himself that she was breathing.

  The final descent seemed endless. At last he reached the tree line and wasted no time in building a large fire, sending dark smoke to the sky. The signal might bring friend or foe but he needed the heat to warm his Emma.

  As he stripped off her clothes, he found ice packed beneath her dress, in her moccasins and clinging to her hair. He fastened the lionskin cloak about her neck, lay out the buffalo robes and pulled her against him. Cocooned within the shaggy fur, he rubbed her frosty limbs. His clothes kept his heat from reaching her, so he stripped them off then drew her close, once more terrified at the temperature of her skin.

  “Emma, it’s Jake. Can you hear me?”

  She lay limp as a rag doll as he struggled to bring her heat. He sweated beneath the robe, beside the fire wondering if she felt him?

  “I love you. Please, Emma, give me a chance to prove it.”

  She moved. At first he thought he imagined it, but gradually he understood. Her body shivered, quaking against him with tiny tremors.

  He sighed, knowing she was warming.

  “Wake up, Em. Wake up and look at me.”

  He brushed damp hair from her pale face and fanned her with his hot breath.

  That was when he heard the distinctive click of a cocking pistol. He glanced up into the face of a bearded man. Jake’s gaze flicked to the others behind him, all stood with aimed weapons. He returned his attention to the leader and saw his red face grow brighter as a blue vessel at his temple pulsed. He knew the man.

  “Just what, in God’s name, are you doing with my daughter?”

  Jake struggled up to his elbows. “Lancing, wait.”

  Her father looked apoplectic. “I ought to shoot you between the eyes.”

  “She’s hurt.”

  He snorted, reminding Jake of some great wild boar. His beady eyes squinted. Lancing turned to the wiry man on his left. “Pull him off.”

  Two men dragged Jake up by his elbows. He knew he could shake them off, but he couldn’t evade the company of men all taking a bead on his heart.

  Her father leaned in, his voice strangled with rage. “I’ll hang you for this.”

  Jake stood naked before Emma’s father. He studied his enemy and saw an overfed, self-important dictator.

  “Put on your trousers, you damn filthy bastard,” said Lancing.

  Jake made no move to follow his order and that made her father tremble so his jowls shook.

  “Mr. Lancing, I believe you’ll want to look in my bag there before you shoot me.”

  “You little whelp, are you telling me what to do?”

  Jake smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  He slapped Jake across the face with an open palm. Jake absorbed the blow without recoiling. His face stung and his jaw tightened.

  “With respect, sir, I’m an officer of the United States Army.”

  Lancing hesitated and Jake knew that the man understood that killing him would seal Lancing’s death warrant. His recovery was quick. The man let his gaze drop. “Out of uniform, aren’t you?”

  “That bag.” Jake pointed. Since leaving Spanish territory, there was no reason to secrete his maps and letters in the stock of his gun, so he’d moved them to his pouch.

  Lancing snapped his fingers and pointed in the direction of Jake’s gear. “Bring me his damn bag.”

  In a moment the leather pouch lay open and Lancing had his fleshy hand about Jake’s journal.

  “In the back. There are three identical letters.”

  He knew the moment the man saw the seal of the office of the president.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Lancing said, waving the letter as if just discovering more evidence to condemn him.

  “Open it.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed at the direct order, but he looked off balance now. He broke the seal and his gaze scanned the page.

  Jake knew what lay within.

  The bearer of this letter operates under the orders of the President of the United States and shall be afforded any assistance he requires.

  Andrew Jackson

  President

  “Where did you get this, you scallywag?” asked Lancing.

  “President Jackson.”

  The men around him shifted uncomfortably as uncertainty weighed upon them.

  “This is some kind of trick. I could have you—”

  “Hanged or shot?”

  “Don’t you use that impertinence with me. I don’t know who you are but—”

  Jake took a step forward closing in on the man.

  “But we met at the Rendezvous. I’m Jacob Turner, lieutenant in the United States Army on special assignment and Emma needs care.”

  “That assignment include kidnapping my daughter?”

  Jake hesitated. “I kept her alive.”

  Lancing sniffed. “So I see.”

  “Your daughter nearly died in that avalanche. Now I want her tended and I want my gear collected from the mountain. You going to follow the orders of your president or not?”

  Lancing spun away. “Lower your weapons, men. Randolph, pick a detail to gather Lieutenant Turner’s belongings. See he has a horse and food and turn him loose.”

  Jake slipped into his buckskin trousers and skirt. “I’m not going without Emma.”

  Lancing turned to face him. “That letter doesn’t entitle you to my daughter.”

  “You’re not taking her.”

  “Watch me.” He turned to a boy with fuzz upon his cheeks. “Andrews, get my daughter on a horse.” He faced Jake. “You need anything else, see Randolph here.”

  Her father lifted Emma wrapped only in a lion skin to a ruddy-cheeked boy mounted on a gray. Jake took a step toward her and heard a pistol cock.

  “One more damn step and I will shoot you.”

  Jake met Lancing’s cold stare and held his ground.

  Lancing waited, the barrel of the gun aimed at Jake’s chest while his men gathered his belongings. Behind him, the others descended into the trees carrying Emma from his sight.

  Lancing mounted up. “Goodbye, Turner. I hope the Blackfoot find you sleeping.”

  Emptiness swallowed Jake.

  He’d lost her.

  Emma kept her eyes closed as she inhaled. The scent of her father’s tobacco came to her and she stiffened. That wasn’t possible.

  Where was the breeze?

  She pinched her lids tight, refusing to look. A dream—no a nightmare. If she could only sleep again, everything would be all right.

  But it wasn’t.

  The ring of the blacksmith’s hammer in the yard outside her window tolled mournful
as a church bell. Her eyes opened to take in the unpainted planking above her head. Fort Lancing—she had arrived.

  Her mind stretched back to her last memory. Duchess rearing up and Jake shouting words she could not hear past the thunder of falling snow. Scout fell and she rode upon him like a sled as they rushed down the mountain.

  Was that why her body ached? A stab of fear pierced her and she reached for her belly, felt the slight swell and collapsed in relief. The baby was all right.

  Jake found Jim Bridger on the Green River.

  As the most respected trapper in the area, Bridger had considerable influence. He appeared gaunter than Jake remembered and he wondered if the man might have had a tooth pulled to account for the deepening hollows in his cheeks. His smile was still warm and winning and his handshake iron.

  “Turner, been some distance since I seen you last.”

  Jake nodded. “A bit.”

  He enjoyed the mountain man’s propensity for understatement.

  “And did you run out of land?”

  “Yes, Jim, I did.”

  “I’d love a gander at your maps.”

  Jake never before had such trouble restraining himself. He needed to get to Emma. But her father barred him from his trading post. “That might be arranged in exchange.”

  “Ah.” Bridger lifted his chin in understanding. “So this ain’t purely a social call.”

  Bridger motioned to a downed log that served as his office and Jake sat. Bridger straddled the bark facing his guest and offered his tobacco pouch.

  “I would, but I lost my pipe,” said Jake.

  “Pity. Want me to borrow you one?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Bridger stuffed the bowl and used a bit of bark to carry the flame from the fire to the pipe, then glanced up, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “I can see you’re busting to say something.”

  “I had a partner with me.”

  “Good thing. Difficult trail for one man. What’s his name?”

  “Emma Lancing.”

  Bridger choked and then laughed. “You took Emma Lancing?”

  “You know her?”

  He laughed again. “Her pa’s been tearing up the territory searching for that gal. Figured the Indians took her. I heard he had her back, but nothing more.”

  “I have to speak to her.”