Bound for Eden

by Tess LeSue

  “That water won’t heat itself,” he drawled as he lowered himself into the steaming tub.

  Her hands trembling, Alex fetched more water. The cool night air hit her like a slap. She should keep walking, she thought numbly. Just leave the bucket by the pump and walk back upstairs to Adam and Victoria, bury herself under the covers and try to block out the image of him standing there naked in the washroom. All glowing brown skin and hard muscle.

  Her limbs seemed to have grown loose and a strange pulsating heat was uncurling in her belly.

  She could hear little splashes of water as he shifted in the tub. Her heart felt like it was fluttering up her chest and into her throat. She imagined what it would be like to touch him . . . would he feel as warm and velvety as he looked? Would he feel hard?

  “Hurry up,” he called from the steaming heat of the bathhouse, “I need my back soaped.”

  Oh glory.

  * * *

  • • •

  BY THE TIME she returned to the sultry confines of the small room, Alex’s knees were practically knocking together. When she set the water on the stove her trembling sent droplets of water cascading to the burning iron hotplate, where they sizzled and spat.

  “I must have brought half the prairie with me,” the man behind her sighed. “Get that brush and scrub my back, would you?”

  How she managed to cross the room and lift the brush from the shelf, Alex didn’t know. She was painfully aware of her own body—she tried to walk more like a man, but only succeeded in feeling even more self-conscious.

  She knelt behind him, safely out of his line of vision, and contemplated the wall of shining muscle before her. Tentatively she rubbed the brush over his shoulders.

  “That’s not going to shift anything,” he told her, with no small measure of exasperation. “Put your back into it and use the soap.”

  Obediently, Alex scrubbed harder and the water darkened to a muddy brown. She could see the great fists of muscle in his back begin to loosen under her strokes.

  “What’s your name?”

  Alex didn’t have the wit to give her carefully chosen pseudonym. Distracted by that expanse of glowing wet skin, she slipped and almost told him her real name. “Al—Alexander.”

  “Al Alexander?”

  “Uh . . . my first name’s William,” she invented swiftly, using her foster father’s name, “William Alexander. But everyone calls me Al . . . or Alex.”

  “Alex.” The sound of her name issuing from those sensual lips, in that deep voice, made her quiver.

  She was surprised when he twisted around and offered her his hand. She stared at it dumbly for a minute before she realized that he meant for her to shake it. She clasped it and almost gasped at the white-hot bolt of sensation that ran up her arm. When he let go, her hand smarted, as though it had been burned.

  “So you and your folks are taking the Oregon Trail?” he asked as he scrubbed his face.

  She nodded and then blushed when she realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s Luke.”

  “Luke.” The name came from her breathlessly, like a sigh.

  “I’m captaining a party headed for the Willamette Valley,” he told her conversationally. “You mind getting me that razor now?”

  Alex did mind. She was just beginning to relax enough to enjoy rubbing the brush in lazy circles over that strong back. But, remembering the coin in her pocket, she set the brush aside and went to his saddlebags.

  “It’s in the one on the left.”

  The leather was supple with age and wear. Alex couldn’t believe everything he managed to fit inside the one saddlebag. She eventually found the razor inside a soft leather case. There was a strop hanging by the door, and she made fast work of sharpening the blade.

  “You joined a party yet?”

  Alex shook her head. “We only got into town today.”

  “Where are you from?”

  That was one question Alex had no intention of answering. “You sure are nosey,” she observed tartly, handing him the razor.

  He laughed and, if it was even possible, the flash of his white teeth and the dent of a dimple in his cheek made him seem even more beautiful. She’d had no idea men like this existed. There certainly hadn’t been any like him back home in Mississippi.

  For a moment she wondered how it would have been if he’d met her as Alexandra, in her best pink-flower patterned Sunday dress, instead of as this scruffy boy. Would he have found her pretty? Would he have smiled at her, showing that heavenly dimple? The thought made her feel fluttery and light-headed.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never reacted like this to a man before.

  “And you sure are close-mouthed,” he observed. “Hold the mirror for me so I can shave, there’s a boy.” Alex took the small square of mirror from his shaving kit and held it before him. “Kneel down,” he ordered, and Alex obeyed, kneeling beside him.

  She was acutely aware of his proximity, of his wet flesh, and of what lay beneath the shivering surface of the murky bathwater.

  “Have you outfitted yourselves with a wagon yet?” he asked as the razor rasped over his rough stubble.

  “No, sir . . . I mean, Luke.”

  “I know an honest wagon maker who won’t overcharge you.”

  “Maker?” Alex echoed, unable to disguise her dismay. She’d assumed they’d be able to buy one ready-made. “How long will it take to make one?”

  Luke eyed her, the wicked blade pausing mid-stroke. “Why? I thought you weren’t signed up with a party yet.”

  “I just . . . We thought . . . We’re in a bit of a hurry,” she admitted.

  “You do realize it’s a six-month trip?” he drawled, and once again the razor slid in a long, rasping arc over his lean cheek.

  “I know,” Alex said defensively, “we just want to leave as soon as we can.”

  “In a spot of trouble, are we?”

  “No.” But she knew he could tell by her face that they were.

  “And when would you like to leave?”

  She didn’t care how beautiful he was, he was beginning to irritate her with his questions. “None of your business,” she snapped.

  One dense black eyebrow lifted and she thought she saw his lips twitch. “I’m only asking because we have room in our party. But you’d need a wagon.”

  Alex chewed her lip.

  Luke finished shaving, without asking another question.

  In silence, she fetched the warm water and waited as he soaped his thick, dark hair. When he closed his eyes and tilted his head back she poured, watching the fall of water shimmer pale gold in the lamplight as it rinsed the soap free and left him clean and shining, like a newly carved marble statue.

  She spun on her heel when he began to rise from the tub, and scrabbled for a towel. She thrust it at him and busied herself dampening the stove.

  “You know, you ought to have a bath too,” he said speculatively, and she was conscious of his bulk blocking her exit. “You’re filthier than I was.”

  Alex felt a wave of horror splash over her like a bucket of icy water. She shrank inside the baggy overalls and shook her head vehemently.

  “I can’t see your skin for the muck,” he continued.

  Oh heavens, what had she got herself into?

  4

  FORTUNATELY FOR ALEX, they were interrupted by an outraged gasp.

  There, in the doorway of the bathhouse, stood Victoria. Her brown eyes were huge as they took in the mostly naked man standing in front of her sister. Her cheeks flamed. “What is going on here?” she blustered, obviously half-scared to death, but trying for Alex’s sake to be brave. “Adam!”

  Alex could hear Adam shuffling across the courtyard and she shook her head frantically. Adam hadn’t seen her dressed up like this yet, and she knew he
’d give her away. “Go back to the room, Adam,” she called quickly, glaring at Victoria. “We’ll join you in a minute.”

  “Alex?” Adam’s lazy voice drifted through the open door. “Vicky said you were gone.”

  “I’m not gone. Go back to the room now.”

  “I can see the moon.”

  “Really? You can tell me about it when I come up.”

  “Righto.”

  Alex heard him singing softly to himself as he went back inside. She darted a glance at Luke, and saw him watching them curiously, his towel loosely tied around his hips. Now that Victoria was here she felt ashamed of herself. Nice girls didn’t do such things. Victoria would certainly never get herself in this position.

  Alex cleared her throat guiltily. “Victoria, this is Mr. . . .” Alex paused, realizing that she didn’t even know his last name.

  “Slater.”

  “Mr. Slater. He’s captain of a wagon train.”

  Victoria had turned to face the courtyard, her back to Luke Slater’s indecent state and her gaze firmly fixed on the water pump. Even from across the room Alex could see that she was as red as a beet. “I don’t believe a reputable operator would do business in a bathhouse,” she said primly.

  “I paid your brother to help me with my bath,” Luke said smoothly, thinking to placate her, but his words had the opposite effect.

  Alex had rarely seen Victoria lose her temper, but she certainly lost it now. “You get upstairs this minute,” she ordered shrilly, crossing the room and seizing Alex by the arm. “What are you thinking? Ma and Pa would be ashamed of you!”

  Her words cut Alex to the bone. “I can explain—”

  “And you will.” Victoria almost dragged her sister from the steamy room, keeping well away from the indecent man in the towel.

  Luke watched in bemusement as they disappeared into the darkness of the courtyard. He could hear the poor boy being chastised all the way across the dusty yard, through the corridor and into the depths of the hotel.

  He looked back at the greasy bathwater and sighed. He’d have to clean it up himself, before he went back to Dolly’s for a drink and a hand of cards.

  * * *

  • • •

  “WOULD YOU LET go of me?” Alex complained, wrenching her arm away from Victoria as they climbed the stairs. “There’s no need to get so upset.”

  “There’s no need to . . .?” Victoria trailed off, too angry for words. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but wasn’t that a naked man down there with you?”

  “He thought I was a boy,” Alex hissed, glancing around to make sure there was no one to overhear.

  “Well, you’re not,” Victoria hissed back.

  “He can introduce us to a wagon maker.”

  “I don’t care if he can introduce us to President Tyler, you were out of your tiny mind getting yourself in that position.” Victoria slammed the door behind them as they entered their room. “Get out of those clothes this minute. Your little plan has gone far enough.”

  Alex rolled her eyes and flopped down on the bed. A cloud of dust puffed up from the saggy old mattress and she sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Adam said sleepily from where he lay on his bunk, staring out at the full moon. “I can see the man, Alex.”

  “What man?”

  “Don’t go changing the subject, I haven’t said my piece yet.” Victoria snatched the hat off Alex’s head.

  “The man in the moon.”

  “Yeah? What’s he doing?”

  Victoria sputtered and yanked at Alex’s sleeve. Alex rolled out of her grasp.

  “I think he’s making cheese.”

  “Leave me be,” Alex snapped when Victoria kept coming for her.

  “I mean it, Alexandra Barratt, you get those clothes off this instant.”

  “We have to find a wagon and a group to join, you madwoman,” Alex shrieked as Victoria pulled on the straps of her overalls. “You don’t honestly think people are going to do business with two women?”

  “We have Adam.”

  “The moon is made of cheese.” Adam’s dreamy voice stopped Victoria in her tracks. As Alex watched, the anger drained from her face and she slid to the bed, the battered hat dropping from her fingers.

  “It’s the only way, Vicky,” Alex said carefully, bending to retrieve the hat. “The Gradys will be looking for a man and two women. We didn’t use our names when we checked into the hotel, and I told that man down there that our name was Alexander. There’s no reason they’ll ever find us.”

  “What if they see us?”

  “If they see you, just tell them you haven’t seen me since the night of the fire. They’ll think I ran off with the money.”

  “That doesn’t explain why Adam and I are heading out west,” Victoria said sourly.

  “Sure it does. Our home is burned to the ground, you have very little money and you have a brother in Oregon. Where else would you go?”

  “Oh, Alex, why is this happening to us?”

  Alex’s heart ached to see her sister’s despair. If she had those Gradys here, in front of her, she would kill them with her bare hands, just see if she wouldn’t.

  “Stop worrying and go to sleep,” she soothed, even as she enjoyed her murderous fancies, “everything will seem better in the morning.”

  “You keep saying that,” Victoria grumbled, “but it never does.”

  Alex heard the clang of tin in the courtyard and moved to the window. Below, in the silver moonlight, she could see Luke Slater emptying his bath. She couldn’t believe he could lift it—filled with water it must weigh as much as he did.

  Even fully dressed he looked magnificent.

  “You’re blocking the moon,” Adam complained, and reluctantly she tore her gaze away and left the window.

  He’d said there was room in his traveling party, she mused dreamily, indulging in fantasies of spending months at his side. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Alex wasn’t usually vain, but right then she wished with all her heart that she hadn’t cut off her beautiful hair. She scowled at the scruffy boy in the mirror, and he scowled right back at her.

  5

  LUKE WAS A reasonable man. He didn’t pick fights. But neither did he back down from them.

  “Who are you calling a cheat?” he asked calmly, holding the stranger’s gaze.

  The man and his brother had been losing steadily to Luke. The more they lost, the more they drank. The higher grew the neat stacks of bills and coins in front of Luke, the blacker their scowls became. Luke had guessed they’d be trouble almost from the moment he sat down. He kept trying to catch Dolly’s eye, hoping one of her girls would be available and he’d have an excuse to fold the game, but she was rushed off her feet all night.

  “No honest man wins eight games in a row.”

  “I believe Mr. O’Brien won the hand before last,” Luke corrected, careful to keep his voice neutral.

  Ned O’Brien, a bookish, buttoned-up easterner, shifted nervously in his seat.

  “One hand,” the man sneered, not sparing O’Brien a glance.

  “Roll up your sleeves,” his brother demanded, “so we can see what you’ve got stashed up there.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser.”

  “Loser!”

  Fortunately, Luke saw the punch coming and managed to dodge the man’s meaty fist. The table went sprawling, sending cards and cash flying. The coins clattered across the bare floorboards and there was an instant rush as men grabbed for them. Luke swore. There went his winnings.

  He heard a bellow and looked up to find both men charging at him like wild bulls. There was no way he could escape both of them, so he resigned himself to the pain, lowered his head, and charged them right back.

  The collision rocked the room.

  “What in all the seven hells
is going on in here?” Dolly screamed from the staircase.

  Luke didn’t look up. One of the brothers was down and winded, but the other was still standing, his scowl blacker than ever.

  “Cheat,” the man hissed under his breath.

  “Come closer and say it,” Luke suggested.

  “Cheat!” the man bellowed, rushing him again.

  Luke landed a punch, but then strong arms seized him from behind, immobilizing him. He struggled, but the man’s grip was as strong as iron. Don’t tell me there’s another brother, he thought wryly.

  The man he’d punched laughed, rubbing his side, which still smarted from Luke’s fist. “Thanks, Bert.” He approached Luke slowly. “My brothers and I don’t hold with cheats.”

  Behind him, the winded brother got to his feet. Luke figured he’d better act soon, or they’d be on top of him. Without warning, he threw his head back, smashing his captor full in the nose. He heard a grunt as he jerked free. Bert was bent double, clutching his broken nose, blood gushing over his hands. Luke planted his foot in the man’s belly and shoved him to his knees. One well-aimed kick finished him off.

  He spun on his heel and pounded the next one full in the face before the man had even registered that he was free of Bert. The man went down like a dead weight.

  One left to go. This one was obviously having second thoughts though. He backed away slowly, holding both hands up, palms out.

  Luke heard laughter and looked up. On the landing beside Dolly stood a runty-looking man, wearing nothing but a sheet. He was lean and ropy with muscle and his face was pointy and sharp. He reminded Luke of a weasel. As Luke watched, the weasel tucked the sheet around his waist and gave Luke a round of applause. “I ain’t never seen a man take on my brothers and win,” the weasel said. “Particularly Silas. He ain’t just big and mean, he’s crafty.”

  “Which one’s Silas?” Luke asked dryly.

  The weasel pointed to the body at Luke’s feet.

  “I’d like to know who’s going to clean up the mess,” Dolly sniped, pulling her wrapper tighter over her loose breasts.